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Tabitha's Story

confessor

TMF Novice
Joined
Sep 26, 2001
Messages
62
Points
6
This story is based on an old girlfriend who told me several stories about being tickled growing up. I wrote it in first person. Its mostly truth with some fiction added for dramatic effect. Hope you enjoy.


Tabitha’s Story

Hello, my name is Tabitha. I thought I would share some of my experiences being everybody’s favorite tickle toy. I am a petite girl, about 5’3”, with brownish-red hair and a pale complexion. I have nice curves for a thin girl, and I’ve been told I’m pretty. I did gymnastics growing up and I was a cheerleader in high school. In school, I was kind of popular, had lots of friends and boyfriends, but didn’t spend much time on the books and never made it to college.

While I’m not really into feet, I guess I should describe mine, since people love to tickle them. My feet are size 6, kind of wide, with short plump toes and high arches. I always thought my toes looked funny because they seemed too plump for a skinny girl like me. But most boys think my feet are really cute. One even told me he thought they were my best feature (ha). My feet have always been very soft and sensitive. I wear sandals and flip flops a lot, even in winter, but I never go barefoot outside. My feet are just too tender and I find it uncomfortable. The good thing is that I have never needed a pedicure. I keep my toes painted and that’s all I have to do. The bad thing is that people notice my feet all the time, and most of those people want to find out if I’m ticklish. I guess having soft feet comes with a high price, because my feet are definitely off the charts on the ticklish scale. My weak spot is my arches, especially where the arch meets the center of the sole, followed in close second by the undersides of my toes. My arches are so bad that just a single finger is enough to make me jump and pull away, and if the fingernail makes contact then I am begging for mercy at the same time.

I was tickled a lot growing up, almost exclusively on my feet. My dad tickled my feet constantly. Almost every day he would run his fingernail down the sole of my bare foot as I lay on the couch with my feet on the arm rest watching TV. I would yell and jerk my feet down into the seat cushion as he chuckled and walked away. At least once a week he would hold my ankles together under one arm, and use his free hand to tickle me to tears. My dad kept his fingernails a little long and the feeling of those nails on my bare feet was unbearable. I would laugh my head off, turn red, and gasp for air as he danced his fingers along the bottoms of my feet. He was kind enough to tickle all around, and not just focus on my super sensitive arches and toes. Nevertheless, after about 2 minutes, the tickling became torture, and I would break down crying and begging for him to stop. That’s when he would graciously let me go, give me a big hug, and tell me what a good sport I was.

Most of my boyfriends ended up tickling me at some point during the relationship. Some tried tickling my sides, but I’m not very ticklish there. When they found out how ticklish my feet were, that’s all they focused on after that. Two of them were really into feet. One liked to suck my toes, which I could only handle for a few seconds before I had to make him stop. Another wanted to lick my soles, but I only let him do it once, because it tickled too much. Most of my boyfriends were reasonable when it came to my ticklishness, and didn’t push things too far. However, I will never forget one boyfriend who really tortured me.

He came over to my house on Saturday afternoon with one of his friends, both football players. We were watching TV on the living room floor when my parents left to go shopping. That’s when my boyfriend’s friend Mike repositioned himself so that his head was near my feet. I was wearing a tank top and jeans, and barefoot of course. I was lying on my stomach, with my soles facing up. I figured he was up to something, but I really didn’t think he would mess with me with my boyfriend there. Unfortunately, I was wrong. This guy ran a single finger down the sole of my foot from my heel to my toes. I jerked my foot up and tried to ignore him. Then, he did the other foot, and I jerked it up as well, and said, “Don’t”. Then, he went after both feet with all five fingers, and I jerked my feet back down to the floor, looked at him and yelled, “Quit it”. He had a big grin on his face, and replied, “Hey Ron, looks like Tabitha’s got some ticklish feet”. My boyfriend stopped watching TV, turned to me and said, “Oh really”. “Yeah”, I said, “my feet are very ticklish, so tell your boy to leave them alone or he can leave”, I said, thinking my boyfriend would back me up. “I don’t think I like the way you’re talking to my friend”, Ron said, “maybe we ought to teach you a little lesson”.

