NO! Not my Socks Part 2: m/f feet torture
Recap from NO! Not My socks part 1:
Rachel is a really cool gal, 26 years old, dirty blonde with highlights. She is working from home since Covid started and has been cooped up in her apartment. She texted me the other day that she was feeling depressed being cooped up indoors from covid and wanted to come over to my house for a change of scenery. I jokingly told her she could come over and be tickle tortured for a few hours, and that laughing would make her feel better. She responded “That sounds AH-MAY-ZING!” and my heart skipped a few beats.
Rachel has never been tickled before, does not know if she is ticklish, nor never been tied up and tickled. She did come over wanting her first time tickle torture, and was strapped down in 4 point restraints. She was tickled everywhere, but the only place she was ticklish was on her feet. She was wearing little white PUMA socks that I took off after finding out her feet were ticklish. I kept tickling her bare feet as she was locked in 4 thick leather cuffs spread-eagle on her back. Kicking, screaming, and fighting my touch, she kept screaming NO NOT MY SOCKS, NOT MY FEET as I was taking her PUMA socks off and tickling her feet against her will.
After tickle torture on her feet, she admitted a day later in a text message that she was way more ticklish without her socks on and she didn’t want to wear them when being tickled.
Her: Hi!
Me: Hi! How are you?
Her: My ribs still hurt from laughing Saturday.
Me: Oh, Haha, well you were pretty ticklish so…. Or should I say your feet... LOL
Her: At least I have one spot that’s ticklish. Sat was intense!
Me: Aww you did so well! It was fun
Her: It was fun. Do it again? Quarantine sucks.
Me: LOL we should. Going to wear puma socks again? What’s a puma anyway?
Her: LOL NO WAY
Me: Why, you don’t know what a Puma is?
Her: No silly, I kno what a puma is. I meant no socks on.
Me: What did you like more, pumas on or off?
Her: Definitely off =P
PART 2:
A week after her first tickling during Covid shelter in place, she sent me a message asking if I wanted to get together and tickle some more.On a Wednesday evening, she came over.
The door opened, and she came in with a nice hello. Taking a seat at the bench in my entryway, she calmly unties the white laces of her cloudfoam shoes and soon both are off. She tucks them neatly under the bench before she goes to wash her hands and we catch up on her day. Today she is sporting a cute light turquoise halter top, darker blue denim capri pants and cute little white under armor socks that go up slightly past her ankle. The bare skin I can see exposed between the end of her capri pants and the tops of her socks is a stunning light bronze tan color. We chat it up for a while over glasses of ice water about her flat tire yesterday and being stuck inside for covid. After Rachel finishes her water, she knows her sentence of tickle torture she signed up for is about to begin.
I assumed she would go to the bedroom, but instead she goes and sits on the bench by the front door. Two fingers slide into her right sock and she slides it off, putting in inside her shoe. She repeats the same for her left sock, tucking both socks in her shoes and putting them neatly under the bench. Rachel’s absolutely adorable french-tip toes stand out against the dark teak floor, commanding attention. Now barefoot, she willingly forfeit any hope of immunity that wearing those socks could provide from my impending tickle tactics.
(In her first never-have-been- tickled before tickle torture adventure, we both discovered her feet were ticklish while she was wearing white PUMA socks. I teased her and torturously took those off and continued tickling her bare feet, driving her even more wild beyond belief. In a later text message chat, she admitted she liked her feet tickle torture better after her socks were taken off and didn’t want to wear them for tickling. Fine with me!) Correctly predicting her feet to be the only tickle spot planned to get all the attention today, she walks confidently into the bedroom already barefoot, looking for the leather restraints.
In the first tickle torture session we did, her first ever being tickled, EVER, she was in 4-point restraints. Tightly strapped down in a spread-eagle position, I explored every inch of her possible (yet appropriate) tickle spots and the only place she was ticklish at all was her feet. She is insanely ticklish there, giving the most hilarious reactions, so it more than made up for her lack of being able to tickle other normal ‘lee places. After a while in that position though, her arms became sore and it was not fun for her to have her arms strapped down tight above her head. For this time, her feet being the only place ticklish, we decided to lay her on her stomach so her toes point down and soles point up.
