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Good weed and her balled-up sock (m/f, brief f/m)

Captain Satan

TMF Regular
Joined
Mar 24, 2011
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195
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This one is going to be brief because my recollection of that year is like a slapstick silent movie with plenty of missing reel.

2014 wasn't a good year for me. I wasn't really settling in well at college because drinking pints at the student bar seemed to be a much better way to spend my time than any actual studying. Nonetheless, I managed to keep my head above ground, academia-wise. Passing all of my exams over the years felt like going behind the wheel with a head full of whiskey and managing to somehow park perfectly between two Ferraris.

Despite getting the last laugh in the end, the education system beat the ever-loving shite out of me non-stop for three years. Not the education part, necessarily, but the trials and tribulations of being a poor student with increasingly anxiety levels and a dependence on alcohol and opiates. 2014 was the tip of a raging shitberg. But Megan made it tolerable. And if I was getting the last laugh at the end of this story, she was getting the first.

Megan stood at about 5'5, had bleached dark red hair that fell over her shoulders in waves of roses, and her thin but shapely figure was pronounced by a pair of breasts that I still can't help but think about in my most personal moments. But what I liked most about Megan would be how her blue eyes would narrow and water up whenever she laughed. And she had one of the most honest, cheerful laughs I've heard.

Megan didn't go to my college, but I'd known her for years and she kept saying that she wanted to visit me. We could go out for a few drinks and just have a good time. You can imagine my delight when she followed up on those Facebook messages and actually arranged a date to come up and visit. I think it was a day in January.

I showered, shaved, put on some cologne, drank about three cans of beer, slipped on my favourite Darkthrone t-shirt (women love Darkthrone, you dig?), and practically skipped my way down to the train station to collect her.

When I turned the corner at the station, a trifecta of beautiful sights came at me all at once. There she was, arching her hourglass body over to adjust her orange sock, giving me a quick view of her shapely, albeit covered size 5 (UK) feet, her huddled cleavage, and that sparkling smile. She popped her ugg boot back on and we hugged for a long time. I didn't get an erection, but a boner was raging in my heart.

We arrived back to mine between 5-6 PM. Megan loved getting high, so she blazed up shortly after we closed the door behind us. My apartment was a tiny little crypt with the bare necessities there, but my single bed was perfect for hanging out on as a couch (with pillows propped against the walls) or in its originally intended sense.

Boring stuff, boring stuff, we watched Adventure Time, boring stuff, boring stuff, smoked more weed.

Zwei Stunden später

It's about nine o'clock at night and we have absolutely no intention of going out for those drinks. I had instead gotten us a rake of cans and we decided to just chill out in bed and watch some movies. I took my shoes off and slid under the covers, and she soon followed me, minus her ugg boots and jacket. She changed into a pair of pyjama bottoms. So there she was, nestled against me, in her orange socks, tartan pyjama bottoms, and a white vest that barely clung to her shoulders and gave me a fucking wonderful view of her soft, snowy skin - and a pair of milky underarms.

We fooled around on and off for a few hours while watching Moonrise Kingdom, a film I'd never have watched were it not for a beautiful girl in my bed insisting we watch it. She felt warm in my arms, but cold when she'd rub her socked foot against my leg. Why is this always the case with women's lower extremities? I wasn't complaining that much.

I knew Megan was ticklish. I'd known for years. And I also knew that she was the kind of person who hardly struggled against tickles, but rather helplessly accepted them. So when I slipped my hand under her vest and began circling the perimeter of her bellybutton, her reaction wasn't a surprise.

"Are you trying to tickle me?" she cooed in mid-giggle. I'll never forget the way she said that.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I whispered back.

This went on for another few seconds before I introduced a second and then third finger into play, and soon she was snorting with laughter as my fingers spidered above her navel and around her midriff. She swung around and pushed me playfully before digging her red-painted nails into my sides.

I gave her a stony-faced reaction which seemed to shock her. I am incredibly ticklish, but I had a plan here.

I suggested that we see which of us could handle the most tickling. She agreed, but only if I have to be tickled first. I agreed.

I laid back with my hands behind my head and she spidered her red finger tips under my shirt, played with my nipples, and dug lightly under my arms. I was on the verge of breaking, holding back the laughter as best as I could, but my reluctance only made her want to break me even more. Her fingers eventually found my pubic line and I snapped then and there. She grinned, absolutely delighted with herself.

But now it was my turn. And unlucky for her, I'm not much of a rule-orientated guy.

I held her arms above her head with one hand and incy wincy spidered my fingers from her wrist to the soft hollows of her underarms. Her eyes instantly began to water, which made them look even more beautiful, and she squealed. But before she could call "game over!" I put all the fingers on my right hand to work in tickling her under her arms, under her neck, across her heaving chest, and up her shirt. She wasn't even protesting anymore as she wriggled on the bed, laughing and appealing to my sense of mercy with two sparkling eyes.

