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Old Story Series - FATHER FRED

MaxSpeer

1st Level Red Feather
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Apr 18, 2001
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Author's Note: I always loved this one. If I had to pick a favorite of my old stories it would be this one.


FATHER FRED

Max Speer​


The voice went "Blah blah blah blah blah..." Father Fred, the priest at Holy Moses Catholic Church heard a word here and there; "my daughter", "wedding", "confession", and others that he'd heard every week for the past 32 years. Father Fred had one thing in mind, "How do I stay awake for just 5 more minutes?"

The two sat in the Father's comfortable office as plans were being made for her daughter's upcoming wedding. The woman seemed very nice, dressed in a colorful, tacky, summer frock; her tiny, gloved hands clutched a purse on her lap. She wore a little hat with fake flowers on it.

Father Fred saw a bee buzzing around his ceiling, banging against his neon light, and entertained the fantasy that the bee would land on Mrs. Foxworthy's hat. He imagined it entering and stinging her repeatedly on the head. That would get her out of here!

"So you'll see her, Father Fred?" the woman said rising from her chair. The old cushion on the chair made a farting sound as she rose, which made the woman punctuate her sentence with an "Oh Dear!"

The old priest rose (his cushion made no sound) and assured the kind, old lady that she could bring the daughter around anytime she wanted and he would give her spiritual counseling.

Mrs. Foxworthy smiled, thrilled, and walked out of his office, glancing a few more times at the seat cushion, frowning.

Two weeks later, Father Fred heard a knock at his office door. It was a Saturday afternoon and he was watching the Phillies play San Diego on his tiny Watchman. The knock startled him and he looked up at his wall calendar to see that it was the hour of Mrs. Foxworthy's daughter's spiritual counseling.

Father Fred hadn't seen Stacey for over twelve years, when she was a shy, little girl of 8. She had gone off to live with her aunt in another county following a family tragedy. Now, the poor aunt was ill and Stacey went back to live with her mother. Her mother was planning Stacey's wedding to Jeffrey Clark, a 'fine lad', whose Dad owned the hardware store.

The old priest got up and his bones made crackling sounds. He was starting to feel old though he was barely 70. Quickly, he put the walkman in his desk drawer and opened the door.

There, standing barely 5'5" (which could well as just been 3 foot tall under the towering man) was a most gorgeous Stacey Foxworthy. Dressed in a sleeveless, summer shift and Birkenstacks; long, straight, 'dirty' blonde hair. Stacey was a knockout! She looked up at the old priest as he gulped and her blue eyes sparkled. Her full, red lips were like cherries you would see perched on an Everest of whipped cream.

Stacey looked into Father Fred's eyes, then looked down, embarrassed.

"Come..." Father Fred stammered.

"What?" said the girl, looking up again.

"In… Come in, please, Stacey; sit down."

The girl walked in and Father Fred was ashamed of himself as he looked down at her round bottom, seen easily beneath the thin cotton shift. The Father watched the cheeks go up and down, one side then the other, and counted the movements the short distance from the door to the chair.

"Five," he muttered under his breath.

"Excuse me?" she said as she turned.

"Fine, fine day today, isn’t it?"

Stacey sat softly onto the seat. It made no sound. She was an angel indeed. She nestled herself into the chair and crossed her thin, shapely leg over her knee; and, although the motion took all of 2 seconds, Father Fred watched it for hours. In fact, he watched it for weeks after that day.
The old priest settled into his own chair and said a little prayer to himself that he would be able to be of some use to the nymphet parishioner.

She sat for a few more seconds and bobbed her leg on her knee, looking all of 12 in her girlish way. Strands of hair were in her face and her demure attitude oozed seductivity.

"Well," the Father started to say but his voice cracked. "Well, now, Stacey what can I do for you today?"

"I'm here, Father Fred because I don't know where else to turn. I knew that you would be able to give me some spiritual advice. I have this problem."

"What is this problem, Stacey. Perhaps I can help you cope with the burden you are carrying."

"Well you know, Father, that I'm getting married soon."

"Your mother has told me."

"Jeff is a really nice guy."

"An outstanding boy, yes," the priest said assuredly.

"He doesn't understand that I have a problem."

"Well, what kind of problem is it, Stacey?"

"Every time..."the girl hesitated before taking a breath and continuing. "I have trouble when he touches me."

The priest suddenly became interested. If there had been any fatigue in his bones, it was gone. His mind was sharp and alert.

"What kind of trouble? Is he touching you inappropriately? I can have a talk with him?"

The girl smiled and pulled the hair out of her face and held it over her head while she sat in thought. For some reason, the priest’s eyes followed her hand, down her bare arm and into the very smooth, hairless hollow of her armpit. An old 'devil' began to stir in his pants for reasons he could not understand. He stared, transfixed at the smooth skin under her arm until his stare was broken as she dropped her arm and released her hair. She hunched her shoulder up and smiled.

"I have this problem," she continued. "Everytime he touches me I
can't help giggling."

