clean_kitchen
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Aug 14, 2002
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Tables Turned
by clean_kitchen
I've had many fantasies like this, where I somehow sneak in and tickle a woman. I wondered what it would be like to be on the business end of that fantasy...
. . .
I flipped on the light and put my bag by the table as I entered the house. It had been a long day. I put my coat in the closet and headed for the TV. My wife would not be home for about half an hour, so I decided to catch the score before putting the frozen pizza in the oven.
I was barely in the room when a blow from behind knocked me face-down on the floor. Before I knew what was happening, I felt the weight of someone sitting on my arms. I had put my arms out during my fall, so they were now pinned high above my head. A second weight sat on my hips.
I tried to struggle, but a pair of hands quickly pulled my dress shirt out of my pants and snaked up underneath. Any thought of protest fled my mind as fingernails began to skitter up and down my outstretched sides and back.
I burst into an immediate and steady stream of pleading laughter. It was several minutes before I was able to put together another coherent thought. Eventually the tickling stopped and I just lay there, still restrained, catching my breath.
I didn't know whether to be scared or elated. How many times had I dreamed of something like this (though with the roles reversed)? Part of me was excited and wanted them to really let me have it. Another part of me, however, wasn't really sure what to think. Who were these people? What did they want? How long did they plan to tickle me?
I could tell there were at least two people, one on my wrists and one sitting on my waist, but were there more than that? The long fingernails with which I was now quite familiar led me to think that the tickler was a woman, but I couldn't be sure. I decided to go with that assumption for now; the thought of being tickled be another guy didn't really appeal to me--not that I had a choice.
The only light I had turned on was the entryway light, so the living room was dimly lit in the early dark of a December evening. I lifted my head in an attempt to see my assailants and was rewarded with a fresh dose of tickling.
I laughed and and bucked and begged the tickler to stop. I always wondered how I would react to a real tickle torture. As exciting as it was, all I could think about as those nails scribbled along my back and sides was how badly I wanted it to stop. The tickling stopped once again after what I assume was a couple minutes.
I felt my captors shift their weight, but I was too spent to try anything. They rolled me on my back and re-applied their firm restraint. My eyes had sufficiently adjusted to the dark that I could now see the forms of the intruders. They were indeed two women, dressed in black. Neither was particularly large, but each carried the strength and balance of an athlete. I recognized neither of them.
I looked up into the eyes of the one who had been tickling me. She was cute, and she was truly enjoying this situation. To a certain extent, so was I. I was being held down and tickled by a couple of attractive women; it was sexy as hell. I snapped to my senses.
"What do you wAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!..."
Again, my curiosity was rewarded with some serious tickling. This time her nails tickled my sides, stomach and chest. Her hands flew from place to place, never letting me get used to any particular sensation. I was too far gone to have thought it then, but she was really good--or bad, depending on your point of view.
My point of view laughed and begged for mercy. I was in heaven and hell all at the same time. Again, the tickling stopped so I could catch my breath.
"What... do you want...?" I was able to ask.
"Nothing," said the tickler, matter-of-factly. "We're not here to rob you and we will not harm you or your family."
"Then why?" I asked, knowing how I would answer.
The tickler answered with her fingers. She alternated between skittering her nails under my arms and squeezing my sides. I shrieked--yes, shrieked--and laughed with every stroke and pinch. She taunted me through my laughter.
"Because we like to tickle, that's why." She squeezed my ribs as punctuation. "We're going to tickle you all night. All we want you to do it laugh and take it."
I was holding up my end of the arrangement. I listened as best I could to what she said and couldn't believe my ears. They were tickle fanatics who just wanted to tickle me to hear me laugh. All night? I wasn't sure that I could take that, but I wasn't sure I had a choice.
The tickling stopped and they rolled me back on my stomach. The tickler pinned my arms at my sides under her legs. The one who had been holding my arms sat on my lower legs and took off my shoes. I was wearing thin dress socks. I had always thought they made my feet feel especially ticklish. I braced myself for the inevitable.
I was surprised when instead of attacking my soles she simply began to lightly and slowly drag her nails across my feet. At first it wasn't too bad, but it seemed to build. First I started to giggle, and that eventually gave way to a steady stream of laughter. Her technique never changed. She just continued lightly tracing the thin material of my socks.
