malevolend
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This is a continuation of a story that I left unfinished but which I had, at one point, planned out nearly in its entirety. The link to the prior story is here:
http://ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?172743-3-Steps-to-a-Happy-Marriage-(F-M-Sock-fetish)-Step-1
Partially because I know it's a lot of work to get caught up, but mostly because I personally don't want to go back and re-read the thing myself, I started with a brief synopsis of what I remember. Since for some reason it takes me at least 30 words to say anything, and because of heavy sock-fetish content, I have highlighted tickling sections with ***.
It had only been one month, but things were barely recognizable from the way the were before. Paul and Jessica had enlisted Nichole to revitalize their sex lives. Nichole was a sex therapist and professional dominatrix who specialized in sexual counseling and fetishes. Paul had an intense fetish for tickling and for white socks which Jessica had freely obliged him in their relationship but over time their sex life had become rote, had lost its spark, mostly because they had become so overwhelmed with the demands of their respective budding careers during the early years of their marriage. Although Paul fantasized about worshiping his wife's socked feet and being dominated with tickling, Jessica had been nervous to exercise her true dominant and sadistic side. Nichole's first assignments for them centered on developing Jessica's confidence in her sexual mastery of Paul, while at the same time reinforcing and rediscovering Paul's true submissive side.
By all accounts the first few weeks had been a resounding success. Paul was actually surprised by the ease with which Jessica had “switched” on her inner dominatrix, and although he was actually getting less sock-fulfillment and less release, when Jessica did allow him to orgasm or worship her socks it was far more intense and gratifying than ever before. Jessica was using her dominant role to fulfill fantasies that before had been crowded out by Paul's fetishes, and she never felt more satisfied.
For their “one month anniversary” of their new roles, Jessica had planned a full night of subservience and suffering for Paul, of course without letting Paul know what was in store. For the last week Paul had not been allowed to orgasm when they had sex, or masturbate, or have any form of release. Jessica had been going to the gym and coming home covered in sweat, tormenting him with her sweaty socks but denying him any gratification. For their night out, she looked stunning in a tight fitting tank top and short skirt, with her long slim bare legs accentuated by a pair of black ankle boots. To drive Paul wild she wore a pair of white ankle socks that she had worn three times that week to the gym, which were barely visible underneath the tops of her loose-fitting ankle boots (at least to Paul's discerning eyes) whenever she flexed her foot. She took every opportunity during dinner to tease him with quick glimpses of her boots, occasionally brushing her feet against his inner legs under the table. He could barely concentrate on his meal and twice had to stop mid-sentence when her booted toe graced his crotch. After dinner they went to a movie. The anticipation was killing Paul, and siting through two hours of a generic rom-com was not exactly what he wanted to do after a week of chastity....but Jessica insisted. Turns out she did her homework. The starlet of the movie was a tennis player, and the multiple shots of her in tennis shorts, sneakers, and white socks had Paul's full attention within the first few minutes. Vying for his sexual attention was Jessica sitting on his right, with her right leg crossed over her left, and even in the darkened theater he could still spy her white socks peeking up through her boots as she seemingly carelessly (but obviously purposefully) flexed and danced her right foot near him. He was in stimulation overload...and the movie had just started. He placed his right arm around Jessica, holding her shoulder, mostly so he wouldn't use it to reach for her foot right then and there. She continued to tease him incessantly. He was transfixed by her dangling boot by his side and the numerous socks on view during the movie.....until she dropped her left hand casually into his lap and found exactly what she was hoping to find – his raging erection. His hips instinctively pushed his erection into her hand without letting his “other” brain in on the plan, and he flushed in embarrassment in case the people around him had noticed. She let her hand rest on his hard cock, feeling it tremble for attention even through his jeans. Then she said she needed to use the bathroom, and told him to get her popcorn and soda – before she got back. With that she got up, and without waiting for him to respond squeezed past him ass-first, leaving him alone with a hard-on and homework. Getting up at the moment was obviously impossible, and of course she had chosen the perfect/worst time to leave him in this conundrum, as two actresses in the movie had just taken off their shoes in the locker room and were prancing around in socks. It was almost as if she had already seen the movie and knew what was coming. He closed his eyes, trying not to think of the movie, the ankle boots, the weeks of teasing....to no avail. Finally he stuck his hands deep (deep) into his pockets and got on with it, hoping the darkened theater would hide his secret for the first few moments after getting up.