With that, Ron got on top of me, sat on my butt (I was still laying on my stomach), and pinned my arms to the floor. “Get her feet, Mike”, Ron said. I started screaming for Ron to get off me while this guy Mike laid his chest across the backs of my legs and wrapped my ankles under one arm. That’s when I knew I was in for it. I could tell Mike must have really liked my feet, because he spent several seconds with his face just inches away from my soles before he did anything. I could feel his warm breath against my soles, and the anticipation was killing me. I just kept begging them to let me go and please not tickle me, because I couldn’t take it. Thinking back, I’m sure Mike relished my pleading as he contemplated what he was about to do. After several seconds, Mike began the tickling by slowly running one finger over different spots on the bottoms of my feet. I began to squirm and beg him to stop. I soon found out that this light tickling was just a taste of what was to come.

“Let’s find out where your weak spot is”, Mike said, as he continued probing my soft soles. As soon as he discovered how deathly ticklish my arches were, especially that spot near the center of my sole, he just couldn’t leave it alone. He kept torturing it, digging at that one spot with a single finger, causing me to buck, scream, and hack as I gasped for air. He even went so far as to use his teeth to nibble my arches, which was just plain sadistic. I had never felt anything more torturous in my entire life. That’s when I began to cry it tickled so much. But the boys ignored my tears and continued the torture. Eventually, they switched places, and Ron, my soon to be ex-boyfriend, got a chance to tickle me. Thankfully, he never used his teeth, but he had some sharp fingernails that he used to dig in between my tender toes, causing me to wail and beg for mercy, even threatening to break up with him if he didn’t stop. After about a half hour of tickle torture, they decided I had enough, and got off me. As I wiped the tears from my face and hair, I told them both to get out of my house and never come back. Ron tried to apologize a few days later, but I knew this little scenario might happen again one day, so I broke up with him.

Apart from boyfriends, other people loved tickling me as well. I remember my gymnastics teacher had a thing for tickling my feet. I couldn’t go one lesson on the balance beam without him touching my feet to adjust my stance. When he would grab my foot, it seemed like he would intentionally dig his thumbnail into my arch, which caused me to almost fall off the damn beam, it tickled so much. He would always apologize and tell me I had good strong feet, and that’s why they were so sensitive. I would tell him not to touch my feet, and just tell me what he wanted me to do, but he never listened. One day, when I hurt my ankle, he spent the whole class playing with my foot while gave verbal instructions to the other students. He would play with my toes and run his fingers across the sole of my foot. It tickled enough for me to tell him to stop at least 50 times, but he just kept doing it, saying he had to work the soreness out of it. Then, things started getting out of hand. Whenever I was on the balance beam, doing floor work, or on the bars, he would casually run his fingers across my bare foot telling me how it would help my concentration. After a few weeks of this tickling treatment, I quit gymnastics and focused on cheerleading.

Cheerleading created problems of its own. While shoes and socks provided some protection for my ticklish feet, there were some people who found great pleasure in removing those protective layers to tickle the hell out of me. When this happened, it was devastating, as my feet are extra ticklish when freshly removed from the warmth and comfort of athletic socks and sneakers. When we would go to games, our school made the cheerleaders ride with the band, and the cheerleaders were greatly outnumbered by the band members. I remember a group of five (3 boys and 2 girls) that must have been a tickle gang or something. They overheard one of my friends talking about how ticklish I was, and from that day forward, they made sure they were on my bus for the ride home from the game. The first time it happened, they all sat near me, and one of the girls, an overweight butch, said she heard I was ticklish. I just ignored her. Then the other girl, a tall awkward looking brunette, said “Yeah, I heard that too. You know, Tabitha, you did such a good job cheering, I think you deserve a little post-game tickle”. Then, the one of the boys, a short pimple-faced kid, said, “Yeah, let’s give Tabitha a little tickle. She’s earned it”.

