OnlyForNow2015
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All ten toes were fastened securely to the stocks behind his feet. His legs were bare. His torso, including tummy and ribs and nipples and underarms, collar region and neck, were all bare. A little teeny loin-cloth type device seemed to be worn around the waist, but aside from his eyes with his mother’s pink nightmask and his mouth with his girlfriend’s clean white socks, that was the only bit of him that had the mercy of covering.
“I’ve always wanted to tickle him,” said his girlfriend Ivette. She frowned. “But he’s never let me before.”
“Don’t worry,” said his mother Janet. “I’ll show you all 8 spots he has!” This was alarming news to Brian, who thought terrifiedly to himself, “BUT I ONLY HAVE 7.” He said it aloud. “But I only have seven!” The girls laughed.
“I guess I’ll have to show you one that you forgot then sweetie,” said his mom. Brian only then realized that he had been gagged and that his muffled question had still somehow been heard. He realized this ability to speak meant trouble. He was a begger in times of trouble and extreme tickling. He’d mostly avoided it in his life, had realized he was turned on by it one day when his aunt was getting his feets with her long nails, so he avoided it ever since.
Now, all ten toes were fastened to the board and they couldn’t move a millimeter. And to Brian’s sheer horror, he felt the soft caress of a feather cascading down his left sole.
It was some kind of odd feather, stuff enough to produce a tickle but not enough to for a very long period. His mother knew this, and in barely sixty seconds, she’d begin poking at his toes with the tip of the feather.
“The tickle octatholon has begun, my dear,” said Brian’s mother to Ivette. Let’s begin.
ROUND 1: BRIAN’S FEETZ
*poke* AHAHA. *poke poke* AHAHAHA. Mom was in charge of lefty and Ivette in charge of righty. Janet held two feathers, one pointing feather-side soleside, the other with the sharp tip so she can do some poking and digging. Brian’s toes had been completely immobolied and fastened upright, revealing just nearly every inch of his feet bottoms they could want. Only the tops were obscured, but at the sweet bonus of complete feet immobility. Ivette had one feather, but in her other hand she held a puffy magic marker. In really tiny letters, while feathering his poor toes all the while, she wrote on the ball of his foot, “Tickle tickle tickle tickle” really tinily.
“I always figured this was one of his spots,” said Ivette. His mom giggled. “All naughty little boys are ticklish on their feets, aren’t they Brian?” He giggled and buckled helplessly. It had been barely four minutes of this, and they’d only used tools on his feet. Right after they both triumphantly yelled, “ROUND 1, BRIAN’S FEETZ!” Oh the humiliation, the fanfare of how they were doing this to him. At least he had an okay enough relationship with his mom to where this wasn’t the weirdest thing ever. He just felt so conflicted, wanting to be generally more aroused with the S&M tendencies that he and Ivette generally had. This was a game they should have been playing together, yet there’s Mom, tickling him of all things. Brian would have asked for whipping or candle-wax. The tickles were a secret enemy and buried arousal for him.
***Before the round had started, Ivette had remembered a conversation they’d had once after sexytime. “You seemed to get really turned on when I touched your feet, sweetheart.” He blushed and admitted it somewhat. “Kinda,” said Brian, “it’s only my right foot. And only when your hands touched them because they were so soft and sweet.” Ivette made sure to take the right foot for this reason. She wouldn’t touch it with her hands, and there’d be no embarrassing loin-cloth surprise for Mom.
It was at five minutes in that Mom ditched the tools and went straight in with hands. Super soft hands, like if anybody’s ever rubbed you anyplace on the body with a cotton ball, that times three hundred percent. Regular length natural fingernails, but she barely even used them aside from light scraping here and there with her sole rubs.
AHAHAHAHA, Brian was so grateful Mom had lefty. If she’d been doing this to righty, it might have felt too good.