This almost seemed worse than the heavy tickling her friend had given me. It wasn't immediately as bad, but it felt as though she could do this to me forever without fear of me passing out. I just laughed and shook under the weight of the women.
The tickling stopped abruptly and the room was suddenly filled with light. There was a car in the driveway. My wife was home. I had forgotten all about that. The women hushed each other and wrestled me quickly into the bedroom. One of them grabbed a sock out of the dresser and shoved it in my mouth. I was given instructions that any attempt to make noise or escape would result in harm to my wife.
Part of me was excited that she was home. It didn't take much clairvoyance to guess that her arrival would not ultimately halt the threatened night of tickling. In fact, there was a good chance that she was going to get it, too. My wife had never been into tickling, so the thought of seeing these women tickle torture her was kind of exciting. Besides, I wouldn't risk causing her any real harm by trying something. It was possible the intruders were armed with more than fingernails.
We listened as the front door opened. Keys were dropped on the table. A light appeared under the door as she turned on the lamp in the living room. The doorknob to the bedroom turned and the door opened.
. . .
The struggle had been short. My wife and I were tied side-by-side, face down on our bed, arms stretched tight above our heads and ankles secured to the foot of the bed. I turned my head and looked over at my wife. She had never looked sexier. We had both been stripped to our underwear. I gave her a bit of an "I'm sorry" look. She had no idea what she was in for.
She tried to turn her head to see the intruders. A high squeal and torrent of staccato laughter told me that she got the same reward for that as I had. One of the women was straddling my wife's hips, tickling her bare sides and back. She shrieked and begged in disbelief at her situation. I knew from the occasional playful tickles I had tried over the years that she was insanely ticklish. The bed rocked and bounced as she struggled to avoid the tickling. It was like I was living in a dream, watching this attractive woman tickle the crap out of my lovely wife.
I didn't get to enjoy it for long as the second intruder resumed her interrupted work on my now bare feet. This time she forgot the light torture and went to town, scratching her fingers all up and down my soles. I forgot about my wife and her predicament and was lost in my own ticklish world.
The tickling stopped. One of the women repeated their "we're here to tickle you" spiel for the benefit of my wife. My wife was in complete disbelief. There was no way she could stand to be tickled like this another minute, let alone all night.
I was watching the intruders and could tell they were absolutely enjoying themselves. They not only loved tickling us, but they loved the whole situation. I could tell it would be a long night because they were unlikely to get bored any time soon.
"Let's play a game," said the first, looking at my wife. "We're only going to tickle one of you at a time, but the catch is that you're going to tell us where to tickle the other person."
"You're crazy," my wife replied.
"Probably, but that's beside the point. The simple fact is that you're going to tell my friend where to tickle your husband."
My wife looked over at me. "And if I don't?" she asked.
"I think you know the answer to that," the second woman replied. "I'm going to tickle you until you tell us where to tickle him."
"I'm not going to do it," she said defiantly.
"Awesome," was the woman's only reply as she went to work on my wife. She straddled her hips and dragged her fingernails up and down her sides, from her hips to under her arms. She lingered a while under her arms and around her hips as she found a particularly ticklish spot.
My wife bounced and screamed and begged, filling the room with beautiful tickled laughter. It was incredible to see her do this for my benefit. I felt a little guilty in the knowledge that she was suffering to save me from something I kind of wanted to happen.
She eventually had enough and conceded through her laughter. It was both terrifying and exciting to hear my wife tell the woman standing by me to tickle my feet. My wife lifted her head slightly and said she was sorry. I reassured her that it was OK, that she did good.
"Same deal for you," I head the woman say from the foot of the bed. "Your wife said to tickle your feet. I'm going to tickle you until you tell my friend where she should tickle your wife next."
I buried my face in the bed and gave myself over the sensations exploding from my feet. I wonder what my wife thought as she saw me being tickled like that. Needless to say, it was terrible. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life. I wanted so badly for it to stop, but I wanted to give my wife a break.
I finally had to give in. I already knew where I wanted the woman to tickle my wife. I tried to not sound too excited when I said, "Tickle her feet."
Her eyes got wide and she begged for the woman to stay away from her feet.
"Hey, blame your husband," she said. "You can stop this by telling us where to tickle him next."
My wife made sounds I had never heard a woman make when the intruded began to scribble her fingers on my wife's soles. She was absolutely hysterical. I wished I could see what the woman was doing to her feet, but all I could see was the results. She laughed like a madwoman. I thought for sure her head was going to pop off or something. It didn't take long before she gave up.
