k here goes nothing

OK..... so anyway...




Once there where to girls AAAH SCREW IT BYE



really




There was a girl by the name of Stacey whos very ticklish then 1 girl tickled her sensless becuase she likes to tickle girls.. stacey screamed and beged but no use. she got ticklked and tickle and tickled for exactly about 10 mins.. LOL anyway when the girl was done tickling her she wanted revenge. what she did is tie her up and tickle her. she did everyhting to make her stop and it didnt work




the end REPLY


ISNT THAT THE BEST SOTRY UVE READ f/f

it's a little short

Seriously Now.....

Is this a joke?? Seriously, is it?? Im not trying to be a dick, but is it??

Nothing dramatic...

It's a hot, lazy Sunday noon in the small Western town of Nothing Gulch. Nothing moves, not even the hands of the old church clock. Nothing ever happens here anyway.

But suddenly Nothing attracts your attention: Nothing approaches with big steps, but nothing leaves something like footprints in the dust. You scent the perfume in the air as Nothing comes nearer and nearer. Now you can actually smell Nothing as Nothing walks by.

You've always followed the main rule of Nothing Gulch: see nothing, hear nothing, say nothing. Yet, this time Nothing shakes your confidence. Nothing painfully awakens your conscience. Nothing evokes your most secret emotions. Nothing tickles your fancy. You can feel it clearly: Nothing is going to leave you alone! Nothing enters the nostalgic stagecoach, and it leaves behind - nothing at all!

Under your breath, you mutter: "OK, so here goes Nothing…"

Isn't that what you had in mind, f/f?

Hal, where did that come from? that was great! except for the fact that the only thing to be tickled, is your fancy...

In all modesty, Ayla, that's how my own twisted brain works at 3am. No tickling, just a lot of nonsensical drivel...

longer, with more details

f/f said:

There was a girl by the name of Stacey whos very ticklish then 1 girl tickled her sensless becuase she likes to tickle girls.. stacey screamed and beged but no use. she got ticklked and tickle and tickled for exactly about 10 mins.. LOL anyway when the girl was done tickling her she wanted revenge. what she did is tie her up and tickle her. she did everyhting to make her stop and it didnt work

the end REPLY


ISNT THAT THE BEST SOTRY UVE READ f/f

Click to expand...

While your ideas are good, you need to add more details. I would flesh it out like this:

(disclaimer: Stacey and Terry are both over 18 years old)

There was a girl by the name of Stacey who was very ticklish. Her friend Terry knew this, and planned to take advantage of it, because Terry just loved to tickle young women. She really loved it.

So one day when Stacey was just lying on her stomach on the floor, watching TV, Terry pounced on her, sitting on the small of her back. She began by digging her fingers under Stacey's arms, poking and poking with her nails. This caused Stacey to shriek and struggle, but she could not dislodge Terry.

When Stacey screamed and begged for mercy, Terry just switched to her ribs, kneading the ribs with her thumbs, as Stacey laughed and laughed, until tears began to flow down her cheeks.

Then Terry reached back and grabbed one of Stacey's ankles, pulling her leg up, so that she could scratch her pretty pink sole with her nails. She kept it up until Stacey was tickled senseless. After ten minutes, she finally got up, leaving Stacey still giggling on the floor.

"That was fun. Got you good," said Terry.

-----------------------------------------------

Stacey wanted her revenge, and planned for it. Two days later, she snuck into Stacey's house, and, while she was asleep, managed to tie Terry's wrists together, and then to the headboard. Terry woke up with Stacey sitting on her legs, tying her ankles together. With Terry now helpless, she proceeded to tie her legs together at the knees also, and then tie her ankles to the footboard of the bed.

Stacey grinned at her captive, who was tied to the bed, clad only in her thong panties.

"Payback is a bitch," remarked Stacey, as she began to poke rhythmically into Terry's armpits.

Over the next hour, Terry begged and pleaded, promised to do anything, howled and shrieked, and sobbed that she was sorry, but nothing that she did could stop Stacey, who explored every inch of her luscious skin. Stacey noted all of her ticklish spots, and went back to them again and again. Her pretty feet turned out to be a very productive area, and Stacey found that rubbing them with a plastic comb was devastating. Nothing that Terry did worked, and Stacey went on and on, tickling to her heart's content.

"Revenge is sweet," said Stacey, as she gave poor Terry a rest after one hour, "but I'm not done yet. In fact, I've barely started."

