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The Escorts -- Part 2 (True, M/FF, MF/F, mildly adult)

Iwon'tgrowup

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Stephanie sat on the loveseat, head bent, panting. I felt guilty. I knew the two minutes of continuous tickling had been nothing less than torture. Taylor, although she clearly had affection for her friend, felt no such guilt. She whispered to me Let's REALLY get her! I held up my hand in a wait gesture. We each still held one of Stephanie's stockinged feet. Taylor commented on my home, and we talked about furnishings and wall coverings as Stephanie recovered. I smiled about how surreal it was to have an interior decorating discussion in the midst of a tickling session.

Taylor mistook my smile as a go-ahead. She was enjoying tickling her colleague as much as I was. Maybe more. Really get her! she mouthed again, urgently. Taylor wanted to inflict more than one-finger, sensual tickling. Stephanie's body bucked and thrashed as we held her legs and vigorously tickled her feet. She could only endure perhaps 15 seconds when her hysterical laughter changed to screams. Please! Oh, please! I stopped instantly. Taylor didn't. I firmly took her hand. Let's not hurt her I said.

Stephanie put her hand on my back as she recovered her breath. Thank you. Oh, thank you. Thank you for stopping. Taylor said You're lucky he's such a nice guy. I didn't want to stop.

I'll take my water now Stephanie gasped.

Although she had only been tickled a total of perhaps 3 minutes, I realized Stephanie needed a break. We three talked for a few minutes about their lives. Stephanie played soccer for a local team. It had given her a lovely, athletic shape. I asked about their profession, and they told about some requests men made they found disgusting. Taylor said You're an awfully nice man. We would be happy to do anything you like. Are you sure we can't . . . remove . . . something else?

I spread a soft blanket on the carpet, positioned a few pillows, and said yes, if you don't mind, I would enjoy watching you remove your stockings. Stephanie said, giggling and nervous, Oh, no. Taylor stripped off her tan nylons quickly (Stephanie was much slower with her black ones). Now what? Taylor asked.

Taking their hands, I laid the women gently on the blanket, helping Stephanie out of her suit jacket as she reclined. They're so beautiful I thought to myself, studying their hair, their bustlines, their hips.

And I lay at their bare feet. Taylor was first, because I loved the feeling of my pulse pounding -- everywhere -- at the thought of how it would be in moments with Stephanie. I pressed a little too hard against Taylor's left sole, because she said the lighter tickling is much more effective.

I tickled Taylor's feet with light "spider tickles", finally bringing some deep-throated laughter. She pulled her feet back, drumming them up and down on the blanket. That is damn wicked! she exclaimed. You may have to hold my feet down if you're gonna do that!

I'll keep that in mind I said, but first . . . And I slid the few inches in Stephanie's direction.

In the 1970s, there was a BBC series entitled Poldark (I and II), set in the 18th century. The Reverend Wentworth was lecherous and fat, and set his sights on his married sister-in-law, Rowena. He began feeling guilty and exposed, and determined to quit his adultery. But Rowena coaxed him. One more night. I'll even indulge you in your favorite little fancy. If you bring the money.

A few scenes later: Exterior shot of Rowena's modest home. Female laughter pealed into the night from the upstairs window. Interior shot: Wentworth caressing the exposed bare foot of his sister-in-law as she lay laughing (and, other than the foot, properly covered to the chin). Wentworth's face was one of pure worship and ecstasy as he lightly fingered Rowena's toes.

Those were my feelings (and, I'm sure, my expression) as I slid over to the dark and anxious Stephanie. I lay on my stomach, not moving, savoring, anticipating. Making myself wait. Staring at her right foot with its glitter-polished toes. Stephanie looked down at me, saw my expression. Oh my God she said. Her voice quivered.

This is not the foot of a soccer player I said, reaching out my hand.

(It may take two more installments to finish this story. Thank you for your patience. I would really appreciate a few responses, if you have the time).
 
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