"His sides," she gasped, shooting me a nasty look.
"Woah," I thought. She was actually getting into this. She was getting back at me for choosing her feet by choosing somewhere she knew I was especially ticklish. I knew this was the effect the intruders wanted, and my wife was playing into it.
I took the tickling on my sides as long as I could before telling the women to tickle my wife under her arms. She told them to do the same to me, and it went back and forth like that for an hour or two.
"Her legs..."
"His feet..."
"Under her arms..."
"His sides..."
"Her feet..."
"Under his arms..."
Except for the fact that it tickled like crazy, it was the best couple hours of my life, trading commands for a woman to tickle my wife and from my wife to have me tickled. In the end, we were both exhausted and thoroughly tickled. Neither of us had an exposed ticklish spot that remained unexploited.
"I hope you had fun," one of the intruders said. "It's about time for us to go. We'll call the police from a pay phone once we're a safe distance from here."
"But there's one more thing before we go," the other added. "The last thing you're going to do for us is tell us where to go next. Give us the name of somebody you know who would, shall we say, enjoy a visit."
That was the first thing they asked that I was not willing to do. I wasn't going to be somehow complicit in them breaking into someone else's house. What if somebody got hurt next time?
"We'll leave this decision to the man of the house," they said walking over to me.
"Forget it. That's too far," I responded.
"OK, you know the drill."
I did. I was in for more tickling, but this time I really did not want to give up.
The two women didn't waste any time. One tickled my upper body, tracing her fingers around my back and sides. The other tickled from the backs of my thighs down to my feet and back again. They weren't playing around now. This was tickle torture with purpose. They wanted me not just to laugh, but to talk.
I screamed and laughed and thrashed and begged. I had never been tickled so bad, not even during our "games" earlier in the night. I was absolutely beside myself in ticklish agony. But I was determined not to give in. I could vaguely hear my wife begging them to stop tickling me.
They did. I continued to laugh and pant and giggle from the ordeal.
"Very well," said one of the women. "You may be prepared to take that kind of tickling, but are you prepared to watch you wife suffer like that?"
"Nooo!" my wife screamed in panic as the women moved to her side of the bed.
"Do you have a name for us?" they asked me.
"Please!" my wife pleaded, "go to my brother's house. He lives with his wife here in town. I know for a fact their both ticklish."
"Your husband has to be the one to tell us," responded one of the women.
"Tell them! Don't let them do this to me!"
"I can't," I said.
"Please! Oh, please!" my wife said, turning her now wild eyes to the ticklers. She gave me one last pleading look before her eyes slammed shut in a tickled scream.
I could tell the women were tickling my wife as bad as they had just tickled me. She was going berserk as the two pairs of hands explored her smooth skin. The hands settled on her feet and under her arms, wriggling furiously in place. My wife buried her head in the bed, which barely muffled her hysterical laughter.
I could still feel those fingers on my own body and I giggled in sympathy with my wife. I knew how bad this must be for her, well beyond the relatively playful tickling we had endured throughout the night. I couldn't watch any more.
"OK! OK! Leave her alone. I'll give you a name."
The tickling stopped and my wife gasped for breath, tears steaming down her face.
"Her brother and his wife live at 1620 E 5th here in town," I said, feeling now defeated.
"And...," said one of the women.
"And what?" I replied, not sure what she wanted.
At that, the women resumed tickling my unsuspecting wife.
"Tickle them!" I yelled over my wife's laughter. "Go tickle them."
"Sounds like a plan. We'll visit them in two days. If you try to warn them I promise we'll be back, and we won't be as nice." said the first woman with a sly grin, and with that they left.
My wife and I looked at each other with exhausted eyes and fell asleep before either of us could say a word.
. . .
We were awaken by the police, who had received an anonymous call. We gave them our account of the break-in, leaving out the part about my wife's brother.
The next day was Sunday and we saw her brother and his wife at church. We talked a little about the break-in and the ordeal we had been through. Both expressed how bad it would be to be tickled like that. His wife was a bit more vocal, possibly because women are quicker to admit that they're ticklish.