A few seconds later, I stopped.

I looked at her there in her little white vest, breathing heavily and comically helpless. I told her that I had an idea, and I heard her whine "oh, nooooo." as I crept to the foot of the bed.

She didn't even move away when I got to the bottom of the bed and restrained her ankle with my left hand. She began to bargain with me as to the conditions of our tickle game, but I forget what exactly she was trying to barter or if I was even really listening.

I pinched the hem of her orange sock and she instantly piped up;

"Oh, no! No! Socks stay on!"

We bargained for another moment, and soon enough I was peeling away a thin sock to reveal a tanned heel giving way to a sole like a white, crinkled sheet. She giggled and mentioned how the peeling fabric was already tickling her. I left the sock dangling at he ball of her foot. At this point I was in a state of tickler's ecstasy. You know the one.

I began lightly at her heel, which had her laughing full-force the moment skin met skin. I knew I wouldn't have long before she wanted to try and get out of my hold, so I employed all of the fingers on my right hand in a 30-second-long tickle-spree of her exposed foot. She wriggled and laughed heartily at the top of the bed, and eventually just threw her head back on the pillow in helpless laughter. I looked back to see her reaction a few times, the tears developing in her eyes and her lips parted so sexually - but I kept most of my attention on her smooth, albeit somewhat cold, size 5 foot.

The coup de grace came when I finally flicked off the rest of her sock to reveal five cute, rounded, chewable toes on the end of a foot I'd just been getting to know so well. She squealed as I tickled each of them from their tops to the base of her foot. Soon it all became a bit too much for her and we decided that our game was over.

I slid back up to her on the bed and cuddled her trembling body as she caught her breath. She called me a bastard and we kissed.

She went to roll another joint while I laid back on the bed and surveyed the greatness around me. A sexy firecracker is in bed next to me, she's rolling a joint, there's beer in the fridge, and an orange sock balled up on the floor.

College isn't all that bad.
 
Thank you, dude!

It was definitely one of those moments that made the next three years totally doable. We're still friends, too.
 
Aww! This shit's adorable :p I really like stories like these. Good to hear you two are still friends :)
 
This one is going to be brief because my recollection of that year is like a slapstick silent movie with plenty of missing reel.

2014 wasn't a good year for me. I wasn't really settling in well at college because drinking pints at the student bar seemed to be a much better way to spend my time than any actual studying. Nonetheless, I managed to keep my head above ground, academia-wise. Passing all of my exams over the years felt like going behind the wheel with a head full of whiskey and managing to somehow park perfectly between two Ferraris.

Despite getting the last laugh in the end, the education system beat the ever-loving shite out of me non-stop for three years. Not the education part, necessarily, but the trials and tribulations of being a poor student with increasingly anxiety levels and a dependence on alcohol and opiates. 2014 was the tip of a raging shitberg. But Megan made it tolerable. And if I was getting the last laugh at the end of this story, she was getting the first.

Megan stood at about 5'5, had bleached dark red hair that fell over her shoulders in waves of roses, and her thin but shapely figure was pronounced by a pair of breasts that I still can't help but think about in my most personal moments. But what I liked most about Megan would be how her blue eyes would narrow and water up whenever she laughed. And she had one of the most honest, cheerful laughs I've heard.

Megan didn't go to my college, but I'd known her for years and she kept saying that she wanted to visit me. We could go out for a few drinks and just have a good time. You can imagine my delight when she followed up on those Facebook messages and actually arranged a date to come up and visit. I think it was a day in January.

I showered, shaved, put on some cologne, drank about three cans of beer, slipped on my favourite Darkthrone t-shirt (women love Darkthrone, you dig?), and practically skipped my way down to the train station to collect her.

When I turned the corner at the station, a trifecta of beautiful sights came at me all at once. There she was, arching her hourglass body over to adjust her orange sock, giving me a quick view of her shapely, albeit covered size 5 (UK) feet, her huddled cleavage, and that sparkling smile. She popped her ugg boot back on and we hugged for a long time. I didn't get an erection, but a boner was raging in my heart.

We arrived back to mine between 5-6 PM. Megan loved getting high, so she blazed up shortly after we closed the door behind us. My apartment was a tiny little crypt with the bare necessities there, but my single bed was perfect for hanging out on as a couch (with pillows propped against the walls) or in its originally intended sense.

Boring stuff, boring stuff, we watched Adventure Time, boring stuff, boring stuff, smoked more weed.

