dumbledore
TMF Regular
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I've just got back from visiting my girlfriend's parents for her brother's 21st birthday. I'm writing this as quickly as I can, before any of the details are lost. I never expected any tickling to happen there - but oh, boy, did it.
My girlfriend, Amelia, is twenty-something, was born in France, but grew up in England and has a well-spoken British accent. When she switches to French, all that sultry sexiness is there. She's 5' 5", slim, with long wavy blonde hair and intensely pretty blue eyes. She looks like Rachel McAdams, with a little Kristin Kreuk thrown in. She works part-time in a museum while studying History of Art.
This is the fourth time I've written about her being tickled. You can read up on all the stories, and see images and videos of her feet by clicking here.
But enough about that. Let's get on with this story. I hope you enjoy as much as I did...
Amelia's parents are French, but live in London. They have a townhouse there, and the plan was to have a small gathering with family and friends and celebrate her brother's birthday over two days.
I had met Amelia's mum once before, but never her brothers or anyone else who would be there. I was quite nervous, but Amelia assured me it would be ok.
I wasn't sure if I liked Amelia's mum on first impression. She was nice enough, but the way she acted around Amelia put me off her a bit. When Amelia told a story, her mother gave the air of listening, but never really listened. Although she frequently charged off on her own stories, and quite obviously expected everyone to be paying her complete attention.
In her youth, Amelia's mum was the height of cool: she smoked, she drove a fast car, she drank and spent too much time in rock clubs. Amelia admired her a lot. Her mother, for her part, treated Amelia more like a sister than a daughter. She joked with her like a sibling. It seemed to me that she was a bit jealous of her daughter.
I wondered what her uncle would be like, and all the other family friends who would be there.
"They'll love you," Amelia said.
She led me to the house - a tall, white terrace, with a black iron fence and a bright red door. I knocked on the bronze leonine knocker, and it was promptly answered.
"What time do you call this?" Amelia's mum said, half-jokingly (I hoped).
There was a hint of family resemblance. She had similar eyes to Amelia, a similar nose, some of the same mannerisms. She gave birth to Amelia when she was 20, so she's still in her early 40s, but she's got what I'd call a slightly weather-beaten face and a fairly heavy frame. She wore tight designer jeans, bright red lipstick, and long, red fake nails. She had a tattoo on each wrist: birds, drawn as if flying up her arms.
"Sorry," I said. "Our train was delayed. We got a bit held up."
She led us in, took our coats, and I slipped out of my boots. The hallway had that traditional charm, with some modern twists thrown in. There was an old oak table on the right, under a gold-framed mirror. Lights designed like flower petals twisted down from the ceiling.
Amelia was wearing a short-sleeved white T-shirt that showed off her curves, hugging her body. Over the top of that, she had a navy cardigan. She wore yellow skin-tight jeans and was barefoot in shiny black ballet pumps with a bow on the end.
Here are some snaps:
I glanced down to check if she would take her shoes off, but she didn't. She rarely does in other people's houses. I was disappointed, because I like seeing her feet at every opportunity. But the rarity of their unveiling only heightens their appeal, and the glimpses of her feet on display in the shoes are sexy enough.
We were led through to the kitchen, where Amelia's uncle Simon and his wife Sophia were sitting around the dining table, drinking wine. They smiled when they saw us, and waved us into the room.
Simon was a friendly, fairly large man with a firm handshake, a thick moustache and happy eyes. He always looked a second away from chuckling. Sophia was beautiful, in a severe sort of way. She was long-legged, very tanned, with brown hair. They were both French, and spoke English with a thick accent.
"John! Come down and say hello!" Amelia's mum yelled. That's the younger of Amelia's brothers. He's 19, and spends most of his time in his room, glued to his laptop with those big headphones that go over your head. After shouting, she turned to me, and said, "Phil's in town, grabbing some beers for tomorrow. He'll be back soon, I'm sure."
We spent some time chatting, and soon some more guests arrived. A middle-aged man and a woman, who I presumed was his wife. He had a preppy look about him, with a sky blue sweater tied over his shoulders and cream-colored trousers. She had a bookish appearance, with round, tortoise-shell glasses and frizzy brown hair.
"This is Fiona and Tim," Amelia's mother said. "They live across the road. We've known them for years."
She took wine orders, and after a while we moved through to the living room for a comfy seat. And this is where it got interesting.
We were watching TV. Their couch was one of those L-shaped leather seats that curled around the room. I sat in one corner, next to Amelia. On her other side was her mother, and next to her sat Amelia's uncle Simon and Sophia. On two separate chairs across the room were Tim and Fiona, he with his arm around her.
We'd all had a couple of drinks by this point, and I was zoning out a little. Amelia, her mum and Simon were talking about old family friends and people they hadn't seen in a while. As they were people I'd never heard of, my attention slipped between the conversation and the celebrity quiz show on TV.
So I was drifting off, when suddenly I heard 'the word.'
I did a double take, and woke up a little. I squinted at the TV, wondering if I'd imagined it. But no, sure enough, one of the contestants had guessed "being tickled" in whatever game they were playing.
The TV cut to a big board, and on the bottom of the screen it said THINGS THAT MAKE YOU LAUGH. The two teams were having to guess things that had been voted onto a list of answers. The more votes from the audience, the more points your guess got. There were a couple of other answers up there already: jokes and comedies.
"Being tickled," said the host. "Is it up there?"
There was a ding, and sure enough, being tickled qualified as something that makes you laugh. I was wide awake now. I surreptitiously glanced around the room to see who else had seen it. Tim and Fiona, over on the other seats, were talking to each other. Sophia seemed to be listening to them. The other conversation must have lulled, though, because Amelia, her mother, and her uncle Simon had all turned to the TV.