As we talked, I glanced down at her foot. She was wearing nylons on her small feet and her shoe was dangling from her toe, her arch high and smooth. Man, I wished that I could be at their house that night...
by clean_kitchen
I've had many fantasies like this, where I somehow sneak in and tickle a woman. I wondered what it would be like to be on the business end of that fantasy...
. . .
I flipped on the light and put my bag by the table as I entered the house. It had been a long day. I put my coat in the closet and headed for the TV. My wife would not be home for about half an hour, so I decided to catch the score before putting the frozen pizza in the oven.
I was barely in the room when a blow from behind knocked me face-down on the floor. Before I knew what was happening, I felt the weight of someone sitting on my arms. I had put my arms out during my fall, so they were now pinned high above my head. A second weight sat on my hips.
I tried to struggle, but a pair of hands quickly pulled my dress shirt out of my pants and snaked up underneath. Any thought of protest fled my mind as fingernails began to skitter up and down my outstretched sides and back.
I burst into an immediate and steady stream of pleading laughter. It was several minutes before I was able to put together another coherent thought. Eventually the tickling stopped and I just lay there, still restrained, catching my breath.
I didn't know whether to be scared or elated. How many times had I dreamed of something like this (though with the roles reversed)? Part of me was excited and wanted them to really let me have it. Another part of me, however, wasn't really sure what to think. Who were these people? What did they want? How long did they plan to tickle me?
I could tell there were at least two people, one on my wrists and one sitting on my waist, but were there more than that? The long fingernails with which I was now quite familiar led me to think that the tickler was a woman, but I couldn't be sure. I decided to go with that assumption for now; the thought of being tickled be another guy didn't really appeal to me--not that I had a choice.
The only light I had turned on was the entryway light, so the living room was dimly lit in the early dark of a December evening. I lifted my head in an attempt to see my assailants and was rewarded with a fresh dose of tickling.
I laughed and and bucked and begged the tickler to stop. I always wondered how I would react to a real tickle torture. As exciting as it was, all I could think about as those nails scribbled along my back and sides was how badly I wanted it to stop. The tickling stopped once again after what I assume was a couple minutes.
I felt my captors shift their weight, but I was too spent to try anything. They rolled me on my back and re-applied their firm restraint. My eyes had sufficiently adjusted to the dark that I could now see the forms of the intruders. They were indeed two women, dressed in black. Neither was particularly large, but each carried the strength and balance of an athlete. I recognized neither of them.
I looked up into the eyes of the one who had been tickling me. She was cute, and she was truly enjoying this situation. To a certain extent, so was I. I was being held down and tickled by a couple of attractive women; it was sexy as hell. I snapped to my senses.
"What do you wAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!..."
Again, my curiosity was rewarded with some serious tickling. This time her nails tickled my sides, stomach and chest. Her hands flew from place to place, never letting me get used to any particular sensation. I was too far gone to have thought it then, but she was really good--or bad, depending on your point of view.
My point of view laughed and begged for mercy. I was in heaven and hell all at the same time. Again, the tickling stopped so I could catch my breath.
"What... do you want...?" I was able to ask.
"Nothing," said the tickler, matter-of-factly. "We're not here to rob you and we will not harm you or your family."
"Then why?" I asked, knowing how I would answer.
The tickler answered with her fingers. She alternated between skittering her nails under my arms and squeezing my sides. I shrieked--yes, shrieked--and laughed with every stroke and pinch. She taunted me through my laughter.
"Because we like to tickle, that's why." She squeezed my ribs as punctuation. "We're going to tickle you all night. All we want you to do it laugh and take it."
I was holding up my end of the arrangement. I listened as best I could to what she said and couldn't believe my ears. They were tickle fanatics who just wanted to tickle me to hear me laugh. All night? I wasn't sure that I could take that, but I wasn't sure I had a choice.
The tickling stopped and they rolled me back on my stomach. The tickler pinned my arms at my sides under her legs. The one who had been holding my arms sat on my lower legs and took off my shoes. I was wearing thin dress socks. I had always thought they made my feet feel especially ticklish. I braced myself for the inevitable.
I was surprised when instead of attacking my soles she simply began to lightly and slowly drag her nails across my feet. At first it wasn't too bad, but it seemed to build. First I started to giggle, and that eventually gave way to a steady stream of laughter. Her technique never changed. She just continued lightly tracing the thin material of my socks.
This almost seemed worse than the heavy tickling her friend had given me. It wasn't immediately as bad, but it felt as though she could do this to me forever without fear of me passing out. I just laughed and shook under the weight of the women.