"Giggling?" the Father asked. "Why?"

"It's embarrassing."

"Go ahead, child. You can trust me."

"I giggle because I'm very VERY ticklish."

"Oh!" The 'devil' had a mind of its own. It too stood up to listen. There was no fatigue in its old body. It was alert.

"Jeff hates it, and thinks that I'm rejecting him. But the truth is, Father Fred, I'm so ticklish that I have trouble with ANYBODY touching me. Anybody!"

"Well, " the old priest said, "How about someone you trust very much?"

"I don't know," came the shy answer. "I don't trust many people."

The moment was heavy. Very heavy. The entire situation now rested on the very next word. It was so tense in that little office that the air felt like a mousetrap about to spring. Then he said it; the words that would seal his fate forever.

"Do you trust me?"

"Yes." Stacey said barely audibly. The priest looked at her thin, shapely body. It was almost entirely visible through the very thin cotton material of her sleeveless shift. He stared at the little flowers in the print and noticed that two small buds had accidentally folded at her nipples. Her nipples were protruding slightly and he realized that Stacey was not wearing a bra. Father Fred was wondering what her nipples would taste like with peanut butter smeared on them when he realized the true weight of the moment.

"I need to know if I'm crazy."

"You're not cra..." he stared to say but she interrupted.

"It's just that I'm so ticklish that I can even tickle myself if I wanted. It's that strong."

"Well what do you want me to do?" asked Father Fred. His frock was becoming very uncomfortable. His erection, like an old problem, was drawing his attention down to itself and the old man was having trouble thinking spiritually.

"I figured," the girl continued. "that you're the safest man in town."

His passion was growing with every new second. He was in that cloudy lust world where there are no thoughts except the need for release and more stimulation. He started saying things he didn't understand.

"Well, Stacey," said the old priest rising out of his chair. A farting sound was heard from his cushion. "You're a beautiful girl. And what lovely arms you have. Do you mind if I touch them?"

Stacey smiled, embarrassed. Father Fred walked to her and sat on his table. He ran his hand up and down the length of Stacey's bare arm. She smiled as she looked up at him. Then his stroking lightened and he was now using his fingertips. Stacey began to giggle and twist away.

"You see?" she said giggling. "That tickles when you do that."

He reached over and stroked her other arm. It was heaven. Her arms were so incredibly smooth and soft. He used both of his hands to fingertip the soft surface and Stacey began to giggle in earnest; throwing her head back a little, closing her eyes and twisting this way and that.
She giggled. She had a high, girlish giggle. Father Fred found this very exciting so he let his fingertips stroke in real tickling manner, like little spider legs, tickling up and down, this time, the front of her arms.

Stacey was laughing now and trying to back away. She grabbed the arms of the chair in an attempt to hold on and kick away but it was a fatal mistake. By grabbing the arms, her own arms came away from her body, exposing her vulnerable underarms.

Father Fred 's blood pressure began to soar and he tickled his long, thin fingers into the warm, super-soft, ultra-ticklish armpits.

Stacey's scream caused everything to stop. She held her mouth as she laughed and the Father stood still in shock.

"I told you I'm ticklish!" she laughed.

The Father was thinking fast. He babbled more than the entire Tower of Babel (sorry). He explain in a strange, excited manner how he can desensitize her; that she could be cured and live a normal, productive life. She listened, attentively, then spoke.

"I'll do whatever you say. I just want to be a good Christian."

***

The door to the church was locked and a sign "Back in one hour" was posted. A cassock was shredded and Stacey was tied with the strips. Her arms were tied tightly along the back of the couch, out to the sides. She looked like a crucified woman/child. Her feet were tied together and her legs were propped on a coffee table. There, they were tied securely to the legs of the table.

Father Fred sat down on the couch to her right. She giggled, nervously. He lifted his hand and wriggled them near her very exposed armpit and the girl broke up into a fit of giggles.

"Remember, Stacey, this is for your own good," the horny priest said.
Stacey didn't believe it for a moment, but she wasn't able to utter her opinion. She was giggling nervously and watching his fingers wriggling closer to her ticklish skin. She could 'feel' the sensations even though he hadn't touched her. Father Fred had read her thoughts.

"I haven't even touched you yet," he explained.

"I know..."Stacey managed to say although she had been giggling uncontrollably.

The old priest had barely touched the delicate skin of Stacey's underarm when she began tugging violently at the ties that bound her right arm, screaming in hysterical laughter. As Father Fred began to stroke her soft, sensitive skin, the very flesh beneath his fingers were quivering as if her armpit had a mind of its own.

The old man was in a Lust Fog as he merrily danced his fingertips in the ticklish hollow. Stacey absolutely sang hysterical laughter. It echoed in the chapel. It vibrated the stained glass. Like a celestial choir, it rang through the walls of the church as the Spiritual Leader reached his other hand around and began to tickle Stacey's gorgeous, bound body under both of her arms. Her sleeveless shift offered no protection as he cashed in on all her exposed skin, tickling around and around; feeling the softness of her youthful body beneath his constantly wiggling fingers.