"You were always a ticklish one," Amelia's mum said, grinning at her. I noticed Amelia turn away. In the background, the contestants were guessing again. "Are you still ticklish?"
"No," Amelia said, quite firmly. She shifted in the seat, bringing her knees up.
The TV contestants were still talking, but I couldn't hear them. My eyes were locked on the situation beside me. Where was this going? Amelia was staring at the TV, sitting rigidly.
Amelia's mum glanced at me, a playful glint in her eye. "Is she?" she said.
My heart thudded. Those mischievous eyes never left mine. This was a big moment. If I said no, maybe nothing would happen. But if I said yes?
Feeling butterflies flitting in my stomach, I nodded.
Amelia turned to see what I'd done, but as she did, her mother poked her in the side.
"Ayeee!" Amelia shrieked, spinning back round quick as a flash.
Her mum poked again. Amelia tried to fend off her hand, but it just darted it into a newly exposed gap.
"Eee!" Amelia squeaked. "Stop that!"
"Stop what?" her mum said. "I thought you said you weren't ticklish?"
"I'm not." The fingers jabbed again, and Amelia squirmed away. "Agh! Sto-hop!"
No one was talking now. Fiona and Tim both stopped to watch. Sophia did too. Uncle Simon was leaning forward, smiling. I couldn't believe this was happening. Amelia tried to sit further up the seat, but every time her mum poked her sides she melted a little more into the leather.
Her mum was really enjoying herself: you could tell by the glint in her eye, and the ever-present devious grin on her face. Every time one of her probing fingers found its mark, the gleam brightened.
Amelia tried to fight it. With so many people around, she wouldn't want to look weak. She clenched her teeth and swatted at her mum's arms, but for every jab she deflected another hit home. And every time it did, she squealed.
In desperation, Amelia changed tactic. Realising she couldn't fend off her mum's pokes, she turned towards me. I could tell she was going to clamber over me to reach the safety of the other side.
That was the plan. That was the idea.
But to do so, she turned her back on her mum, and she didn't anticipate what would happen next. I couldn't see her mum's face, but I could see her hands: they reached out and clamped around Amelia's waist, making pincer grips with her long red nails.
Amelia was right over me when it happened. I had a close-up view of her face as her eyes clenched shut and her mouth shot open.
"AAH!" she screamed. "NOOO Ho Ho Ha Hah! Nah Ha Ha Haaah!"
"Oh, you're REALLY ticklish," her mum said.
Amelia gave up on clambering over me, and scampered off the sofa. But if she thought sliding onto the floor would allow her a moment's respite, she was wrong.
I couldn't believe this was happening.
I watched with wide eyes as Amelia's mum slipped off the sofa and pounced on her daughter's back. She pinned her down, one leg on either side of her, and without hesitating, ferociously tickled up and down her sides.
She had such lightning-fast technique. She never stayed in one place for more than a second. Her false nails flashed mercilessly, shooting up and down Amelia's sides, into her armpits, back down again, over her ribs and down to her hips, tickling, tickling, tickling.
"AAAHHH!" screamed Amelia. "What are you d- Ahhh Ha Ha! Ha Ha Ha Haaah Ha Ha!"
"Nooo! Naaah ha ha ha hah!"
"STOP! PLEASEHAHAHA!"
"AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Amelia's pleas got lost in a torrent of endless laughter. Her mum did not relent. She even started giggling as she tickled, seeming to delight in the torment she was causing.
"Oh dear," she said. "Oh, Amelia. I thought you weren't ticklish? I thought you weren't ticklish, hmm?"
"STO HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
"NOOO HA HA HA HA HA!"
"NO HO HO HO HA HA HA HA!"
I tore my eyes away for a second to check everyone else's reactions. Uncle Simon looked as though he'd happily join in, but he appeared to be kept in check by Sophia, who looked slightly uncomfortable. The others had wide grins on their faces. They were enjoying Amelia's torture. She was thrashing and writhing on the floor in complete hysterics, and they were laughing along with her.
Maybe they saw it as a bit of fun. A game. A bit of me wondered what Amelia thought of it, but the rest of me was getting so turned on I didn't care. I'd never seen anyone else tickle her before, and wasn't prepared for quite how hot it would be.
Amelia had nowhere to go, and the pace was not slowing. If anything, her mum only tickled faster. The ease with which she elicited such loud laughter, the squirming responsiveness of every squeeze visibly delighted her.
"Help!" Amelia screamed. "Help me ha ha ha ha!"
"Please ha ha ha ha!"
"Stop!"
Her mum burrowed into a spot just above her hips, and hit instant gold.
"AAAAAHHHHHH hahahahahahahaha!"
Then it was back up, all along her sides, digging into her ribs and attacking her underarms again, sending Amelia spiralling into ever louder, ever madder hysterics. Long peals of drawn-out laughter rang round the room. Her legs kicked and turned as she tried to get away, but her mum wasn't having any of it.
"I'm having too much fun tickling your girlfriend," she said over her shoulder.
The look in her eyes was one of devilish glee. She grinned at me, but even as she did, even without looking at what she was doing, she kept tickling and Amelia's despair billowed out behind her.
"Plee hee heeeese!"
"Please stop ha ha haaaaah!"
"I'll only stop if you admit you're ticklish," her mum said.
"I'm ticklish!" Amelia wailed.
"Oh, come on. You've got to make it harder than that! You're so easy!"
"I'm ticklish I'm ticklish Ha Ha Haaaah! I'm ticklish Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaaahh! I'M TICKLISH!"
"See? It's not that bad, is it?" she said, kneading Amelia's sides. She leant in close, so that her chest was right on Amelia's back, and her lips were right beside her ears. "It's not so hard to admit it, eh? Poor, ticklish baby. Oh, yes."
"NAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
"NAAAAHA HA HA!"
Everyone was grinning away, completely ignoring the TV. Apart from Sophia, who still looked as if she didn't quite know how to react. "Leave the poor girl alone," she said.
"Leave her alone?" Amelia's mum scoffed, smirking at her. "I'm having WAY too much fun!" And on that word - when she said 'way' - she visibly dug in harder, her face scrunching with the force of it.
"AAAAAAHHHH!" wailed Amelia. "AAhhhhh Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaaaaah!"
"Staaaaa Ha Ha Haaaap! Staaa Ha Haaaap! PLEASE HA HA HA HA!"
"She sounds like she's going to burst a blood vessel," said Sophia.
Uncle Simon, still grinning like he wanted to join in, said, "Oh, come on, Soph. It's just a bit of fun."
"And anyway," said Amelia's mum, still tickling away, "she likes it, don't you?"
"NOOO Ha Ha Ha Hahh!" Amelia roared between endless streams of laughter. She thrashed and bucked, squirming under her mother's merciless red nails, her laughter drowning out the TV.
"Oh, you do."
"MUM Ha Ha Ha HAAAH!"
"MUM PLEASE!"
"Ahhhh Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
"Say I love it," her mother said, speaking softly in her ear.
"Nooo Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaah!"
"Muuummmm Ha Ha Ha Ha! Please Stop Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaah!"
"Say I love it and I'll stop."
"I love it! I love it I love it I love it Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
"I LOVE IT Ha ha Haaaah!"
"See?" said her mother, turning back to Sophia. "She loves it. Someone get her feet, I want to see what else we can make her say."
My heart exploded. She still wasn't stopping? I so wanted to join in. Her feet were right there. I could have reached down to tickle them without much effort at all, but I knew that if Amelia was ever given time to breathe she'd be pissed off beyond belief. I didn't want to be on the receiving end of her wrath after such a torturous attack.
"I don't know," I said. "Maybe you should stop."
I watched Amelia thrashing and contorting under the assault. She was getting truly desperate now, what little defense she had left quickly falling apart. Her laughter was breaking up, each laugh splitting into other fragmented bursts.
"STOOOOOOP Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaah!"
"Ahhhh HAAAH!"
"AHHH HA HAAH!"
"Ahhh Ha Ha Ha Ha HAAAHH Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
I felt bad, but at the same time I willed someone to go for her feet, just to see what it would be like. I'd never seen her get tickled so badly and I'd only ever dreamed of seeing her get tickled in more than one place at the same time. I'd seen the devastating effect of it in videos, seen how the sensation overwhelmed the poor ticklee, and wondered how Amelia would react.
Uncle Simon still didn't join in. Tim and Fiona turned to each other, but it seemed they were content to sit back and enjoy the show.
On the TV in the background, the quiz show had moved on from THINGS THAT MAKE YOU LAUGH and the contestants started trying to guess the most popular movies of 2007. And all the while, Amelia's mum tickled and tickled.
"You are SO ticklish!" she said. "I could do this forever."
"MUM!" Amelia squealed, fighting for breath, "I can't take it! I can't take it AHHHHH Ha Ha Ha Ha! I'm dying!"
"Oh," her mother cooed. "You're dying? But you're still laughing. You can't be dying if you're laughing."
"Naah Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
"Noooo Hooooo!"
"Mum please! MUM Ha Ha Ha Haaah! Stoooooooop Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaah!!"
"I'll do anything!" Amelia wailed, the words coming out in a jumbled rush. "I'm begging you! Please stop Ha Ha Haaaah!"
"Anything?" her mother said, slowing the tickling to allow her to speak. "Is that right? Does that mean you're offering to do the dinner?"
"Get off," Amelia panted, drawing ragged breaths. "Let me up."
"Are you going to do the dinner tonight?" her mother said, her sharp nails scurrying lightly up and down Amelia's sides.
"Ayyyee! Ahhh! Ha Ha Ha! Yes!" she spluttered, "Okay, I'll do it! I'll do it!"
"I want you to say the words," her mother said.
"I'll cook the DAAAHHH Ha Ha Ha Haaaaah!" Amelia exploded as her mother cranked up the tickling again.
"Say it," she said. "Go on."
"I'll do the NNNOO Ha Ha Ha! Ahh Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
"What's the matter?"
"It tickles!" Amelia whimpered, desperate for breath. "Get off me! Let me Ahhh Huup!"
There was a bang in the hall.
Amelia's brother Phil came through the door with a grocery bag in each hand, dressed in a grey knitted sweater and jeans. He was the one whose birthday we were here for. He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene with a quizzical look on his face.
"Help!" Amelia said. "Phil, help me! Please!"
"What's going on?" he asked.
"I'm tickling your sister. It's the most fun I've had in ages."
As if to demonstrate, she darted her long red nails under Amelia's arms again. There was a long, high scream that quickly descended into manic laughter.
"Help!" Amelia screeched. "Help Ha Ha Ha Haaah! HEEEELP Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
"Alright," Phil said. "Alright." He put the bags down and grinned round at the room.
From the look in his eyes, I guessed what was about to happen. I couldn't believe it. It was wishful thinking, surely. Surely this wasn't going to happen. Surely it couldn't.
Amelia's mother had stopped tickling now, and was watching Phil, waiting to see how he was going to react.
Amelia was breathing heavily, taking deep gulps of air. She lay sprawled out on the carpet. "Thank you," she said, panting and whimpering. "Thank you."
"Oh, it's alright," Phil said. "I'm surprised no one's helped already."
He looked at his mum, and from her reaction I could see the understanding passing between them. He sat back to back with her, pinning Amelia's legs on the ground.
"What are you doing?" Amelia said.
"Helping," he replied.