She eagerly climbs on the bed, fixing her hair into a ponytail. (where do the ladies keep all these hair ties?!) Sitting up with her feet purposefully hiding underneath her, she asks what the plan is. The thick leather cuffs that were at the top of the bed for her first tickling are now locked together as a pair of handcuffs, held together with a padlock. Rachel willingly submits to have both hands inescapably locked behind her in the comfortable leather cuffs. Now laying on her stomach, I arrange the pillows for her head and make her comfortable. Knowing her ankle straps are next, she enthusiastically puts her legs out, stretching them to the corners of the bed. She gives me a smile and no resistance as I strap each ankle in the corresponding tan leather cuffs. Her nerves increase as I ratchet her ankles tighter. “Click...click...click.”
What I love about tickling Rachel is she makes this little squeak noise when she knows she’s in trouble. Knowing she is barefoot and fully locked in the restraints, she wiggles and thrashes in her new bonds to see if she can get out. I watch from afar as she struggles, then looks at me with a nervous face. She is trying to figure out how to take her handcuffs off but they’re not going to budge. Now looking at her face, I can tell she has regret about the whole thing- she regrets taking her own socks off, she regrets allowing herself to be locked in restraints, and she regrets even allowing me to find her tickle spots in the first place!. She closes her eyes tightly, extremely fearful of what's about to come as she hears me approach the end of the bed. In this position, unlike being on her back with her toes up like before, she cannot push the bottom of her foot into the mattress and hide it. As I approach the end of the bed, I see her hands are nervously clasped together for dear life, and all of her toes are scrunched closed as tightly as possible. Fully locked in restraints, bare soles facing up, Rachel has this ADORABLE nervous little laugh knowing the sensitive skin on her foot bottoms have no defense. She’s already giggly before I do anything!
I take a seat, cross legged on the floor, and reach for her right foot. Her entire body jumps as she feels my touch. All I’m doing is gently cupping the top of her foot with my left hand to hold it gently with the sole up. Starting out with little warm-up tickles, my fingers on my right hand gently caress her heel. Drawing super light circles on her heel causes a little amount of giggles from her, but she is able to stay somewhat calm. Little circles on just her heel continue for about 2 minutes as she is still able to keep herself composed, thinking this was not so bad after all.
Holding her foot still and the sole up with my left hand, I switch from little circles on her heel to lightly drawing figure-eights with a little more pressure. Starting at the heel, going down the left side, crossing over in the middle of her arch and circling past the ball of her foot and back up to her heel is really bad for her! One lone index finger drawing on her foot in the figure eight pattern releases a torrent of giggles and some struggle against the restraints. My left hand has to hold the top of her foot tighter as the figure-eights continue on her soft foot bottom for another two solid minutes. We both hear the bed creaking under the strain of her forceful pulling on both tight ankle restraints, trying hard to get her sensitive foot away from my antagonizing hands. Rachel is fighting in the restraints this hard already and we are just getting started! She’s in for a long session of terrible barefoot tickle torture.
I let her calm down for a little bit and give her a break. I reach under the bed and pull out a little plastic rubbermaid box full of more restraints, fun tickle toys, and tickling tools. My left hand goes from cupping the top of her foot and moves to her toes, cupping them on top and pulling four of them back with my thumb. The red feather from Michael’s I pulled out of the box gently kisses the ball of her foot and dances under her toes I’m holding back. “WHAT THE F*** IS THAT! She screams, having never met my tickle tools before. Her hips twist violently in a desperate escape attempt. I keep brushing under her french-tipped toes ever so gently, twirling the cherry red feather around all five of them as I hold them back. “OH GOD” she screams, before slamming her face into the pillow while making high shrieking noises. “It’s only a feather, calm down. You’re a big girl” I tell her in a calming, sassy voice. I think she is shrieking too hard to hear me while her face is buried deep in the pillow. Her toenails are digging into my palm as her toes fight me holding them back to let the feather keep dancing under them. The feather dance continues specifically under her toes for a solid three minutes, not once losing contact with her skin, as much as she, and her toes, are fighting it.