Ivette, on the other hand, was doing a menacing job with her marker and her feather on his feet. The toes didn’t turn him on as much as the soles, so thank his beautiful baby Ivette for tickling him on nearly just there. The tickling was almost relaxing between the two of them, and he made it a good seven minutes in before they decided it was time for the next one.
ROUND 2: BRIAN’S LEGS
Oh no. Brian always knew he had ticklish legs but they weren’t ever exploited or targeted all on their own. They were usually a part of a tickle onslaught where his legs were temporarily caught up in the action by grabby hands or curious spidery fingers, but with his bare legs from ankle to thigh/loin, completely outstretched and before these two hyper-tickly women?
“Use both hands, sweetie,” said Janet. He couldn’t even let out a muffled scream before they both began the same thing: two hands on each thigh, his Mom on his outer thigh and his girlfriend on his inner-thigh, digging their nails and fingertips in her and there and here and there and squeezing only the most ticklish little areas, like they both have magical sensitivity compasses in their fingers as only women like one’s girlfriend or mother must have for a boy. He howled hard.
Janet had a method of tickling up the thigh, back down it, then underneath his poor defenseless knee to make it try and buckle as he howled harder. She would occasionally reach a teeny bit down to his shin, tickling it and making his left foot go absolutely insane. One time she even reached over and tickled his poor little toes that stuck out over the outcropping of the stocks. Again, thank god not the right foot.
Ivette was digging into the thigh she had really good though. She’d always wanted to render him helpless with tickling like he had when they’d started dating and were doing pre-first base sorts of flirtations. This was such a sweet and adorable moment she’d always wanted to share, and weirdly enough, she was really happy to be sharing it with his mom.
Four minutes into the legs, Janet cooes, “I miss my baby’s feet.” She throws a devilish look at Ivette. “Unless you wanna go back down there?” Ivette nodded, though Brian didn’t know. Though how lucky it was that she said yes, because if she hadn’t, she’d have taken the helm at both feet.
Which is what Ivette did. One bare hand on his left foot and the feather on his right now, her post for the next four minutes as Janet tickle-mercyed the screams out of her son’s thighs and shins and knees and, though no one would admit it, the beginning of his butt. A stir beneath the loincloth, but nothing that persisted or anybody could see or know about.
Yet.
To be continued.
“I’ve always wanted to tickle him,” said his girlfriend Ivette. She frowned. “But he’s never let me before.”
“Don’t worry,” said his mother Janet. “I’ll show you all 8 spots he has!” This was alarming news to Brian, who thought terrifiedly to himself, “BUT I ONLY HAVE 7.” He said it aloud. “But I only have seven!” The girls laughed.
“I guess I’ll have to show you one that you forgot then sweetie,” said his mom. Brian only then realized that he had been gagged and that his muffled question had still somehow been heard. He realized this ability to speak meant trouble. He was a begger in times of trouble and extreme tickling. He’d mostly avoided it in his life, had realized he was turned on by it one day when his aunt was getting his feets with her long nails, so he avoided it ever since.
Now, all ten toes were fastened to the board and they couldn’t move a millimeter. And to Brian’s sheer horror, he felt the soft caress of a feather cascading down his left sole.
It was some kind of odd feather, stuff enough to produce a tickle but not enough to for a very long period. His mother knew this, and in barely sixty seconds, she’d begin poking at his toes with the tip of the feather.
“The tickle octatholon has begun, my dear,” said Brian’s mother to Ivette. Let’s begin.
ROUND 1: BRIAN’S FEETZ
*poke* AHAHA. *poke poke* AHAHAHA. Mom was in charge of lefty and Ivette in charge of righty. Janet held two feathers, one pointing feather-side soleside, the other with the sharp tip so she can do some poking and digging. Brian’s toes had been completely immobolied and fastened upright, revealing just nearly every inch of his feet bottoms they could want. Only the tops were obscured, but at the sweet bonus of complete feet immobility. Ivette had one feather, but in her other hand she held a puffy magic marker. In really tiny letters, while feathering his poor toes all the while, she wrote on the ball of his foot, “Tickle tickle tickle tickle” really tinily.
