It's been ages since I posted Splintered Windows, my first tickling fiction effort. Like that one this is set in a place of education, although this one is the senior year at High School, not college. (Of course it goes without saying, all involved are over the age of 18. I was careful about that.)
I actually started writing it at work, longhand on a ruled jotter during the long slow hours of a night shift. While I was doing it a second idea occured to me and I ended up working on two stories at the same time. The other one ( about an angel who chooses to fall to earth and become mortal, a' la Nicholas Cage in City of Angels, only to discover that finding your sense of touch isn't all honey and roses
) will go up in the next day or two with any luck. Let me know what y'all think of this one and I'll use any constructive feedback in my future efforts.
And now, on with the show...
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Blue and white were the colors of North Hatchem High School. The girls’ soccer team, The Graces, wore them on their strip with the badge in the center of the chest.
There were eleven first team players of course, not three as on the badge, but only one of them made an issue of the name: Elizabeth Longford. Lizzie or Lillibet to the rest of the team, she was a nice girl for sure, but she grated on a person sometimes. Her sense of humor was acerbic, even sarcastic sometimes; she was blond, soft featured, athletic and above all she was "bloody" English!
She'd moved to the states with her parents when she was 14, but hadn't lost any of her accent. On the contrary, it seemed to get stronger and more pronounced. With the instinct of what the English would have called "a born wind-up merchant", Lizzie knew that accent was pure kryptonite to an angry American in an argument. There is nothing quite so aggravating in all this world than an English person turning on the style is there?
Add to this list that this particular limey girl was also the best soccer player on the girls’ senior team and you have someone who was both likeable and aggravating. Everyone likes to be popular, but does anyone get a kick out of being annoying as well? I really believe Lizzie did.
Baiting Americans and us her teammates in particular, was a hobby of hers. Whenever I picture her face these days it's wearing that impish grin of hers, chin dropped onto her chest and her indigo eyes glinting mischievously out from under her fair eyebrows. Those looks combined with her accent got her male attention from all the best places. No wonder she suffered the fate she did. Female jealousy is a dangerous force when distilled.
Some thought that as captain, I should have reined her in more often, but I liked her and most of the time, her humor too. Besides, the one time the team really got its revenge on her I joined in with a will. I'm bound to admit as well that I enjoyed that revenge a piece more than I perhaps should have. It was fun, harmless enough and Lizzie took it in good part despite the embarrassment it unexpectedly caused her. But it was something else as well; it was "squooshy".
Lizzie played at center-forward and she was good! Unfortunately for the rest of us (she never tired of reminding us about it all the time) she knew she was good too. If a bad dancer had two left feet she reckoned, a good soccer player should have two right ones. I never worked that one out as she was equally good at dancing as she was at soccer. Some people have all the luck.
In May of our senior High School year we played an allegedly "friendly" match away at South Point and won a bad tempered, nasty game by 4-1. Lizzie scored two herself and set one of the others up after a mazy individual run. She also spent most of the game by humiliating the girl who was supposed to be marking her; running circles round her till she got dizzy.
When the final whistle blew we all went mad, dancing in a circle, hugging and pounding each other on the back. There was no love lost between the two schools for some reason (probably an extremely petty one - you know important things seem at 18 that are stupid and childish in retrospect) and a victory over South Point was always something to celebrate.
Lizzie's eternal sassiness was momentarily forgiven and forgotten as we danced round and the rest of us were lifting her onto our shoulders. As we did our lap of honor, Lizzie swayed precariously up there, so I reached up to support her, the tips of my fingers pressing into the fabric of the short covering her ribs.
Over our cheering the squeal of laughter she let out was easily audible and her sudden spasm brought her slithering abruptly down to the ground again.
'Jane you silly cow, stop it!' she laughed. I laughed myself, realizing I'd inadvertently tickled her. Most of the other girls hooted with derision.
'She barely touched you, you big wimp' opined Jenna, our goalkeeper.
Lisa, back on her feet and with some semblance of dignity restored, tossed her head - her blond plait thumping between her shoulders like a length of rope.
'Not my fault Jen', her lower lip pouted out mulishly, 'Any English rose will be more sensitive than some hoary old Yankee cactus'.
There were a handful of exaggerated “ooh” gasps and Jenna squeaked “bitch slap!” in a falsetto voice.
We eventually ended up back inside our dressing room, boots in hand (no studs allowed on South Point’s precious tiles) and still chattering. The Benzeoni twins, Koraline and Isabella, were loudly speculating on our chances of winning our league this year, Jenna was ragging Claire about her bright red hair and Lizzie was in full-on hyper mode, bouncing on the balls of her blue-socked feet and talking to me about the chances of her making the state side.
