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This actually might happen (MF/F feet, UB extreme)

Horatio

TMF Master
Joined
Aug 31, 2002
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Hey - this might actually happen. I would never be this sadistic in real life - would I??

*****************************************

“I can’t believe I agreed to this”, Pam complained.

Pam looked first at me, then to Brandy, looking for one of us to let her off the hook. We looked at each other, and Brandy said, “A deal’s a deal. Jack kept up his end…”

“Oh, my God. Okay, what am I supposed to do?”, Pam said resignedly.

Pam is slender and very tall; well over six feet. Funny and shy until you get to know her, Pam was blessed (or cursed) with being the most ticklish person I’ve ever met. So why she agreed to be tickled in exchange for a girls weekend with my girlfriend is beyond comprehension, but I wanted to enjoy it, and my girlfriend Brandy is completely supportive.

I had plenty of time to think of what I wanted, and I spelled it out to Pam. “Okay, you have to lay on the couch, while Brandy and I tickle you for ten minutes.” I looked at Pam for any reaction – ten minutes is a lifetime to be tickle tortured I knew. Pam raised an eyebrow, shrugged and nodded like she didn’t think it would be that bad.

“Okay, Pam, go ahead and lay on the couch on your back. Hang your feet over the arm.”, I directed. Pam did as she was told. Brandy looked at me amused.

Now this was the part I had agonized over. To truly tickle torture her, I needed to tie her wrists and then her arms over her head. I had nice restraints I could use, but I didn’t want it to be too creepy; I wanted it to appear spontaneous. I paused for a moment. “I’ll be right back”, I said and went into my bedroom and returned with a couple of neckties.

Pam looked at me incredulously, “What are you going to do with those?” she asked. I didn’t answer her, instead addressed Brandy. “Brandy, tie her wrists together, and then tie them up to the leg of the couch there.

“I’m sorry, Pam. See what I have to put up with?”, Brandy half-complained. The girls giggled as Brandy tied first Pam’s wrists together, and then using the other tie, tied them far over her head, back over the arm of the couch to the leg. In the meantime, I had turned my attention to Pam’s feet.

She was wearing flip-flops, and had recently had a pedicure. Her toes were red, which I prefer to the French she usually does. For as tall as she was her feet actually are very pretty. Not bony at all, no bunions, and probably at least as size 11. I actually was happy that she didn’t kick her flip-flops off when she laid on the couch, cause I got to pull them off, which I did slowly with much relish. I threw a couch cushion over the top of her ankles so it wouldn’t hurt her when someone was sitting on top of them.

I was ready to begin her tickle torture. I knew her ribs were astonishingly ticklish; a few months before we were all drunk and I had pounced on her, giving her a 5 or 10 second rib tickling, and she had immediately screamed with laughter and went limp, unable to defend herself. I stopped then, mostly out of shock, and I wondered now how she could possibly take ten minutes, but I would be overjoyed to find out.

“Brandy, go sit on the arm of the couch, on that pillow on her ankles.” Brandy had nice long nails (at my insistence - and expense) and I knew she knew how to use them. I was kind of bummed I wouldn’t actually see her nails flying over Pam’s long soles, but I would have my turn also.

I straddled Pam’s hips on the couch. I wanted her ribs bad. They were completely exposed, as were her underarms in her white tank top. “Brandy, I’m going to start on her ribs, then when I tell you, you start ticking her feet”. I really wanted to make her absolutely nuts, and then have Brandy kick her into outer space.

I looked at Pam, smiled at her, and said, “Okaaaaayyyyy….” And then wiggled my fingers at her ribs. She completely lost it. “Noooooooooo!!”, Pam shouted, and began bucking like crazy to get us off. She screamed with laughter.

“Brandy, I haven’t even touched her yet!, I yelled over the din.

“Oh, my God, she is so ticklish!”, Brandi answered.

