College Tickles

Disclaimer: This story is fictional, the story never happened to my knowledge and the people are also fictional. Any facsimile to real people or real events is pure coincidental.

In the student union of the State University, Andrew and his girlfriend Clarissa were working on their paper for philosophy. Andrew was typing on his laptop computer, but Clarissa was just lying on the couch stretched out.

"Come on!" Andrew said. "This paper is due tomorrow at 8:00am and you haven't been holding up your half of the work!" Clarissa said, "I'm not really in the mood today." She yawned and started to dose off. Andrew looked up and noticed that she was asleep on the couch. He also took note of the fact that her arms were over her head; due to the fact that she was wearing a shirt that did not fit, so her belly was exposed. Andrew then got an evil smirk on his face. The Union was about to close so the place was near deserted. He took her jean jacket and used the sleeves to tie her arms together. He then proceeded to take his own coat sleeves to tie her legs together.

He then took his index finger and slowly pulled it across her exposed belly. Clarissa smiled; she was clearly awake, but she did not open her eyes. Andrew did it again, this time with two fingers. She was smiling, but nothing else. He took it up a notch and started "ice-skating" across her belly. She started giggling, so he then decided to squeeze her sides, and she was starting to lose it. Andrew then did an all-out assault on her belly. Then the laughter came out nice and loud. "HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! Stop, that tickles!" she cried. "You had your chance to help me, but you refused; so vengenance is mine!" He ran his fingers mercilessly across her ticklish tummy, leaving no spot untouched. After 5 minutes, Clarissa was near out of breath. He then decided to tickle her armpits because her shirt was sleeveless. "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!! PLEAAAAAAAAAASEEEEEEEEEESTAAPPPPPPPPPAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!"

Then, Andrew got another devious idea. He went to her feet and took off her right shoe and sock. "Oh no, please don't tickle my feet! I beg of you!! I'll do anything you want!!! PLEASE, JUST NOT THE FEET!!!!" Andrew slid his finger on her soft sole. She smiled, so then he starts running his fingers wildly on her foot. "STOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPITHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA! That tickles!!!!!!!!!!!!" Andrew asked her, "Are you ready to help?"
Clarissa answered, "Not really, I'm not really not in the mood to help." Andrew responded, "Well, then I don't feel I should stop tickling you."

"Alright, if you finish the paper and do my work, then you can tickle me anytime you want."

Andrew said, "I want one night once a week to tickle you mercilessly. You need to let me tie you up like you are tied up now with me having free reign to all your ticklish spots."

After thinking a minute, she said, "Alright, we have a deal. You can keep it up right now if you finish the paper, just not my feet because they get cold."

He responded, "Alright, we have a deal." Instead of shaking her hand on it, he shook her foot and tickled it. He then went to her midsection and said, "Tonight, your taut and very ticklish tummy gets the work tonight. Ready?" She shook her head no, but he started lightly with a finger across her stomach. The giggling started up and when he started to give her tummy a massage, all laughter broke loose. She is laughing hysterically and he keeps it up for 1 hour. Then the manager comes in and says, "Alright, love birds, time to go." So they leave, but this is not all, folks.

thanks for this one

a new thread?

Perhaps this could become a new thread. There must be lots of people with great college tickling tales to share.

Bring it on

Anyone else with college tales of tickling, fact or fiction?

I'd been actively involved in the social work department, more than any other student on campus. My efforts endeared me to the department chair, Dr. Simmons, who offered me a full-credit internship. I performed a variety of office work and occasionally assisted with grading and other tasks.

In the final week of the semester, Dr. Simmon's workload more than doubled. Soon to be graduating seniors were calling and dropping by the office daily, nervously inquiring about their grades. With my assistance, Dr. Simmons was able to catch up on all of his grading by Thursday evening.

On Friday morning, Dr. Simmons informed me that he'd be leaving to attend a conference at a neighboring school, and he wanted me to staff his office for the remainder of the day. He explained that all of the grading for his most important classes was complete, and he didn't expect any major surprises. There was, however, the matter of the Campus Involvement Course.

This class was the dreamchild of our beloved but misguided chancellor. It was largely created as a PR stunt. A few semesters earlier, there were several ugly incidents involving drunk and/or disorderly students who destroyed and defaced public property, including some popular local landmarks.

The chancellor came up with the idea for the Campus Involvement Course, a mandatory class worth a paultry .25 credits. Each student was required to get involved in some form of campus or community organization and perform some kind of service. The course requirements were exceedingly light, to the point of being laughable.

Dr. Simmons regarded the class as a sham, because he knew it didn't promote meaningful community involvement. He said there might be a few students pounding on his door at the last minute, trying to satisfy their service requirements. I was given full authority to use my own discretion in resolving those matters.