He grabbed her ankles. He pulled up her legs, wrapping his calfs around them to keep them propped up in a hogtied position. I could barely breathe, taking it all in.
I had the best view in the house as he slipped off her shiny black ballet pumps and threw them on the ground. One of them landed on its side, and I could see where the gold lettering on the soles was faded through wear and tear.
"What are you doing?" Amelia whimpered again, her voice high with terror now.
She kicked and twisted, and her legs broke free. Phil quickly set about trying to pin her feet down again. While he wrestled her legs, I got out my phone and tried to take some sneaky pictures without anyone noticing.
Forgive the blurriness - Amelia was struggling quite a bit, trying to break free. She knew what was coming and her feet came alive trying to prevent their fate.
I think the pictures tell the story themselves. You can see the panic and the fear in the way she's thrashing and scrunching her toes.
Finally Phil managed to pin down her ankles. He gripped them tightly in the crook of his arm. Her soft, creamy soles poked out in such a tantalizing way. I was so, so jealous of what he was about to do.
"I remember when you did this to me," he told Amelia. Then he grinned up at his uncle. "Count us in, Si."
Uncle Simon chuckled, leaning forward in his chair. He rubbed his moustache, and although it was an unconscious thing, it reminded me of a villain in a movie, getting ready to finish off the hero.
"Three," he said, elongating the word with his heavy French accent.
"No!" Amelia pleaded.
"Two."
"No, please! I'm begging you!"
"One," said Uncle Simon.
"No, Mum! Let me up! Please don't!"
The tickling began.
Amelia's mother went straight back to her frenzied torture. No hesitation. No pausing in one place for more than a second. Up and down, up and down, under the arms, back to the hips and the sides, pinching and kneading, pinching and kneading.
With Amelia's feet ensnared and utterly helpless, Phil scribbled all over her exposed bare soles. She scrunched her toes instinctively, she wriggled and twisted, but he just kept spidering away.
All of this happened instantly, together, synchronised to perfection.
Amelia had been begging, but when the tickling started once more, the words died on the spot. In their place came one long, drawn-out scream.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she wailed.
Her upper body rose up, her back arching under her mother's assault. Her legs kicked, her feet twisting and thrashing as they tried to escape her brother's fingers. With a manic kick, she broke free from his grasp, but he moved up to pin her ankles with all the weight of his body. He bent over her feet, blocking them from my view, getting right up close to them. And he tickled.
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Amelia screamed.
"NOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOO!"
"NOOOOO HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
Her body squirmed and convulsed, she kicked and bucked and writhed, but the tickling did not stop. At first her reactions were instinctive. Then a sort of fury took hold of her, and she fought with everything she had to break free, violently rearing up, jerking around.
She fought with such intense vigour that I thought she was going to escape, but her Mum was too heavy for her and still the tickling did not stop.
"Oh my God!" she screamed, her voice wavering. She was on the brink of utter defeat. "Oh my God! Ha Ha Ha! Oh my GOD! Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaah!"
"OH MY GOD Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haahhh Ha Ha Ha! AHH HA HA HA HA!"
And then there were no more words. She was lost to an endless stream of laughter. The tickling at this point did not last long. Probably twenty more seconds, although it passed a lot quicker for me. Amelia did not beg anymore; she just laughed and laughed and laughed.
They stopped their assault in the same way they had started: in unison. But even after stopping, they sat on her for a few moments longer as she recovered, drawing in deep ragged breaths.
"Why didn't I know you were this ticklish?" Phil said, when he finally climbed off her feet.
"I hate you," Amelia spluttered.
"Oh, don't be like that," said her mother. "Anyway, you haven't got time to hate us if you're going to get on with dinner."
"I'm NOT making dinner after that," Amelia said.
"Oh really?" Her mother reached out for one her feet, her red nails wriggling. A couple of swipes must have hit home, because Amelia squealed and scrambled back across the floor, using the wall to stand up.
"Alright," she said. "Alright, I'll do it." Her cheeks were flushed red. Her hair was all over the place. Her eyes were wet and shining. She turned to me and said, "I can't believe you didn't help!"
"I'm sorry," I said. "I would have done if it went on for any longer."
"Oh, thanks!" she said. "Well you can help now."
I picked up her shoes and passed them to her. She slipped her feet back into them, and slunk back to the door. I went over and hugged her, and walked with her to the kitchen. She was fuming. Absolutely fuming.
As we went, her brother jokingly called, "Amelia, I think I've got some laundry that needs doing too."
Amelia swore at him, and he burst out laughing. We started preparing the food, and she confessed to me how awful it had been. She said she thought she was going to wet herself. I apologised again for not helping, and said perhaps we should try and get revenge some time. The idea of that certainly perked her up.
Over the rest of the evening, Amelia's mum and her brother kept joking about the tickling. A few times they poked her in the side, and she jumped and shrieked every time.
It wasn't quite the end of her torment, though. On Phil's birthday the next day, after we had finished breakfast, Amelia was sitting between Uncle Simon and Tim. There was no one else around apart from me. She had just finished her cup of coffee, and Uncle Simon jabbed her side with one of his thick fingers. She almost bolted off the bench. I don't think she expected it at all, despite everything. Then, after seeing her reaction, laughing to himself, Tim poked her other side.
"Hey!" she said, jumping again.
Seeming to delight in her reaction, Uncle Simon prodded her again.
"Ah! Stop!"
Tim poked again, then Simon, then Tim, and Amelia hopped up and down and left and right like she was being electrocuted. It only stopped when Simon's wife Sophia came in, and said, "You're not torturing that poor girl again, are you?"
The rest of the day was tickle free. It was a great day of celebration, with drinking games and good food, staying up into the early hours of the morning.
And by the end of the night, the previous day's two-on-one attack seemed to have been forgotten by everyone except me.