‘Keep it down can’t you?’ asked a partly-amused/partly-annoyed Isabella, putting her hands over her ears.
‘Fuhgeddaboutit’ replied Lizzie in such a perfect imitation of the sort of fake Italian accent you hear in pizza commercials that Claire snorted explosively with laughter.
‘And you can sharrup too, lighthouse bonce!’ said Lizzie indignantly, mistaking Claire’s amusement for derision.
Claire’s fiery eyebrows rose slightly as she smirked at Lizzie.
‘And what if I don’t?’
Lizzie was concentrating too much on a reply to notice the sly wink Claire sent in the direction of Kora and Bella, who were stood on the other side of her. Both of their olive faces grinned conspiratorially as they sidled up behind Lizzie.
‘…and you know it!’ finished Lizzie, hands on hips, tongue stuck out like a child.
‘What you forget Lillibet’ said Claire (she was only ever called that if someone wanted to annoy her) ‘is that you can’t win an argument against me, because I know your big weakness.’ So saying, she clawed her hands up and then jabbed them towards Lizzie’s rib-cage.
Lizzie gave a startled squeak like that pet thing Popeye used to have and skipped backwards a couple of feet, even though Claire’s fingertips got no closer to her than a yard. Unfortunately for her this put her directly in front of Kora who shot the first two fingers of each hand inside her upper arms and wiggled the tips against her top ribs.
With a startled “yee hee hee” noise Lizzie bucked and her knees nearly went right out then and there. She straightened them at the last second, pushing herself upright and shot a ferocious glare at Kora.
'What the he...' this sentence was cut off as Claire pinched her fingers into Lizzie's waist, right above her hips. This time her knees would have hit the floor if the twins hadn’t been there to catch her as she went down, letting out a cackle of laughter as she went.
I have a treble confession to make here. Tickling has always done something to me that I could never explain. I didn’t really understand up until this day. I could see someone getting tickled on the TV and I’d almost be hiding behind the couch, peeking out like a normal person would do at a horror movie. There’d be that strange feeling in the pit of my stomach watching it, that I’d recognize as arousal when I was old and experienced enough to understand that sort of thing. Watching it or imagining it being done to me or doing it to another girl always made my stomach flip over. Breathless is the word. Yeah, breathless. The second part is that I am bi-sexual. I guess I am mainly attracted to guys, but there is something about the female form that holds an allure for me. It’s something that comes out now and again and gives me a desire that nearly kills me if I don’t do something to fulfill it. Well here were both things happening at once and I was nearly turned to stone on the spot by the sight of it. The third thing I have to admit is that I am an admirer of female feet. This is not something that extends into my relationships with men, although I do like them to pay attention to mine, I only like the look of another girl’s. I don’t know why it is and I’ve given up guessing. There is just something about the soft, flawless skin of a female arch that I find attractive. Ask God why it is if you ever meet Him, I’m none the wiser.
It was obvious in a second that Lizzie’s ticklishness was acute beyond words. Claire had her ribs from behind and Kora was digging her fingers into the front of her tummy. The girl’s face was screwed up in an expression that was both agony and joy at the same time. I doubted she’d have described any of it as joy at that moment, but it looked like it and I was feeling that feeling again. Isabelle joined in a few seconds later, grasping both of Lizzie’s wrists and holding tem out from her body so she was helpless to defend herself. The poor girl was almost sobbing with laughter as he ribs, stomach and waist were all explored by the girls she’d been making the butt of her wicked English humor for so long. The rest of the team were egging the others on and moving in closer themselves and I suddenly realized I had to make one of two choices. I couldn’t just stand there looking dumb, it felt too self-conscious and I was sure that my most inner emotions were on blatant display for all to see. So as team captain I could break the party up, or as one of the gang I could join in and help. As Lizzie’s jaw shook with silent laughter, mouth agape in a soundless howl, I knew I wasn’t going to stop it, I was going to help!
Lizzie had been going from one sort of laughter to the next every few seconds… Isabelle danced her fingernails over her ribs and she’d shriek with high-pitched giggles, Kora would lift her soccer shirt a few inches and dig her thumbs into the bare skin of her waist and she’d let fly with a belly laugh, then Jenna dug her fingers into her armpits, still exposed with her arms held out, and she’d go into that shaking, silent laughter that seemed to make ever fiber of her body vibrate. But when I sat on her knees, pinning both legs to the floor and started to ease of her knee length white and blue socks, her shrieks and pleading suddenly took on a raw, desperate note.
