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A first attempt at some tickling fiction (Largely feet, m/f)

Travis

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Joined
Sep 22, 2001
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Hi all. This is my first attempt at some tickle fiction, and funnily enough my first post here. I just became a member, and thought I'd give something back.
This story deals with the non-consensual tickling of a 19 yr old girl. If that offends you, click away now.
Also, being Australian, there are a few cultural references here. They are unimportant to the story, and I thought I wouldn't try and hide them, giving a bit of spice for all you US readers.
Apologies for the long intro, but it is necessary in the interests of the story rather than just tickling.
Without further ado, please enjoy what will be, if you like this one, the first of many.
Thanks,
"Travis"

------------------
"Extra curricular activities"

From the moment I met Paige, I knew she was different. Maybe it was her model good looks, or the way she carried herself, or the way even the teachers were scared of her. She conducted herself with what many an old person would call poise and decorum, and what most of her classmates would call bitchiness and an iron resolve. Guys fell over themselves to talk to her, to ask her out and generally engage in all the pathetic attempts at conversation that are designed to gain a slim hope of performing the sexual act. And she rejected them – rudely, but in such a way that left no doubts as to her superiority in the high school food chain.
Unlike most of the students here, Paige wasn’t from the country, and as such took every opportunity to talk up her life in Sydney and the high-class experiences she felt she’d had that weren’t open to any of us mere mortals. Living in one of Australia’s few remaining country towns was never something I was ashamed of, except when faced with Paige. She had a way of making even the Principal seem inadequate. I was attracted to her from the start.
But I was not alone, and I certainly wasn’t in with a chance. Paige treated her men like potential employees, and no one had ever gotten the job. Standing 5’8, with long flowing brown hair, baby blue eyes, and a body that could melt a Cardinal, she was the epitome of teenage beauty. But also the definition of unavailable.
Therefore, it was my lot in life, being the token weird nerd in the eyes of my classmates, to pine away over Paige like everyone else in the male fraternity. I did not have a chance of talking to her, let alone going out with her or otherwise. However, unbeknownst to me, fate – and the rigid year 12 curriculum – had other plans that would bring us together.
The yearly school swimming competition was a bad hangover from our primary school days. It was hated and derided by all but the ‘jocks’, and by me more than most. I could swim – my skinny frame actually proving to be something of an advantage in this regard, the only physical thing I was ever really good at – but the competitive aspect of it worked against me. Not to mention the prospect of being seen in the embarrassing pair of swimming trunks picked out by my mother – far too small and bright orange. Nevertheless, the competition did have other advantages.
Having a lifelong foot fetish did spice up the day, getting a glimpse of the bare feet of all your female teenage contemporaries, if you could avoid seeing those of your male counterparts as well. It was a fine line to walk, but one that meant swimming day held something more than the promise of humiliation and physical exhaustion. My heart was set, of course, on getting a glimpse of the feet of my favourite stalkee – the not-always-so-lovely Paige.
But the day came, and to my horror, Paige hung about with her barefoot friends on the side of the pool, wearing sandshoes. What a travesty! Their blue fabric and thick soles seemed to taunt me, their Nike ‘swoosh’ seemed like a mocking grin. No beautiful bare feet for me.
As the day wore on, and my events came and went, it became clear that Paige herself wasn’t to be racing either, and thus it seemed unlikely that she would be giving the world a glimpse of her feet any time soon. My heart sank, along with a certain other part of my anatomy.
I had volunteered (or rather, been volunteered, in the forceful manner of school principals everywhere) to help clean up after the swimming sports that day, and as such was at the pool centre long after all my classmates had left. Putting away lane ropes and score cards and all manner of swimming paraphernalia wasn’t hard work, but it was quite time consuming, and I found myself getting changed in empty change rooms. Or so I thought, until cries of help led to me entering the female rooms on the other side of the partition, and discovering a sight that was not as entirely unwelcome to me as it was to Paige.
She was lying on one of the changing benches, tied with what seemed to be thick plastic pool tubing. Her angry demeanour suggested she had been there for a while. She glanced at me as I walked in the door.
“Thank God. Well don’t just stand there, dickhead, untie me!” she yelled.
The voice was so commanding, and my attraction to her so pathetic that I found myself moving toward her to comply almost without thinking. But then I caught up with myself, and stopped mid-stride.
“What happened?” I asked carefully.
“What’s it fucking look like, Mike, you stupid ******?!”
I wasn’t gay, of course. Come to think of it, my name wasn’t Mike either. Suddenly I felt even less inclined to help her.
“Those bitches tied me up for a joke as we were leaving. I’ve been here for ages! Doesn’t anybody work in this piss hole?” she glared.
“Well, some of us more than others.” I muttered, slowly drifting toward her.
“Whatever, just get me out of here will you? I can’t think of anything I’d rather do less than hang around in a damp change room with the king of homoerotic nerds. So let me up, you wanker.”
It was a stinging insult, but somehow I had been hoping she would continue along those lines, because it made what I wanted to do just now seem like a more justifiable option.
I stopped my approach at the edge of the table, and looked down at her feet. I reached for them, and began to undo the laces on her left shoe.
She started. “What the hell are you doing?” she cried angrily.
“You know, Paigey, I was wondering why someone would wear shoes on a day like this. Seems somehow aloof, when the whole school is barefoot, to be the only one. Don’t you think?” I looked at her face, and saw her grit her teeth. But only for a moment.
She looked as if she were about to deliver another round of abuse, but then seemed to think about her predicament and held it back.
“Well, if you must know” she started, with barely disguised hostility, “my feet are very sensitive, and I hate standing around in all the cold water all day. Alright with you, arsehole?”