My girlfriend, Amelia, is twenty-something, was born in France, but grew up in England and has a well-spoken British accent. When she switches to French, all that sultry sexiness is there. She's 5' 5", slim, with long wavy blonde hair and intensely pretty blue eyes. She looks like Rachel McAdams, with a little Kristin Kreuk thrown in. She works part-time in a museum while studying History of Art.
This is the fourth time I've written about her being tickled. You can read up on all the stories, and see images and videos of her feet by clicking here.
But enough about that. Let's get on with this story. I hope you enjoy as much as I did...
* * *
Amelia's parents are French, but live in London. They have a townhouse there, and the plan was to have a small gathering with family and friends and celebrate her brother's birthday over two days.
I had met Amelia's mum once before, but never her brothers or anyone else who would be there. I was quite nervous, but Amelia assured me it would be ok.
I wasn't sure if I liked Amelia's mum on first impression. She was nice enough, but the way she acted around Amelia put me off her a bit. When Amelia told a story, her mother gave the air of listening, but never really listened. Although she frequently charged off on her own stories, and quite obviously expected everyone to be paying her complete attention.
In her youth, Amelia's mum was the height of cool: she smoked, she drove a fast car, she drank and spent too much time in rock clubs. Amelia admired her a lot. Her mother, for her part, treated Amelia more like a sister than a daughter. She joked with her like a sibling. It seemed to me that she was a bit jealous of her daughter.
I wondered what her uncle would be like, and all the other family friends who would be there.
"They'll love you," Amelia said.
She led me to the house - a tall, white terrace, with a black iron fence and a bright red door. I knocked on the bronze leonine knocker, and it was promptly answered.
"What time do you call this?" Amelia's mum said, half-jokingly (I hoped).
There was a hint of family resemblance. She had similar eyes to Amelia, a similar nose, some of the same mannerisms. She gave birth to Amelia when she was 20, so she's still in her early 40s, but she's got what I'd call a slightly weather-beaten face and a fairly heavy frame. She wore tight designer jeans, bright red lipstick, and long, red fake nails. She had a tattoo on each wrist: birds, drawn as if flying up her arms.
"Sorry," I said. "Our train was delayed. We got a bit held up."
She led us in, took our coats, and I slipped out of my boots. The hallway had that traditional charm, with some modern twists thrown in. There was an old oak table on the right, under a gold-framed mirror. Lights designed like flower petals twisted down from the ceiling.
Amelia was wearing a short-sleeved white T-shirt that showed off her curves, hugging her body. Over the top of that, she had a navy cardigan. She wore yellow skin-tight jeans and was barefoot in shiny black ballet pumps with a bow on the end.
Here are some snaps:
I glanced down to check if she would take her shoes off, but she didn't. She rarely does in other people's houses. I was disappointed, because I like seeing her feet at every opportunity. But the rarity of their unveiling only heightens their appeal, and the glimpses of her feet on display in the shoes are sexy enough.
We were led through to the kitchen, where Amelia's uncle Simon and his wife Sophia were sitting around the dining table, drinking wine. They smiled when they saw us, and waved us into the room.
Simon was a friendly, fairly large man with a firm handshake, a thick moustache and happy eyes. He always looked a second away from chuckling. Sophia was beautiful, in a severe sort of way. She was long-legged, very tanned, with brown hair. They were both French, and spoke English with a thick accent.
"John! Come down and say hello!" Amelia's mum yelled. That's the younger of Amelia's brothers. He's 19, and spends most of his time in his room, glued to his laptop with those big headphones that go over your head. After shouting, she turned to me, and said, "Phil's in town, grabbing some beers for tomorrow. He'll be back soon, I'm sure."
We spent some time chatting, and soon some more guests arrived. A middle-aged man and a woman, who I presumed was his wife. He had a preppy look about him, with a sky blue sweater tied over his shoulders and cream-colored trousers. She had a bookish appearance, with round, tortoise-shell glasses and frizzy brown hair.
"This is Fiona and Tim," Amelia's mother said. "They live across the road. We've known them for years."
She took wine orders, and after a while we moved through to the living room for a comfy seat. And this is where it got interesting.
We were watching TV. Their couch was one of those L-shaped leather seats that curled around the room. I sat in one corner, next to Amelia. On her other side was her mother, and next to her sat Amelia's uncle Simon and Sophia. On two separate chairs across the room were Tim and Fiona, he with his arm around her.
We'd all had a couple of drinks by this point, and I was zoning out a little. Amelia, her mum and Simon were talking about old family friends and people they hadn't seen in a while. As they were people I'd never heard of, my attention slipped between the conversation and the celebrity quiz show on TV.
So I was drifting off, when suddenly I heard 'the word.'
I did a double take, and woke up a little. I squinted at the TV, wondering if I'd imagined it. But no, sure enough, one of the contestants had guessed "being tickled" in whatever game they were playing.
The TV cut to a big board, and on the bottom of the screen it said THINGS THAT MAKE YOU LAUGH. The two teams were having to guess things that had been voted onto a list of answers. The more votes from the audience, the more points your guess got. There were a couple of other answers up there already: jokes and comedies.
"Being tickled," said the host. "Is it up there?"
There was a ding, and sure enough, being tickled qualified as something that makes you laugh. I was wide awake now. I surreptitiously glanced around the room to see who else had seen it. Tim and Fiona, over on the other seats, were talking to each other. Sophia seemed to be listening to them. The other conversation must have lulled, though, because Amelia, her mother, and her uncle Simon had all turned to the TV.
"You were always a ticklish one," Amelia's mum said, grinning at her. I noticed Amelia turn away. In the background, the contestants were guessing again. "Are you still ticklish?"
"No," Amelia said, quite firmly. She shifted in the seat, bringing her knees up.
