JoePTickle
1st Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Nov 30, 2011
- Messages
- 1,035
- Points
- 36
I spotted a massage therapist who advertised reflexology services in town, and set up a 45 minute session with her.
She looked just like her picture, and stood a full six feet tall.
Her room was a curtained-off segment of the heated basement of a cozy old house. It offered plenty of privacy, safely well below and out of earshot of the bustle of the rest of the spa one floor above.
The sounds of surf, fragrant aroma, and candle-lit aura gave it the feel like we were the only two people on some moonlit island paradise.
My eyes were closed for most of the time, although she had supplied me with a pillow to prop up my head. Without trying to be obvious, I could glimpse her kneeling eye-level at my feet. Her hands warmed up quickly, her technique was strong and gentle and soothing.
The combination of the stress being rhythmically caressed away tenderly through my toes and arches, and the rising effectiveness of the table warmer beneath me, had my whole body tingling. She was bubbly and social, her voice was breezy and light.
This is too perfect, I thought. I've got to try to get her to tickle me or I'll regret it as long as I live.
My anticipation grew as I waited for just the right moment to ask. I scripted the dramatic question in my mind and began to replay it, to get it just right.
The final two minutes of the massage felt like... ten... and then...
...at last, the telltale slow-down tapping of her fingers across the top of my foot. In mere moments she would cover it with the sheet and step away from the table, opportunity lost.
Now or never. Deep, measured breath.
"Hey, if you wouldn't mind... would you tickle them for a little while once you're done, maybe for like 30 seconds? I like to laugh at the end a little bit..."
Perfect delivery.
Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heart. Beat.
A delighted giggle. "Sure!" she said, as if I'd offered her a million dollars.
The tapping stopped. An eternal second passed.
Nails gliding down my left arch. Then another set. And back up, slowly.
I held my feet in place but started to laugh and sway softly, but so that she could hear.
This was incredible. My mind was spinning.
And then, magically, it got infinitely better.
She attacked! As if she were determined to make me beg, she started scribbling her nails eagerly all over my left sole and up into my toes. Her other hand joined the assault, dancing all around. I gasped in surprise, barely able to keep from screaming.
I felt the breeze of her swiftly removing the sheet from my right foot, as she turned the intensity of ten nails all over it. I started grunting, twisting, flexing.
Then she was crawling over both of my soles together, overloading whatever resistance I had left. My chest was heaving with stifled laughter, my mind exploding from the erotic buzz of the massage and the amazement of her beautiful tickling fiendishness.
When she finally stopped, I caught a dizzy, smiling breath.
"Wow, you are REALLY good at that. Sigh. Thank you."
She laughed with a wide, satisfied smile.
"Sure!"
She got a massive tip. And a follow-up appointment in four weeks.
She looked just like her picture, and stood a full six feet tall.
Her room was a curtained-off segment of the heated basement of a cozy old house. It offered plenty of privacy, safely well below and out of earshot of the bustle of the rest of the spa one floor above.
The sounds of surf, fragrant aroma, and candle-lit aura gave it the feel like we were the only two people on some moonlit island paradise.
My eyes were closed for most of the time, although she had supplied me with a pillow to prop up my head. Without trying to be obvious, I could glimpse her kneeling eye-level at my feet. Her hands warmed up quickly, her technique was strong and gentle and soothing.
The combination of the stress being rhythmically caressed away tenderly through my toes and arches, and the rising effectiveness of the table warmer beneath me, had my whole body tingling. She was bubbly and social, her voice was breezy and light.
This is too perfect, I thought. I've got to try to get her to tickle me or I'll regret it as long as I live.
My anticipation grew as I waited for just the right moment to ask. I scripted the dramatic question in my mind and began to replay it, to get it just right.
The final two minutes of the massage felt like... ten... and then...
...at last, the telltale slow-down tapping of her fingers across the top of my foot. In mere moments she would cover it with the sheet and step away from the table, opportunity lost.
Now or never. Deep, measured breath.
"Hey, if you wouldn't mind... would you tickle them for a little while once you're done, maybe for like 30 seconds? I like to laugh at the end a little bit..."
Perfect delivery.
Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heartbeat. Heart. Beat.
A delighted giggle. "Sure!" she said, as if I'd offered her a million dollars.
The tapping stopped. An eternal second passed.
Nails gliding down my left arch. Then another set. And back up, slowly.
I held my feet in place but started to laugh and sway softly, but so that she could hear.
This was incredible. My mind was spinning.
And then, magically, it got infinitely better.
She attacked! As if she were determined to make me beg, she started scribbling her nails eagerly all over my left sole and up into my toes. Her other hand joined the assault, dancing all around. I gasped in surprise, barely able to keep from screaming.
I felt the breeze of her swiftly removing the sheet from my right foot, as she turned the intensity of ten nails all over it. I started grunting, twisting, flexing.
Then she was crawling over both of my soles together, overloading whatever resistance I had left. My chest was heaving with stifled laughter, my mind exploding from the erotic buzz of the massage and the amazement of her beautiful tickling fiendishness.
When she finally stopped, I caught a dizzy, smiling breath.
"Wow, you are REALLY good at that. Sigh. Thank you."
She laughed with a wide, satisfied smile.
"Sure!"
She got a massive tip. And a follow-up appointment in four weeks.