‘Oh God Jane, please no! Not there! I can’t stand iIIIIITTTTTTTTT!!!’ One of her socks had finally come loose, revealing her bare foot and this last scream was elicited by my fingernails dancing over the smooth sole. Her body bucked and leapt as her laughter rang out even louder; within a few seconds the other sock had been swiped by one of the midfielders and now both feet were under assault. I had one ankle clamped firmly in the crook of one elbow, the other hand raking repeatedly across her sole, Dani Wallace (the midfielder had taken a hair brush from a bench and was scrubbing it across the other. Tears of pure hysteria were rolling down her cheeks now, no sound though; she’d gone off into that silent laughter of hers again.
Jenna suddenly paused in her tickling and looked at me, inspiration blooming in her eyes and the world’s most evil shit eating grin crossing her lips.
‘Don’t nobody go nowhere; I’ll be back in a second.’
Standing up and dashing across the room, Jenna stuck her head into the massive kitbag Coach Ferguson had left behind. She strolled back grinning at Lizzie and holding a bundle of blue and white somethings under one arm. Just being held down now, barefoot and with her shirt disheveled, Lizzie was looking up at Jenna, fearful and indignant at the same time.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing now?’ she demanded, her voice already a bit hoarse.
Jenna dropped the bundle on the floor and held up one hand. She was holding a long team scarf. Lizzie stared uncomprehendingly at it, but I realized what Jenna meant to do and couldn’t help grinning more than a little myself. She was going to tie her up. Jenna tossed the scarf to Isabella and snatched up another one herself. Within a few seconds both were tied around the hapless girl’s wrists and the other ends bound round coat pegs on the backs of the changing benches. Lizzie’s eyes were so wide with dawning horror that I had to hastily stifle a giggle. As an after thought I grabbed a third scarf and bound it round her ankles, looping around both of them the over the middle of the knot before tying it off. She was trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey.
‘One more I think, unless we want Coach Ferguson stomping in here’ said Jenna. She grabbed another scarf and wound it round the back of Lizzie’s head, gagging her completely.
I think at this point she was truly afraid, on top of the sort of dread anyone ticklish has of being tickled. She was totally defenseless and unable to help herself in any way. The rest of the team closed around her like carrion eaters round a wounded beast and the real torture began.
No-one had to hold Lizzie down now as she totally immobile. All 10 of the rest of the team were tickling her with gusto. Her howls and laughter came through the gag still, but muffled. Safe from alerting anyone nearby.
I moved back to her legs and hooked her bound ankles into my left elbow, tickling away at the soles of her feet and parting the toes occasionally for sneaky tickles at the sensitive skin in between. I don’t know when the atmosphere changed, but I think now it was Lizzie herself who changed it. Her wails, shrieks and giggles had changed tone. She was moaning now and not in pain either. A sheen of perspiration coated every inch of her visible skin and she was bucking her hips in a manner I couldn’t quite believe.
By now I was a mess myself. Lizzie’s tickling torment was turning me on like nothing had before and now seeing that apparently she was aroused as well, I threw caution to the wind. Without stopping tickling her feet I lowered my head I took one of her big toes in my mouth and sucked on it. Even through the rest of the team tickling her on every possible tickle-spot on her body she felt it and the deep toned groan that escaped around the edges of the scarf was unmistakable. I nibbled gently on the toe as if it was a favorite fruit and moved to the next one on her foot, then the next one.
The whole atmosphere in the room had changed and it was charged with sexual tension that everyone felt in some way or another. By the time I’d finished with each one of Lizzie’s toes someone had lifted her shirt all the way up so it almost covered her face, revealing her chest. Even through the sports bra she was wearing Lizzie’s nipples were standing out proud, almost presenting themselves as targets and six other sets of fingers were dancing ticklishly all around them, playing her ribs like a piano keyboard and flitting across the deeply sensitive flesh at the base of her breasts.
I’d finished all ten of her toes and now was slithering my tongue between each one in turn, starting with her left foot and moving on to the right. Lizzie was quivering like a wrecked ship on some particularly vicious rocks and making curious noises deep down in the back of her throat. When I finished giving her toes a tongue-bath I paused.