The TV contestants were still talking, but I couldn't hear them. My eyes were locked on the situation beside me. Where was this going? Amelia was staring at the TV, sitting rigidly.
Amelia's mum glanced at me, a playful glint in her eye. "Is she?" she said.
My heart thudded. Those mischievous eyes never left mine. This was a big moment. If I said no, maybe nothing would happen. But if I said yes?
Feeling butterflies flitting in my stomach, I nodded.
Amelia turned to see what I'd done, but as she did, her mother poked her in the side.
"Ayeee!" Amelia shrieked, spinning back round quick as a flash.
Her mum poked again. Amelia tried to fend off her hand, but it just darted it into a newly exposed gap.
"Eee!" Amelia squeaked. "Stop that!"
"Stop what?" her mum said. "I thought you said you weren't ticklish?"
"I'm not." The fingers jabbed again, and Amelia squirmed away. "Agh! Sto-hop!"
No one was talking now. Fiona and Tim both stopped to watch. Sophia did too. Uncle Simon was leaning forward, smiling. I couldn't believe this was happening. Amelia tried to sit further up the seat, but every time her mum poked her sides she melted a little more into the leather.
Her mum was really enjoying herself: you could tell by the glint in her eye, and the ever-present devious grin on her face. Every time one of her probing fingers found its mark, the gleam brightened.
Amelia tried to fight it. With so many people around, she wouldn't want to look weak. She clenched her teeth and swatted at her mum's arms, but for every jab she deflected another hit home. And every time it did, she squealed.
In desperation, Amelia changed tactic. Realising she couldn't fend off her mum's pokes, she turned towards me. I could tell she was going to clamber over me to reach the safety of the other side.
That was the plan. That was the idea.
But to do so, she turned her back on her mum, and she didn't anticipate what would happen next. I couldn't see her mum's face, but I could see her hands: they reached out and clamped around Amelia's waist, making pincer grips with her long red nails.
Amelia was right over me when it happened. I had a close-up view of her face as her eyes clenched shut and her mouth shot open.
"AAH!" she screamed. "NOOO Ho Ho Ha Hah! Nah Ha Ha Haaah!"
"Oh, you're REALLY ticklish," her mum said.
Amelia gave up on clambering over me, and scampered off the sofa. But if she thought sliding onto the floor would allow her a moment's respite, she was wrong.
I couldn't believe this was happening.
I watched with wide eyes as Amelia's mum slipped off the sofa and pounced on her daughter's back. She pinned her down, one leg on either side of her, and without hesitating, ferociously tickled up and down her sides.
She had such lightning-fast technique. She never stayed in one place for more than a second. Her false nails flashed mercilessly, shooting up and down Amelia's sides, into her armpits, back down again, over her ribs and down to her hips, tickling, tickling, tickling.
"AAAHHH!" screamed Amelia. "What are you d- Ahhh Ha Ha! Ha Ha Ha Haaah Ha Ha!"
"Nooo! Naaah ha ha ha hah!"
"STOP! PLEASEHAHAHA!"
"AHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Amelia's pleas got lost in a torrent of endless laughter. Her mum did not relent. She even started giggling as she tickled, seeming to delight in the torment she was causing.
"Oh dear," she said. "Oh, Amelia. I thought you weren't ticklish? I thought you weren't ticklish, hmm?"
"STO HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
"NOOO HA HA HA HA HA!"
"NO HO HO HO HA HA HA HA!"
I tore my eyes away for a second to check everyone else's reactions. Uncle Simon looked as though he'd happily join in, but he appeared to be kept in check by Sophia, who looked slightly uncomfortable. The others had wide grins on their faces. They were enjoying Amelia's torture. She was thrashing and writhing on the floor in complete hysterics, and they were laughing along with her.
Maybe they saw it as a bit of fun. A game. A bit of me wondered what Amelia thought of it, but the rest of me was getting so turned on I didn't care. I'd never seen anyone else tickle her before, and wasn't prepared for quite how hot it would be.
Amelia had nowhere to go, and the pace was not slowing. If anything, her mum only tickled faster. The ease with which she elicited such loud laughter, the squirming responsiveness of every squeeze visibly delighted her.
"Help!" Amelia screamed. "Help me ha ha ha ha!"
"Please ha ha ha ha!"
"Stop!"
Her mum burrowed into a spot just above her hips, and hit instant gold.
"AAAAAHHHHHH hahahahahahahaha!"
Then it was back up, all along her sides, digging into her ribs and attacking her underarms again, sending Amelia spiralling into ever louder, ever madder hysterics. Long peals of drawn-out laughter rang round the room. Her legs kicked and turned as she tried to get away, but her mum wasn't having any of it.
"I'm having too much fun tickling your girlfriend," she said over her shoulder.
The look in her eyes was one of devilish glee. She grinned at me, but even as she did, even without looking at what she was doing, she kept tickling and Amelia's despair billowed out behind her.
"Plee hee heeeese!"
"Please stop ha ha haaaaah!"
"I'll only stop if you admit you're ticklish," her mum said.
"I'm ticklish!" Amelia wailed.
"Oh, come on. You've got to make it harder than that! You're so easy!"
"I'm ticklish I'm ticklish Ha Ha Haaaah! I'm ticklish Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaaahh! I'M TICKLISH!"
"See? It's not that bad, is it?" she said, kneading Amelia's sides. She leant in close, so that her chest was right on Amelia's back, and her lips were right beside her ears. "It's not so hard to admit it, eh? Poor, ticklish baby. Oh, yes."
"NAAAAA HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
"NAAAAHA HA HA!"
Everyone was grinning away, completely ignoring the TV. Apart from Sophia, who still looked as if she didn't quite know how to react. "Leave the poor girl alone," she said.