He felt her delicate ribcage beneath the thin, cotton shift. The rib ridges moved as if they, too, were trying to move away from his ever increasing digging. Meanwhile, Stacey was squealing as if she were being tortured (which, of course, she was). It was the most sadistic form of torture. Tickling. She thought of the times her brothers held her down on the rug; her arms violently tugged over her head and pinned down. The anticipation as their fat, ugly faces were pressed against her tiny, angelic face; telling her that they were going to tickle her until she peed (which, of course, she did). She remembered their rough hands, which tickled too hard. They didn't have the delicate papal tickling touch like Father Fred.

Father Fred was deep in thought, his fingers now tickling the soft, firm belly; his index finger probing for her belly button through the soft material. He was wondering what he would do now that he would probably be turned into the Bishop and excommunicated. He was pondering the thoughts that if he was going already, should he go all the way. He wondered if it was illegal to screw a parishioner. He wondered if he was really helping her marriage or hindering it. He wondered a lot as he tickled down her legs and stopped at the areas behind her knees.

There, he paused and tickled furiously. It felt strangely like her armpits, smooth hollows. Her legs bounced excitedly, first one then the other. Her shoulders shook. She laughed in a funny way, as if she were constantly coming up out of some water for air. The girlish giggling gave way to a more lady-like guffaw. She begged him to stop but the pleading only seemed to egg him on.

"You're a beast!" she laughed.

The Beast?

He tickled down her calves and she whooped and squealed. When he got to her feet he didn't even pause for drama. He was too far gone. He simply tickled around the curve of her heels and 'skated' up and down the length of her size 6 feet.

So soft were these soles. Father Fred thought how soles were like souls and wondered if that was the reason he had felt so spiritually lifted tickling this young lady’s soft feet. Her screams scared him a little as the young Stacey panicked merely at the thought that her extremely ticklish feet, bound and helpless, were going to have to experience any prolonged tickling.

In the past, a mere quick 'surprise' tickle on her soft sole by a mischievous friend or relative was enough to send her screaming. But to have to sit still while this man tickled her bound feet was too much to take. She began to scream and carry on.

"I'm scared!!!!!" she sobbed.

Father Fred stopped and looked at Stacey; so beautiful now, so much like he used to see her when she was very young. Her lovely arms tied out to the sides and her beautiful bare feet extended towards him, he felt as if these treasures were offerings for him and the church. He began to feel a spiritual awakening that he needed to share with this girl.
"If you spell 'scared' sideways....it's 'sacred," he spouted like an old tailpipe.

Stacey's eyes opened wide as she saw his fingers, all ten wiggling, touch down on her two, bare soles. She threw her head back, eyes closed tightly, and screamed. She screamed and screamed and laughed and coughed so violently that Father Fred thought he heard her speak in tongues. The thought of speaking in tongues intrigued him and he bent down to 'tongue' between her toes.

Poor Stacey was beyond laughter. The tickling was beyond torture. It was Hell! He licked up her sole and, through her ticklish torment, Stacey thought she saw the old priest turn into Satan himself. His long, red tongue split in two as one side tickled her feet and the other crept up her dress to tickle her clitoris.

"Tickle tickle tickle tickle!!!! Kitchy kitchy kitchy koo!" Father Fred sang to the tune of "Let us bless this day".

The priest sang as he tickled the beautiful bound Stacey Foxworthy. Stacey sang her laughter as it filled the hallowed halls.

At the same time, in another part of town, Jeff Clark filled an order of 5 penny nails for Mrs. Hartford. Mrs. Foxworthy ran from a yellow jacket that was chasing her.

Suddenly, Father Fred felt the 'holy water' gushing forth. When he looked up, Stacey had a halo.

"That really tickled!" she said in a voice that sounded like it came out of Melrose Place. Father Fred fell back into his chair. It made a farting sound.
 
Different type of story. All of us 'lers would love to find a 'lee that ticklish, right? Although, the story seemed to end abruptly, like there should at least be somewhat of an after story...
 
Naughty, naughty Father! But great story aside. :thumbsup:
 
That ended... oddly.

Idk if Max still hangs around here but I found this story when someone mentioned it on the "forbidden tickling" thread.

This was my interpretation of the strange ending:

The Priest's cushion made no sound when he stood at the beginning, but Mrs. Foxworthy's did. She is a regular, fallible human... As a priest Father Fred is viewed as being somewhat above the flaws of regular people.

After he acts out his desires and cums, his cushion makes a sound. He is not so holier-than-thou after all and just gave in to the same temptations he is supposed to have transcended.

Throughout the tickling part, he refers to the girl in angelic terms: her voice is like a choir, etc. He elevated her above most girls in his desire.

After he gets off, her voice sounds like it "came out of Melrose Place". His rose-colored glasses are off so to speak, and he sees her as a regular, profane, young woman and not as an angelic being.

Maybe Max would say I'm wrong and he didn't intend any meaning there, but that's how I took it.
 
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