I found this in the 'True Tickling Stories, written by someone whose handle is 'Proust'. It's about an encounter he had with a prostitute. This is the link
https://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?311386-Tales-of-Times-Gone-to-Dust&highlight=proust
and here's the story.
Only on the very rarest of occasions have I ever indulged in a paid ticklette, and when I do she’s strictly one-on-one, and never at a Foot Party, which is a modern phenomenon which I’ve never had any inclination to attend. But having not purchased the services of a Laughing Venus in some years, finding myself in a strange city and having the rare coincidence of time, money and libido to spare, I had a look on that new and delightful aid to debauchery, the Internet, and made a few enquiries of local dungeons for a submissive.
Being a smaller town, few of the madams were familiar with tickling as a variation on its own, but one establishment (oddly the one with the worst website) said two of the girls whom they had on call could accommodate my request. I chose the slimmer, long-legged one with long red hair, because although the upper half of her face was partially concealed in the photo, her smile was lovely.
And so to the dungeon, located in a semi-suburban row of shops behind a locked anonymous commercial glass door. Upon my rattling it, said door was opened by the ‘Maid’, a slim, barefoot East Asian woman named Jade (of course…) who greeted me pleasantly, gestured me into an antechamber and asked that I remove my shoes.
I assumed that this was for both her own as well as the submissive’s protection in case I turned out to be violent, and I acceded because I wanted things to go well from the beginning. Jasmine showed me the two ‘dungeons’ available, and truthfully speaking neither one was particularly impressive, though I did not say anything deprecatory. They were small, the bondage furniture limited, and not of the best quality. However, all I really needed was a padded horizontal platform with points of attachment, and although it was a bit short, there was such a thing in the particular room I chose.
Location established, I was politely asked for the ‘tribute’, as they call it nowadays, which I paid, and then I asked to use the facilities. These were clean, and redolent of some pine-scented disinfectant as one would expect in a female-run and staffed establishment. Thoughtful as always, I washed my hands carefully and remembered to put the seat down.
To my surprise and delight, when I returned to the room the Magdalene I’d selected was already waiting. A glance told me I’d chosen very well. Late twenties, tallish, upswept strawberry blonde hair, very pale Celtic skin and a fresh complexion. Slim but well-formed, she was dressed in lace white panties, a matching white (padded) strapless bra, and the blue contrasting nylon incorporated into the thigh-bands and soles of her reinforced tan Cuban-heeled holdups complemented her eyes splendidly. She wore nothing else. There was also a very slight initial shyness, which I found charming
.
She then politely informed me in a practised fashion that there was to be no sex, no genital penetration without the supplied surgical gloves, no kissing on the mouth, and then ran through the standard red and yellow safewords. The house rules weren’t problematic. Ordinary sex from a willing girl, fortunately, was not (with the usual annoying exceptions any male encounters) wildly difficult for me to find, but a straight tickling session with nothing else involved certainly could be.
However it’s very erotic to know I’d be tickling a totally strange woman pretty much immediately without the need for any sort of negotiation (except, of course, the inevitable one-way exchange of currency…) and that’s the only reason I was there. Not for sex.
I checked my watch to establish the beginning of the hour, seated ‘June’ on the padded bench, gently took her freshly washed hair down and ran my fingers through it while caressing her neck. Chatting gently and inconsequentially, I stood between her parted knees, put my arms around her and drew her closer to me. She embraced my waist. I scratched the soft skin of her back slowly, savouring the sight of her sacral dimples (nice bonus- not all women have this charming feature) and drew my fingertips up her sides and swirled them round her armpits, which were wet with nervous perspiration. She trembled without laughing, and sighed very quietly indicating she was feeling some sort of pleasure. I lifted her chin and looked into her eyes, gratified that she seemed somewhat reassured. Of course it’s her vocation to make men feel appreciated, but some things are hard to contrive.
‘So…’ I said archly, ‘Are your views on tickling by any chance a delicious combination of love and hate?’
She smiled tremulously and sighed, ’Aren’t everyone’s?’ which was as good an answer as I could have expected.
After a gentle exploration of the aforementioned sacral dimples, which made her catch her breath softly and hold me a bit tighter, I slid the palm of my left hand up her lower back, and unfastened her bra one-handed (damned if I can do this with my right hand, though I am right handed) then removed it, and hung it on the St. Andrew’s Cross. Women choose their lingerie very carefully, and like to regard it as giftwrap rather than an obstruction. So do treat it accordingly, gentlemen. They notice.