"Leave her alone?" Amelia's mum scoffed, smirking at her. "I'm having WAY too much fun!" And on that word - when she said 'way' - she visibly dug in harder, her face scrunching with the force of it.
"AAAAAAHHHH!" wailed Amelia. "AAhhhhh Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaaaaah!"
"Staaaaa Ha Ha Haaaap! Staaa Ha Haaaap! PLEASE HA HA HA HA!"
"She sounds like she's going to burst a blood vessel," said Sophia.
Uncle Simon, still grinning like he wanted to join in, said, "Oh, come on, Soph. It's just a bit of fun."
"And anyway," said Amelia's mum, still tickling away, "she likes it, don't you?"
"NOOO Ha Ha Ha Hahh!" Amelia roared between endless streams of laughter. She thrashed and bucked, squirming under her mother's merciless red nails, her laughter drowning out the TV.
"Oh, you do."
"MUM Ha Ha Ha HAAAH!"
"MUM PLEASE!"
"Ahhhh Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
"Say I love it," her mother said, speaking softly in her ear.
"Nooo Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaah!"
"Muuummmm Ha Ha Ha Ha! Please Stop Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaah!"
"Say I love it and I'll stop."
"I love it! I love it I love it I love it Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
"I LOVE IT Ha ha Haaaah!"
"See?" said her mother, turning back to Sophia. "She loves it. Someone get her feet, I want to see what else we can make her say."
My heart exploded. She still wasn't stopping? I so wanted to join in. Her feet were right there. I could have reached down to tickle them without much effort at all, but I knew that if Amelia was ever given time to breathe she'd be pissed off beyond belief. I didn't want to be on the receiving end of her wrath after such a torturous attack.
"I don't know," I said. "Maybe you should stop."
I watched Amelia thrashing and contorting under the assault. She was getting truly desperate now, what little defense she had left quickly falling apart. Her laughter was breaking up, each laugh splitting into other fragmented bursts.
"STOOOOOOP Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaaah!"
"Ahhhh HAAAH!"
"AHHH HA HAAH!"
"Ahhh Ha Ha Ha Ha HAAAHH Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
I felt bad, but at the same time I willed someone to go for her feet, just to see what it would be like. I'd never seen her get tickled so badly and I'd only ever dreamed of seeing her get tickled in more than one place at the same time. I'd seen the devastating effect of it in videos, seen how the sensation overwhelmed the poor ticklee, and wondered how Amelia would react.
Uncle Simon still didn't join in. Tim and Fiona turned to each other, but it seemed they were content to sit back and enjoy the show.
On the TV in the background, the quiz show had moved on from THINGS THAT MAKE YOU LAUGH and the contestants started trying to guess the most popular movies of 2007. And all the while, Amelia's mum tickled and tickled.
"You are SO ticklish!" she said. "I could do this forever."
"MUM!" Amelia squealed, fighting for breath, "I can't take it! I can't take it AHHHHH Ha Ha Ha Ha! I'm dying!"
"Oh," her mother cooed. "You're dying? But you're still laughing. You can't be dying if you're laughing."
"Naah Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
"Noooo Hooooo!"
"Mum please! MUM Ha Ha Ha Haaah! Stoooooooop Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaah!!"
"I'll do anything!" Amelia wailed, the words coming out in a jumbled rush. "I'm begging you! Please stop Ha Ha Haaaah!"
"Anything?" her mother said, slowing the tickling to allow her to speak. "Is that right? Does that mean you're offering to do the dinner?"
"Get off," Amelia panted, drawing ragged breaths. "Let me up."
"Are you going to do the dinner tonight?" her mother said, her sharp nails scurrying lightly up and down Amelia's sides.
"Ayyyee! Ahhh! Ha Ha Ha! Yes!" she spluttered, "Okay, I'll do it! I'll do it!"
"I want you to say the words," her mother said.
"I'll cook the DAAAHHH Ha Ha Ha Haaaaah!" Amelia exploded as her mother cranked up the tickling again.
"Say it," she said. "Go on."
"I'll do the NNNOO Ha Ha Ha! Ahh Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
"What's the matter?"
"It tickles!" Amelia whimpered, desperate for breath. "Get off me! Let me Ahhh Huup!"
There was a bang in the hall.
Amelia's brother Phil came through the door with a grocery bag in each hand, dressed in a grey knitted sweater and jeans. He was the one whose birthday we were here for. He paused in the doorway, taking in the scene with a quizzical look on his face.
"Help!" Amelia said. "Phil, help me! Please!"
"What's going on?" he asked.
"I'm tickling your sister. It's the most fun I've had in ages."
As if to demonstrate, she darted her long red nails under Amelia's arms again. There was a long, high scream that quickly descended into manic laughter.
"Help!" Amelia screeched. "Help Ha Ha Ha Haaah! HEEEELP Ha Ha Ha Ha!"
"Alright," Phil said. "Alright." He put the bags down and grinned round at the room.
From the look in his eyes, I guessed what was about to happen. I couldn't believe it. It was wishful thinking, surely. Surely this wasn't going to happen. Surely it couldn't.
Amelia's mother had stopped tickling now, and was watching Phil, waiting to see how he was going to react.
Amelia was breathing heavily, taking deep gulps of air. She lay sprawled out on the carpet. "Thank you," she said, panting and whimpering. "Thank you."
"Oh, it's alright," Phil said. "I'm surprised no one's helped already."
He looked at his mum, and from her reaction I could see the understanding passing between them. He sat back to back with her, pinning Amelia's legs on the ground.
"What are you doing?" Amelia said.
"Helping," he replied.
He grabbed her ankles. He pulled up her legs, wrapping his calfs around them to keep them propped up in a hogtied position. I could barely breathe, taking it all in.