I put the feather down and let go of her foot. I let her heavy panting subside and rest for a few minutes. Once she finally composes herself, I ask how she is feeling and all she does is growl at me. After a total of about ten minutes of tickling on her left foot, I get up and go park myself on the floor next to her untouched right foot. You don’t want it to be lonely! Rachel lifts her head up and peers over her handcuffed hands at her right foot, and now sees me sitting there. She shoots the f word at me before she lowers her head back onto the pillow and braces herself. I see her handcuffed hands grab each other tighter than ever, fingers clasped together in a grip of panic. Her right toes are scrunched up tight, her french tips pointing at the ceiling, fearful of my approaching fingers.
I mix it up a little, and decide to start warm up tickles with one finger lightly going up and down slowly, directly on her inner arch. Her foot immediately wiggles left and then right in a frenzied attempt to shake my finger from her arch. I let her foot freely move around, and I enjoy her panic as my finger chases her arch in every direction she moves. Tickling her arch as she struggles earns me a lot of bad words, but it is really REALLY fun to see her screaming them all at me!
Next I cup the top of her right foot and hold it still, pushing her arch up towards the ceiling. The instant her arch senses the tip of the red feather I’ve picked up, her entire body seizes up and comes crashing back down as she tries to get away. Dragging the feather up and down on her arch is a definite sweet spot of hers, and she is truly feather ticklish. As the feather continues twirling around her arch, she manages to vocalize the word “No” between her shrinking of the word “okay okay okay” in rapid succession. The feather dance continues for about three minutes. Only targeting her arch with my feather, my eyes wander up her foot to the ankle cuff keeping her perfectly in place. Both of her beautiful bronze skinned calves sticking out of her denim capri pants are white around the ankle cuffs as her legs struggle against the straps,constantly fighting my every touch on her foot. Rachel is in that zone where I think she sort of wants these tickles, but can’t take it at the same time and struggles to get away. I have no sympathy- she took her own shoes and socks off after all. She wanted this. She knew what she was in for when she came in my door.
I put the feather down and let her rest again. The torrent of “okay okay okay” stops and her giggles subside. “Aww you’re doing so good honey!” I tell her. She looks at me again, and her hair is an absolute mess! Her ponytail has come all undone, and fallen all over her face as she was struggling. Both of her hands give me the middle finger as she keeps panting and catching her breath. She closes her eyes and gathers herself.
So far she is only 20 minutes in and I know she can take more. I start digging in the rubbermaid box and pull out a small bottle of baby oil and a towel. I move over to give her left foot some much needed attention. I pop the bottle lid and she looks over to see what I’m up to. She asks me what is going on and I tell her to “wait and see!” It doesn’t take long for the few new drops of baby oil placed on her heel to run down her sole as she shakes her foot apprehensively. I put the bottle down and placed one hand on each side of her heel. My eight fingernails dig in and rake down slowly, tickling and spreading the oil at the same time. Raking up and down on her sole with light oil makes it impossible to hold her foot still, despite her ankle cuffs. Wiping my hands on the towel, I climb on top of the bed and straddle her calf, pinning her ankle down with my knees. Eight fingernails again rake both sides of her foot, sending her into hysterics. Rachel is not even giggling or laughing anymore- She is legitimately screaming and trying to kick me off of her captured, oiled foot.
My nails spider tickle her foot everywhere as Rachel bucks underneath me. Fits of heavy, deep laughter cascade out of her lungs, followed by screams screaming all the air her lungs can give. My nails slide on the sheen of oil right under her left toes and make sure to wiggle under each one. She is laughing so hard now and she says a bad curse word with each toe I touch! I am still pinning her ankle down with my knees and she can’t move her foot away, as much as she wishes she could. Drawing fast, oiled circles on her arch with firm pressure makes her scream for mercy as she repeats the words “okay!” and “NO!” a hundred times over. My fingers never stop. Rachel keeps violently bucking underneath me as her arch endures my agonizing circles.