The next thing I know, one of the other boys, a skinny red-headed nerd, pulls me out into the aisle and I land on my butt on the floor of the bus. Then, the two girls, who are sitting in the seats in front of where I land, each grab an ankle and hold it with an iron grip. As both of these girls were bigger than me, I didn’t have the strength to pull my legs free, so I reached up to grab something. That’s when the nerd and the pimple-faced kid each grabbed one of my arms and held on tight. I was totally immobilized. Then, I noticed the fifth member of the tickle crew, a very overweight boy, pull a small stool out and sit in the aisle facing the soles of my shoes. He was so big that the bus driver couldn’t see what they were doing to me. “I hear you got some really ticklish feet, Tabitha”, the fat boy said. “We just love tickling little cheerleaders, don’t we guys?” he said to his crew. “Let me go or I’ll scream”, I said. “I think we can fix that”, he said, as the nerd slapped a piece of athletic tape across my mouth. That’s when I knew I was at their mercy. All the other cheerleaders were near the front of the bus, and I knew none of the other band members would save me. I began to beg and plead through the athletic tape as the fat boy untied my sneakers and pulled them from my warm moist feet. “I know you have really cute feet, Tabitha”, he said, “And now we’re going to find out just how ticklish they are”.

With that, the fat boy grabbed my socks and stripped them from my feet. I could see his eyes brighten up as he gazed upon my soft, moist, bare feet. I could tell he really liked them and couldn’t wait to torture them. He grabbed one foot and turned it down to take a look at my blue painted toes and then turned it back up to look at my flawless bare sole. “Oh, we’re going to have lots of fun with you, aren’t we guys”, the fay boy said. “Oh yeah”, the pimple-faced boy said. As I looked up at him holding my arm, I could see he was just as enthralled with my feet as the fat boy was. The fat boy wasted no time and began running all five chubby fingers of each hand over my terribly sensitive soles. Having just come out of shoes and socks, my feet were especially vulnerable to this torment, and it showed with all my kicking, pulling, and thrashing to get free. It soon became obvious that I was too petite to break free and could only struggle in desperation as the sadistic fat boy tickled my poor feet to his heart’s delight. He must have done this a thousand times, because his touch was perfect, and I soon found myself in tears from the torment. Eventually, he took a break and let the two girls have some fun.

The tall brunette used her nails to dig under my toes, causing me to thrash my head back and forth hoping to lessen the sensations. Then, to my horror, I felt the overweight butch place the toes of my other foot in her mouth and begin to nibble on my toes. I couldn’t believe she would do that with my sweaty feet, but she got what she paid for, and everybody could see it in my reaction. The effect of her teeth on my tender toes was absolute torture. I have had my toes sucked before, but never nibbled. It was one of the most unbearably ticklish things that had ever been done to my tootsies. As she began to nibble my helpless toes, I let out a blood curdling scream that must have been heard by some of the cheerleaders up front. They started talking about what was happening to me, and then the bus driver told the kids to knock it off and let me go. I continued to scream as the butch finished feasting on my toes for a few more hellish seconds. Then, I heard a loud popping sound as she pulled my toes from her mouth. Everyone released their grip on me and the torture was over. I pulled the tape from my mouth, put my shoes and socks back on, and didn’t speak to anyone the rest of the way back to school. The butch told me they would get me again next week and make sure nobody heard me scream. I was terrified at the thought of another round of foot torture, and I made it a point to always sit in the front of the bus on the way home from games.

The tickle crew managed to get me two more times that year, when I had to sit in the back of the bus because the front seats were taken. One time they only managed to get me down to my socks and give me a quick tickle before the bus driver stopped them. The other time they only got one shoe and sock off, but that was enough, because the fat boy put my toes in his mouth and did the same thing to me the butch did. It was worse this time, because he got a good 30 seconds to nibble my poor toes before the bus driver slapped him with Saturday detention. That seemed to put a stop to this fiendish gang of ticklers.

