Sherbet Riley
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As promised, here is the next chapter in Sarita and Oliver's ticklish adventure, posted with permission from the original commissioner. Thank you all for the kind words on the prologue. I hope you enjoy this next chapter and hope to post more installments soon.
Sarita Says: I Dream of Gitsy
That afternoon Sarita got her nails done. She made an appointment at the Soft Island Salon and smiled the whole drive there. Mani/Pedis were an indulgence Sarita did not often allow herself. She’d never been one for vanity. Usually she only got her nails done before formal events such as a wedding or celebratory dinner. But this was a special occasion, she supposed. It was a small but crucial part of her plan. In the drawing she’d seen on Oliver’s computer, she had been depicted with white fingernails and her feet had been prominently featured just below his face. She needed to get as close to his fantasy as she could for her plan to work. If that meant getting her nails done and having her feet pampered, who was she to argue?
As Sarita soaked her feet in the warm soapy water, she closed her eyes and contemplated the next step of her plan. There was just one thing she still needed to figure out before she could really step things up: just how ticklish was Oliver? Right now all she had to go on was the drawing he’d commissioned, but that was no guarantee of anything. As far as ticklish spots go, the feet were usually a safe bet. The soles of one’s feet hold more densely packed nerve receptors than just about anywhere else on the body. Most people were ticklish on their feet. For many it was their worst spot. But Sarita had encountered more than one stubborn boy in her time that would barely crack a smile when she’d tickled their toes. Of course that brought them little relief. Sarita’s hands would always wander upward and find ways to coax laughter from these men in other spots.
But now that Sarita was thinking about it she began to waver in her resolve. It was possible that Oliver’s feet weren’t ticklish at all, that it was just part of his fantasy. Perhaps it wasn’t her in the picture after all. What if Oliver was more into the bondage aspect of it all rather than the tickling itself? What if, Sarita wondered, she’d misread the whole situation? Her big plan, or what she’d mapped out so far anyway, was based on an image she looked at over a year ago for all of a few seconds. What was the thinking? What if she was wrong?
But she was already here and the warm water felt so good on her tired feet. Her fingernails had already been painted; in fact they were nearly dry. She could always back out later, Sarita figured. Worst case scenario, she’d found an excuse to treat herself and might very well forget all about the plan by the time she got home. The pedicurist returned, kneeled before Sarita’s feet, and began working on her nails.
Sarita’s size 9 feet were plump and a little wide with dexterous toes and absurdly soft soles. She’d always taken good care of her feet. Like many women she knew, Sarita often walked around barefoot. But while that could lead to callouses and dried out heels, Sarita had always figured that if her feet were going to be on display then it only made sense to take good care of them. It was true, pedicures were a rare and often expensive treat, but that didn’t mean that she let her feet suffer in between appointments. She lotioned her feet every night before bed and was diligent with her pumice stone in the shower, being sure to eradicate any dead skin she could find. Truthfully the pedicure was just a bonus at this point, but she wanted to be especially sure that her feet were in prime condition for what came next.
But it was Oliver’s feet she needed to think about now. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if his feet weren’t ticklish. Sarita was confident that she’d be able to break the boy down no matter what. If his feet were immune to her charms then she would turn her freshly manicured nails on his armpits. If his armpits failed then she’d just raspberry his belly until he peed his pants. If that didn’t pan out there was always his knees, his thighs, his neck, butt and so on. He’d fold like a cheap picnic table once she got him in her clutches.
She’d confirmed his tickle fetish already. His fascination with Gitsy Geetha had been all the proof she needed. She likely wouldn’t need much more than to wiggle her fingers at him to put him in the correct mindset. But his feet were the tickle spot featured in the drawing he’d commissioned, so it seemed like a good place to start.
But how would she be able to test them? She wouldn’t be able to start working on Oliver in earnest until the following day. He had already relieved himself that day, or at least in the one instance that she knew of, which would make it difficult to really rile him up the way Sarita knew she needed to. But in order to do so effectively, she needed to know where he was ticklish.
As the pedicurist began pumicing the bottoms of Sarita’s feet, it came to her. It was so obvious she could have kicked herself for not thinking of it sooner. All she needed to do was wait for Oliver to get back from the bar.
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Oliver had messed up. He had drunk far too much on an empty stomach and was now suffering the consequences. Even now, waiting in line for his order at McDonald’s, he could feel a headache beginning to form behind his eyes. Being nearly 21 now, Oliver hadn’t yet experienced a real hangover. When he did drink too much his hangover often manifested as a mild headache or upset stomach. At worst, he’d be sick the morning after, have a lie down for an hour or two, and be ready to do it all over again by 5pm. But even with the mild consequences he’d experienced so far, Oliver knew he’d overdone it that night.