I give her foot a break and get off the bed. Sitting on the floor, I apply a few drops of oil to her dry left foot. My left hand draws on her left sole, and my right hand on her right sole, getting both at once. Rachel has never experienced anything like this before. Both legs fight the ankle cuffs and her hands are frantically trying to pull out of the handcuffs behind her. Rachel’s screaming and whining go to new octaves as each hand explores each of her feet at the same time. Scribbling on both arches, transitioning to all of her toes, and back to her arches makes Rachel scream and shout bad words at me. She is unable to laugh as all she can do is convulse her body up and down, desperately trying to escape the horrendous feeling of my fingers swimming in oil on both of her bare feet.
I curl my fingers to ensure my nails make contact with her skin, and I rake up and down each foot at the same time with varying pressure. Rachel’s ankles are trapped in the leather cuffs, keeping her feet inescapably right under my hands. My devilish mind game asking her how much she can take on each foot drives her crazy as she is unable to even answer me between her screams and rapid breathing. It doesn’t matter just how much she can take- all of her limbs are locked in 4 leather cuffs and she knows there is no ability to move or get away. Deep down she knows she is trapped, being forced to take every tickle even though she tries to fight my every move. Rachel hates this mind game of her trapped feet with no socks and nowhere to hide, trying to shake my ticklish assault, knowing she can’t stop it. She will never admit she likes it.
50 minutes has passed with Rachel in the restraints, enduring agonizing tickle torture exclusively on her feet. Finally Rachel has reached her breaking point. She no longer fights and struggles in her restraints when her foot is tickled by my hand. Her body just heaves and she cries silently, unable to make any more sounds. It seems both of her feet are numb and unresponsive to my touch. She is afraid I’m going to tickle her again but instead I unbuckle her left ankle and help her lift her leg and bend her knee. In the next few minutes, all the leather cuffs are undone and she is free to move.
Rachel rolls onto her back and wipes her eyes. Her capri pants are the perfect outfit for tickle torture, leaving half of her calves bare all the way down to her toes. All of her bare skin from the tips of her toes up to the denim on her capris enjoy a nice, calming massage for a few minutes after her hour of pure ticklish torture. Fingers that swirled on her feet making her scream and thrash uncontrollably, turned nice, offering a calming, light pressure massage she could not get enough of. Rachel’s smile said it all.
Sitting at my kitchen table, she reaches down to feel her feet. “What did you put on them?” she asks. I tell her it was baby oil and I did that because it makes the tickling feel worse. “I agree with that!” she says with a slight grin. “My feet are so soft now, just like I got a pedicure. Your massaging was way better... and the nail places are still closed!” “Anytime you want to come back, you’re more than welcome. We can do it again!.” Looking at me, smiling, she says she will come back and we can do it again. Still looking at me, she sizes me up and asks me if I am ticklish. I tell her yes, and she gets all excited- I think she has something up her sleeve.
“I’ll come back, next time let’s find out where you are ticklish.” I am looking at her but I am not smiling like she is! “Oh come on, your feet are probably ticklish too. You already know mine are! It’s only fair!” Smiling at me, she matter-of-fact states “I’ve already been on your bed tied up twice. YOUR TURN!” I am very ticklish but no way in hell am I about to give it up. “I’m free on tuesday night.” Her gaze still affixed on me, she sasses “you can dish it out, but can you take it?” After a while she goes and sits by the bench at the front door, pulling her socks out of her shoes and putting them on. We agree to meet again on Tuesday afternoon. “Tuesday will be good”, she assures me. “Can your feet take it?”
Tuesday is five days from now. I guess we’ll see. Stay tuned.
If you made it this far and are wondering where part one is, I posted it but it had an error and I removed it. Will post part 1 again soon!