The End

Details make the story more vivid. Hope that you don't mind my writing a longer version.

Bizkid

Biscuit said:

You people are just entirely too strange. (I expect that kind of thing from Ayla, but you?? Really!)

Click to expand...

Thanks for comparing me with Ayla, that's quite a compliment for me!

Anyway, beware the conspiration of artsy-fartsy people like us...

lol ...pathetic i know but o well LOL

Oh come now

What's she going to do? Paint me? Oh, the horror!

Throw Espresso beans at me while wearing birkenstocks and a tie-die shirt? I'll live.

Somehow, I don't think the artistic sect is very intimidating.

Hal, thank you! I consider it a compliment myself. and please ignore the BS kit (beginning to understand how he earned that name) he really has a bad case of hippy envy. poor dear...

still working on that dreamcatcher of sticks and rainbow yarn for ya, Biscuit.

and I would NEVER, ever throw an espresso bean! *gasp* never! wield a paintbrush..? well, maybe...

HEHE well second time bad wont be third

I THINK!












lol----------f/f

Stacey was fed by obsession. She felt the 'itch' deep inside of her; gnawing away at her. She couldn't understand how another could look at the sight of a bare foot dangling the tip of a sandal could be left, unwatched. She coldn't understand why all eyes wouldn't turn to see the pretty young girl in the booth at the diner lift her bare arms up and pile her long, blond hair on top of her head; leaving her underarms, smooth and silky, exposed. And she also couldn't understand why eyes didn't turn when the bare torso was exposed when Naomi, her friend at school, reached up high to paste the current grades on the wall.

The Tickle. The Tickle Urge had crippled her at times. Dark and ominous, it gnawed at her between her legs when she saw exposed and ticklish skin.

As for Stacey, she was beyond ticklish. The slightest brush against her toes made her erupt in shrill giggles. A slight nudge by the tip of someone's book against her ribs caused her to collapse into laughter. She would daydream at times, in class, running her knuckle up and down the inside of her bare arm and begin to laugh spontanteously. This sometimes caused embarrassment.

Stacey was Preditor and Prey. But this night she was going to experience both by someone named Terry.

***

My attempt...

Max

hey, "f/f",....

Where you from, anyway??

MAX THATS COOOl thats very good better then mine.. and i dont say were im from!











GO! Max

and...?! Max, don't stop there!!! I mean, please continue.

(Terry can be a man's name too... right?)

Submitted for your approval...

The Hot to Trot Lounge was not quite a titty bar, and not quite a dungeon. It was more like a sexual playhouse. There were girls in glass booths, the old fashioned viewing windows which rose at the drop of a quarter...and of course, there were the back rooms. For the right price, one of the intrepid ladies in the club's employ would take you in a back room and torture you however you liked.

The lifeblood of the place was the girls. Under the watchful eye of Stacy, the owner, the girls were encouraged to explore their sexual selves as much as they pleased, as long as customers' needs were met.

Terry was a quiet one. She'd been at the Hot to Trot for a year and a half, and all anyone knew about her was that she came from Philadelphia, and had been to college for a while. Subsequently, Stacy was caught off guard when Terry approached her after the weekly employee meeting.

"Ummm, Stacy? I have an idea for the back room and I wonder if you'd be interested."

"Sure Terry. Let's here it." Stacy held her breath for a second. You had to watch out for the quiet ones.

Terry's words came out in a stream.
"I would like to take the idea of the glory hole and change it around so that instead of sticking the cock through, the customer could stick his feet through." It sounded rehearsed (perhaps because it was), but there was a certain clarity to Terry's delivery.

"Well, ok, but what do you do to the feet?"

"Whatever the customer wants. Probably tickling, or maybe licking."

"I don't know," Stacy replied, wrinkling her impossibly pert nose. "The tickle guys are sort of weird, don't you think?"

"No weirder than the ones who want to get peed on." Terry had a great, wry voice. On the merit of her intonation alone, she sounded smarter than anyone in the place.

Stacy creased her brow, while Terry concentrated on the crease and wondered when Stacy would start Botox injections.

"Sure, what the hell," Stacy said, with a breezy wave. "I'll trust you to organize and do any training. You've had experience with this?"

"In a manner of speaking." In her mind, Terry saw the fleeting vision of the laundry detergent commercial, with all the socked feet sticking through holes in a giant wall. The red-haired spokeswoman tickled a few of them. Even in childhood, Terry had wondered what sounds came from behind that wall...

