Rasputin
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Jan 22, 2002
- Messages
- 575
- Points
- 18
Rasputin's Reign: Part 1- Josie and The Wiffle Ball Interrogation
(The following names have been ALTERED to conceal the identities of the ticklee and author)
I have had a lot of great tickling experiences in my life. I have done this through my honest approach to my foot/tickling tweak, my charm, and relatively good looks.
Josie was an employee of mine in a small specialty retail shop. I have to re-emphasize, a small shop. We worked in an at-times busy seasonal environment, in close quarters. When business was slow, it was really slow. This enabled me to work my skills and find things out about Josie that I might have never learned.
To give you little background on Josie, she was about 5'5", 115 lbs, auburn shoulder length hair, blue-eyed, and always tan. She was Valedictorian and Homecoming Queen at her high school before coming to work for our company. The truly ironic part is that her predecessor Valedictorian, a former Prom Queen, from the same school, was also under our employment. I never tickled her, but she did admit her feet were very ticklish.
Back to Josie. Sometimes when you work in a tight space with someone when your job is slow, idle hands lead you astray. I fell victim to that one slow July day.
Josie and I were not strangers. We had briefly dated the summer before. Through routine conversations, then more familiar dating, I discovered how ticklish this girl was. Her sides, her neck, but the worst for her was of course, her feet. Josie's feet were about size 7, with high arches, and always-polished, nicely shaped, perfectly sized toes. She stayed away from bright polishes on her toenails-mostly mauves and other muted pinks and reds. Once or twice I saw a fire-engine red. Josie's feet and my hands were not strangers either. In our handful of dates, I had several exposures to her naked feet. At the time, Birkenstock sandals were all the rage, and easilly removed. Josie had the kind of feet where if she were laying on her stomach with her feet raised up in the air, one stray fingertip would make her flip over on her back in self-defense. Our dating came to an abrupt end with the start of her freshman year of college and the new distance created. However, I will always have that slow July day.
Boredom can make you harrass people. For excitement. For conflict. For something to do. My particular harrassment that day was a Wiffle ball. I am still a 9 year old at heart and can't escape the attraction of Wiffle ball, Nerf, and the like. That day I had decided whenever I had a chance, I would throw the Wiffle ball at Josie. I never threw hard. Just often enough, and accurately enough to be a nuissance. My pitching start began at about at 11 am, and she made a call to the bullpen by 3 pm. She decided to hide the ball to save herself. I decided by hiding the ball, she was setting herself up for trouble.
At 5 pm we closed up the store. I remember that we didn't do a deposit that day. One thing I have learned in my years is to never squander an opportunity that may never appear again. Josie was standing behind the counter by the cash register. I walked up behind her and asked, "So where did you hide my ball at?" She defiantly replied "I'm not telling you". I slowly and deliberately wrapped my left arm in-between her arms, pinning them behind her back. For all skeptics who don't think this happens in the work place, think again! We were horny 19 and 24 year-olds. I asked again, "Where's my ball?". Again she replied, "I am not telling you. You will just throw it at me". The weirdest thing of all was that it was like she was submissively waiting to be tickled as punishment. I think she thought I would go for her ribs, a spot where she could control the ticklish sensations. She was wrong.
I took my free right hand and ran it down her side. I can almost remember the feeling of her ribbed, pink top. She tightened, then realized I wasn't stopping there. My hand continued past her jean cargo shorts, and on to her bare tan leg. Then she really tightened up. By the time my right hand got to her ankle, she collapsed to the floor. She was wearing leather clogs. God bless the shoe designers of the late 1990's. As she felt my hand pulling off her easilly removable shoe, she was crumpled on the floor screaming "It's in the filing cabinet, IN THE FILING CABINET!!!!!". A confession was not enough.
With her naked, slightly sweaty foot exposed, I put in some overtime. With a firm grasp around her lower leg I began a fingernail assault on her arches. This caused her entire body to stiffen and straighten, followed by terror-filled laughter. After what seemed like an eternity, which was actually about ten seconds, I stopped and repeated my query. All I heard was a gasping " Filin' Cabnet', Filng' Cabnt' ". I proceeded to start back up, working between her little, full-shaped toes. Again, violent convulsions, mixed with short breathless squeals, completed with silent laughter. I stopped again. I slowed down to a slow fingertip stroking of the base of her toes. I yelled "WHERE?" She beggingly pleaded "IN THE FILING CABINET!!!!". I decided that was the appropriate time to release my grip.
She hopped up, while catching her breath, and slid her shoe back on the vulnerable, naked foot. She dashed around to the other side of the counter to escape any more attacks. She then, with a wild-eyed look complained, "I hate to have my feet tickled!!! My sisters used to lay on my legs and tickle my feet till I almost peed my pants! They would never get off me!" She had this great smile on her face, as she was still reeling from the devistating effects of tickle interrogation. I calmly replied, "You shouldn't hide things from me". We laughed and walked out of the store together. The next day, I bought her lunch. Everybody plays, everybody wins.