Recap from NO! Not My socks part 1:
Rachel is a really cool gal, 26 years old, dirty blonde with highlights. She is working from home since Covid started and has been cooped up in her apartment. She texted me the other day that she was feeling depressed being cooped up indoors from covid and wanted to come over to my house for a change of scenery. I jokingly told her she could come over and be tickle tortured for a few hours, and that laughing would make her feel better. She responded “That sounds AH-MAY-ZING!” and my heart skipped a few beats.
Rachel has never been tickled before, does not know if she is ticklish, nor never been tied up and tickled. She did come over wanting her first time tickle torture, and was strapped down in 4 point restraints. She was tickled everywhere, but the only place she was ticklish was on her feet. She was wearing little white PUMA socks that I took off after finding out her feet were ticklish. I kept tickling her bare feet as she was locked in 4 thick leather cuffs spread-eagle on her back. Kicking, screaming, and fighting my touch, she kept screaming NO NOT MY SOCKS, NOT MY FEET as I was taking her PUMA socks off and tickling her feet against her will.
After tickle torture on her feet, she admitted a day later in a text message that she was way more ticklish without her socks on and she didn’t want to wear them when being tickled.
Her: Hi!
Me: Hi! How are you?
Her: My ribs still hurt from laughing Saturday.
Me: Oh, Haha, well you were pretty ticklish so…. Or should I say your feet... LOL
Her: At least I have one spot that’s ticklish. Sat was intense!
Me: Aww you did so well! It was fun
Her: It was fun. Do it again? Quarantine sucks.
Me: LOL we should. Going to wear puma socks again? What’s a puma anyway?
Her: LOL NO WAY
Me: Why, you don’t know what a Puma is?
Her: No silly, I kno what a puma is. I meant no socks on.
Me: What did you like more, pumas on or off?
Her: Definitely off =P
PART 2:
A week after her first tickling during Covid shelter in place, she sent me a message asking if I wanted to get together and tickle some more.On a Wednesday evening, she came over.
The door opened, and she came in with a nice hello. Taking a seat at the bench in my entryway, she calmly unties the white laces of her cloudfoam shoes and soon both are off. She tucks them neatly under the bench before she goes to wash her hands and we catch up on her day. Today she is sporting a cute light turquoise halter top, darker blue denim capri pants and cute little white under armor socks that go up slightly past her ankle. The bare skin I can see exposed between the end of her capri pants and the tops of her socks is a stunning light bronze tan color. We chat it up for a while over glasses of ice water about her flat tire yesterday and being stuck inside for covid. After Rachel finishes her water, she knows her sentence of tickle torture she signed up for is about to begin.
I assumed she would go to the bedroom, but instead she goes and sits on the bench by the front door. Two fingers slide into her right sock and she slides it off, putting in inside her shoe. She repeats the same for her left sock, tucking both socks in her shoes and putting them neatly under the bench. Rachel’s absolutely adorable french-tip toes stand out against the dark teak floor, commanding attention. Now barefoot, she willingly forfeit any hope of immunity that wearing those socks could provide from my impending tickle tactics.
(In her first never-have-been- tickled before tickle torture adventure, we both discovered her feet were ticklish while she was wearing white PUMA socks. I teased her and torturously took those off and continued tickling her bare feet, driving her even more wild beyond belief. In a later text message chat, she admitted she liked her feet tickle torture better after her socks were taken off and didn’t want to wear them for tickling. Fine with me!) Correctly predicting her feet to be the only tickle spot planned to get all the attention today, she walks confidently into the bedroom already barefoot, looking for the leather restraints.
In the first tickle torture session we did, her first ever being tickled, EVER, she was in 4-point restraints. Tightly strapped down in a spread-eagle position, I explored every inch of her possible (yet appropriate) tickle spots and the only place she was ticklish at all was her feet. She is insanely ticklish there, giving the most hilarious reactions, so it more than made up for her lack of being able to tickle other normal ‘lee places. After a while in that position though, her arms became sore and it was not fun for her to have her arms strapped down tight above her head. For this time, her feet being the only place ticklish, we decided to lay her on her stomach so her toes point down and soles point up.