___________________________________________________

Four weeks later, the project was finished. Holes cut, drywall patched, special seats cobbled together; it was a remarkably low-tech set-up. Stacy gave it the fish-eye every time she passed it. It was bad enough she was trying to compete with the internet and the cybersex outfits. Now this?

Because she harbored so many doubts, Stacy didn't advertise the "footsie holes." Word of mouth from the girls to the customers would be enough for now.

Terry, meanwhile, had blossomed into a full-fledged project manager. Armed with drawings and a makeshift cardboard model, she got the contractor rolling on the job within days of the green-light. She assured all the girls at the Hot to Trot that there would be training; "just let me make sure the first few tricks run smoothly."

The inaugural use of the footsie holes took place, inauspiciously, at noon on a Thursday. A nice customer, a regular; he was a middle-aged guy who never tried to touch the girls or talk filthy to them. Always respectful, even a little grateful.

Stacy accompanied Terry back to the holes -- Stacy thought she, the owner, should bear witness to the popping of this particular cherry. Sticking out of the wall were two pale feet. They were well cared for, as men's feet went. They certainly didn't look like they'd be attached to the pudgy, balding party behind the wall.

Terry, in the meantime, was trembling. She would stop whatever she was doing, as a kid, to watch that detergent commercial. She remembered the butterflies she got when the ladies nails flicked against a foot. She gently brought her mind back to the present, determined to give the customer what he couldn't get anywhere else.

While Stacy leaned against the wall next her, Terry laid the pads of her fingers on the tops of the bare feet. She did nothing but stroke a little; the toes were already exhibiting a mild twitch. Terry alternated hands as she stroked the tops of the feet. One hand stroked with the pads of her fingers, the other scratched delicately with her nails. Stacy heard cooing from the other side of the wall.

Terry was constantly gentle, never digging in or scratching too hard. Instead, she drew her fingertips and nails over the soles of the poor man's feet. They were twitching outright. But that's not what made Terry's hands tremble; it was the giddy, high-pitched laughter issuing from the back room. Her ticklee bounced from a lusty giggle to a belly laugh, to "who-hoo" sounds, according to where his feet were being tickled.

A sweat had broken out on Terry's forehead; odd, for what little effort she was exerting. Stacy couldn't help but stare at the transfixed tickler. Terry's eyes hung half-shut. Breath after quivering breath, her skin flushed in deeper shades of red. When the customer yelled out, "Oh my God, she's tickling my feet! She's tickling the bottoms of my feet!" Terry's knees began to buckle. Stacy stepped in to catch her, and in doing so, caught the scent of arousal coming off of her employee.

"You're hot," Stacy whispered. Terry could only nod. "Oh my God, you have a tickling fetish." Again, the nod. "This gets you off..."

"Yes, alright?" Terry spat through clenched teeth. Her heart raced. She had goosebumps. And all the while, her charge laughed hysterically at the sensations coming from his soles.

Stacy herself found the laughter compelling. It was uncontrolled and quite loud, and the customer made no attempt to hide it. He positively screamed at one point. And he always repeated a few phrases, like "She's tickling my feet...oh God, and my toes! Oh I can't stand the tickling! I can't stand the tickling!"

Both women were aroused. The newly-converted Stacy sidled up as close to Terry as she could get, and reached under the tickler's skirt. Terry's **** had soaked the tops of her thighs. Stacy began her own tickling session over the curls of her employee's pubic hair.

Terry leaned forward and pressed her forehead into the wall. The butterflies had moved from her stomach to her pussy, and they were flapping their wings against her lips. The customer's hepless, gasping, crying laughs reverberated through the room. They were loud enough to drown out her moans.

"You like to be tickled," Stacy whispered. "Why didn't you tell anybody? We would have tickled you wherever you wanted."

"No. I wanted this...I wanted..." Terry never finished the sentence. There was no way she could have. In awesome synchronicity, the customer's toes flexed and spread reflexively, pre-orgasmically. Warmth spread downward from Terry's belly. There was her own burning tickle, ready to come out.

"Oh God it tickles Oh God Oh My God!"

"Oh...oh...oh fuck I'm there..."

The two of them heaved and pitched, undulated and quivered. Everyone's toes curled. Sweat tinged the air.

"Fuck," came the exhausted voice from behind the screen.

Drenched, kneeling, spent, with her forehead now pressing into the balls of her victim's feet, all Terry could say was, "Yeah."

*************************************************
Sorry for the length. I got carried away.