This is for Lynn, but posted for all members to enjoy (hopefully). 
It was a long flight to Lynn’s home on the East coast. I left directly after the conclusion of the Daytona 500, an exhausting experience in itself. Lynn picked “Little E” to finish ahead of my guy, Kurt Busch. The highs and lows of the watching the race wore on me as the excitement of tying and tickling Lynn (if I won) ebbed with the dread of being her tickle captive (if I lost). Each of our drivers took turns, not only leading each other, but leading the race as well. With only a few laps to go, my guy got penalized several positions on a poor call by NASCAR. My fate was sealed and I drove myself to the airport, resigned to “take it like a man” while in the back of my mind knowing I could sweet-talk her into taking it easy on me. I’ve tickled my share of ‘lees in my day, but it was on very rare occasions that I submitted to such treatment.
I arrived at Lynn’s home and was greeted with a warm hug by my future tormentor. “Oh, my sweet man, thanks for coming out. You are a man of your word,” Lynn told me as we walked arm in arm inside the house. She was friendly and inviting. I immediately felt comfortable in my hidden agenda of getting her to take it easy on me. Lynn was gracious, even admitting she was very nervous about the outcome of the race herself, and kindly commented on the fatigue showing on my face. “Rest up in my bedroom for the evening,” she said, “and we’ll discuss specifics tomorrow.” Lynn led me to her bedroom and I marveled at her lovely, hand-carved poster bed. The posts were smooth oak, with various reliefs and shapes carved into them. The canopy was a soft off-white and the head and baseboards were also hand carved. The board scenes looked like swirling shapes with defined curves and holes straight through the center of certain spirals. All in all, a very comfortable looking bed. I quickly shook off my clothes from the long flight and put on my tank top for sleeping. At least I’d get a good night’s rest.
After what must only have been an hour, I began to awake to a feeling of weightless-ness in my upper body. A quick dread overcame me. I was being lifted up by my arms from my sleep position flat on my back. “What the hell,” I said aloud. I heard Lynn’s soothing, mocking voice, “Now, now, Mr. Soles. I just want to make you more… well, not comfortable. More accessible is more like it.” I looked up and saw both wrists locked into leather cuffs. Lynn had slapped them on while I slept and secured both to a chain directly to a winch on the ceiling (which had cleverly been concealed by the canopy top). I heard the whine of a small motor working the winch and pulling my up into a seated position.
“That better, sweetie?” she teased. I immediately yanked my legs, but found them held fast through the footboard of the bed. “You like that? I just slowly pulled your heavy self towards the end of my bed and put your helpless tootsies into my stocks. Very artistic, weren’t they.” I looked and saw where Lynn’s footboard was hinged on the right side. It was a simple matter of lifting up half the board, placing my ankles in the spiral’s holes, then closing the type and trapping my feet in place. “I hope you don’t mind,” she asked, “but I had to get you dressed the way I like.” My tank top had been cut away. I only had my briefs on. My captured feet were bare.
Lynn walked to the foot of the bed and I got a full glimpse of her. Her blonde hair shone in the dim light of her bedroom and her fair complexion belied a sinister heart that I knew would have little mercy with me. She looked lovely in her sheer nighshirt, which showed plenty of leg. The spaghetti straps allowed a nice view of her shoulder, a personal weakness of mine. Her feet, every man’s real weakness, stayed out of view. I could only hope they were bare and that I would get a crack at them soon. Lynn looked down at me, grabbed a big toe a squeezed. “Oo, soft and bare. Just like I like them. Shall we get started?”
“Started?!? Weren’t we supposed to discuss some ground rules or something? Didn’t I just get here?”
“Oh, you just got here, thank you very much. Now that you are here, you’re mine and what I say goes. How’s this for ground rules, then. I tickle and you laugh. Deal?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Lynn slowly traced a fingernail up the sole of my bare, right foot. “Nnuuhhh,” escaped from my mouth and I reflexively curled my toes.”
“What’s this? Trying to protect yourself are we? Nope, none of that in my place.” Lynn got two pieces of string from her nightstand and tied both of my big toes back to tiny poles in the footboard. I was upright, hands stretched tightly above my head, with my legs spread and locked into stocks. The final indignity was having my big toes stretched back and secured. My soles were defenseless.
