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Coming to his senses (m/f) Part Two

Travis

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Sep 22, 2001
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It was right what they said, Jack thought, it definitely did help to get a new perspective on things.
The trick was not to let yourself get carried away, he told himself. The erection in his pants screamed at him to do just that, but Jack had always prided himself on his self control. In fact, with his habitual shyness, Jack had elevated self-control – even if normally it were not with his own consent, but out of fear – to the level of an art form. But as he stood there, the glasses over his eyes showing the full depth of ticklishness in his local community for the first time, the knowledge he had fantasised about since moving here lay out in front of his eyes like some decadent smorgasbord of fetishist fun. It was enough to make him feel almost nauseous with excitement, so ecstatic was he at this new discovery that had within it the power to make all his meagre dreams come true. For he could see, at a glance, just how ticklish any girl he looked at was, and most importantly where. It was his heaven, surely.
“Jack, are ya gonna close the door, or are you gonna stand their all day and let the cold in?!” Jack started from his reverie, closing the door and seeking out the source of the order.
It was Shannon, captain of the female soccer team, an imposing but not unattractive presence throughout much of Jack’s scholarly time here. At six feet she was a good few inches taller than Jack himself, and forever clad in the black and white tracksuit she seemed to wear at all times. It could be said that this was because Shannon spent more time playing soccer than she did attending classes, or even sleeping, and her taut, fit body was testament to this. She was tall and lean, strong but feminine, and despite her toughness and often callous ribbing of him, Jack had always harboured something of a secret crush toward her. As he cast his newly endowed vision upon her, Jack’s heart leapt.
In typical fashion, Shannon had taken a whole couch to herself, her impressive figure reclining with her long legs dangling partly over the edge of the armrest. In the oppressive heat she had discarded the tracksuit top and wore a white t-shirt, but she still bore the pants. Her runners and gym socks had been discarded and lay near the foot of the couch, below her large bare feet which dangled in mid air above them.
And best of all, with his glasses on he could see that this tower of strength, the woman he had admired lustily even when in awe of her was quite a bit more ticklish than her demeanour and poise would have led him to believe. Jack was so busy contemplating the coloured form in front of him that he didn’t notice the person behind until they had reached up and pulled the glasses from his face.
Jack spun around, his sudden terror welling up. It was only Jennifer though, kind of the unofficial clown around the building. He should have known – one of her oldest jokes to play on him was to steal his glasses, in the manner of bad comedians everywhere. However the special properties of these glasses led to him to try and get them back, when normally he would have waited for Jen to get bored like she inevitably would.
Through his short-sighted mist he could see Jen grinning evilly like a little pixie, all five and a half feet of her dashing to the other side of the room as he tried to grab her unsuccessfully. Jack panicked. He needed those glasses, now for more than just comfortable vision. He could hear her laughing, and the whole room joining in, even the hoarse chuckle of Shannon he had so looked forward to extracting in quite another context.
He rushed over to where Jen stood, but she quickly jumped up onto an empty couch, holding the glasses above her head so he upon the ground could not dream of reaching them. The not so classic joke itself.
At this point, Jack would normally be too shy, his eyes burning with shame, to do anything. And he certainly wouldn’t have touched Jen, his embarrassment being sure to multiply. But Jack had endured a subtle change since his brief time with the glasses, and it was with a sense of glee that he proceeded to slip his hands up under the soft cotton t-shirt Jen wore and playfully tickled her bare tummy.
Jen shrieked, and Jack smiled – even without his mysterious glasses he could tell that this comedienne was very ticklish.
He begun tickling harder, in earnest, and even from his position he could see the look of panic on Jennifer’s face. The role reversal was not lost on him. After her initial outburst Jen had tried to steady herself, and was fighting back the laughter, mouth clamped shut but eyes already tearing up, and a kind of reluctant grin playing across her small features.
It seemed like seconds before she was lying unevenly on the couch, no longer joking above him but writhing ticklishly under his own fingers, still not having quite given in to the laughter, but nevertheless feeling the urge. A few tortured giggles escaped from her lips, and he noticed she had grabbed both his wrists with her tiny hands in a futile attempt to fend him off. This meant she was no longer holding the glasses, but Jack was too wrapped up to worry about even them for the next few minutes.
He brought his hands round to her sides and underarms, and Jen simply lost it. Her face was already red from the effort of holding in her laughter, her eyes filled with tears, but as he begun gently stroking the soft flesh of her upper body she could not endure the ticklish agony any longer and exploded into the sweetest staccato laughter Jack could have imagined.