Someone had tweaked her shorts down a couple of inches and was now digging wickedly into her protruding hip-bones, causing the howls of ticklish agony to re-new their force. My tickling fingers paused their exploration of her flawless bare soles and I moved my face closer to them, extending my tongue and slowly, almost seductively licked the length of the right one from heel to toes, ending by wrapping my tongue round her big toe and giving one last appreciative suck.
How it is possible for someone to shriek in agony and yet groan in ecstasy at the same time I don’t know, but Lizzie managed it. When I repeated the long lick into the toe suck on her left sole the shrieks had significantly lessened in volume and the groans had increased. I kept repeating this, my own arousal at seeing Lizzie’s double torment almost unbearable by now and her body stopped bucking and started quivering, like she was plugged into the mains.
A pair of hands was mercilessly tickling each armpit, five pairs were probing her poor, undefended rib-cage, and two girls had one of their hands on both a hip and a knee, with the last tickling wherever se could get into a space. Just about every spot of bare or covered ticklish skin was being assaulted and I felt a flutter of panic at the thought of meeting the same fate myself. For my own part I was licking each gorgeous, unsullied sole in turn and I truly think it was this that was pushing Lizzie out of her mind more than anything else.
She had ten people holding her down and three thick woolen scarves binding her, but when the orgasm finally hit, she nearly threw the lot of us off. I felt it coming from the hitch in her labored breath behind the gag, the disbelieving and ascending notes of her squeaks as it built and finally the scream that came from deep down inside her, as her muscles jack-hammered her clean off the floor for a full five seconds.
As if on a cue (and probably we all felt a subconscious one at that point) the tickling stopped and a few of the girls backed off. Jenna leaned forwards and removed the gag from Lizzie’s mouth. The poor girl was breathing like she had bad asthma and every exhalation made her give a small shuddering squeak. Her eyes weren’t rolling exactly, but they were far-away and unfocused. I doubt she saw anything in the room at that moment. She’d just had the most intense experience of her young life. So for that matter, had I. I daren’t look down at the floor or my underwear; I was terrified of what I might see.
Jenna was grinning like a teacher who’d finally managed to teach a dull and recalcitrant pupil a difficult lesson as she leaned forwards and pecked Lizzie on the lips.
‘Now I just know you’ve learned a lesson Lillibet. And I also know that you won’t be telling anyone about it, because you know you’ll get exactly the same again if you do. Only thing is we might have to take you through at least two or three of those next time.’
She stretched out her own bare toe and rubbed it against the crotch of Lizzie’s shorts for emphasis. Lizzie made a sound that was a mixture of snort, groan, whimper and sob.
Claire and Bella were undoing the scarves holding her wrists; I untied the one binding her ankles. Free at last, Lizzie just lay on her side, knees drawn up, breathing hard. I let her be for a minute or so, but all she did was quiver and make very quiet mewing sounds, like a kitten. I couldn’t just leave her like that, so I leant over and put my arms under her shoulders to try and pull her up into a sitting position. To my surprise she not only let me, but folded her own arms around my body and hugged me hard!
She looked up into my face, her eyes red and tearing. The salty drops brimmed over the lids and rolled down her cheeks.
‘Oh you rotten, bloody cow’ she said, and giggled. You could’ve knocked me down with a feather right then (rather appropriately) to hear both the giggle and the tone of her voice.
‘What the hell did you bloody do to me?’ Another giggle. Tired and slow, but definitely a giggle. Not the thing you’d have expected to hear from someone who was upset.
I didn’t know how to answer, because without meaning to, she’d done pretty much the same thing to me as well.
‘You okay Liz?’ A dumb thing to ask I know, but I couldn’t think of anything else.
‘Okay? *giggle* I’m bloody marvelous. I wouldn’t tell them that, but I am. Oh God, it was pure, bloody agony, but it was …’
Her voice trailed off and she giggled again. I couldn’t stop myself from savouring the sound of that giggle. It was like liquid music.
‘Why tell me then, if you wouldn’t tell the others?’
Lizzie gave me a very sly look in reply and then kissed me full on the lips. (Thank God the changing room was empty by now. The rest of the team were already down in the shower block.) I stared at her, shocked and speechless. That wasn’t like the peck Jenna had given her. A kiss between girlie friends. It was a full blown kiss.
‘What you were doing to my feet was the worst and the best’ she confided. ‘And I know for a fact you were enjoying it too!’
The color must have risen in my cheeks, because she pointed at tem and laughed.
‘Don’t move out of the neighbourhood Jane, we’re going to have some fun this summer!’
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Any good? Let me know what you think. Constructive critiscism is always welcome. Any advice people give me I'll consider in the future. Thanks for reading.