I figured as long as she was already hysterical, I may as well get started. I began tickling her ribs, very gently tickling from her hips to almost her breasts and back. Pam screamed and fought and laughed. I dashed up into her armpits and gently spidered my fingertips there as the poor girl thrashed her head back and forth, completely hysterical with laughter.

“Coochy, coochy coo, tickle tickle”, I taunted in a singsong voice, thinking it would add to her agony, but then I realized that there was no way to possibly laugh any harder than Pam was laughing right now. Then, after about a minute, I remembered Brandy at her feet, long nails poised to send Pam directly to the depths of Hell. “Get her, Brandy!”

I felt Pam lurch beneath me, and then completely surrender. She fell into the depths of silent laughter, her mouth so wide open, her eyes screwed shut, her long body spasming. My voice was the only on in the room, continuing the tickle-taunting. “Hey Brandi, how many ribs do people have?”, I asked with fake sincerity.

“I don’t know”, Brandy answered. “Is she still alive?”

Although Pam was still in silent laughter, she managing to breathe still. “She’s fine”, I lied, “keep tickling her. Try pulling her toes back and tickling the balls of her feet.”

I turned my attention back to her ribs. I started at the bottom of her prominent ribcage. “2… 4… 6… 8” I counted, squeezing each one as I went up. Pam was shaking her head back and forth slowly as she continued to laugh silently. Occasionally , she expelled a little staccato guffaw as the last air in her lungs was forced out with laughter. Quite simply, she had to be the most ticklish woman on the planet. Now I wanted those feet.

I got off of her, and walked to the foot of the couch. To my delight, Brandy continued tickling her feet, so I kneeled down so Pam’s soles were at my eye level and enjoyed the show. Brandy had Pam’s toes pulled back on her left foot, and was dancing her nails slowly all over her sole. And what a canvas to work with. Pam’s feet were the biggest I’d ever seen. Her soles were snowy white, and she had a nice high arch. I glanced over Brandy’s shoulder to see how the feet-only attack was working, and was pleased to see Pam was still insane with laughter. Brandy went back and forth, from foot to foot, pulling her toes back and continuing with the same slow, maddening technique.

“Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful, Brandy.” I marveled. “you ready to swap?”

Brandy nodded and jumped off the couch arm. We both took our places. “Everything works up there, Brandi. Everything”, I said helpfully.

Pam was still laughing softly. I have a major foot fetish, and was going to relish my time with these beauties. Pam’s feet, so still underneath me, suddenly came to life, toes curling, feet flexing. I looked over my shoulder and realized Brandy had started her turn at Pam’s ribs and underarms. I went to work on her feet.

I explored every square inch of her feet. I tickled everywhere – her heels, toes, under her toes – everywhere. Her feet were amazingly soft. After a couple of minutes, I grabbed the hairbrush I had laid on the coffee table for just this reason. Then I pulled her toes back, and gently brushed the stiff plastic bristles on the balls of her feet.

Pam tried mightily to clench her toes, but I was stronger, and the brush never stopped its work. Back and forth, over and over, I dragged the bristles from underneath her toes to the very start of her arch and back again. I went back and forth from foot to foot, the brush never venturing from the balls of her completely helpless feet. Pam had stopped struggling by now.

“How much time left, Jack?”, Brandi asked, obviously concerned.

“Let’s do 30 more seconds of our best. Say coochy coochy coo as we finish her off”

Brandy began taunting a nearly unconscious Pam, “Kitchy Kitchy Coo, Pam? Does this tickle? Does this tickle? Right here?...”

As Brandy was unleashing her most diabolical tickling on Pam’s upper body, I scrubbed away on the balls of her feet.

Finally, I decided it was time to let her off the hook. I stood up, as did Brandy, and we looked at our handiwork on the couch. Pam was laughing quietly still, her face shiny with sweat. I could now see why people refer to a tickle victim as a “pool of jelly” because that’s what she was.
 
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