June’s breasts were smallish but nicely formed, the nipples semi-erect and thumbtip-like, for want of a better description. I squeezed them lightly and simultaneously between thumbs and forefingers, twisting gently and watching her goosebump and breathe a bit more unsteadily as I slowly drew her towards me. ‘Now, my darling’, I murmured into her ear, ’I’m going to tickle you. Very gently at first, with breaks, but towards the end of the hour very hard indeed. You’ll be very much out of breath. I’ll listen for and obey your safeword, but please take as much as you can. Are you happy with that?’ She nuzzled me and said yes. All of this took about ten minutes.
Again, gentlemen, during sex always remember to treat a lady like a whore sometimes, and a whore like a lady always. It’s a nice change for both, and the rewards for you will be legion.
She was still in her panties and stockings. At my request she lay on all fours on the bondage bench, drawing her knees beneath her and extending her arms forward. This showed off her buttocks to a delightful effect. I donned the requested rubber gloves and applied the provided unscented oil (nice touch) to her cleft and anus. I began to stroke the latter softly, gently penetrating her eventually with the very tip of my little finger, and she began to quiver. I inserted the thumb of my other hand into her vagina and simultaneously stroked her clitoris while assuring her I’d not mix digits to avoid potential infection. She smiled, apparently relieved at my consideration and her breathing quickened. Some of the oil ran down the cleft of her buttocks onto her upturned stocking soles. I tickled her ribs- she began to laugh, and I removed my gloves to bring my shortish, carefully-smoothed-for-the-encounter fingernails into play. Oil was applied to her smoothly shaven armpits, and she began to laugh harder and harder as my fingertips sought and stroked them. I then asked permission to spank her ten times on each buttock, and having received that, did so with increasing force. A roseate blush ensued, and I drew my nails over her now-sensitive hindquarters.
She was panting by this point and her cheeks were beginning to flush. I turned her over and slid my forefinger into her navel with little effect, so instead I used my nails gently, scrabbling on the insides of her upper thighs above her nylons. She shrieked with laughter then, so I continued. Locking her ankles in the crook of my left elbow by grabbing my right biceps with that hand, I told her that following a slow count of ten I was going to tickle the soles of her feet. It was a very slow count and I watched the anticipatory fear grow in her eyes and she began to giggle before I’d even begun. The stockings eliminated most of the friction. Beginning with her heels (jaws clamped shut, eyes very wide) I wandered to her arches (laughter and struggling) then to the stems of her toes (screams). I kept this up for a few minutes, and then let her rest.
But I wanted to see her feet bared, so I told her to slip the stockings off seductively. Well, she was apparently incapable of that, shedding them quickly and prosaically instead and dropping them by the bench with a cute grin. She was tallish as I’ve already mentioned, and her feet were proportionate with long toes once adorned with black-polished nails, but that had worn off leaving partial covering on her big toenails only. ‘Can you point your toes?’ I asked, wanting to appreciate the height of her arches for some reason, but she couldn’t to any extent. ‘Never studied ballet then?, I inquired, and she replied ‘No. Irish dancing when I was a girl. Different foot position than ballet, more like a soft shoe.’
Well, what the hell- if one can’t discuss Terpsichorean activities with a Scarlet Woman, what’s life worth?
Twenty minutes into the session. Time to tie her down. Softly but rhetorically I asked politely if I might remove her panties, and she smiled her agreement. There’s a certain nonchalant rippling motion a horizontal woman makes which allows her underwear to be slipped past her hips and it’s always a joy to see. She was fully naked now save for her earrings. Her pubic hair had been buzzcut short, but what remained proclaimed her to be a natural redhead.
While I was capable of using rope only to bind her, past experience has taught me that it’s a time consuming practice. And while this does build the anticipation for a willing girl, on the other hand June’s meter was running and ‘tempus fugit’. So I was happy when she indicated a nicely made padded set of leather wrist and ankle cuffs hanging on the wall amongst the canes and paddles. These fastened with Velcro and solid metal buckles, and the soft braided rope provided and threaded through the D-rings soon secured her prone on the bench, face upward. The bench being a trifle short for a full spread eagle, I bound her wrist cuffs together, flexed her elbows so her hands were just atop her head, then tied wrists and elbows down. An additional loop tightened between her ankle cuffs immobilized her feet. Several coils of rope wrapped around her waist and the bench, then tied, leaving her navel uncovered prevented her torso from wriggling.