Jim
BigJim's story archive...
Splintered Windows
I actually started writing it at work, longhand on a ruled jotter during the long slow hours of a night shift. While I was doing it a second idea occured to me and I ended up working on two stories at the same time. The other one ( about an angel who chooses to fall to earth and become mortal, a' la Nicholas Cage in City of Angels, only to discover that finding your sense of touch isn't all honey and roses
) will go up in the next day or two with any luck. Let me know what y'all think of this one and I'll use any constructive feedback in my future efforts.And now, on with the show...
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Blue and white were the colors of North Hatchem High School. The girls’ soccer team, The Graces, wore them on their strip with the badge in the center of the chest.
There were eleven first team players of course, not three as on the badge, but only one of them made an issue of the name: Elizabeth Longford. Lizzie or Lillibet to the rest of the team, she was a nice girl for sure, but she grated on a person sometimes. Her sense of humor was acerbic, even sarcastic sometimes; she was blond, soft featured, athletic and above all she was "bloody" English!
She'd moved to the states with her parents when she was 14, but hadn't lost any of her accent. On the contrary, it seemed to get stronger and more pronounced. With the instinct of what the English would have called "a born wind-up merchant", Lizzie knew that accent was pure kryptonite to an angry American in an argument. There is nothing quite so aggravating in all this world than an English person turning on the style is there?
Add to this list that this particular limey girl was also the best soccer player on the girls’ senior team and you have someone who was both likeable and aggravating. Everyone likes to be popular, but does anyone get a kick out of being annoying as well? I really believe Lizzie did.
Baiting Americans and us her teammates in particular, was a hobby of hers. Whenever I picture her face these days it's wearing that impish grin of hers, chin dropped onto her chest and her indigo eyes glinting mischievously out from under her fair eyebrows. Those looks combined with her accent got her male attention from all the best places. No wonder she suffered the fate she did. Female jealousy is a dangerous force when distilled.
Some thought that as captain, I should have reined her in more often, but I liked her and most of the time, her humor too. Besides, the one time the team really got its revenge on her I joined in with a will. I'm bound to admit as well that I enjoyed that revenge a piece more than I perhaps should have. It was fun, harmless enough and Lizzie took it in good part despite the embarrassment it unexpectedly caused her. But it was something else as well; it was "squooshy".
Lizzie played at center-forward and she was good! Unfortunately for the rest of us (she never tired of reminding us about it all the time) she knew she was good too. If a bad dancer had two left feet she reckoned, a good soccer player should have two right ones. I never worked that one out as she was equally good at dancing as she was at soccer. Some people have all the luck.
In May of our senior High School year we played an allegedly "friendly" match away at South Point and won a bad tempered, nasty game by 4-1. Lizzie scored two herself and set one of the others up after a mazy individual run. She also spent most of the game by humiliating the girl who was supposed to be marking her; running circles round her till she got dizzy.
When the final whistle blew we all went mad, dancing in a circle, hugging and pounding each other on the back. There was no love lost between the two schools for some reason (probably an extremely petty one - you know important things seem at 18 that are stupid and childish in retrospect) and a victory over South Point was always something to celebrate.
Lizzie's eternal sassiness was momentarily forgiven and forgotten as we danced round and the rest of us were lifting her onto our shoulders. As we did our lap of honor, Lizzie swayed precariously up there, so I reached up to support her, the tips of my fingers pressing into the fabric of the short covering her ribs.
Over our cheering the squeal of laughter she let out was easily audible and her sudden spasm brought her slithering abruptly down to the ground again.
'Jane you silly cow, stop it!' she laughed. I laughed myself, realizing I'd inadvertently tickled her. Most of the other girls hooted with derision.
'She barely touched you, you big wimp' opined Jenna, our goalkeeper.
Lisa, back on her feet and with some semblance of dignity restored, tossed her head - her blond plait thumping between her shoulders like a length of rope.
'Not my fault Jen', her lower lip pouted out mulishly, 'Any English rose will be more sensitive than some hoary old Yankee cactus'.
There were a handful of exaggerated “ooh” gasps and Jenna squeaked “bitch slap!” in a falsetto voice.
We eventually ended up back inside our dressing room, boots in hand (no studs allowed on South Point’s precious tiles) and still chattering. The Benzeoni twins, Koraline and Isabella, were loudly speculating on our chances of winning our league this year, Jenna was ragging Claire about her bright red hair and Lizzie was in full-on hyper mode, bouncing on the balls of her blue-socked feet and talking to me about the chances of her making the state side.