He made it out of the theater without raising the alarm, at least, and by the time he was at the concession counter he was in the clear. He got the popcorn back to their seats just in time – she arrived a few seconds after him, again without waiting for him to get up to make sure he got a nice, perfect view of her ass as she slid by. He handed her the popcorn and stole another glance at her boots – was it him, or did it look like she was wearing a different pair of socks? They didn't seem to come as high up her ankle as the ones he thought she was wearing...but before he could put anymore thought into it she was handing him back the bucket of popcorn. She leaned in close to his ear, conspiratorially, and whispered in his ear to put his arm back around her. With his right arm around her, and her leaning close into his chest, he reached into the popcorn and felt a familiar, damp object.
“Those are the socks I wore all night at dinner and all week at the gym that you're feeling. They are still covered in sweat. I want you to put them both in your mouth,” she whispered nonchalantly.
Now as sensitive as Paul was about his fetishes, the thing that scared him most was public awareness of his deep dark secret – in essence public humiliation. Jessica had never challenged his insecurity in this realm before, and he was both thrilled and petrified at her command. He still had his hand in the popcorn bucket, touching her socks that were indeed still very much damp with her sweat. He realized the ingenuity of her plan: in theory he could grab her socks and “pop” them in his mouth, and with everyone's attention on the movie no one would probably notice. But he still hesitated. Sensing his trepidation, and guaranteeing his submission, she leaned close and whispered again in his ear: “your mistress commands.”
With that he grabbed the socks in his left hand and, trying to wait for the opportune moment, brought them up into his mouth. Although they were thin athletic socks, both of them barely fit in his mouth, and he couldn't help but feel that his chipmunk, sock-filled cheeks would be noticed by everyone in the theater. But nothing happened. Except, of course, the slow taste of Jessica's sweat covering his tongue, making him salivate. Throughout the entire process Jessica just watched him, intently, more and more satisfied that Paul was learning to appreciate his submissiveness. She waited (tormented) for a while, letting him adjust to the fact that he was sitting in a movie theater, in public, with his wife's sweat-soaked socks stuffed into his mouth. He began to wonder about logistics – like whether she would let him spit them out in the dark before the movie ended, or whether she would make him walk out of the theater and possibly all the way home with them in his mouth. This uncertainty is of course exactly what she wanted – she was in control and all he could do was wonder what her will would be. Of course, he didn't imagine what else she had in store.
***
As Paul sat in the theater, arm around wife, practically gagged with her sweaty socks, he began to feel her fidget around. “You're gagged with my sweaty socks,” she whispered to him, “so I assume you won't have trouble staying quiet.”
Paul didn't have time to process what she said before he realized what her devious plan was. With his right arm around her and essentially immobilized, Jessica has snuggled up against him and had snaked her left arm up under his sweater against his bare skin, and was starting to draw lazy circles on his chest. “You don't want to make a scene, do you?' she coyly teased, as he jerked involuntarily from her tickles.
That was the last thing he needed. Here he was, in a public space, mouth stuffed full of socks, and from what he could tell she was about to spend the rest of the movie – at least an hour by best guess – tickling his worst spot. Luckily right now she was still focusing on his chest and stomach, touching lightly enough to tickle but not enough to cause him to lose it. But he had no doubt that she intended on taking advantage of his most ticklish spot – his armpits. She was perfectly situated with his right arm fully extended around her, leaving it completely vulnerable to her whim. At any point she could shoot her fingers up there and he would be lost.
“Don't worry honey,” she whispered, almost menacingly, “I've seen this movie before. So I already know the really funny parts.” With that she gave his ribs a quick pinch, causing him to gasp in his sock gag, just when the audience around him shared a laugh at a punch line delivered on screen.
Paul made eye contact with Jessica. Although from a distance she appeared to be the typical doting girlfriend – snuggling up to her boyfriend, encompassed by the wingspan of his right arm – she was actually exerting full control over Paul at that moment. Over his fetishes, over his fears, and most importantly over his record-level ticklishness. She obviously planned on delivering her ticklish assaults during punch lines in the movie, assuming no one would really notice that the guy who seemed to laughing at the movie was actually silent, his laughter muffled by a sock-gag.