June had now been fully prepared.
I smiled down at her, she smiled up at me. Sitting on the edge of the bench, I leant down to inhale her hair, and softly, respecting her ‘no-mouth’ rule while nibbling her earlobe, in a voice pitched low enough so the vibrations would make her tremble, slowly and gently whispered what I was going to do to her. And then I did.
I began by stroking her sides just below the ribs. She strained against her bonds and began gasping through the giggles as she tried semi-successfully to keep from reacting. Then I walked my fingers north to her already oil-slickened armpits, and slowly turned her initial laughter to semi-frantic shrieks. And recalling a brilliant reaction I’d once drawn from a curious Vanilla girl whom I’d met in an art gallery and taken home, I tickled the immovably bound insides of June’s arms by her elbows, specifically the narrow ‘band’ between that joint and her upper arms. Fortunately the premises, as I’d previously been reassured, had indeed been most thoroughly soundproofed! Just as I could see her beginning to panic and completely lose control, I stopped. But I could certainly see that this was going to be one of my more pleasurable encounters.
To calm her a bit, I caressed her shoulders, quite erotic for some women- indeed, if the chemistry’s there (and fortunately in this case it was) their entire bodies handled correctly can be one undifferentiated erogenous zone. June’s breathing had eased a bit, so I thought I’d pay court to her long, well-shaped legs. They were very smooth, and she told me with a sweet smile that Shea butter, generously applied after long baths was her secret. Well, it certainly kept them sensitive enough. A combination of long strokes of my fingertips along her inner thighs and nails lightly over the backs of her knees (danger spot!) kept her extremely… shall we say 'amused', euphemistically speaking? The best part, other than her very ‘decibilic’ reactions (to coin a phrase) was metaphorically patting myself on the back and having a small preen because the bondage was holding up very well indeed. Truth to tell it doesn’t always if the girl’s a real Houdini-ette.
At this point the maid knocked on the door to indicate fifteen minutes were left in the session. I acknowledged this with a thank-you, then reached for the oil and donned a fresh pair of surgical gloves. I was going to re-prove an old but interesting discovery, which is that orgasm renders women so exquisitely ticklish afterwards that the sensation is practically unbearable. I suspected that making June climax wouldn’t be too difficult because the cleft between her labia was already bedewed with the creamy lubrication indicating female arousal, and unlike gasps, moans and heavy breathing, that particular exudation can’t be faked.
This isn’t a tale of masturbating a woman to orgasm so I’ll not give a blow by blow of that, only to say that when she caught her breath in ecstasy and began to tremble, I told her to take long breaths and that’s what let her slide over the edge. She was quiet about it, but on balance I felt that the flushed cheeks, gentle groans and sobs, and especially the rapid throbbing of her vaginal muscles clamping down on the two fingers I’d inserted to stroke her G-spot while my other thumb stroked her clitoris indicated success.
Without letting her recover, I forced a few more orgasms then took off my gloves and oiled the bottoms of June’s bare feet for the grand finale.
To give her credit she didn’t safeword, but her face pinkened like the most beautiful of sunsets, and she begged and pleaded and howled like a gorgeous tickle-tortured Banshee as my fingertips danced up and down her soles from heel to toe, paying especial attention to the crevice where her toes joined the balls of her feet, and then between her toes for good measure. The lubrication ensured that there was no barrier or friction. Because she was so responsive I even managed to draw different qualities and tones of laughter, shrieks, and hysterics from her, and I felt as if I were Toscanini himself conducting a symphony right down to the final, fortissimo crescendo at the double bars.
It was over and she seemed unable to move, though she smiled up at me through tear-filled eyes. I untied her hands first, then her waist ropes, and she laboriously sat up to unfasten her ankles. ‘That was…. pretty interesting’, she faltered, grinning softly. We hugged, she kissed me on the cheek while rubbing her breasts against me, then slowly stood up, and still naked began to cleanse her sweat from the black vinyl-covered bench with an antiseptic Wet-Wipe.
We exchanged a few more pleasantries, and then June’s demeanour hardened a bit, her conversation becoming more laconic though she remained personable and polite. I understood- I was, after all, a customer, and I’d already been provided with the service for which I’d paid. It was time to leave. After a quick final hug, Jade accompanied me to the outer door, I found and laced up my shoes, shook her hand, thanked her and said goodbye, then wandered off into the early evening in search of a winebar and a ruminative snifter of Armagnac.
It had been worth it.