While Oliver took great pleasure at having his friends over as often as he did, he realized it was starting to get a little old. Plus, having Sarita in the house dampened the mood somewhat. His friends didn’t mind at first, if anything they were more than happy to avail themselves of the Kessler’s liquor cabinet. Oliver’s parents seldom drank, what liquor they did keep on hand was really meant for company. The way Oliver saw it, his friends were company, and so it made sense that they should indulge in his parents stash.
But Oliver’s buddies had gotten restless. As much as they loved hanging out at his parents’ house and smoking weed in between rounds of Mario Kart, they wanted to change things up a little. Namely, they wanted to go out and meet women. Oliver didn’t protest, but he wasn’t as enthused by this idea as his friends seemed to be. He’d never been very good with women. In high school this had made sense to him. Nobody got laid in high school, he figured. Those that did were the ones who peaked early and went on to live otherwise unfulfilling, unremarkable lives. So entering college relatively inexperienced hadn’t really bothered him.
Then Oliver got to college, and everyone got laid in college, right? It was all but a mathematical certainty. College party + hot girls + music and booze = sex. But life is no math equation, and Oliver was surprised when this sexual awakening that had been foretold in countless movies and TV shows never came to pass. This isn’t to say that Oliver didn’t get lucky on occasion. He’d had sex with two or three women in his year but he hadn’t really enjoyed himself. Sex was supposed to be exciting, wasn’t it? Yet whenever he managed to bring a girl back to his dorm room, Oliver always felt as if he were simply going through the motions and was often left unsatisfied.
When these women had permitted him to indulge in his foot fetish he felt like he was getting closer to that feeling. Kissing their feet and sucking on their toes had excited him, sure, but something was missing. Oliver knew what it was but had always been too afraid to ask for it. Really, Oliver just wanted to be told what to do. He wanted to be dominated.
He didn’t want these girls to be mean to him, exactly. No, Oliver wanted a softer form of domination. He wanted someone to be firm with him, but fair. He wanted a woman who knew what he needed better than he did, who instinctively understood what buttons to push to make him a pliant and submissive boy. All of Oliver’s greatest fantasies revolved around being tickled into submission by a woman. He didn’t know where this desire came from, perhaps from a cartoon he had seen as a young boy or maybe it was that time some girls held him down at the playground and tickled him until he nearly wet his pants. He wanted, no, needed a woman who knew his weakness and exploited it whenever she could.
But to ask for this sort of defeated the purpose. To do so would undercut the fantasy and mean he was still in control. And though he would never admit it, Oliver desperately needed someone to take that control away.
Oliver wasn’t insightful enough to understand this about himself, but his acting out, his recklessness, his disregard for rules and authority were all an attempt to force someone to step in and take control. His parents’ response had missed the mark entirely. They did nothing but throw money at their problems or find a way to get them out of sight. Being sent away to boarding school being a prime example.
And so his fantasies had only grown larger in his imagination over the years, trying to scratch an itch he didn’t fully understand. He’d come close a few times, one of which had been the drawing he’d commissioned of Sarita tickling his feet. Over time this had become one of his most potent fantasies. Unlike his parents, Sarita had never coddled him. She wasn’t rude to him exactly; she just didn’t have time for his nonsense. Unlike everyone else who handled him with kid gloves or treated him differently because of his [parents’] money, Sarita didn’t care about any of that. She looked at him in a way that he found incredibly compelling. She was a no nonsense woman, strong, hard working. In many ways she was his ideal dom. Soft and maternal but firm, unafraid to treat him the way he deserved to be treated.
One of the first times he’d seen Sarita had been over Thanksgiving break his junior year of high school. He passed by the sitting room and saw her on the couch, talking on the phone with her sister. She was wearing strappy sandals that showcased her regal, impossibly soft looking feet. Sarita had been distracted by the phone call, absentmindedly letting her sandal dangle from her elegant foot.
The sight had stopped Oliver in his tracks. The movement of her foot had mesmerized him, the sandal threatening to slip from her big toe and fall to the floor at any moment. But Sarita didn’t let it fall; she just kept it there, completely in control, as she spoke to her sister in a language Olvier didn’t understand. Whatever they were talking about, it was making Sarita smile. Her fingers lazily tickled the air as she talked, bracelets jingling against each other as her foot kept bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down. He watched her fingers trail in the air, wondering what effect they might have if they were ever turned against him. Oliver couldn’t take it anymore. He forced himself to step away from the doorway and hurried to his room so he could relieve himself.