Paul, if he wasn't already gagged, would have been speechless. Jessica just smiled up at him and then turned her attention to the screen. She continued to circle her fingers under his shirt, keeping him rigid with anticipation. He was now paying attention to the movie (besides the socks) to try to anticipate the next joke – and therefore the next tickle. But Jessica had of course thought of this. She let several jokes go by, where the whole audience laughed except for Paul and Jessica. But her fingers never left his skin for one second, keeping him in a perpetual state of tickle-anxiety (and arousal). Finally, when a few jokes had passed and he thought he was in the clear, and during a quiet (semi-)dramatic part, he felt Jessica's fingers start to crawl, ever so slowly, towards his armpits. He looked at her, wild-eyed, as if to say “now?” And she just smirked, confidently returned his stare, in essence saying “whenever I want.”
He decided he needed to pretend to cough. Because she just kept her incessant, slow, teasing crawl of her hands from his chest, up his sides, and now finally into the hollow of his armpit, all while the rest of the theater was dead-quiet, eating up whatever garbage was going on on-screen. At first she just scratched his armpit with one finger, which although was intolerable at least it didn't make him buck in his chair. He thought she would just make her point – point made! he thought – but she continued to scratch with just one finger and he started to squirm. He caught her eyes – there was a look of satisfaction and daring in them – before she started tickling him with two fingers. Then three. He knew if he grabbed her hand under his shirt with his free left hand that it would be trouble; he also knew that if he broke down and started shuddering in his seat that it would attract attention. When she added a fourth finger to the fix he thought he was going to burst. But she only did it for a second, only for the second that she knew he could take it.....but continued with three fingers right after that. This was possibly his worst tickle torture, despite not being restrained. His absolute terror of being found out, and the very public nature of this usually very private act, combined to heighten all his senses. Unfortunately, that seems to have made him more ticklish. For her part, Jessica just snuggled up closer to Paul, enjoying his suffering, and thinking of what else she had planned for the night. Then she reached her fingers up into his armpit, placed all five fingers lightly, and waited patiently for the next punchline.
TBC
http://ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?172743-3-Steps-to-a-Happy-Marriage-(F-M-Sock-fetish)-Step-1
Partially because I know it's a lot of work to get caught up, but mostly because I personally don't want to go back and re-read the thing myself, I started with a brief synopsis of what I remember. Since for some reason it takes me at least 30 words to say anything, and because of heavy sock-fetish content, I have highlighted tickling sections with ***.
It had only been one month, but things were barely recognizable from the way the were before. Paul and Jessica had enlisted Nichole to revitalize their sex lives. Nichole was a sex therapist and professional dominatrix who specialized in sexual counseling and fetishes. Paul had an intense fetish for tickling and for white socks which Jessica had freely obliged him in their relationship but over time their sex life had become rote, had lost its spark, mostly because they had become so overwhelmed with the demands of their respective budding careers during the early years of their marriage. Although Paul fantasized about worshiping his wife's socked feet and being dominated with tickling, Jessica had been nervous to exercise her true dominant and sadistic side. Nichole's first assignments for them centered on developing Jessica's confidence in her sexual mastery of Paul, while at the same time reinforcing and rediscovering Paul's true submissive side.
By all accounts the first few weeks had been a resounding success. Paul was actually surprised by the ease with which Jessica had “switched” on her inner dominatrix, and although he was actually getting less sock-fulfillment and less release, when Jessica did allow him to orgasm or worship her socks it was far more intense and gratifying than ever before. Jessica was using her dominant role to fulfill fantasies that before had been crowded out by Paul's fetishes, and she never felt more satisfied.