She eagerly climbs on the bed, fixing her hair into a ponytail. (where do the ladies keep all these hair ties?!) Sitting up with her feet purposefully hiding underneath her, she asks what the plan is. The thick leather cuffs that were at the top of the bed for her first tickling are now locked together as a pair of handcuffs, held together with a padlock. Rachel willingly submits to have both hands inescapably locked behind her in the comfortable leather cuffs. Now laying on her stomach, I arrange the pillows for her head and make her comfortable. Knowing her ankle straps are next, she enthusiastically puts her legs out, stretching them to the corners of the bed. She gives me a smile and no resistance as I strap each ankle in the corresponding tan leather cuffs. Her nerves increase as I ratchet her ankles tighter. “Click...click...click.”
What I love about tickling Rachel is she makes this little squeak noise when she knows she’s in trouble. Knowing she is barefoot and fully locked in the restraints, she wiggles and thrashes in her new bonds to see if she can get out. I watch from afar as she struggles, then looks at me with a nervous face. She is trying to figure out how to take her handcuffs off but they’re not going to budge. Now looking at her face, I can tell she has regret about the whole thing- she regrets taking her own socks off, she regrets allowing herself to be locked in restraints, and she regrets even allowing me to find her tickle spots in the first place!. She closes her eyes tightly, extremely fearful of what's about to come as she hears me approach the end of the bed. In this position, unlike being on her back with her toes up like before, she cannot push the bottom of her foot into the mattress and hide it. As I approach the end of the bed, I see her hands are nervously clasped together for dear life, and all of her toes are scrunched closed as tightly as possible. Fully locked in restraints, bare soles facing up, Rachel has this ADORABLE nervous little laugh knowing the sensitive skin on her foot bottoms have no defense. She’s already giggly before I do anything!
I take a seat, cross legged on the floor, and reach for her right foot. Her entire body jumps as she feels my touch. All I’m doing is gently cupping the top of her foot with my left hand to hold it gently with the sole up. Starting out with little warm-up tickles, my fingers on my right hand gently caress her heel. Drawing super light circles on her heel causes a little amount of giggles from her, but she is able to stay somewhat calm. Little circles on just her heel continue for about 2 minutes as she is still able to keep herself composed, thinking this was not so bad after all.
Holding her foot still and the sole up with my left hand, I switch from little circles on her heel to lightly drawing figure-eights with a little more pressure. Starting at the heel, going down the left side, crossing over in the middle of her arch and circling past the ball of her foot and back up to her heel is really bad for her! One lone index finger drawing on her foot in the figure eight pattern releases a torrent of giggles and some struggle against the restraints. My left hand has to hold the top of her foot tighter as the figure-eights continue on her soft foot bottom for another two solid minutes. We both hear the bed creaking under the strain of her forceful pulling on both tight ankle restraints, trying hard to get her sensitive foot away from my antagonizing hands. Rachel is fighting in the restraints this hard already and we are just getting started! She’s in for a long session of terrible barefoot tickle torture.
I let her calm down for a little bit and give her a break. I reach under the bed and pull out a little plastic rubbermaid box full of more restraints, fun tickle toys, and tickling tools. My left hand goes from cupping the top of her foot and moves to her toes, cupping them on top and pulling four of them back with my thumb. The red feather from Michael’s I pulled out of the box gently kisses the ball of her foot and dances under her toes I’m holding back. “WHAT THE F*** IS THAT! She screams, having never met my tickle tools before. Her hips twist violently in a desperate escape attempt. I keep brushing under her french-tipped toes ever so gently, twirling the cherry red feather around all five of them as I hold them back. “OH GOD” she screams, before slamming her face into the pillow while making high shrieking noises. “It’s only a feather, calm down. You’re a big girl” I tell her in a calming, sassy voice. I think she is shrieking too hard to hear me while her face is buried deep in the pillow. Her toenails are digging into my palm as her toes fight me holding them back to let the feather keep dancing under them. The feather dance continues specifically under her toes for a solid three minutes, not once losing contact with her skin, as much as she, and her toes, are fighting it.