It was not without a certain cruel irony. The girl who so often used Jack as the butt of her stupid jokes, eliciting laughter from her colleagues at his expense and embarrassment, was now powerless to control the hysterical laughter that he was drawing from her with the mere touch of his fingertips. And he knew, most hilariously, that this was to her as embarrassing as anything she had ever done to him in the past. Jack grinned. The powerful comedienne reduced to a hysterical mess. If he hadn’t been so turned on he’d be laughing at Jen along with the others in the room.
Besides her t-shirt Jen wore only a pair of tight-fitting shorts, and as such it was her definite mistake when, in her struggles, she ceased trying to stop his arms and instead brought her feet up to kick at him, trying to push him away from her ticklish body.
Of course, this would only make matters worse. Jack stopped tickling her torso and slid down off of her, much to her relief. But this was short-lived as Jack stopped his descent at the other end of the couch, and begun to tickle her bare legs and girlish knees with as much abandon as he had her reserved for her stomach and under arms.
If Jen had been very ticklish on her upper body, her legs were truly off the scale. His precise strokes and squeezes down there were enough to bring her to hysterics at the first touch. She thrashed wildly, trying to get away, but her efforts were futile and Jack tickled her until she was unable to form the words even to curse at him and scream at him to stop.
He did stop, but only for a second, because Jack had of course saved his favourite for last. He watched her slowly regain her composure, and stop laughing, exhausted. And just as she seemed about to say something, he ran his fingers up the bare sole of her right foot. Jennifer nearly hit the roof, uttering a squeal that was as comical as it was arousing. In an instant, Jack had seized both of her ankles and was ‘conducting’ his symphony across both bare feet at once. This was enough to remove any last shred of self-control the terribly ticklish joker possessed, and her tortured hysterics became a cackle, something deep and unrestrainable that burst from her mouth like the reluctant yammering of her soul. She laughed like Jack had never heard anyone laugh before, and then stopped, as if the power of making noise was too much for someone so tickled to endure, and she laughed silently.
Jen’s feet were small and soft, uncalloused and seemingly as sensitive as they would be had she never walked on them before. She almost always wore shoes, but the extreme heat of this summer had led her to forgo them in favour of bare feet like everyone else. This was to her detriment. Unused to almost any sensation upon her bare soles - and utterly ticklish as she was everywhere - her pretty bare feet became the focal point of her entire ticklish being. Each stroke upon the smooth and sensitive flesh of her soles was truly maddening, a button that once pressed seemed to connect straight to her laugh response and elicited the wildest, frenzied laughter she had ever heard coming out of herself. Jen was also not the kind of person who had been tickled often after her early teens, choosing instead to make others laugh all the more willingly. But Jack’s tickling assault was an apprenticeship that made up for all of that.
Jack was thoroughly enjoying himself, and he only stopped as the foot tickling became too much for his tortured victim and she emptied her bladder in one final fit of hysterics. She stammered some words of apology to Jack and then sprinted barefoot out of the room, cheeks burning with embarrassment, accompanied by the laughter of everyone else in the lounge. Jack almost felt sorry for her, but then he remembered all the similar times she had left that impression on him, and he felt vindicated.
He sat there feeling smug for the first time in his life, as those around him slowly went back to what they had been doing before the show had commenced. He could still hear the occasional remark about what had happened, conversations on the subject of the tickling that had taken place erupting around him, and Jack felt once again like he was living his own fantasy.
Noticing his glasses lying a few feet from the couch, he ducked down quickly to retrieve them, and was inspecting them for any sign of damage (thankfully, they were intact) when the floor directly ahead of his face was suddenly filled with two pairs of pretty female feet. His first instinct was not too look up and see who they belonged to, but to slip on his glasses and check them out with the full supernatural scrutiny afforded to him. The feet were quite different – one pair was quite fair, and long and thin, with black nail polish. This could only be Elena, the resident fem-Goth, and he was quite amused to find that such beautifully ‘gothic’ feet were, under the harsh light of tickle glass, quite red around the soles and toes – denoting extreme ticklishness.
The other pair was smaller, and tanned. Nails unpolished (just the way Jack preferred them, really) and seemingly highly pedicured, though neither of the feet could be said to be the worse for wear. Both were beautiful to Jack, in their own way, and his enthusiasm was only increased as he noted that these feet too were highly ticklish all over.
“Jack?”
He stood up, and took in the full persons that stood before him for the first time. It was indeed Elena, thin and pale but beautiful, even in this heat she still wore black and the barest hint of mascara. It amused Jack to see a self-proclaimed Goth even going barefoot, as uncharacteristic as it seemed, and knowing that her long, thin, exquisite feet were delightfully ticklish only heightened the irony.
