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Rasputin's Reign Part 6-Marianne, The MILF Teacher (M/F, Feet)

Rasputin

TMF Expert
Joined
Jan 22, 2002
Messages
574
Points
18
(The following names have been ALTERED to conceal the identities of the ticklee and author)

I see that people in this forum seem to go for stories about ticklish teachers. I also know that there are some MILF devotees here too. For those of you who don't know what a MILF is, please refer to your 2001 Pop Culture Guide. I am killing two birds with one story because Marianne was both a teacher and a MILF. Even though I never had her as a teacher personally, it still counts as a ticklish teacher story. Who knows? Maybe the teacher you had a crush on in school was just as ticklish as Marianne. The possibilities are endless!

I knew Marianne through her daughter Sara. Sara was three years younger than me and we participated in some of the same extracurriculars. Sara herself had very ticklish ribs, knees, and feet. Sara deplored being tickled. However that is a different story. This one's about the Mom!

Marianne and I have known each other since my junior year in high school, and remain friends to this day. We were introduced for the first time when she came home early and found her daughter with three boys in the house. Sara was dating one of my friends at the time, and Marianne did not approve of him. Fortunately Marianne approved of me and I became a fixture around the house. Marianne was about 42 years old at the time. She had mid-neck length reddish-brown hair flipped to one side. Her eyes were blue, and she was always smiling or laughing. Her body at 42 was better than the majority of the 18 year olds at our school. About 5'6", she was very fit, thanks to her nightly jogs through her upper-middle class neighborhood. All of Sara's guy friends wanted to "do her Mom" as we said at the time. I was probably the most obvious admirer of all.

One Friday night in the middle of winter, Marianne told Sara she could invite some friends over. With a small group of teenagers over, Marianne decided to leave us to our own devices for a short stint. She was recently divorced and wanted to go out with her single friends to the local pub. They were on a mission to scout out all of the wonderful, available men that our small town had to offer. This is roughly the equivalent of trying to find a Ronnie James Dio song in a Baptist Hymnal. When Marianne returned to the house, I could see she had been socially lubricated by a couple Martinis. Not one to have prolonged internal ethics debates, I decided to take advantage of her intoxicated state. I was on a mission of my own to obtain some more candid information.

"Are your feet ticklish?" I repeatedly asked. At first she would say "No" in a matter of fact fashion, then follow the statement with a sly smirk. I would reply "Then let me touch them!" To this she quickly replied "NO WAY!". I would retort "You liar, you must be soooo ticklish!" This was the whole vicious cycle of questioning she was trapped in the rest of the night. I would periodically harrass her about being ticklish, and not having her toenails painted (The polish question was one question I did get a straight answer to). She found this entire line of banter to be quite playful and amusing as she laughed throughout. With half of the free world knowing of my interest in the female foot, I had honed that trait into a cute element of my persona. It eventually became time to leave. As I was walking out the door I asked in a last ditch effort "Goodnight Marianne, oh, and your feet ticklish?" She gave in and admitted "Okay, yes, my feet are ticklish!" I think she decided it was safe to admit since a potential tickle attacker was leaving the premises. I cheered "Woo Hooo" as I walked out the door, hearing her giggling in the background.

A handful of times after her confession I attempted to tickle her feet, but had no success. She was always sporting shoes, or could either quickly hide or defend her feet. This took place over the course of about three years. One serendipitous day, I finally earned my well deserved opportunity.

It was an unseasonally warm Friday night in September. I had came home from college to see some of my younger friends back home. Knowing that there was a good chance that Marianne would be home alone, I stopped by her house on the pretense of seeing Sara. At the door Marianne greeted me with a big smile and a bigger hug. I was so in-luck that night. Marianne was wearing little jean shorts and a tight, white T-shirt with her college Alma Mater's logo on it. She was prancing around barefoot, not expecting a visit from the neighborhood pervert. The house was a split-level and we went downstairs to catch up in the living room. I plopped down in a leather high back chair. She sat in a recliner facing me about ten feet away. We started through all of the usual "How've ya been? How's college? What's been goin' on in town?" crap. Through the conversation she must have busted me a half a dozen times checking out her tan legs and naked feet. I had only caught little flashes of her feet before. This time they were being showcased. On display, baby!!!! After 15 minutes of chatting, she busted me out big time as I was checking out her lower torso. Out of nowhere, after years of frustration, I received my invitation.

"Did you see that I painted my toenails?" she stated proudly.