As Oliver waited for his food, his pickled brain began to wander. All night long, he had returned again and again to the thought of Gitsy Geetha. There was something about the way Sarita told that story that had aroused him a way he hadn’t experienced in some time, something predatory.
Ever since she’d first told him about Gitsy Geetha that afternoon, Oliver’s mind had been luxuriating in the fantasy of her. An old woman in the woods who loved to tickle naughty boys? Oliver couldn’t imagine anything better. He’d Googled “Gitsy Geetha” on his phone but found no results. Had she made it up? Perhaps, but that didn’t make the idea of such a fiendish tickler any less enticing to Oliver. He imagined what it might be like to be caught by such a woman, to have his armpits tickled relentlessly and his feet were reduced to wriggling playthings in her hands. Hell, he might even make it easy for her. Had his search produced any results, Oliver might have bought a ticket to visit Sarita’s village and gone looking for Gitsy Geetha himself.
“Number 317?”
Oliver’s order was ready. He shook himself from his trance and stepped forward. Having claimed his food, Oliver ordered an Uber home.
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Oliver had finished eating by the time his Uber pulled to a stop in front of his house. He was still quite drunk and had nearly fallen asleep in the backseat on his way home. But he’d made it home more or less upright. Soon he could collapse into his bed and shut himself off to the world.
Oliver stumbled out of the car and made his way toward the front door. It took him a few tries but eventually his key found its way into the lock and he let himself inside.
The house was dark and it was taking Oliver’s eyes longer than usual to adjust. Soft music was playing from an unseen speaker somewhere in the house. Was that…sitar music? No matter, Oliver needed to get to bed.
Yawning as he trudged up the stairs, Oliver detected the faintest smell of incense in the air. What had Sarita been doing while he was out? He wondered if she might be observing some kind of holiday or perhaps making her presence known as some sort of power move after their confrontational conversation. Whatever the answer, Oliver was fading fast and didn’t have the bandwidth to think too much about it. Just as he reached the landing, Oliver stumbled over the final step and fell forward, landing with a loud THUD on the hardwood floor.
“Ah! Fuck…”
From down the hall, Oliver heard the door to the guest bedroom open and shut. He tried to get up but his body would not obey him and a dull pain was now radiating from his knee. He must have landed on it funny. He heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching and felt stiff hands land under his armpits, hoisting him up to his feet. He could smell Sarita’s sweet perfume intermingling with the incense in the air as she kept him upright and helped him walk to his room.
“S-sarita?” Oliver slurred. He wrapped his arm around her now, leaning on her as they crossed the threshold of him bedroom. “What’re you doin’?”
“Ssssshhh, you just took a tumble is all, and now I’m helping you to bed. Growing boys need their sleep. It’s way past your bedtime and we have such a big day tomorrow.”
That last bit confused Oliver. What big day tomorrow?
“Big day? What do you – UFF!”
They had reached the bed. Sarita shrugged Oliver off her shoulder and he dropped like a stone. He landed facedown on the bed with a muted thud, bouncing a little off his soft mattress.
“Oopsie!” Sarita giggled, “Did the baby take a tumble?”
Oliver’s ears picked up at that. He didn’t like being treated like a child, especially by the help. Hearing Sarita speak to him in such a manner made his ears hot. Oliver tried to push himself off the mattress so he could respond properly and salvage some semblance of control. But the softness of his bed made his arms go all wobbly when he tried to get up, “No, I just –“
“Shhhhhh,” Sarita shushed as she knelt beside the bed. She placed her palm on Oliver’s back and began lazily rubbing it while gently pushing him deeper into the mattress, encouraging him to rest. “Hush now little one, there will be plenty of time for that later. Now it’s time for sleep.”
Oliver opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out. His body had already begun to sink into the mattress, the muscles in his back and shoulders relaxing as he let out a little sigh. Sarita’s warm and wandering palm felt so good on his back. He could feel his mind slowing down. To attempt any kind of rational thought was akin to trying to run underwater. It was as if Sarita’s hand was smoothing out the wrinkles of his brain as it moved up and down his back. Any thought that he tried to wrap his mind around seemed to disappear like vapor. Oliver could never admit it, but it felt good.
“That’s right,” Sarita whispered as she felt his body unwinding under her palm, “just relax. You’re so good at relaxing, aren’t you? Even in the dark I can see just how tired those sleepy eyes of yours must be. Looking at screens all day and pink from smoke, it must feel so good to finally lie down and shut your eyes. After all it’s way past your bedtime, isn’t it?”