“Alright, now, let’s get busy,” Lynn said as she slowly scratched my sole again.
“Haa, haa, Ly…Lynn, easy now…ha, ha, ha…Lynn. LYNN. NNOOOO, HAHAHAHAH.”
“Oh, does that tickle Mr. Soles? Shall I stop? Uh, naaaa,” she teased as she really started to go to town on my soles. He fingers flicked on my arches (a real sensitive spot for me) and caused me to explode in laughter. “Hmm, I think I found a soft spot here, let’s see.” Lynn dug her nails and little harder into my arch and caused my head to throw back.
“Ah STOP, ahahaha. Lynn…..hahah…Ly..haha”
Dang, those stocks had me locked in place. With some effort I was able to curl my four unsecured toes to offer some relief. Quick, I thought, work some verbal magic on her.
She would have none of it. A third and fourth string were produced and now my pinky toes were secured just as tightly as my big toes. Scrunching was no longer an option.
“Well, Mr. Pensoles, let’s see you live up to your name.” Lynn now produced a blue ink pen and began scribbling on the bottom of my captive feet. The sensations were near unbearable as my feet could not move an inch for relief. I laughed and screamed and laughed some more as Lynn read her words back to me as she wrote, “Property of LK70. I love to be tickled on my bare, helpless feet. Please tickle me no matter how often I say to stop.” The laughter came from me in continues waves of screaming, mumbling, heavy breathing and gasping. Sweat was trickling down my back as Lynn took 20 minutes to write and doodle on my feet.
Finally, she stopped and allowed me a moment to compose myself. I hung limply from my bondage as Lynn said, “You know, Mr. Soles, I think a tongue would work wonders on your feet, but they’re too dirty. Hmm, I’ll have to take care of that.”
Lynn walked away for only 2 minutes, but it seemed like an hour of relief. Only too soon, she returned and showed me a bowl of soapy water and a stiff floor brush. “Think this will work on those dirty feet of yours? I think it will.” I began shaking my head no and pleading with her, “Please, Lynn, enough now. I wasn’t prepared. Can we talk about this?”
“Oh, you can talk about it all you want, but for now I don’t want to hear it,” the devious tickler said as she shoved one of her socks in my mouth and secured it with a silk scarf from her nightstand of bondage items. I watched in fear as Lynn slowly trickled soapy water onto my feet. The cool water caused a new sensation. God, how I wanted my feet free to wriggle, and then run, preferably out of this bedroom. I heard a small splash of water as Lynn dipped the brush in the bowl and brought it to my feet. “Ready, darling?” she asked. I shook my head and said, “Nnmmph.”
Lynn slowly rubbed the stiff bristles of the brush in circles on my feet. Spasms racked my body as I jerked and shook from the incredible tickling sensations she was heaping upon me. I laughed loudly into my gag, but only audible mmpphhs and various grunts made it to her ears. After 5 minutes she picked up the pace and was now scurbbing my feet as if giving me a shoe shine on my soles. Electricity raced from the nerve endings of my feet to my nearly-overloaded brain. The laughter continued, unabated for several long minutes. Lynn would momentarily stop so I could catch my breath, but as soon as I seemed lucid she would attack again. I prayed I would lose sensation in my feet, but it was of no use. After what seemed like an eternity, Lynn purred, “Those tootsies are nice and sparkly now. They really do seem ready for a tongue bath. Sadly, I won’t be doing it any time soon, but maybe someone will. They’re clean now, at least.” She laughed at the sad look I was giving her. The thought of a little foot worship coming on her part was a small sliver of hope, but that was now crushed also.
“Don’t feel too bad, Mr. Soles, I have some more fun planned for you.”
I could only shake my head, weakly, as it hung from my shoulder. Lynn showed me a small makeup brush, rounded and soft, that she removed from that infernal nightstand. She softly climbed onto the bed with me.
I finally got a good look at her feet, which were smooth and white. Her blue manicured toes were one of my favorites (she remembered) and she wore the toe rings on each foot that I send her earlier as gifts.