On the whole, the day was uneventful. The social work department was located in a small building on the outer fringe of campus, and I encountered few people during the day. Most of the professors left early, and the building was deserted by three o'clock. I only stuck around because I'd given my word to Dr. Simmons.

Shortly before five o'clock, I heard someone kncoking on the lobby door. I walked down the corridor to find a beautiful young blonde woman pleading to be let in. She turned out to be a wayward senior begging for the chance to preserve her graduation.

Her name was Jennifer, and she was remarkably attractive. However, she wasn't the best student our campus had to offer. She blew off most of her final semester at parties, and somehow failed to satisfy the campus service requirement. Her graduation hinged on this hopelessly trivial course, and I found myself in a position to decide her fate.

Jennifer accompanied me to the office and gave me a lengthy list of excuses for her failure to do any form of service. She also explained that her entire family was coming to town to watch her graduate. Her circumsatnces couldn't have been more pathetic, and she was desperate.

As Jennifer was telling her sad tale, I couldn't help but notice her attire. She was wearing an exceedingly short skirt, a blouse that was only partially buttoned, open strappy heels, and an expensive perfume with an intoxicating scent. Her body language was suggestive and flirtatious, and she made it clear that she was willing to do ANYTHING to earn the service credit.

I would never use a position of power to blackmail a woman into having sex with me... NEVER. However, the ideal of having some foot fun with Jennifer seemed harmless, and that's the course of action I decided to pursue.

The campus was officially shutdown, and there were no service opportunities available for Jennifer. I told her she could spend the evening helping with department projects in exchange for the credit. She literally sprang from her seat, threw her arms around my neck, and thanked me for salvaging her graduation.

The building was eerily quiet, and everyone else had gone home. Not even the custodial staff was on duty that evening. That created some interesting options.

There was a large room in the basement, most often used for painting banners and signs for student organizations and department functions. I immediately envisioned possibilities.

Jennifer hung on my every word as I explained that I needed to create a large banner for a department function that would be held during the summer -- this was a lie by the way. She assumed that I wanted her to paint or stencil, but that isn't what I had in mind.

My creativity served me well, and I invented a bogus slogan for the department function... something about walking toward the future. I said that I needed to make a series of colorful footprints that would span the length of the banner, and I asked her to remove her shoes.

Jennifer never hesitated. She discarded her shoes and complied as I asked her to kneel on a chair. She did, however, shriek, laugh, and squeal loudly as I applied paint to her velvety soles with a horse-hair paintbrush.

The banner filled with brightly covered footprints as Jennifer strolled across the canvas. Every few minutes, I applied additional paint to her feet, sometimes using different colors. The process was tickle-torturous for her each time, but she was in good spirits.

The real fun began when the banner was complete. Jennifer's feet were covered in paint, and she was worried about staining her clothes. I carried her to the sink and prepared to wash her feet.

My tickling encoutners with other women had taught me that wet, soapy feet and generally much more ticklish. I applied warm water and excessive lather to Jennifer's pretty feet, and began to scrub them clean with my fingernails. She writhed, screamed, and begged me to stop. I ignored her pleas and began to scrub her toes.

Up until this point, I'd maintained a good poker face, and Jennifer didn't suspect anything. Then my foot and tickling fetishes took over, and I began my customary taunts of "cootchy coo" and "tickle tickle tickle" while removing the paint from her feet. That was a dead giveaway.

Jennifer smiled and accused me of liking feet. I was busted, but it didn't matter. She said that letting me play with her feet in exchnage for the service credit was a bargain. Over the course of two hours, she let me message and tickle her feet. She also walked barefoot on the large table in the department meeting room, and allowed me to play shoe store with her.

???

Anyone else?

I have a few of these, some of which I did, some of which I observed. The one that has always stuck out in my mind is the following, complete with true names, which I normally don't do, but I figure, what the hey

A frequent bar to which I went in college was called Brauthaus in Bowling Green, OH. One Friday night, I was there as usual with several of my buddies, one of whose name was Marv, and the other's nickname was Beaker (I think it had something to do with his nose). At any rate, Marv was on the inside wall of the booth, his girlfriend (<b>super</b> hot) was in the middle, and Beaker was on the outside. I was shooting pool, and happened to notice that Beaker had grabbed Marv's girlfriend's knee and was squeezing away. She was bouncing up and down literally hysterical. Her laughter was literally uncontrollable. What was great about it as I look back is that Marv was a big guy, about 6'3", 210lbs., v-shape, the whole deal. Beaker was this little guy, who was tickling his super hot girlfriend for all it was worth. Marv didn't care, because Beaker was always a prankster anyway, but I loved seeing the impenetrable hot girl who was "unachievable" being tickle tortured by the little guy.

I still remember it fondly.

Regards,

TK