‘Keep it down can’t you?’ asked a partly-amused/partly-annoyed Isabella, putting her hands over her ears.
‘Fuhgeddaboutit’ replied Lizzie in such a perfect imitation of the sort of fake Italian accent you hear in pizza commercials that Claire snorted explosively with laughter.
‘And you can sharrup too, lighthouse bonce!’ said Lizzie indignantly, mistaking Claire’s amusement for derision.
Claire’s fiery eyebrows rose slightly as she smirked at Lizzie.
‘And what if I don’t?’
Lizzie was concentrating too much on a reply to notice the sly wink Claire sent in the direction of Kora and Bella, who were stood on the other side of her. Both of their olive faces grinned conspiratorially as they sidled up behind Lizzie.
‘…and you know it!’ finished Lizzie, hands on hips, tongue stuck out like a child.
‘What you forget Lillibet’ said Claire (she was only ever called that if someone wanted to annoy her) ‘is that you can’t win an argument against me, because I know your big weakness.’ So saying, she clawed her hands up and then jabbed them towards Lizzie’s rib-cage.
Lizzie gave a startled squeak like that pet thing Popeye used to have and skipped backwards a couple of feet, even though Claire’s fingertips got no closer to her than a yard. Unfortunately for her this put her directly in front of Kora who shot the first two fingers of each hand inside her upper arms and wiggled the tips against her top ribs.
With a startled “yee hee hee” noise Lizzie bucked and her knees nearly went right out then and there. She straightened them at the last second, pushing herself upright and shot a ferocious glare at Kora.
'What the he...' this sentence was cut off as Claire pinched her fingers into Lizzie's waist, right above her hips. This time her knees would have hit the floor if the twins hadn’t been there to catch her as she went down, letting out a cackle of laughter as she went.
I have a treble confession to make here. Tickling has always done something to me that I could never explain. I didn’t really understand up until this day. I could see someone getting tickled on the TV and I’d almost be hiding behind the couch, peeking out like a normal person would do at a horror movie. There’d be that strange feeling in the pit of my stomach watching it, that I’d recognize as arousal when I was old and experienced enough to understand that sort of thing. Watching it or imagining it being done to me or doing it to another girl always made my stomach flip over. Breathless is the word. Yeah, breathless. The second part is that I am bi-sexual. I guess I am mainly attracted to guys, but there is something about the female form that holds an allure for me. It’s something that comes out now and again and gives me a desire that nearly kills me if I don’t do something to fulfill it. Well here were both things happening at once and I was nearly turned to stone on the spot by the sight of it. The third thing I have to admit is that I am an admirer of female feet. This is not something that extends into my relationships with men, although I do like them to pay attention to mine, I only like the look of another girl’s. I don’t know why it is and I’ve given up guessing. There is just something about the soft, flawless skin of a female arch that I find attractive. Ask God why it is if you ever meet Him, I’m none the wiser.
It was obvious in a second that Lizzie’s ticklishness was acute beyond words. Claire had her ribs from behind and Kora was digging her fingers into the front of her tummy. The girl’s face was screwed up in an expression that was both agony and joy at the same time. I doubted she’d have described any of it as joy at that moment, but it looked like it and I was feeling that feeling again. Isabelle joined in a few seconds later, grasping both of Lizzie’s wrists and holding tem out from her body so she was helpless to defend herself. The poor girl was almost sobbing with laughter as he ribs, stomach and waist were all explored by the girls she’d been making the butt of her wicked English humor for so long. The rest of the team were egging the others on and moving in closer themselves and I suddenly realized I had to make one of two choices. I couldn’t just stand there looking dumb, it felt too self-conscious and I was sure that my most inner emotions were on blatant display for all to see. So as team captain I could break the party up, or as one of the gang I could join in and help. As Lizzie’s jaw shook with silent laughter, mouth agape in a soundless howl, I knew I wasn’t going to stop it, I was going to help!
Lizzie had been going from one sort of laughter to the next every few seconds… Isabelle danced her fingernails over her ribs and she’d shriek with high-pitched giggles, Kora would lift her soccer shirt a few inches and dig her thumbs into the bare skin of her waist and she’d let fly with a belly laugh, then Jenna dug her fingers into her armpits, still exposed with her arms held out, and she’d go into that shaking, silent laughter that seemed to make ever fiber of her body vibrate. But when I sat on her knees, pinning both legs to the floor and started to ease of her knee length white and blue socks, her shrieks and pleading suddenly took on a raw, desperate note.
