LINK TO PART ONE......
“Tina…Tina,” I said, “You must now pay attention…”
I put down Miss Lizzie and sat by Tina’s right, socked foot.
“Now, Tina,”
…And she tried to listen, but her chest kept heavin’ ‘cause she could hardly catch her breath…
“Tina,” I continued, “You know, of course, that I do love your little footsies so, and that I sooooo enjoy touching them and playing with your sockses, yes…”
I fixed the folded cuff of her sock, which had become badly stretched about in the preceding calesthenics.
“But so does our dear friend Miss Lizzie, and I’m certain she wants those sockses off so she can kiss you all up and down those toes, tickle everywhere that a feather goes…but I must warn you, Tina, it drives girls crazy. They giggle and squeal and scream and scream, they pass out, wake up, same damn dream, it makes them beg and plead and go insane, but once she start’s to entertain, our lady feather just can’t stop…until you’re hot and wet like a worn out mop.”
Tina made the most deliciously pathetic little moan as she looked up at me with bright, bright pixie eyes.
“Now, Tina…if I can’t make you hold your footsie still, I’m quite sure Miss Lizzie will,” I continued, “So I shall pleasure your little foot, and you shall keep it properly put.”
I brushed the fingers of my right hand lightly up her cotton sole.
“And if you move it more than twice…”
I brushed back down, painting…
“It’s Lizzie to the toes like a cat to mice.”
And he brushed her little footsie with the edges of his finger, stroking through her sock so soft and tender, and she tried so hard keep it still, though she might as well surrender. He let the cotton do his work, a soft caress, and then…
A jerk!
She moaned in protest as I counted, “One,” the wicked walk had just begun…
Of course, it is easy to produce a reflexive jerk in any ticklish subject’s foot by proper stimulation…and so we have babawhoeverski’s reflex. But in this application it was obviously far more enjoyable to allow my little victim to struggle in a futile fight to delay the deliciously inevitable and revel in her desperation.
…Now up from the bottom came fingers three, slowly raking up their ticklee, but she’d scrunched and bunched her ticklish toes and he kept it slow as his fingers rose…and her legs they quivered and her arms they flexed, but her tormented footsie remained unvexed. So he started again, and he went real slow and she almost lost it, but he let that go, and then came the third, and ‘bout halfway up, he wiggled his tips and she just blew up…
I licked my lips.
“Two.”
I feinted towards her foot.
She flinched.
However, though she had already struck out, I decided she was quite entitled to run the bases home. Cracking my knuckles with a flourish, I then descended up on her right foot, spidering and squiggling, up and down front and back, fast and light across her sock…
…And music, music, doh-reh-me! Ah, the sound of a ticklee! She laughed out loud, she squealed and shrieked, and her footsie flailed, but the nylon ropes have never failed! Poor, poor Tina, ticklish treat! Just can’t protect her ticklish feet… Tickle, tickle, he won’t relent, ‘til the silent scream when her laughter’s spent…
And I stopped.
She was breathless. I watched her tummy rise and fall, abs so firm…
I took hold of the lowest portion of her folded sock-cuff and pulled it, gently, toward her heel, beginning a slow unwrapping of her foot that would last…
…a…
“Tina…,” I mouthed.
…gooooooood…
“Tina, that…,” I whispered.
…littttle….
“..makes..,” I cooed.
….while…
“…three,” I said, with a lascivious smile.
I stroked her foot softly with her sock before dropping it to the floor.
Oh, what a beautiful footsie. Tan and girlish and smooth like ice cream, with a supple pink sole and clean, perfect toes…and this girl was a gymnast? Oh, my, my, my, my…what a sweet, cruel fate had she…
I swallowed hard.
“Miss, um, Lizzie, says hello,” I said.
“Tina…Tina,” I said, “You must now pay attention…”
I put down Miss Lizzie and sat by Tina’s right, socked foot.
“Now, Tina,”
…And she tried to listen, but her chest kept heavin’ ‘cause she could hardly catch her breath…
“Tina,” I continued, “You know, of course, that I do love your little footsies so, and that I sooooo enjoy touching them and playing with your sockses, yes…”
I fixed the folded cuff of her sock, which had become badly stretched about in the preceding calesthenics.
“But so does our dear friend Miss Lizzie, and I’m certain she wants those sockses off so she can kiss you all up and down those toes, tickle everywhere that a feather goes…but I must warn you, Tina, it drives girls crazy. They giggle and squeal and scream and scream, they pass out, wake up, same damn dream, it makes them beg and plead and go insane, but once she start’s to entertain, our lady feather just can’t stop…until you’re hot and wet like a worn out mop.”
Tina made the most deliciously pathetic little moan as she looked up at me with bright, bright pixie eyes.
“Now, Tina…if I can’t make you hold your footsie still, I’m quite sure Miss Lizzie will,” I continued, “So I shall pleasure your little foot, and you shall keep it properly put.”
I brushed the fingers of my right hand lightly up her cotton sole.
“And if you move it more than twice…”
I brushed back down, painting…
“It’s Lizzie to the toes like a cat to mice.”
And he brushed her little footsie with the edges of his finger, stroking through her sock so soft and tender, and she tried so hard keep it still, though she might as well surrender. He let the cotton do his work, a soft caress, and then…
A jerk!
She moaned in protest as I counted, “One,” the wicked walk had just begun…
Of course, it is easy to produce a reflexive jerk in any ticklish subject’s foot by proper stimulation…and so we have babawhoeverski’s reflex. But in this application it was obviously far more enjoyable to allow my little victim to struggle in a futile fight to delay the deliciously inevitable and revel in her desperation.
…Now up from the bottom came fingers three, slowly raking up their ticklee, but she’d scrunched and bunched her ticklish toes and he kept it slow as his fingers rose…and her legs they quivered and her arms they flexed, but her tormented footsie remained unvexed. So he started again, and he went real slow and she almost lost it, but he let that go, and then came the third, and ‘bout halfway up, he wiggled his tips and she just blew up…
I licked my lips.
“Two.”
I feinted towards her foot.
She flinched.
However, though she had already struck out, I decided she was quite entitled to run the bases home. Cracking my knuckles with a flourish, I then descended up on her right foot, spidering and squiggling, up and down front and back, fast and light across her sock…
…And music, music, doh-reh-me! Ah, the sound of a ticklee! She laughed out loud, she squealed and shrieked, and her footsie flailed, but the nylon ropes have never failed! Poor, poor Tina, ticklish treat! Just can’t protect her ticklish feet… Tickle, tickle, he won’t relent, ‘til the silent scream when her laughter’s spent…
And I stopped.
She was breathless. I watched her tummy rise and fall, abs so firm…
I took hold of the lowest portion of her folded sock-cuff and pulled it, gently, toward her heel, beginning a slow unwrapping of her foot that would last…
…a…
“Tina…,” I mouthed.
…gooooooood…
“Tina, that…,” I whispered.
…littttle….
“..makes..,” I cooed.
….while…
“…three,” I said, with a lascivious smile.
I stroked her foot softly with her sock before dropping it to the floor.
Oh, what a beautiful footsie. Tan and girlish and smooth like ice cream, with a supple pink sole and clean, perfect toes…and this girl was a gymnast? Oh, my, my, my, my…what a sweet, cruel fate had she…
I swallowed hard.
“Miss, um, Lizzie, says hello,” I said.