Zwei Stunden später

It's about nine o'clock at night and we have absolutely no intention of going out for those drinks. I had instead gotten us a rake of cans and we decided to just chill out in bed and watch some movies. I took my shoes off and slid under the covers, and she soon followed me, minus her ugg boots and jacket. She changed into a pair of pyjama bottoms. So there she was, nestled against me, in her orange socks, tartan pyjama bottoms, and a white vest that barely clung to her shoulders and gave me a fucking wonderful view of her soft, snowy skin - and a pair of milky underarms.

We fooled around on and off for a few hours while watching Moonrise Kingdom, a film I'd never have watched were it not for a beautiful girl in my bed insisting we watch it. She felt warm in my arms, but cold when she'd rub her socked foot against my leg. Why is this always the case with women's lower extremities? I wasn't complaining that much.

I knew Megan was ticklish. I'd known for years. And I also knew that she was the kind of person who hardly struggled against tickles, but rather helplessly accepted them. So when I slipped my hand under her vest and began circling the perimeter of her bellybutton, her reaction wasn't a surprise.

"Are you trying to tickle me?" she cooed in mid-giggle. I'll never forget the way she said that.

"I don't know what you're talking about." I whispered back.

This went on for another few seconds before I introduced a second and then third finger into play, and soon she was snorting with laughter as my fingers spidered above her navel and around her midriff. She swung around and pushed me playfully before digging her red-painted nails into my sides.

I gave her a stony-faced reaction which seemed to shock her. I am incredibly ticklish, but I had a plan here.

I suggested that we see which of us could handle the most tickling. She agreed, but only if I have to be tickled first. I agreed.

I laid back with my hands behind my head and she spidered her red finger tips under my shirt, played with my nipples, and dug lightly under my arms. I was on the verge of breaking, holding back the laughter as best as I could, but my reluctance only made her want to break me even more. Her fingers eventually found my pubic line and I snapped then and there. She grinned, absolutely delighted with herself.

But now it was my turn. And unlucky for her, I'm not much of a rule-orientated guy.

I held her arms above her head with one hand and incy wincy spidered my fingers from her wrist to the soft hollows of her underarms. Her eyes instantly began to water, which made them look even more beautiful, and she squealed. But before she could call "game over!" I put all the fingers on my right hand to work in tickling her under her arms, under her neck, across her heaving chest, and up her shirt. She wasn't even protesting anymore as she wriggled on the bed, laughing and appealing to my sense of mercy with two sparkling eyes.

A few seconds later, I stopped.

I looked at her there in her little white vest, breathing heavily and comically helpless. I told her that I had an idea, and I heard her whine "oh, nooooo." as I crept to the foot of the bed.

She didn't even move away when I got to the bottom of the bed and restrained her ankle with my left hand. She began to bargain with me as to the conditions of our tickle game, but I forget what exactly she was trying to barter or if I was even really listening.

I pinched the hem of her orange sock and she instantly piped up;

"Oh, no! No! Socks stay on!"

We bargained for another moment, and soon enough I was peeling away a thin sock to reveal a tanned heel giving way to a sole like a white, crinkled sheet. She giggled and mentioned how the peeling fabric was already tickling her. I left the sock dangling at he ball of her foot. At this point I was in a state of tickler's ecstasy. You know the one.

I began lightly at her heel, which had her laughing full-force the moment skin met skin. I knew I wouldn't have long before she wanted to try and get out of my hold, so I employed all of the fingers on my right hand in a 30-second-long tickle-spree of her exposed foot. She wriggled and laughed heartily at the top of the bed, and eventually just threw her head back on the pillow in helpless laughter. I looked back to see her reaction a few times, the tears developing in her eyes and her lips parted so sexually - but I kept most of my attention on her smooth, albeit somewhat cold, size 5 foot.

The coup de grace came when I finally flicked off the rest of her sock to reveal five cute, rounded, chewable toes on the end of a foot I'd just been getting to know so well. She squealed as I tickled each of them from their tops to the base of her foot. Soon it all became a bit too much for her and we decided that our game was over.

I slid back up to her on the bed and cuddled her trembling body as she caught her breath. She called me a bastard and we kissed.

She went to roll another joint while I laid back on the bed and surveyed the greatness around me. A sexy firecracker is in bed next to me, she's rolling a joint, there's beer in the fridge, and an orange sock balled up on the floor.

College isn't all that bad.

It sure isnt! Hope your were/and still are able to enjoy every single "opportunity" it affords you. :)
 
Unfortunately not, dude. We're still very good friends and see each other often, but she's going steady with a really cool guy for a few years now.

Under any other circumstances though, I'd absolutely relish the opportunity to toy with her again. I miss that laugh.
 
Great story. I loved this line: "I didn't get an erection, but a boner was raging in my heart." It gave me quite a chuckle.
 
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