I put the feather down and let go of her foot. I let her heavy panting subside and rest for a few minutes. Once she finally composes herself, I ask how she is feeling and all she does is growl at me. After a total of about ten minutes of tickling on her left foot, I get up and go park myself on the floor next to her untouched right foot. You don’t want it to be lonely! Rachel lifts her head up and peers over her handcuffed hands at her right foot, and now sees me sitting there. She shoots the f word at me before she lowers her head back onto the pillow and braces herself. I see her handcuffed hands grab each other tighter than ever, fingers clasped together in a grip of panic. Her right toes are scrunched up tight, her french tips pointing at the ceiling, fearful of my approaching fingers.
I mix it up a little, and decide to start warm up tickles with one finger lightly going up and down slowly, directly on her inner arch. Her foot immediately wiggles left and then right in a frenzied attempt to shake my finger from her arch. I let her foot freely move around, and I enjoy her panic as my finger chases her arch in every direction she moves. Tickling her arch as she struggles earns me a lot of bad words, but it is really REALLY fun to see her screaming them all at me!
Next I cup the top of her right foot and hold it still, pushing her arch up towards the ceiling. The instant her arch senses the tip of the red feather I’ve picked up, her entire body seizes up and comes crashing back down as she tries to get away. Dragging the feather up and down on her arch is a definite sweet spot of hers, and she is truly feather ticklish. As the feather continues twirling around her arch, she manages to vocalize the word “No” between her shrinking of the word “okay okay okay” in rapid succession. The feather dance continues for about three minutes. Only targeting her arch with my feather, my eyes wander up her foot to the ankle cuff keeping her perfectly in place. Both of her beautiful bronze skinned calves sticking out of her denim capri pants are white around the ankle cuffs as her legs struggle against the straps,constantly fighting my every touch on her foot. Rachel is in that zone where I think she sort of wants these tickles, but can’t take it at the same time and struggles to get away. I have no sympathy- she took her own shoes and socks off after all. She wanted this. She knew what she was in for when she came in my door.
I put the feather down and let her rest again. The torrent of “okay okay okay” stops and her giggles subside. “Aww you’re doing so good honey!” I tell her. She looks at me again, and her hair is an absolute mess! Her ponytail has come all undone, and fallen all over her face as she was struggling. Both of her hands give me the middle finger as she keeps panting and catching her breath. She closes her eyes and gathers herself.
So far she is only 20 minutes in and I know she can take more. I start digging in the rubbermaid box and pull out a small bottle of baby oil and a towel. I move over to give her left foot some much needed attention. I pop the bottle lid and she looks over to see what I’m up to. She asks me what is going on and I tell her to “wait and see!” It doesn’t take long for the few new drops of baby oil placed on her heel to run down her sole as she shakes her foot apprehensively. I put the bottle down and placed one hand on each side of her heel. My eight fingernails dig in and rake down slowly, tickling and spreading the oil at the same time. Raking up and down on her sole with light oil makes it impossible to hold her foot still, despite her ankle cuffs. Wiping my hands on the towel, I climb on top of the bed and straddle her calf, pinning her ankle down with my knees. Eight fingernails again rake both sides of her foot, sending her into hysterics. Rachel is not even giggling or laughing anymore- She is legitimately screaming and trying to kick me off of her captured, oiled foot.
My nails spider tickle her foot everywhere as Rachel bucks underneath me. Fits of heavy, deep laughter cascade out of her lungs, followed by screams screaming all the air her lungs can give. My nails slide on the sheen of oil right under her left toes and make sure to wiggle under each one. She is laughing so hard now and she says a bad curse word with each toe I touch! I am still pinning her ankle down with my knees and she can’t move her foot away, as much as she wishes she could. Drawing fast, oiled circles on her arch with firm pressure makes her scream for mercy as she repeats the words “okay!” and “NO!” a hundred times over. My fingers never stop. Rachel keeps violently bucking underneath me as her arch endures my agonizing circles.