“I always figured this was one of his spots,” said Ivette. His mom giggled. “All naughty little boys are ticklish on their feets, aren’t they Brian?” He giggled and buckled helplessly. It had been barely four minutes of this, and they’d only used tools on his feet. Right after they both triumphantly yelled, “ROUND 1, BRIAN’S FEETZ!” Oh the humiliation, the fanfare of how they were doing this to him. At least he had an okay enough relationship with his mom to where this wasn’t the weirdest thing ever. He just felt so conflicted, wanting to be generally more aroused with the S&M tendencies that he and Ivette generally had. This was a game they should have been playing together, yet there’s Mom, tickling him of all things. Brian would have asked for whipping or candle-wax. The tickles were a secret enemy and buried arousal for him.
***Before the round had started, Ivette had remembered a conversation they’d had once after sexytime. “You seemed to get really turned on when I touched your feet, sweetheart.” He blushed and admitted it somewhat. “Kinda,” said Brian, “it’s only my right foot. And only when your hands touched them because they were so soft and sweet.” Ivette made sure to take the right foot for this reason. She wouldn’t touch it with her hands, and there’d be no embarrassing loin-cloth surprise for Mom.
It was at five minutes in that Mom ditched the tools and went straight in with hands. Super soft hands, like if anybody’s ever rubbed you anyplace on the body with a cotton ball, that times three hundred percent. Regular length natural fingernails, but she barely even used them aside from light scraping here and there with her sole rubs.
AHAHAHAHA, Brian was so grateful Mom had lefty. If she’d been doing this to righty, it might have felt too good.
Ivette, on the other hand, was doing a menacing job with her marker and her feather on his feet. The toes didn’t turn him on as much as the soles, so thank his beautiful baby Ivette for tickling him on nearly just there. The tickling was almost relaxing between the two of them, and he made it a good seven minutes in before they decided it was time for the next one.
ROUND 2: BRIAN’S LEGS
Oh no. Brian always knew he had ticklish legs but they weren’t ever exploited or targeted all on their own. They were usually a part of a tickle onslaught where his legs were temporarily caught up in the action by grabby hands or curious spidery fingers, but with his bare legs from ankle to thigh/loin, completely outstretched and before these two hyper-tickly women?
“Use both hands, sweetie,” said Janet. He couldn’t even let out a muffled scream before they both began the same thing: two hands on each thigh, his Mom on his outer thigh and his girlfriend on his inner-thigh, digging their nails and fingertips in her and there and here and there and squeezing only the most ticklish little areas, like they both have magical sensitivity compasses in their fingers as only women like one’s girlfriend or mother must have for a boy. He howled hard.
Janet had a method of tickling up the thigh, back down it, then underneath his poor defenseless knee to make it try and buckle as he howled harder. She would occasionally reach a teeny bit down to his shin, tickling it and making his left foot go absolutely insane. One time she even reached over and tickled his poor little toes that stuck out over the outcropping of the stocks. Again, thank god not the right foot.
Ivette was digging into the thigh she had really good though. She’d always wanted to render him helpless with tickling like he had when they’d started dating and were doing pre-first base sorts of flirtations. This was such a sweet and adorable moment she’d always wanted to share, and weirdly enough, she was really happy to be sharing it with his mom.
Four minutes into the legs, Janet cooes, “I miss my baby’s feet.” She throws a devilish look at Ivette. “Unless you wanna go back down there?” Ivette nodded, though Brian didn’t know. Though how lucky it was that she said yes, because if she hadn’t, she’d have taken the helm at both feet.
Which is what Ivette did. One bare hand on his left foot and the feather on his right now, her post for the next four minutes as Janet tickle-mercyed the screams out of her son’s thighs and shins and knees and, though no one would admit it, the beginning of his butt. A stir beneath the loincloth, but nothing that persisted or anybody could see or know about.
Yet.
To be continued.