‘Oh God Jane, please no! Not there! I can’t stand iIIIIITTTTTTTTT!!!’ One of her socks had finally come loose, revealing her bare foot and this last scream was elicited by my fingernails dancing over the smooth sole. Her body bucked and leapt as her laughter rang out even louder; within a few seconds the other sock had been swiped by one of the midfielders and now both feet were under assault. I had one ankle clamped firmly in the crook of one elbow, the other hand raking repeatedly across her sole, Dani Wallace (the midfielder had taken a hair brush from a bench and was scrubbing it across the other. Tears of pure hysteria were rolling down her cheeks now, no sound though; she’d gone off into that silent laughter of hers again.
Jenna suddenly paused in her tickling and looked at me, inspiration blooming in her eyes and the world’s most evil shit eating grin crossing her lips.
‘Don’t nobody go nowhere; I’ll be back in a second.’
Standing up and dashing across the room, Jenna stuck her head into the massive kitbag Coach Ferguson had left behind. She strolled back grinning at Lizzie and holding a bundle of blue and white somethings under one arm. Just being held down now, barefoot and with her shirt disheveled, Lizzie was looking up at Jenna, fearful and indignant at the same time.
‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing now?’ she demanded, her voice already a bit hoarse.
Jenna dropped the bundle on the floor and held up one hand. She was holding a long team scarf. Lizzie stared uncomprehendingly at it, but I realized what Jenna meant to do and couldn’t help grinning more than a little myself. She was going to tie her up. Jenna tossed the scarf to Isabella and snatched up another one herself. Within a few seconds both were tied around the hapless girl’s wrists and the other ends bound round coat pegs on the backs of the changing benches. Lizzie’s eyes were so wide with dawning horror that I had to hastily stifle a giggle. As an after thought I grabbed a third scarf and bound it round her ankles, looping around both of them the over the middle of the knot before tying it off. She was trussed like a Thanksgiving turkey.
‘One more I think, unless we want Coach Ferguson stomping in here’ said Jenna. She grabbed another scarf and wound it round the back of Lizzie’s head, gagging her completely.
I think at this point she was truly afraid, on top of the sort of dread anyone ticklish has of being tickled. She was totally defenseless and unable to help herself in any way. The rest of the team closed around her like carrion eaters round a wounded beast and the real torture began.
No-one had to hold Lizzie down now as she totally immobile. All 10 of the rest of the team were tickling her with gusto. Her howls and laughter came through the gag still, but muffled. Safe from alerting anyone nearby.
I moved back to her legs and hooked her bound ankles into my left elbow, tickling away at the soles of her feet and parting the toes occasionally for sneaky tickles at the sensitive skin in between. I don’t know when the atmosphere changed, but I think now it was Lizzie herself who changed it. Her wails, shrieks and giggles had changed tone. She was moaning now and not in pain either. A sheen of perspiration coated every inch of her visible skin and she was bucking her hips in a manner I couldn’t quite believe.
By now I was a mess myself. Lizzie’s tickling torment was turning me on like nothing had before and now seeing that apparently she was aroused as well, I threw caution to the wind. Without stopping tickling her feet I lowered my head I took one of her big toes in my mouth and sucked on it. Even through the rest of the team tickling her on every possible tickle-spot on her body she felt it and the deep toned groan that escaped around the edges of the scarf was unmistakable. I nibbled gently on the toe as if it was a favorite fruit and moved to the next one on her foot, then the next one.
The whole atmosphere in the room had changed and it was charged with sexual tension that everyone felt in some way or another. By the time I’d finished with each one of Lizzie’s toes someone had lifted her shirt all the way up so it almost covered her face, revealing her chest. Even through the sports bra she was wearing Lizzie’s nipples were standing out proud, almost presenting themselves as targets and six other sets of fingers were dancing ticklishly all around them, playing her ribs like a piano keyboard and flitting across the deeply sensitive flesh at the base of her breasts.
I’d finished all ten of her toes and now was slithering my tongue between each one in turn, starting with her left foot and moving on to the right. Lizzie was quivering like a wrecked ship on some particularly vicious rocks and making curious noises deep down in the back of her throat. When I finished giving her toes a tongue-bath I paused.
Someone had tweaked her shorts down a couple of inches and was now digging wickedly into her protruding hip-bones, causing the howls of ticklish agony to re-new their force. My tickling fingers paused their exploration of her flawless bare soles and I moved my face closer to them, extending my tongue and slowly, almost seductively licked the length of the right one from heel to toes, ending by wrapping my tongue round her big toe and giving one last appreciative suck.