Lynn slowly lifted a foot to my mouth and pointed her luscious toes at me. “Be a dear and kiss these for me, please. What. That gag is stopping you from sucking on my toes. Oh dear, I know how much you wanted to do that to. Oh well, maybe you’ll be better prepared next time. Since you’re not doing anything, how about I do this.” Lynn raised the makeup brush and immediately attacked my sides and armpits. My body swung from my secured wrists in an attempt to get away. The sensations were amazingly ticklish and I didn’t know how much longer I could last. I laughed into the gag as Lynn teased my verbally and with the brush. The tickling went on for another 20 minutes. Lynn was an expert tickler and, as with my feet, she would start slowly and work her way up to a frenzied pace. My body wanted to explode under her attack and I ached to be free. She teasingly tickled little paths of agony down my sides, to my stomach and back up again. Then, she really drove my crazy by tickling just beneath the waistband of my briefs, but not low enough to stop the tickling sensations from turning into something else.
Lynn stopped and saw I was a wreck. She sat between my spread legs and said, “I’m going to give you a little break. I don’t think I’m as good with my feet as I am with my hands, but let’s find out.” With that, Lynn gripped her makeup brush with the toes of her right foot and held that darn thing against my sides. She shook her sweet foot, causing the brush to send me into new ticklish heights.
“Mmmph, mmphh, MMMPPHHH!,” I cried to her.
“What’s that, sweetie? You think Roush racing is the best in NASCAR? Just tell me and everything will be alright. I know you want me to stop.”
My exhausted state stopped me from holding my head high. I couldn’t move. Lynn lowered the brush and used the toes of her left foot to lower my gag.
“Now, Mr. Soles, sweetie, tell me Roush racing is the best. Tell me Carl Edwards is better that Jimmie Johnson and Jeff Gordon, combined. Everything will be okay. I’ll untie you. I’ll even let you play with my feet, just a little bit. Go ahead, my cute little tickle slave. Make it all stop. Tell me.” She slowly rubbed those delicious-looking peds against my inner thighs, stopping just short of my desire for her, as she looked me directly in the eye, smiling, and expecting my obvious answer.
“Jack Roush sucks,” I hissed at her.
Lynn slowly crawled behind my bound frame and hugged me from behind. She lightly scratched my back with her fingertips and softly kissed the back of my neck. She left her legs crossed around by stomach, with her wriggling toes inches from its prize. “That’s what I thought you’d say,” Lynn whispered, as she placed the gag back into my mouth.
THE END
It was a long flight to Lynn’s home on the East coast. I left directly after the conclusion of the Daytona 500, an exhausting experience in itself. Lynn picked “Little E” to finish ahead of my guy, Kurt Busch. The highs and lows of the watching the race wore on me as the excitement of tying and tickling Lynn (if I won) ebbed with the dread of being her tickle captive (if I lost). Each of our drivers took turns, not only leading each other, but leading the race as well. With only a few laps to go, my guy got penalized several positions on a poor call by NASCAR. My fate was sealed and I drove myself to the airport, resigned to “take it like a man” while in the back of my mind knowing I could sweet-talk her into taking it easy on me. I’ve tickled my share of ‘lees in my day, but it was on very rare occasions that I submitted to such treatment.
I arrived at Lynn’s home and was greeted with a warm hug by my future tormentor. “Oh, my sweet man, thanks for coming out. You are a man of your word,” Lynn told me as we walked arm in arm inside the house. She was friendly and inviting. I immediately felt comfortable in my hidden agenda of getting her to take it easy on me. Lynn was gracious, even admitting she was very nervous about the outcome of the race herself, and kindly commented on the fatigue showing on my face. “Rest up in my bedroom for the evening,” she said, “and we’ll discuss specifics tomorrow.” Lynn led me to her bedroom and I marveled at her lovely, hand-carved poster bed. The posts were smooth oak, with various reliefs and shapes carved into them. The canopy was a soft off-white and the head and baseboards were also hand carved. The board scenes looked like swirling shapes with defined curves and holes straight through the center of certain spirals. All in all, a very comfortable looking bed. I quickly shook off my clothes from the long flight and put on my tank top for sleeping. At least I’d get a good night’s rest.
After what must only have been an hour, I began to awake to a feeling of weightless-ness in my upper body. A quick dread overcame me. I was being lifted up by my arms from my sleep position flat on my back. “What the hell,” I said aloud. I heard Lynn’s soothing, mocking voice, “Now, now, Mr. Soles. I just want to make you more… well, not comfortable. More accessible is more like it.” I looked up and saw both wrists locked into leather cuffs. Lynn had slapped them on while I slept and secured both to a chain directly to a winch on the ceiling (which had cleverly been concealed by the canopy top). I heard the whine of a small motor working the winch and pulling my up into a seated position.