For their “one month anniversary” of their new roles, Jessica had planned a full night of subservience and suffering for Paul, of course without letting Paul know what was in store. For the last week Paul had not been allowed to orgasm when they had sex, or masturbate, or have any form of release. Jessica had been going to the gym and coming home covered in sweat, tormenting him with her sweaty socks but denying him any gratification. For their night out, she looked stunning in a tight fitting tank top and short skirt, with her long slim bare legs accentuated by a pair of black ankle boots. To drive Paul wild she wore a pair of white ankle socks that she had worn three times that week to the gym, which were barely visible underneath the tops of her loose-fitting ankle boots (at least to Paul's discerning eyes) whenever she flexed her foot. She took every opportunity during dinner to tease him with quick glimpses of her boots, occasionally brushing her feet against his inner legs under the table. He could barely concentrate on his meal and twice had to stop mid-sentence when her booted toe graced his crotch. After dinner they went to a movie. The anticipation was killing Paul, and siting through two hours of a generic rom-com was not exactly what he wanted to do after a week of chastity....but Jessica insisted. Turns out she did her homework. The starlet of the movie was a tennis player, and the multiple shots of her in tennis shorts, sneakers, and white socks had Paul's full attention within the first few minutes. Vying for his sexual attention was Jessica sitting on his right, with her right leg crossed over her left, and even in the darkened theater he could still spy her white socks peeking up through her boots as she seemingly carelessly (but obviously purposefully) flexed and danced her right foot near him. He was in stimulation overload...and the movie had just started. He placed his right arm around Jessica, holding her shoulder, mostly so he wouldn't use it to reach for her foot right then and there. She continued to tease him incessantly. He was transfixed by her dangling boot by his side and the numerous socks on view during the movie.....until she dropped her left hand casually into his lap and found exactly what she was hoping to find – his raging erection. His hips instinctively pushed his erection into her hand without letting his “other” brain in on the plan, and he flushed in embarrassment in case the people around him had noticed. She let her hand rest on his hard cock, feeling it tremble for attention even through his jeans. Then she said she needed to use the bathroom, and told him to get her popcorn and soda – before she got back. With that she got up, and without waiting for him to respond squeezed past him ass-first, leaving him alone with a hard-on and homework. Getting up at the moment was obviously impossible, and of course she had chosen the perfect/worst time to leave him in this conundrum, as two actresses in the movie had just taken off their shoes in the locker room and were prancing around in socks. It was almost as if she had already seen the movie and knew what was coming. He closed his eyes, trying not to think of the movie, the ankle boots, the weeks of teasing....to no avail. Finally he stuck his hands deep (deep) into his pockets and got on with it, hoping the darkened theater would hide his secret for the first few moments after getting up.
He made it out of the theater without raising the alarm, at least, and by the time he was at the concession counter he was in the clear. He got the popcorn back to their seats just in time – she arrived a few seconds after him, again without waiting for him to get up to make sure he got a nice, perfect view of her ass as she slid by. He handed her the popcorn and stole another glance at her boots – was it him, or did it look like she was wearing a different pair of socks? They didn't seem to come as high up her ankle as the ones he thought she was wearing...but before he could put anymore thought into it she was handing him back the bucket of popcorn. She leaned in close to his ear, conspiratorially, and whispered in his ear to put his arm back around her. With his right arm around her, and her leaning close into his chest, he reached into the popcorn and felt a familiar, damp object.
“Those are the socks I wore all night at dinner and all week at the gym that you're feeling. They are still covered in sweat. I want you to put them both in your mouth,” she whispered nonchalantly.
Now as sensitive as Paul was about his fetishes, the thing that scared him most was public awareness of his deep dark secret – in essence public humiliation. Jessica had never challenged his insecurity in this realm before, and he was both thrilled and petrified at her command. He still had his hand in the popcorn bucket, touching her socks that were indeed still very much damp with her sweat. He realized the ingenuity of her plan: in theory he could grab her socks and “pop” them in his mouth, and with everyone's attention on the movie no one would probably notice. But he still hesitated. Sensing his trepidation, and guaranteeing his submission, she leaned close and whispered again in his ear: “your mistress commands.”
With that he grabbed the socks in his left hand and, trying to wait for the opportune moment, brought them up into his mouth. Although they were thin athletic socks, both of them barely fit in his mouth, and he couldn't help but feel that his chipmunk, sock-filled cheeks would be noticed by everyone in the theater. But nothing happened. Except, of course, the slow taste of Jessica's sweat covering his tongue, making him salivate. Throughout the entire process Jessica just watched him, intently, more and more satisfied that Paul was learning to appreciate his submissiveness. She waited (tormented) for a while, letting him adjust to the fact that he was sitting in a movie theater, in public, with his wife's sweat-soaked socks stuffed into his mouth. He began to wonder about logistics – like whether she would let him spit them out in the dark before the movie ended, or whether she would make him walk out of the theater and possibly all the way home with them in his mouth. This uncertainty is of course exactly what she wanted – she was in control and all he could do was wonder what her will would be. Of course, he didn't imagine what else she had in store.