I had the best view in the house as he slipped off her shiny black ballet pumps and threw them on the ground. One of them landed on its side, and I could see where the gold lettering on the soles was faded through wear and tear.
"What are you doing?" Amelia whimpered again, her voice high with terror now.
She kicked and twisted, and her legs broke free. Phil quickly set about trying to pin her feet down again. While he wrestled her legs, I got out my phone and tried to take some sneaky pictures without anyone noticing.
Forgive the blurriness - Amelia was struggling quite a bit, trying to break free. She knew what was coming and her feet came alive trying to prevent their fate.
I think the pictures tell the story themselves. You can see the panic and the fear in the way she's thrashing and scrunching her toes.
Finally Phil managed to pin down her ankles. He gripped them tightly in the crook of his arm. Her soft, creamy soles poked out in such a tantalizing way. I was so, so jealous of what he was about to do.
"I remember when you did this to me," he told Amelia. Then he grinned up at his uncle. "Count us in, Si."
Uncle Simon chuckled, leaning forward in his chair. He rubbed his moustache, and although it was an unconscious thing, it reminded me of a villain in a movie, getting ready to finish off the hero.
"Three," he said, elongating the word with his heavy French accent.
"No!" Amelia pleaded.
"Two."
"No, please! I'm begging you!"
"One," said Uncle Simon.
"No, Mum! Let me up! Please don't!"
The tickling began.
Amelia's mother went straight back to her frenzied torture. No hesitation. No pausing in one place for more than a second. Up and down, up and down, under the arms, back to the hips and the sides, pinching and kneading, pinching and kneading.
With Amelia's feet ensnared and utterly helpless, Phil scribbled all over her exposed bare soles. She scrunched her toes instinctively, she wriggled and twisted, but he just kept spidering away.
All of this happened instantly, together, synchronised to perfection.
Amelia had been begging, but when the tickling started once more, the words died on the spot. In their place came one long, drawn-out scream.
"AAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she wailed.
Her upper body rose up, her back arching under her mother's assault. Her legs kicked, her feet twisting and thrashing as they tried to escape her brother's fingers. With a manic kick, she broke free from his grasp, but he moved up to pin her ankles with all the weight of his body. He bent over her feet, blocking them from my view, getting right up close to them. And he tickled.
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!" Amelia screamed.
"NOOOOOO HOOOOOOOOOO!"
"NOOOOO HA HA HA HA HA HA!"
Her body squirmed and convulsed, she kicked and bucked and writhed, but the tickling did not stop. At first her reactions were instinctive. Then a sort of fury took hold of her, and she fought with everything she had to break free, violently rearing up, jerking around.
She fought with such intense vigour that I thought she was going to escape, but her Mum was too heavy for her and still the tickling did not stop.
"Oh my God!" she screamed, her voice wavering. She was on the brink of utter defeat. "Oh my God! Ha Ha Ha! Oh my GOD! Ha Ha Ha Ha Haaah!"
"OH MY GOD Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha Haahhh Ha Ha Ha! AHH HA HA HA HA!"
And then there were no more words. She was lost to an endless stream of laughter. The tickling at this point did not last long. Probably twenty more seconds, although it passed a lot quicker for me. Amelia did not beg anymore; she just laughed and laughed and laughed.
They stopped their assault in the same way they had started: in unison. But even after stopping, they sat on her for a few moments longer as she recovered, drawing in deep ragged breaths.
"Why didn't I know you were this ticklish?" Phil said, when he finally climbed off her feet.
"I hate you," Amelia spluttered.
"Oh, don't be like that," said her mother. "Anyway, you haven't got time to hate us if you're going to get on with dinner."
"I'm NOT making dinner after that," Amelia said.
"Oh really?" Her mother reached out for one her feet, her red nails wriggling. A couple of swipes must have hit home, because Amelia squealed and scrambled back across the floor, using the wall to stand up.
"Alright," she said. "Alright, I'll do it." Her cheeks were flushed red. Her hair was all over the place. Her eyes were wet and shining. She turned to me and said, "I can't believe you didn't help!"
"I'm sorry," I said. "I would have done if it went on for any longer."
"Oh, thanks!" she said. "Well you can help now."
I picked up her shoes and passed them to her. She slipped her feet back into them, and slunk back to the door. I went over and hugged her, and walked with her to the kitchen. She was fuming. Absolutely fuming.
As we went, her brother jokingly called, "Amelia, I think I've got some laundry that needs doing too."
Amelia swore at him, and he burst out laughing. We started preparing the food, and she confessed to me how awful it had been. She said she thought she was going to wet herself. I apologised again for not helping, and said perhaps we should try and get revenge some time. The idea of that certainly perked her up.
Over the rest of the evening, Amelia's mum and her brother kept joking about the tickling. A few times they poked her in the side, and she jumped and shrieked every time.
It wasn't quite the end of her torment, though. On Phil's birthday the next day, after we had finished breakfast, Amelia was sitting between Uncle Simon and Tim. There was no one else around apart from me. She had just finished her cup of coffee, and Uncle Simon jabbed her side with one of his thick fingers. She almost bolted off the bench. I don't think she expected it at all, despite everything. Then, after seeing her reaction, laughing to himself, Tim poked her other side.
"Hey!" she said, jumping again.
Seeming to delight in her reaction, Uncle Simon prodded her again.
"Ah! Stop!"
Tim poked again, then Simon, then Tim, and Amelia hopped up and down and left and right like she was being electrocuted. It only stopped when Simon's wife Sophia came in, and said, "You're not torturing that poor girl again, are you?"
The rest of the day was tickle free. It was a great day of celebration, with drinking games and good food, staying up into the early hours of the morning.
And by the end of the night, the previous day's two-on-one attack seemed to have been forgotten by everyone except me.
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