“That better, sweetie?” she teased. I immediately yanked my legs, but found them held fast through the footboard of the bed. “You like that? I just slowly pulled your heavy self towards the end of my bed and put your helpless tootsies into my stocks. Very artistic, weren’t they.” I looked and saw where Lynn’s footboard was hinged on the right side. It was a simple matter of lifting up half the board, placing my ankles in the spiral’s holes, then closing the type and trapping my feet in place. “I hope you don’t mind,” she asked, “but I had to get you dressed the way I like.” My tank top had been cut away. I only had my briefs on. My captured feet were bare.
Lynn walked to the foot of the bed and I got a full glimpse of her. Her blonde hair shone in the dim light of her bedroom and her fair complexion belied a sinister heart that I knew would have little mercy with me. She looked lovely in her sheer nighshirt, which showed plenty of leg. The spaghetti straps allowed a nice view of her shoulder, a personal weakness of mine. Her feet, every man’s real weakness, stayed out of view. I could only hope they were bare and that I would get a crack at them soon. Lynn looked down at me, grabbed a big toe a squeezed. “Oo, soft and bare. Just like I like them. Shall we get started?”
“Started?!? Weren’t we supposed to discuss some ground rules or something? Didn’t I just get here?”
“Oh, you just got here, thank you very much. Now that you are here, you’re mine and what I say goes. How’s this for ground rules, then. I tickle and you laugh. Deal?”
I opened my mouth to respond, but Lynn slowly traced a fingernail up the sole of my bare, right foot. “Nnuuhhh,” escaped from my mouth and I reflexively curled my toes.”
“What’s this? Trying to protect yourself are we? Nope, none of that in my place.” Lynn got two pieces of string from her nightstand and tied both of my big toes back to tiny poles in the footboard. I was upright, hands stretched tightly above my head, with my legs spread and locked into stocks. The final indignity was having my big toes stretched back and secured. My soles were defenseless.
“Alright, now, let’s get busy,” Lynn said as she slowly scratched my sole again.
“Haa, haa, Ly…Lynn, easy now…ha, ha, ha…Lynn. LYNN. NNOOOO, HAHAHAHAH.”
“Oh, does that tickle Mr. Soles? Shall I stop? Uh, naaaa,” she teased as she really started to go to town on my soles. He fingers flicked on my arches (a real sensitive spot for me) and caused me to explode in laughter. “Hmm, I think I found a soft spot here, let’s see.” Lynn dug her nails and little harder into my arch and caused my head to throw back.
“Ah STOP, ahahaha. Lynn…..hahah…Ly..haha”
Dang, those stocks had me locked in place. With some effort I was able to curl my four unsecured toes to offer some relief. Quick, I thought, work some verbal magic on her.
She would have none of it. A third and fourth string were produced and now my pinky toes were secured just as tightly as my big toes. Scrunching was no longer an option.
“Well, Mr. Pensoles, let’s see you live up to your name.” Lynn now produced a blue ink pen and began scribbling on the bottom of my captive feet. The sensations were near unbearable as my feet could not move an inch for relief. I laughed and screamed and laughed some more as Lynn read her words back to me as she wrote, “Property of LK70. I love to be tickled on my bare, helpless feet. Please tickle me no matter how often I say to stop.” The laughter came from me in continues waves of screaming, mumbling, heavy breathing and gasping. Sweat was trickling down my back as Lynn took 20 minutes to write and doodle on my feet.
Finally, she stopped and allowed me a moment to compose myself. I hung limply from my bondage as Lynn said, “You know, Mr. Soles, I think a tongue would work wonders on your feet, but they’re too dirty. Hmm, I’ll have to take care of that.”
Lynn walked away for only 2 minutes, but it seemed like an hour of relief. Only too soon, she returned and showed me a bowl of soapy water and a stiff floor brush. “Think this will work on those dirty feet of yours? I think it will.” I began shaking my head no and pleading with her, “Please, Lynn, enough now. I wasn’t prepared. Can we talk about this?”