High school wasn’t the end of my life as a tickle toy. Shortly after graduation, my dad remarried and my new step-mom’s brother and his family became a regular part of our lives. I soon learned that my step-uncle, his wife, and their two sons were all tickle fiends. I first learned about this when I met the family. I sat down on the couch with the two boys, both several years younger than me. They told me how much they loved having a babysitter, because they got to tickle her the whole time their parents were away. They told me their babysitter would complain to their dad, but he just thought it was all fun and games. They said their favorite thing was to tickle the girl’s feet until she agreed to let them stay up late and eat ice cream. They said this was a big deal, because their mom would tell the babysitter not to let them eat ice cream and would check the container to see if any was missing. So, the babysitter really didn’t want to agree to it and would put up a fight until she couldn’t take any more tickling. I asked them how many babysitters they’ve had in the past year, and they said maybe 3 or 4. That’s when I knew these kids were trouble, and so was their dad, for refusing to put a stop to this behavior. Luckily, this whole conversation occurred on one of those rare days when I was wearing socks and sneakers. I was very thankful I had put them on that morning. I certainly didn’t want these two little ticklers seeing my cute feet and getting any ideas. I remember telling my dad after they left, “They’re cute kids, but don’t ever ask me to baby sit them”.

Of course, I knew it was just a matter of time before the family saw my feet. They had a habit of stopping by the house at all hours and I knew they would catch me with my shoes off at some point. I remember the first time the family came over to the house when I was barefoot. It was really awkward. My step-uncle walked in, looked down at my bare feet, and became speechless. He tried to greet us, but I could tell his attention was elsewhere. The two boys walked in and headed straight for the TV, pausing only to notice my bare feet, which really got their attention for few seconds. Then my step-aunt walked in. She acted normal at first. Then she noticed her husband and looked down herself to see my bare feet, with freshly pained nails in blue. Then she gave me a hug saying, “my, my, doesn’t Tabitha have some pretty feet”. Then my dad said something that sealed my fate, “Yeah, that’s my Tabitha, cute ticklish feet”. Why did he have to bring up the word “ticklish”? He may as well have thrown me to the lions. When he said it, it seemed like every ear in the room perked up. My step-uncle stopped staring at my feet and looked me in the eye. The two boys stopped watching TV and looked at me. And my step-aunt smiled and said, “Well, isn’t that cute, ticklish little Tabitha”. I made no comment, as I wanted this conversation to end immediately. I said, “I need to go to my room and make a phone call”. I stayed in my room until the family left that night, but I knew it was just a matter of time before one of them tried to tickle me. I just wanted to put it off as long as I could.

A few weeks later the family got their wish. The two boys wanted their new cousin to go with them to the beach. I was reluctant to spend the whole day barefoot with these people, but I couldn’t think of a reason to say no, so I agreed. That turned out to be a very big mistake. The family came to pick me up at 10 AM. I was wearing a bikini with a long T-shirt over it and flip flops. I got in the back seat of their car. The two boys were sitting on either side of me and my step-uncle and step-aunt were sitting in the front seat. Everything went well at the beach. I swam with the boys and they tickled my feet a few times, but it didn’t tickle much in the water and they never got a good grip on me to tickle me for very long. On the beach, I made sure to keep my feet buried in sand, so they didn’t have access to my soles. They asked if they could bury me in the sand, but I knew better than to allow myself to be trapped like that, so I declined. Then, on the way home, it happened. We were seated the same way we came over. About 30 minutes into the ride, we ran into a big traffic jam on the freeway. We sat for about 5 minutes without moving when the boys started to poke me in the ribs and giggle. It didn’t tickle much, just enough to annoy me and tell them to stop. When the traffic came to a complete stop, my step-uncle said, “Hey I got a great idea to pass the time, “let’s tickle Tabitha’s feet”.