The tickling stopped abruptly and the room was suddenly filled with light. There was a car in the driveway. My wife was home. I had forgotten all about that. The women hushed each other and wrestled me quickly into the bedroom. One of them grabbed a sock out of the dresser and shoved it in my mouth. I was given instructions that any attempt to make noise or escape would result in harm to my wife.
Part of me was excited that she was home. It didn't take much clairvoyance to guess that her arrival would not ultimately halt the threatened night of tickling. In fact, there was a good chance that she was going to get it, too. My wife had never been into tickling, so the thought of seeing these women tickle torture her was kind of exciting. Besides, I wouldn't risk causing her any real harm by trying something. It was possible the intruders were armed with more than fingernails.
We listened as the front door opened. Keys were dropped on the table. A light appeared under the door as she turned on the lamp in the living room. The doorknob to the bedroom turned and the door opened.
. . .
The struggle had been short. My wife and I were tied side-by-side, face down on our bed, arms stretched tight above our heads and ankles secured to the foot of the bed. I turned my head and looked over at my wife. She had never looked sexier. We had both been stripped to our underwear. I gave her a bit of an "I'm sorry" look. She had no idea what she was in for.
She tried to turn her head to see the intruders. A high squeal and torrent of staccato laughter told me that she got the same reward for that as I had. One of the women was straddling my wife's hips, tickling her bare sides and back. She shrieked and begged in disbelief at her situation. I knew from the occasional playful tickles I had tried over the years that she was insanely ticklish. The bed rocked and bounced as she struggled to avoid the tickling. It was like I was living in a dream, watching this attractive woman tickle the crap out of my lovely wife.
I didn't get to enjoy it for long as the second intruder resumed her interrupted work on my now bare feet. This time she forgot the light torture and went to town, scratching her fingers all up and down my soles. I forgot about my wife and her predicament and was lost in my own ticklish world.
The tickling stopped. One of the women repeated their "we're here to tickle you" spiel for the benefit of my wife. My wife was in complete disbelief. There was no way she could stand to be tickled like this another minute, let alone all night.
I was watching the intruders and could tell they were absolutely enjoying themselves. They not only loved tickling us, but they loved the whole situation. I could tell it would be a long night because they were unlikely to get bored any time soon.
"Let's play a game," said the first, looking at my wife. "We're only going to tickle one of you at a time, but the catch is that you're going to tell us where to tickle the other person."
"You're crazy," my wife replied.
"Probably, but that's beside the point. The simple fact is that you're going to tell my friend where to tickle your husband."
My wife looked over at me. "And if I don't?" she asked.
"I think you know the answer to that," the second woman replied. "I'm going to tickle you until you tell us where to tickle him."
"I'm not going to do it," she said defiantly.
"Awesome," was the woman's only reply as she went to work on my wife. She straddled her hips and dragged her fingernails up and down her sides, from her hips to under her arms. She lingered a while under her arms and around her hips as she found a particularly ticklish spot.
My wife bounced and screamed and begged, filling the room with beautiful tickled laughter. It was incredible to see her do this for my benefit. I felt a little guilty in the knowledge that she was suffering to save me from something I kind of wanted to happen.
She eventually had enough and conceded through her laughter. It was both terrifying and exciting to hear my wife tell the woman standing by me to tickle my feet. My wife lifted her head slightly and said she was sorry. I reassured her that it was OK, that she did good.
"Same deal for you," I head the woman say from the foot of the bed. "Your wife said to tickle your feet. I'm going to tickle you until you tell my friend where she should tickle your wife next."
I buried my face in the bed and gave myself over the sensations exploding from my feet. I wonder what my wife thought as she saw me being tickled like that. Needless to say, it was terrible. I don't think I've ever laughed so hard in my life. I wanted so badly for it to stop, but I wanted to give my wife a break.
I finally had to give in. I already knew where I wanted the woman to tickle my wife. I tried to not sound too excited when I said, "Tickle her feet."
Her eyes got wide and she begged for the woman to stay away from her feet.
"Hey, blame your husband," she said. "You can stop this by telling us where to tickle him next."
My wife made sounds I had never heard a woman make when the intruded began to scribble her fingers on my wife's soles. She was absolutely hysterical. I wished I could see what the woman was doing to her feet, but all I could see was the results. She laughed like a madwoman. I thought for sure her head was going to pop off or something. It didn't take long before she gave up.