***
As Paul sat in the theater, arm around wife, practically gagged with her sweaty socks, he began to feel her fidget around. “You're gagged with my sweaty socks,” she whispered to him, “so I assume you won't have trouble staying quiet.”
Paul didn't have time to process what she said before he realized what her devious plan was. With his right arm around her and essentially immobilized, Jessica has snuggled up against him and had snaked her left arm up under his sweater against his bare skin, and was starting to draw lazy circles on his chest. “You don't want to make a scene, do you?' she coyly teased, as he jerked involuntarily from her tickles.
That was the last thing he needed. Here he was, in a public space, mouth stuffed full of socks, and from what he could tell she was about to spend the rest of the movie – at least an hour by best guess – tickling his worst spot. Luckily right now she was still focusing on his chest and stomach, touching lightly enough to tickle but not enough to cause him to lose it. But he had no doubt that she intended on taking advantage of his most ticklish spot – his armpits. She was perfectly situated with his right arm fully extended around her, leaving it completely vulnerable to her whim. At any point she could shoot her fingers up there and he would be lost.
“Don't worry honey,” she whispered, almost menacingly, “I've seen this movie before. So I already know the really funny parts.” With that she gave his ribs a quick pinch, causing him to gasp in his sock gag, just when the audience around him shared a laugh at a punch line delivered on screen.
Paul made eye contact with Jessica. Although from a distance she appeared to be the typical doting girlfriend – snuggling up to her boyfriend, encompassed by the wingspan of his right arm – she was actually exerting full control over Paul at that moment. Over his fetishes, over his fears, and most importantly over his record-level ticklishness. She obviously planned on delivering her ticklish assaults during punch lines in the movie, assuming no one would really notice that the guy who seemed to laughing at the movie was actually silent, his laughter muffled by a sock-gag.
Paul, if he wasn't already gagged, would have been speechless. Jessica just smiled up at him and then turned her attention to the screen. She continued to circle her fingers under his shirt, keeping him rigid with anticipation. He was now paying attention to the movie (besides the socks) to try to anticipate the next joke – and therefore the next tickle. But Jessica had of course thought of this. She let several jokes go by, where the whole audience laughed except for Paul and Jessica. But her fingers never left his skin for one second, keeping him in a perpetual state of tickle-anxiety (and arousal). Finally, when a few jokes had passed and he thought he was in the clear, and during a quiet (semi-)dramatic part, he felt Jessica's fingers start to crawl, ever so slowly, towards his armpits. He looked at her, wild-eyed, as if to say “now?” And she just smirked, confidently returned his stare, in essence saying “whenever I want.”
He decided he needed to pretend to cough. Because she just kept her incessant, slow, teasing crawl of her hands from his chest, up his sides, and now finally into the hollow of his armpit, all while the rest of the theater was dead-quiet, eating up whatever garbage was going on on-screen. At first she just scratched his armpit with one finger, which although was intolerable at least it didn't make him buck in his chair. He thought she would just make her point – point made! he thought – but she continued to scratch with just one finger and he started to squirm. He caught her eyes – there was a look of satisfaction and daring in them – before she started tickling him with two fingers. Then three. He knew if he grabbed her hand under his shirt with his free left hand that it would be trouble; he also knew that if he broke down and started shuddering in his seat that it would attract attention. When she added a fourth finger to the fix he thought he was going to burst. But she only did it for a second, only for the second that she knew he could take it.....but continued with three fingers right after that. This was possibly his worst tickle torture, despite not being restrained. His absolute terror of being found out, and the very public nature of this usually very private act, combined to heighten all his senses. Unfortunately, that seems to have made him more ticklish. For her part, Jessica just snuggled up closer to Paul, enjoying his suffering, and thinking of what else she had planned for the night. Then she reached her fingers up into his armpit, placed all five fingers lightly, and waited patiently for the next punchline.
TBC