I give her foot a break and get off the bed. Sitting on the floor, I apply a few drops of oil to her dry left foot. My left hand draws on her left sole, and my right hand on her right sole, getting both at once. Rachel has never experienced anything like this before. Both legs fight the ankle cuffs and her hands are frantically trying to pull out of the handcuffs behind her. Rachel’s screaming and whining go to new octaves as each hand explores each of her feet at the same time. Scribbling on both arches, transitioning to all of her toes, and back to her arches makes Rachel scream and shout bad words at me. She is unable to laugh as all she can do is convulse her body up and down, desperately trying to escape the horrendous feeling of my fingers swimming in oil on both of her bare feet.
I curl my fingers to ensure my nails make contact with her skin, and I rake up and down each foot at the same time with varying pressure. Rachel’s ankles are trapped in the leather cuffs, keeping her feet inescapably right under my hands. My devilish mind game asking her how much she can take on each foot drives her crazy as she is unable to even answer me between her screams and rapid breathing. It doesn’t matter just how much she can take- all of her limbs are locked in 4 leather cuffs and she knows there is no ability to move or get away. Deep down she knows she is trapped, being forced to take every tickle even though she tries to fight my every move. Rachel hates this mind game of her trapped feet with no socks and nowhere to hide, trying to shake my ticklish assault, knowing she can’t stop it. She will never admit she likes it.
50 minutes has passed with Rachel in the restraints, enduring agonizing tickle torture exclusively on her feet. Finally Rachel has reached her breaking point. She no longer fights and struggles in her restraints when her foot is tickled by my hand. Her body just heaves and she cries silently, unable to make any more sounds. It seems both of her feet are numb and unresponsive to my touch. She is afraid I’m going to tickle her again but instead I unbuckle her left ankle and help her lift her leg and bend her knee. In the next few minutes, all the leather cuffs are undone and she is free to move.
Rachel rolls onto her back and wipes her eyes. Her capri pants are the perfect outfit for tickle torture, leaving half of her calves bare all the way down to her toes. All of her bare skin from the tips of her toes up to the denim on her capris enjoy a nice, calming massage for a few minutes after her hour of pure ticklish torture. Fingers that swirled on her feet making her scream and thrash uncontrollably, turned nice, offering a calming, light pressure massage she could not get enough of. Rachel’s smile said it all.
Sitting at my kitchen table, she reaches down to feel her feet. “What did you put on them?” she asks. I tell her it was baby oil and I did that because it makes the tickling feel worse. “I agree with that!” she says with a slight grin. “My feet are so soft now, just like I got a pedicure. Your massaging was way better... and the nail places are still closed!” “Anytime you want to come back, you’re more than welcome. We can do it again!.” Looking at me, smiling, she says she will come back and we can do it again. Still looking at me, she sizes me up and asks me if I am ticklish. I tell her yes, and she gets all excited- I think she has something up her sleeve.
“I’ll come back, next time let’s find out where you are ticklish.” I am looking at her but I am not smiling like she is! “Oh come on, your feet are probably ticklish too. You already know mine are! It’s only fair!” Smiling at me, she matter-of-fact states “I’ve already been on your bed tied up twice. YOUR TURN!” I am very ticklish but no way in hell am I about to give it up. “I’m free on tuesday night.” Her gaze still affixed on me, she sasses “you can dish it out, but can you take it?” After a while she goes and sits by the bench at the front door, pulling her socks out of her shoes and putting them on. We agree to meet again on Tuesday afternoon. “Tuesday will be good”, she assures me. “Can your feet take it?”
Tuesday is five days from now. I guess we’ll see. Stay tuned.
If you made it this far and are wondering where part one is, I posted it but it had an error and I removed it. Will post part 1 again soon!