"No actually, I didn't." I replied, as I tried to restrain myself from diving head long at her recliner.

Never one to squander an opportunity, I cooly hopped out of the high back and walked over to her recliner to get a closer look. She started laughing as I sat down on the floor by her tan, bare feet. I reached over to her left foot , and while cupping her heel in my palm, I pulled her foot up for closer scrutiny. I slid my hand up around her ankle, letting her leg rest in my grip. I hadn't done anything remotely close to tickling yet, yet she was already laughing at the silliness of the situation.

"Very, very nice!" I complimented.

She had always claimed that she hated her feet and thought they were ugly. Many women suffer from poor self-foot image. I found them to be quite the contrary. She has applied a subtle peach colored polish that wouldn't be really noticeable unless you were really looking. Her toes were short, yet not stubby. Her arches were medium high. She had what I call "detailed feet": lots of fine wrinkles all over, a definitive color contrast between the soles and tops, and a few little raise veins on the top, instep, and outstep. All in all, these were adorable size sevens!

As she dropped her guard a bit, I moved in my right hand and started to trace on her foot with my index finger. I started at the instep and moved my way onto her arch, sliding down to her heel. She instantly flinched and attempted to pull away.

"YAAAAAAHHHH....LOOK AT THEM, NOT TICKLE THEM!!!!!!!!" she laughed out.

Before she could escape I had her foot wrapped up in an arm lock.

"What? Tickle like this?" I asked in patronizing fashion.

I attacked with nails in a textbook balance of gentleness and dexterity. I was like an imbred kid in the backwoods playing a banjo solo. I looked up and saw a glorious sight, years in the making. Marianne had literally curled into a knot of writhing muscles. She gripped one arm of the chair as if it were going to launch into space. She wasn't really laughing anymore, so much as she was squealing and making noises like people riding roller coasters. After about 15 seconds, I decided it would be best to call of the hounds. Once she caught her breath, I offered "I'll be nice now". I started to rub her foot with a firm pressure that I would use when intentionally trying not to tickle. After a few seconds I looked up at her and she was still tensed up. Her fingers dug deep into the armrests as she had a nervous grin on her face.

"Doesn't this feel good?" I inquired.

I could tell no one had paid any attention to this woman's poor feet. As I rubbed I could feel some exfoliated skin come loose. A few seconds later, she still looked tense and said in a panicky voice, "It feels good but I'm afraid you're gonna tickle me again!" I promised I wouldn't and released her foot. I didn't want to mess up my chance to play with both feet. I had just reached for her right foot when the phone rang.

"Saved by the phone" she cheered as she hopped up to answer the call.

Feeling that my mission was accomplished, I decided not to push the foot issue during the rest of my visit. After all, even a widely recognized foot fetishist does have a little bit of shame! I did get to tickle her feet a few more times in the following years. However, in this case, the first time was the best!

Rasputin
 
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ahh who says older women arent hot? we also keep in shape and take care of our feet. great story, but i'll bite. what is an MILF? i dont have a pop book or whatever you said.

isabeau
 
Another great story. Can't say that I had any real hott teachers but a few MILF'S lived around me just never had that much courage to tickle them. Heck didn't even have that much in me to even ask if they were ticklish.
 
Isabeau-

MILF is an anagram for the following:

"Mom I'd Like to F*#k!" hence M.I.L.F.

I have always had a soft spot (or hard spot, if you will) for mature women. I will proudly say that I have dated a handful of women in their forties. One was 19 years my senior. I am always so happy when I find an older woman with really ticklish feet. Because of all my experienes growing up, I thought all females stopped being ticklish at a certain age! When I hit my early twenties, I was pleasantly surprised to discover the contrary.

I'm surprised you didn' know what a MILF is! Kind of sounds like you are one!

Rasputin
 
ahhh no i didnt know because i'm not a mom...... lost three babies at birth. but still i'm hot lolol

isabeau
 
Sorry about that Isabeau...

But more importantly, CONGRATULATIONS on being hot!!!

SEE!!! The cup is half full!

Eternal Optimist!

Rasputin
 
isabeau said:
ahh who says older women arent hot? we also keep in shape and take care of our feet. great story, but i'll bite. what is an MILF? i dont have a pop book or whatever you said.

isabeau

"i dont have a pop book or whatever you said."

:) I love you just for saying that, Isabeau. :)

MILF is

Mother
I'd
Like to
....

You get it Know, don't you?

Thanks for the story man, its great, I love teacher stories :):):)
 
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