"I had tickled her feet several times before, but this, by far, was the best!"
Rasputin
(The following names have been ALTERED to conceal the identities of the ticklee and author)
I have had a lot of great tickling experiences in my life. I have done this through my honest approach to my foot/tickling tweak, my charm, and relatively good looks.
Josie was an employee of mine in a small specialty retail shop. I have to re-emphasize, a small shop. We worked in an at-times busy seasonal environment, in close quarters. When business was slow, it was really slow. This enabled me to work my skills and find things out about Josie that I might have never learned.
To give you little background on Josie, she was about 5'5", 115 lbs, auburn shoulder length hair, blue-eyed, and always tan. She was Valedictorian and Homecoming Queen at her high school before coming to work for our company. The truly ironic part is that her predecessor Valedictorian, a former Prom Queen, from the same school, was also under our employment. I never tickled her, but she did admit her feet were very ticklish.
Back to Josie. Sometimes when you work in a tight space with someone when your job is slow, idle hands lead you astray. I fell victim to that one slow July day.
Josie and I were not strangers. We had briefly dated the summer before. Through routine conversations, then more familiar dating, I discovered how ticklish this girl was. Her sides, her neck, but the worst for her was of course, her feet. Josie's feet were about size 7, with high arches, and always-polished, nicely shaped, perfectly sized toes. She stayed away from bright polishes on her toenails-mostly mauves and other muted pinks and reds. Once or twice I saw a fire-engine red. Josie's feet and my hands were not strangers either. In our handful of dates, I had several exposures to her naked feet. At the time, Birkenstock sandals were all the rage, and easilly removed. Josie had the kind of feet where if she were laying on her stomach with her feet raised up in the air, one stray fingertip would make her flip over on her back in self-defense. Our dating came to an abrupt end with the start of her freshman year of college and the new distance created. However, I will always have that slow July day.
Boredom can make you harrass people. For excitement. For conflict. For something to do. My particular harrassment that day was a Wiffle ball. I am still a 9 year old at heart and can't escape the attraction of Wiffle ball, Nerf, and the like. That day I had decided whenever I had a chance, I would throw the Wiffle ball at Josie. I never threw hard. Just often enough, and accurately enough to be a nuissance. My pitching start began at about at 11 am, and she made a call to the bullpen by 3 pm. She decided to hide the ball to save herself. I decided by hiding the ball, she was setting herself up for trouble.
At 5 pm we closed up the store. I remember that we didn't do a deposit that day. One thing I have learned in my years is to never squander an opportunity that may never appear again. Josie was standing behind the counter by the cash register. I walked up behind her and asked, "So where did you hide my ball at?" She defiantly replied "I'm not telling you". I slowly and deliberately wrapped my left arm in-between her arms, pinning them behind her back. For all skeptics who don't think this happens in the work place, think again! We were horny 19 and 24 year-olds. I asked again, "Where's my ball?". Again she replied, "I am not telling you. You will just throw it at me". The weirdest thing of all was that it was like she was submissively waiting to be tickled as punishment. I think she thought I would go for her ribs, a spot where she could control the ticklish sensations. She was wrong.
I took my free right hand and ran it down her side. I can almost remember the feeling of her ribbed, pink top. She tightened, then realized I wasn't stopping there. My hand continued past her jean cargo shorts, and on to her bare tan leg. Then she really tightened up. By the time my right hand got to her ankle, she collapsed to the floor. She was wearing leather clogs. God bless the shoe designers of the late 1990's. As she felt my hand pulling off her easilly removable shoe, she was crumpled on the floor screaming "It's in the filing cabinet, IN THE FILING CABINET!!!!!". A confession was not enough.
With her naked, slightly sweaty foot exposed, I put in some overtime. With a firm grasp around her lower leg I began a fingernail assault on her arches. This caused her entire body to stiffen and straighten, followed by terror-filled laughter. After what seemed like an eternity, which was actually about ten seconds, I stopped and repeated my query. All I heard was a gasping " Filin' Cabnet', Filng' Cabnt' ". I proceeded to start back up, working between her little, full-shaped toes. Again, violent convulsions, mixed with short breathless squeals, completed with silent laughter. I stopped again. I slowed down to a slow fingertip stroking of the base of her toes. I yelled "WHERE?" She beggingly pleaded "IN THE FILING CABINET!!!!". I decided that was the appropriate time to release my grip.
She hopped up, while catching her breath, and slid her shoe back on the vulnerable, naked foot. She dashed around to the other side of the counter to escape any more attacks. She then, with a wild-eyed look complained, "I hate to have my feet tickled!!! My sisters used to lay on my legs and tickle my feet till I almost peed my pants! They would never get off me!" She had this great smile on her face, as she was still reeling from the devistating effects of tickle interrogation. I calmly replied, "You shouldn't hide things from me". We laughed and walked out of the store together. The next day, I bought her lunch. Everybody plays, everybody wins.
"I had tickled her feet several times before, but this, by far, was the best!"
Rasputin
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