“Sensitive feet, hey?” I asked absentmindedly, and finished removing both her shoes.
Paige had the most beautiful feet I had ever seen on a girl my age, and that was saying something. They were long and thin, without the nail polish I so detested. Her soles were perfect in every way – smooth, pink, and uncalloused. They seemed almost as if they had never even been walked on.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she cried, looking down at me even from her horizontal position.
I ignored this. “Sensitive feet, eh? Are they ticklish?”
To her credit Paige hesitated for only the barest second, only a flicker of uncertainty passed across that beautiful, but sternly resolved face of hers. “Of course not, I’m not some stupid little kid. Not like you and your hick country friends.”
To a foot fetish man like me they really were awe-inspiring. The ideal feet, sent by a God I didn’t believe in to a man who wasn’t going to pass up the chance. But my foot fetish was only my minor interest. It was subordinate to a greater love of tickling. It was something that up until now had only marred my life, as I had struggled to avoid the temptation to tickle. Child abuse had marred my early life, and somehow to gain sexual pleasure from tickling another seemed similarly sick to me. I had never acted upon my feelings, difficult though it was. But staring at those feet, something just clicked and I resolved to test the very limits of my own peccadillo. I had always felt different, and my tickle fetish was just another peg in that board. So why worry?
I reached down with my hand, fingers poised just inches from her soles.
“Well, then you won’t mind if I do this!”
And I ran my index fingers over the soles of her heavenly peds. Paige jumped. She jumped so hard that if she hadn’t been tied down she would have taken the bench with her.
“Stop that!” she shrieked.
“Stop what?” I mocked, and begun tickling in earnest, running my fingers all over the soft, smooth skin of her foot bottoms.
The giggling started then. “Stop……it…you…he hehe…fucking…..”
And within seconds she was laughing harder than anyone who knew her would have imagined. Mercilessly, I scribbled my fingertips softly over her feet, and the guffaws of laughter it provoked surprised even me.
She was helpless, head thrown back, the only sound she was capable of uttering a long hard shriek of laughter. Her whole foot was like one giant minefield of ticklish spots, each more powerful in their effect on her than the last. Between her toes, the arches, the bottoms of her toes, the heel, even the tops of her feet shared no respite from my tickling assault.
She kicked her legs as much as her bonds would allow, but my grip on her ankles was absolute. When I finished, what must have been ten minutes later, she was barely able to utter audible English.
I moved to the head of the table, determined not to let this once in a lifetime opportunity go to waste. She looked up at me.
“Wstfgrl” she managed, before my fingers descended into the hairless hollows of her armpits and all she knew was uncontrollable hilarity. If anything, they were more ticklish than her gloriously sensitive soles, and she bucked and twisted with all the determination of a bull entering the slaughterhouse.
“Please…fucking stop…AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA”
And I did. But only for a moment.
“Please, Mike, please please please stop, I’ll do anything you want, just don’t tickle me anymore. I can’t stand it!” she begged, and for the first time sounded like she was doing something other than gifting the whole world with her controlling presence.
“So, looks like you are a little ticklish then, eh?” I said, grinning, and ran a single finger down the inside of her arms.
“Eeek! Yes, yes, all right I admit I’m very ticklish! I’m the most ticklish person ever! I fucking hate it please won’t you hahahahahahah stop, stop for hehehehehe fuck’s sake! I HAHAHAHAHAHATE IT!” she managed, before all semblance of speech was lost as I worked my fingertips down her smooth, flat stomach.
I tickled that girl more than I had ever tickled anyone in my life before, but hopefully not more than I ever will again. I tickled her whole body from top to bottom. I even removed her bikini top and bottom with my pocket knife, relishing the high pitched squeals that emanated from her as I tickled the silky skin of her bare breasts, and the agonised giggling that burst forth when I stroked inside her thighs..
“FFUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCKKKKKKK!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!”
But it was her feet that I was most enamoured with, and it was with her feet that I chose to end our delightful session. With every ounce of fiendish glee and unresolved sexual tension in my person, I set about tickling her feet non-stop with all the vigour of a lunatic. Towards the end, she couldn’t even laugh, mouth open in the eternal silent scream of the ticklish prisoner. She was so ticklish, her feet so sensitive, her plight so assured, that I tickled for what must have been hours. The climax came when she finally succumbed to my torturous fingers, losing her self-control and emptying her bladder all over the hardwood bench. Only then did I stop, the sound of her laughter ringing in the chamber not quite loud enough to obscure the sounds of the private changing rooms on either side of the rooms we were in.
I checked my watch – 6pm. The pool had just opened to the public again for the hot summer night, the noise of arriving crowds filling the air.
Perfect timing. I looked down at Paige, her body glistening with tickle-sweat, mouth still in a mortified grin. Still as beautiful as ever, but somehow more human now. She had been knocked off her perch as head school bitch, not by a harsh word but by a feather. I chuckled, even withstanding my pathetic sense of poetry.
She had begun to regain some of her composure, now she realised I had finished. “Oh God... you’ve…had…your..fun…now…please, untie me, for god’s sake…don’t…leave me here…” she begged, naked and broken.
I bent down and tickled her bare soles for a few seconds more, savouring the laughter, the helplessness that I realised now was so unnatural but still so profoundly affecting. I stood up and looked her in the eyes.
“Thank you, Paige.” I said. Then, bending down, I picked up both her shoes, placing them in my bag, and left the changing rooms, stopping only to trigger the fire alarm as I went.
 
Inspired...

Well written, entertaining, and just plain fun. I hope to see more of your work in the future, Travis. :)
 
Great!

Loved the story man...what can I say, I'm partial to foot tickling! :)

Great overall writing too. Keep up the good work.

- DFT
 
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