The owner of the other feet he recognised now as Nicole, the New Caledonian exchange student who had been ribbed mercilessly by Jennifer due to her accent and what she perceived to be enormous wealth. Looking at Nicole now you could not help but think she had a point, even standing barefoot in tremendous heat and wearing only a summer dress Nicole still looked every inch a perfect princess. Her hands were manicured, her makeup and hair impeccable, even the simplicity of her dress hinted at the kind of money one only found amongst the truly wealthy. She had never worked a day in her life, and her dark beauty had the kind of effect on men that would mean she never would have to. Jack was in awe of her, even to a greater extent than he was with most of the other girls here, and so taken by her presence he almost (but not quite) failed to notice the great swathes of red that cut across her person. According to the glasses this girl, quite rightly so considering her ‘soft’ upbringing, was excruciatingly ticklish over her entire body. Jack’s head swam. Something tugged at him, and he realised Elena was speaking.
“…just wanted to say how cool that was. It’s about time someone took that little bitch down a peg or too. She’s been picking on us since the moment she came here, isn’t that right Nicole?”
“Oui”, the darker girl said pretentiously, and Jack could see simultaneously just why someone would tease her and why he would, at this moment, kill anyone that did if she asked him too.
“Guess she got a taste of her own medicine today, eh? You’re a legend, Jack.” Elena finished.
“She’s a little wuss!” This was from Shannon, still lying lazily upon one of the couches behind them. Jack turned.
“Fancy, she thought she was so tough and she gets done in by a little tickling. What a little square!”
“Yeah, maybe..” the two girls muttered and shuffled off.
Jack, however, went and sat by Shannon. “You think so?”
The bigger girl laughed viciously. “Of course.” She rolled over on to her front, dismissively. “Only babies are ticklish. Not real women!”
Jack grinned at the insinuation, because his glasses told a different story. From his position at the foot of the couch, he had a full uninterrupted view of the bigger girl’s bare feet. Having rolled onto her stomach to focus on the television, her knees were now pressed downwards, and her shins and onward lay comfortably through the armrest. Thus, her feet were so positioned that they stuck out into space, soles upturned. It was a tickler’s dream.
“Are you saying you’re not ticklish?” Jack hazarded, plan forming in his head already.
“Of course I’m not ticklish, I’m a fully grown woman, not a little girl like Tickles over there was.” Shannon was only half listening to him, her attention now bent on the television and whatever it was that was playing. Jack couldn’t register anything but the legs laid out before him, and the wonderful feet that seemed mere inches from his face. He stood up.
“Well, in that case, this shouldn’t bother you then.” And before she could even ask what he was doing, he had sat down upon her shins, and begun furiously tickling the bottoms of her bare feet in all the little places the glasses assured him were as red, and thus as ticklish, as any bit of flesh in that room.
Shannon had half-assembled some kind of witty retort, but whatever it was it was lost on the tip of her tongue as the athletic beauty, much to her surprise, begun to giggle like a schoolgirl. Jack smirked as he tickled her faster. She was obviously very ticklish, but her size and status meant that tickling was hardly something that many people would dare to try on her. She might even believe she wasn’t ticklish, though the laughing mess she was quickly becoming displayed copious evidence to the contrary.
Shannon’s feet were big, but feminine, her soles much softer than he had expected, most likely due to a lifetime of being cooped up within athletic running shoes. Her feet were strong, but nonetheless sensitive, and he had her almost crying with laughter within a minute of his assault.
She was furiously trying to pull her legs out of his grasp, but she was so tall and her position so tentative on the small couch that she was rendered immobile by her own height, and could only buck furiously, her strength enough to rock Jack but not dissuade him from his tickling task.
Under nothing more than the gentle stroking of his fingers, Jack had rendered the huge Amazonian beauty a giggling, teary wreck, brought down by her over-confidence. There was a certain poetry to that, he thought.
And as he teased the soft flesh of her feet with his entire tickling libido, he once again found himself thinking just how lucky he was. Shannon began to laugh hysterically, her toes wiggling as he tormented the bare soles, as if to try and throw him off with their sheer will.

It was later, and his energies spent on a day of enthusiastic tickling, Jack returned to his dorm room a new man. After years of fantasising, he had just tickled more girls in a few hours than he had in his whole lifetime. His life had, in the course of one day, changed completely, his sexual repression now a joy rather than a crutch.
As he opened the door and stepped into the darkened room his mind was full of all the possibilities, and as such he barely noticed the disarray his place was in. He did, however, hear the sultry female voice that spoke to him from the other side of the room, and said what he most feared at that point. He spun around mid sentence, and tried to take in the shadowy female figure sitting across from him. When she spoke, it was in an American accent.
“So,” she said. “so you’re the son of a bitch who stole my glasses?”

(To be continued?)
 
Bravo !

This is extremely fresh and well written. It could become one of my favorites.
 
nice job!

hey man. nice job on the story. very well writen. please write more, i liked it.

good job!:D
 
I love those glasses! This is a GREAT story you've got going, Travis. Please do continue! Please, please, please!

BTW, would you mind separating the paragraphs in your next addition? No big deal, the story is awsome, but it just makes it a little easier on the eyes. I'd read it either way, thanks for posting! :)
 
excellent

In the few stories you've posted, you've become one of my favorite writers. I hope there are more--there must be, right?
 
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