“Oh, you can talk about it all you want, but for now I don’t want to hear it,” the devious tickler said as she shoved one of her socks in my mouth and secured it with a silk scarf from her nightstand of bondage items. I watched in fear as Lynn slowly trickled soapy water onto my feet. The cool water caused a new sensation. God, how I wanted my feet free to wriggle, and then run, preferably out of this bedroom. I heard a small splash of water as Lynn dipped the brush in the bowl and brought it to my feet. “Ready, darling?” she asked. I shook my head and said, “Nnmmph.”
Lynn slowly rubbed the stiff bristles of the brush in circles on my feet. Spasms racked my body as I jerked and shook from the incredible tickling sensations she was heaping upon me. I laughed loudly into my gag, but only audible mmpphhs and various grunts made it to her ears. After 5 minutes she picked up the pace and was now scurbbing my feet as if giving me a shoe shine on my soles. Electricity raced from the nerve endings of my feet to my nearly-overloaded brain. The laughter continued, unabated for several long minutes. Lynn would momentarily stop so I could catch my breath, but as soon as I seemed lucid she would attack again. I prayed I would lose sensation in my feet, but it was of no use. After what seemed like an eternity, Lynn purred, “Those tootsies are nice and sparkly now. They really do seem ready for a tongue bath. Sadly, I won’t be doing it any time soon, but maybe someone will. They’re clean now, at least.” She laughed at the sad look I was giving her. The thought of a little foot worship coming on her part was a small sliver of hope, but that was now crushed also.
“Don’t feel too bad, Mr. Soles, I have some more fun planned for you.”
I could only shake my head, weakly, as it hung from my shoulder. Lynn showed me a small makeup brush, rounded and soft, that she removed from that infernal nightstand. She softly climbed onto the bed with me.
I finally got a good look at her feet, which were smooth and white. Her blue manicured toes were one of my favorites (she remembered) and she wore the toe rings on each foot that I send her earlier as gifts.
Lynn slowly lifted a foot to my mouth and pointed her luscious toes at me. “Be a dear and kiss these for me, please. What. That gag is stopping you from sucking on my toes. Oh dear, I know how much you wanted to do that to. Oh well, maybe you’ll be better prepared next time. Since you’re not doing anything, how about I do this.” Lynn raised the makeup brush and immediately attacked my sides and armpits. My body swung from my secured wrists in an attempt to get away. The sensations were amazingly ticklish and I didn’t know how much longer I could last. I laughed into the gag as Lynn teased my verbally and with the brush. The tickling went on for another 20 minutes. Lynn was an expert tickler and, as with my feet, she would start slowly and work her way up to a frenzied pace. My body wanted to explode under her attack and I ached to be free. She teasingly tickled little paths of agony down my sides, to my stomach and back up again. Then, she really drove my crazy by tickling just beneath the waistband of my briefs, but not low enough to stop the tickling sensations from turning into something else.
Lynn stopped and saw I was a wreck. She sat between my spread legs and said, “I’m going to give you a little break. I don’t think I’m as good with my feet as I am with my hands, but let’s find out.” With that, Lynn gripped her makeup brush with the toes of her right foot and held that darn thing against my sides. She shook her sweet foot, causing the brush to send me into new ticklish heights.
“Mmmph, mmphh, MMMPPHHH!,” I cried to her.
“What’s that, sweetie? You think Roush racing is the best in NASCAR? Just tell me and everything will be alright. I know you want me to stop.”
My exhausted state stopped me from holding my head high. I couldn’t move. Lynn lowered the brush and used the toes of her left foot to lower my gag.
“Now, Mr. Soles, sweetie, tell me Roush racing is the best. Tell me Carl Edwards is better that Jimmie Johnson and Jeff Gordon, combined. Everything will be okay. I’ll untie you. I’ll even let you play with my feet, just a little bit. Go ahead, my cute little tickle slave. Make it all stop. Tell me.” She slowly rubbed those delicious-looking peds against my inner thighs, stopping just short of my desire for her, as she looked me directly in the eye, smiling, and expecting my obvious answer.
“Jack Roush sucks,” I hissed at her.
Lynn slowly crawled behind my bound frame and hugged me from behind. She lightly scratched my back with her fingertips and softly kissed the back of my neck. She left her legs crossed around by stomach, with her wriggling toes inches from its prize. “That’s what I thought you’d say,” Lynn whispered, as she placed the gag back into my mouth.
THE END