"His sides," she gasped, shooting me a nasty look.
"Woah," I thought. She was actually getting into this. She was getting back at me for choosing her feet by choosing somewhere she knew I was especially ticklish. I knew this was the effect the intruders wanted, and my wife was playing into it.
I took the tickling on my sides as long as I could before telling the women to tickle my wife under her arms. She told them to do the same to me, and it went back and forth like that for an hour or two.
"Her legs..."
"His feet..."
"Under her arms..."
"His sides..."
"Her feet..."
"Under his arms..."
Except for the fact that it tickled like crazy, it was the best couple hours of my life, trading commands for a woman to tickle my wife and from my wife to have me tickled. In the end, we were both exhausted and thoroughly tickled. Neither of us had an exposed ticklish spot that remained unexploited.
"I hope you had fun," one of the intruders said. "It's about time for us to go. We'll call the police from a pay phone once we're a safe distance from here."
"But there's one more thing before we go," the other added. "The last thing you're going to do for us is tell us where to go next. Give us the name of somebody you know who would, shall we say, enjoy a visit."
That was the first thing they asked that I was not willing to do. I wasn't going to be somehow complicit in them breaking into someone else's house. What if somebody got hurt next time?
"We'll leave this decision to the man of the house," they said walking over to me.
"Forget it. That's too far," I responded.
"OK, you know the drill."
I did. I was in for more tickling, but this time I really did not want to give up.
The two women didn't waste any time. One tickled my upper body, tracing her fingers around my back and sides. The other tickled from the backs of my thighs down to my feet and back again. They weren't playing around now. This was tickle torture with purpose. They wanted me not just to laugh, but to talk.
I screamed and laughed and thrashed and begged. I had never been tickled so bad, not even during our "games" earlier in the night. I was absolutely beside myself in ticklish agony. But I was determined not to give in. I could vaguely hear my wife begging them to stop tickling me.
They did. I continued to laugh and pant and giggle from the ordeal.
"Very well," said one of the women. "You may be prepared to take that kind of tickling, but are you prepared to watch you wife suffer like that?"
"Nooo!" my wife screamed in panic as the women moved to her side of the bed.
"Do you have a name for us?" they asked me.
"Please!" my wife pleaded, "go to my brother's house. He lives with his wife here in town. I know for a fact their both ticklish."
"Your husband has to be the one to tell us," responded one of the women.
"Tell them! Don't let them do this to me!"
"I can't," I said.
"Please! Oh, please!" my wife said, turning her now wild eyes to the ticklers. She gave me one last pleading look before her eyes slammed shut in a tickled scream.
I could tell the women were tickling my wife as bad as they had just tickled me. She was going berserk as the two pairs of hands explored her smooth skin. The hands settled on her feet and under her arms, wriggling furiously in place. My wife buried her head in the bed, which barely muffled her hysterical laughter.
I could still feel those fingers on my own body and I giggled in sympathy with my wife. I knew how bad this must be for her, well beyond the relatively playful tickling we had endured throughout the night. I couldn't watch any more.
"OK! OK! Leave her alone. I'll give you a name."
The tickling stopped and my wife gasped for breath, tears steaming down her face.
"Her brother and his wife live at 1620 E 5th here in town," I said, feeling now defeated.
"And...," said one of the women.
"And what?" I replied, not sure what she wanted.
At that, the women resumed tickling my unsuspecting wife.
"Tickle them!" I yelled over my wife's laughter. "Go tickle them."
"Sounds like a plan. We'll visit them in two days. If you try to warn them I promise we'll be back, and we won't be as nice." said the first woman with a sly grin, and with that they left.
My wife and I looked at each other with exhausted eyes and fell asleep before either of us could say a word.
. . .
We were awaken by the police, who had received an anonymous call. We gave them our account of the break-in, leaving out the part about my wife's brother.
The next day was Sunday and we saw her brother and his wife at church. We talked a little about the break-in and the ordeal we had been through. Both expressed how bad it would be to be tickled like that. His wife was a bit more vocal, possibly because women are quicker to admit that they're ticklish.
As we talked, I glanced down at her foot. She was wearing nylons on her small feet and her shoe was dangling from her toe, her arch high and smooth. Man, I wished that I could be at their house that night...