My step-aunt turned to her husband with a big grin and both of them reach back to grab my legs. I yelped and said, “No way, leave my feet alone”. I tried hard to keep my legs down, but between the boys poking my ribs and the couple tickling the backs of my legs, I ended up curling into a ball. That was the worst thing I could have done, because it allowed the couple to pull my feet through the space between the seats and onto the center console. My step-uncle quickly crossed my legs, so that the arches of my feet were facing outward, and then took a bath robe belt and tied my ankles together. He then took another bath robe belt and tied it from my ankles to an old CB radio frame mounted under the dash. I could not believe my eyes. These sick people were really serious. I couldn’t pull my legs back if I wanted to. The traffic started to move again, and the couple left me alone for a few seconds. My flip flops were still on my feet. I took this opportunity to beg them not to tickle me. I told them I couldn’t stand it and that I would pee on their car seat if they did it to me. They just laughed as the car came to another stop. “Get her mom and dad”, the boys said with glee.

My step-aunt took the initiative by plucking the flip flops from my feet. I still had sand on my toes and heels from walking to the car. She gently brushed the sand off my feet which tickled just enough for me to bite my lip. “Wow Tabitha, your feet are so soft. I’ll bet they’re really ticklish, aren’t they”, she said with an evil grin. “Let’s start off slow, shall we?” she said. Then my step-aunt began to very slowly and methodically drag one fingernail down the center of my sole. “No, Please, Don’t”, I screamed, jerking my bound feet and making the CB frame rattle as she hit my worst spot halfway through her journey down the sole of my foot. “Oh my, you really are ticklish, aren’t you”, she said. “Don’t worry, sweetie, I’ll go easy on you”, the woman said, “but as for my husband here, he shows no mercy, believe me, I know”. I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. Here I was, bound in a car with 4 people who wanted nothing more than to tickle my feet to death. “Let’s see if we can’t get the sand out from between your toes”, the woman said. She gripped my foot to where I couldn’t move it and began to dig between my toes with her fingernail. The effect was immediate, as I screamed and begged her to stop. Then the car erupted in laughter as my step-uncle and the two boys relished in my ticklish torment.

The woman continued until she had scraped most of the sand from between my toes. I was laughing and gasping for air the whole time, begging her to stop as often as I could. “See there, I didn’t even touch that tender spot on the bottom of your foot”, she said. My step-uncle was really enjoying the show, and I could tell he couldn’t wait to get his turn at my feet. The car had been creeping along throughout the torturous toe cleaning and now it had come to a complete stop again. “Okay, honey, its my turn, you watch the traffic”, said my step-uncle. The woman stopped leaning over my feet and sat back in her seat. Then, my step-uncle placed his hands on both my arches as they were facing out and completely accessible. He began softly caressing my arches an telling me how soft my feet were. But I knew what was coming. It didn’t take long before he was making little circles with his fingertips on the arches of my feet, causing me to squirm and giggle like a little girl. Then, he began scratching at my arches with his fingers, but still avoiding the use of his nails. I began to beg and thrash as he hit that special spot at the base of my arch along the center of my sole. “Oh please, please, don’t”, I said in total desperation.

“That’s it, isn’t it, sweetie”, he said, “That’s the spot”. “Yes, yes, please leave it alone, please don’t tickle it”, I said, hoping he would show some mercy. “Oh, I don’t think so, my dear”, the man said, as he reached into the glove box to retrieve a palm pilot. He removed the stylus from the palm pilot, grabbed the toes of one foot to hold it still and began to trace a line down the center of my sole. “Oh no, that’s unbearable”, I whimpered, begging him to stop. I tried to jerk my legs but they held fast, so all I could do was shake my head, squirm, laugh, cough, and beg him to stop the torture. He used the stylus on my for about 5 minutes, writing on different parts of my feet, the heels, the arches, the balls of my feet, between my toes, and my toe pads. He really concentrated on my toe pads, torturing them with the stylus until I released a loud cry of ticklish agony before moving to the next toe. After tickling all ten toes, he moved back to that weak spot at the base of my arch. I begged him to leave it alone and began to scream my head off as the stylus made contact with my tender flesh. Luckily he only got to stroke my sole three times before the traffic started to move again. “Saved by the bell”, he said, “your turn dear”.