How it is possible for someone to shriek in agony and yet groan in ecstasy at the same time I don’t know, but Lizzie managed it. When I repeated the long lick into the toe suck on her left sole the shrieks had significantly lessened in volume and the groans had increased. I kept repeating this, my own arousal at seeing Lizzie’s double torment almost unbearable by now and her body stopped bucking and started quivering, like she was plugged into the mains.
A pair of hands was mercilessly tickling each armpit, five pairs were probing her poor, undefended rib-cage, and two girls had one of their hands on both a hip and a knee, with the last tickling wherever se could get into a space. Just about every spot of bare or covered ticklish skin was being assaulted and I felt a flutter of panic at the thought of meeting the same fate myself. For my own part I was licking each gorgeous, unsullied sole in turn and I truly think it was this that was pushing Lizzie out of her mind more than anything else.
She had ten people holding her down and three thick woolen scarves binding her, but when the orgasm finally hit, she nearly threw the lot of us off. I felt it coming from the hitch in her labored breath behind the gag, the disbelieving and ascending notes of her squeaks as it built and finally the scream that came from deep down inside her, as her muscles jack-hammered her clean off the floor for a full five seconds.
As if on a cue (and probably we all felt a subconscious one at that point) the tickling stopped and a few of the girls backed off. Jenna leaned forwards and removed the gag from Lizzie’s mouth. The poor girl was breathing like she had bad asthma and every exhalation made her give a small shuddering squeak. Her eyes weren’t rolling exactly, but they were far-away and unfocused. I doubt she saw anything in the room at that moment. She’d just had the most intense experience of her young life. So for that matter, had I. I daren’t look down at the floor or my underwear; I was terrified of what I might see.
Jenna was grinning like a teacher who’d finally managed to teach a dull and recalcitrant pupil a difficult lesson as she leaned forwards and pecked Lizzie on the lips.
‘Now I just know you’ve learned a lesson Lillibet. And I also know that you won’t be telling anyone about it, because you know you’ll get exactly the same again if you do. Only thing is we might have to take you through at least two or three of those next time.’
She stretched out her own bare toe and rubbed it against the crotch of Lizzie’s shorts for emphasis. Lizzie made a sound that was a mixture of snort, groan, whimper and sob.
Claire and Bella were undoing the scarves holding her wrists; I untied the one binding her ankles. Free at last, Lizzie just lay on her side, knees drawn up, breathing hard. I let her be for a minute or so, but all she did was quiver and make very quiet mewing sounds, like a kitten. I couldn’t just leave her like that, so I leant over and put my arms under her shoulders to try and pull her up into a sitting position. To my surprise she not only let me, but folded her own arms around my body and hugged me hard!
She looked up into my face, her eyes red and tearing. The salty drops brimmed over the lids and rolled down her cheeks.
‘Oh you rotten, bloody cow’ she said, and giggled. You could’ve knocked me down with a feather right then (rather appropriately) to hear both the giggle and the tone of her voice.
‘What the hell did you bloody do to me?’ Another giggle. Tired and slow, but definitely a giggle. Not the thing you’d have expected to hear from someone who was upset.
I didn’t know how to answer, because without meaning to, she’d done pretty much the same thing to me as well.
‘You okay Liz?’ A dumb thing to ask I know, but I couldn’t think of anything else.
‘Okay? *giggle* I’m bloody marvelous. I wouldn’t tell them that, but I am. Oh God, it was pure, bloody agony, but it was …’
Her voice trailed off and she giggled again. I couldn’t stop myself from savouring the sound of that giggle. It was like liquid music.
‘Why tell me then, if you wouldn’t tell the others?’
Lizzie gave me a very sly look in reply and then kissed me full on the lips. (Thank God the changing room was empty by now. The rest of the team were already down in the shower block.) I stared at her, shocked and speechless. That wasn’t like the peck Jenna had given her. A kiss between girlie friends. It was a full blown kiss.
‘What you were doing to my feet was the worst and the best’ she confided. ‘And I know for a fact you were enjoying it too!’
The color must have risen in my cheeks, because she pointed at tem and laughed.
‘Don’t move out of the neighbourhood Jane, we’re going to have some fun this summer!’
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Any good? Let me know what you think. Constructive critiscism is always welcome. Any advice people give me I'll consider in the future. Thanks for reading.
Jim
BigJim's story archive...
Splintered Windows