“That blue nail polish looks really nice Tabitha”, my step-aunt said, “your toes just look so yummy”. “I think we should give them a taste, don’t you honey”, she said. “Absolutely”, the man said. I knew what they planned to do, and it terrified me. “Please leave my toes alone”, I said, “They’re dirty, you don’t want to taste them”. “Don’t worry”, the woman said, “we can fix that”. With that, the woman took out a bottle of hand sanitizer and squeezed the gel onto my toes. The cold gel made me jump. Then the woman started massaging the gel into the spaces between my toes, making me giggle and squirm slightly. Occasionally, she would let her fingernails make contact with the undersides of my toes and I would scream and jerk about, begging her to be careful. This delighted her to no end, as she would lull me back into a state of soft tickles before attacking me with those nails again. Eventually, the gel dried and my toes were more or less clean.

“Now lets see how they taste”, the woman said; “Honey, why don’t you take the first bite”. The car came to a stop again, and the man said, “I don’t know, this may tickle the poor girl to death”. “She’s a tough girl; she can take it”, said the woman. “No, don’t, please, I know what it feels like, its horrible”, I whimpered, hoping they would decide they had done enough. “Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle”, said the man as he wrapped both hands around my foot and slowly placed my thick toes in his mouth. At first, he just swirled his tongue around each toe, licking and slurping at it, tasting it like a lollypop. I squirmed in my seat, gritted my teeth, and begged him to stop when he hit especially sensitive places, like the webbing between my toes. “Wow, Tabitha, your toes are so soft and plump; I think these are some of the nicest toes I’ve ever had the pleasure of tasting”, he said. Then, he went for the kill and started gently biting my toes. He started at the base of each toe, biting his way up the toe to the toe pad, and they spending a good bit of time chewing on the pad of each toe. This was more than I could take. I began screaming and thrashing about, which only made it worse as the movement of my foot in his mouth only added to the torment. After finishing all ten toes, I was hacking and gasping for air. The tears came to my eyes after he was done with my first big toe, and they kept streaming down my face as he completed the torture. “No more, please, I beg you”, I said, with my hair matted to my face.

The man just ignored my pleas, as he instructed his wife to get the hand sanitizer. “Clean off the soles of her feet too, I want to taste those tender arches as well”, the man said. “Oh God, no”, I said, exhausted from the torture they had put me through. “Please, I can’t take anymore”, I said, as I began to cry. “Maybe she’s had enough honey”, the woman said. “Ok, looks like the traffic is starting to clear up anyway”, the man said. Then, he told his wife to grab the wheel and he placed his hands on both my feet and dug his nails into my arches. I began to buck and pull at the bindings, causing the CB frame to buckle and almost break off. I screamed with all I had left in my little body. “Stop it please, you’re torturing me”, I screamed. He continued for a few long and agonizing seconds, thoroughly torturing my arches with everything he had. Then, he stopped, gave my arches a rub, and told his wife to untie me. I was a wreck. I pulled my feet away from the sadistic couple into the back seat, and continued to cry silently as the traffic cleared and we continued home. My step-uncle and his family got me a few more times after that, but never as bad as that trip to the beach. Eventually, I moved out of my dad’s house, and didn’t have much contact with the evil family of ticklers after that.

I have other stories of being tickled, far less prolonged and torturous than those described here. Maybe one day I will piece them together. Until then, please be gentle with those really ticklish girls out there. It doesn’t take much to torture us. A little goes a long way. Give us some breaks, and show us some mercy. Maybe we’ll let you play with our feet more often if you show our tootsies a little compassion. Just a suggestion. Thanks for reading.
 
Loved it!

I loved this story! I love it when a popular girl is tickled by the nerds! Great story and please continue!
 
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