Oliver tried to protest, to send Sarita from his room so he could finally unwind in private, but all that came out was a long, sleepy sigh. Oliver felt as if all the air was escaping his body; deflating into the bed like a punctured air mattress. He was moments away from restful oblivion and could no longer summon the will to fight against the gravitational pull of sleep. Sarita could see the fight leaving his body as his eyelids fluttered closed.
“Shhhhhh, good boy. So soft and sleepy for Sarita. Shhhhhh….”
Sarita slowly pulled her hand away from Oliver’s back as she watched his breathing deepen with each and every breath that escaped through his barely-parted lips. In moments his sleep would deepen further, and Sarita could get to work.
She looked over the sleeping form before her. If Sarita wanted, she could tame him right now. In this vulnerable state it wouldn’t take much effort to secure him to the bed and tickle him hysteric. But that wasn’t the plan. She needed to show restraint, at least for now. Sarita looked toward the end of the bed, where Oliver’s still shoed feet were hanging off the edge of the mattress.
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The air was thick with the smell of incense and scented candles, a smoky, sweet aroma that reminded Oliver of a candy shop in the summertime. His eyes fluttered open but it took his eyes a moment to adjust. This place was dark and unfamiliar to him. The room was round and dimly lit by a small fireplace to Oliver’s right, supplemented by small candles that lined the walls and cast dark shadows all around him. The walls were made of smooth, rounded clay, and there didn’t seem to be a window or even a door. Oliver was underground, but where? How did he even get here? The last thing he remembered was falling into bed and Sarita…
Shit, where was he?
Oliver suddenly realized that he couldn’t move. His body was upright, a firm pressure pushing against his shoulders. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Oliver realized that he was sitting in a large, black cauldron. His butt was touching the bottom, his body bent like a V so that his knees and thighs were pressed against his chest while his calves and feet were allowed to hang over the lip of the cauldron facing away from him, exposed. His arms were trapped against his sides, boxed in by the sloping sides of the cauldron. Oliver could wriggle around a bit here and there, but he couldn’t get the necessary leverage to maneuver his body out through the narrow mouth of the pot.
“Naughty boy…” hissed a feminine voice behind him. “What were you doing alone out here so late?”
Oliver’s head snapped back as far as his position would allow, attempting to get a look at his captor. But despite his best efforts and maneuvering, Oliver could not see her.
“Who are you?” Oliver asked, fear rising in his chest as he struggled to get out of the cauldron to no avail.
“Me? Why everyone knows me. Everyone with sense, that is…” the woman said. Judging from her voice, she had to be quite old. Her voice was soft, sweet, but with a light rasp the betrayed her age and experience. She sounded not unlike a kindly grandmother with a fondness for cigarettes.
Oliver felt the old woman’s shadow pass over him as she rounded the cauldron, her hand reaching out to tease his ears as she moved. Oliver reflexively jerked his head away, but in his position he could do little to avoid her touch. Coming to a stop in front of him, Oliver’s breath caught in his throat. She was short, no taller than 5 feet tall from what Oliver could tell. Her hair was white and hung well past her shoulders, reaching all the way to her butt. She was quite round, her plump soft hands rubbing against each other greedily as she sized Oliver up. There was a serene little smile on her face, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, confident that her prey would not break free.
“Why, I’m Gitsy Geetha, little one. And I heard you’ve been looking for me...”
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Sarita knelt before Oliver’s feet, excitement brimming over in her gut. She’d been fantasizing about this all day. Now that she was finally here she could barely contain herself. Any doubts that had lingered earlier were suddenly banished from her mind. She needed to be careful, of course, but the wheels of her plan were now firmly in motion. Carefully, ever so carefully, Sarita’s finger began teasing the laces of Oliver’s shoes loose, her nails picking apart the clumsy knots with ease.
His shoes now untied, Sarita took a firm hold of the heel of his right foot and gently worried it loose from his foot. She did the same to his left foot and soon she was staring at Oliver’s socked feet, twitching slightly as he slept.
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“What? No! I haven’t, I swear! I don’t even know where I am!”
Gitsy Geetha had begun calmly removing Oliver’s shoes, despite his resistance. Even in his position Oliver was able to lamely kick is feet in protest, but this provided little challenge for Gitsy Geetha’s nimble hands. In seconds Oliver’s shoes were whisked away, leaving his socked feet to flail about before the amused woman. She grasped his feet, one in each hand, and held them firm.
“Don’t lie to me. That will only make things worse.”
“But I’m not lying, I swea-AH!”
Oliver let out a yelp as Gitsy Geetha gently pressed her thumbnail into the center of his left sole and slowly moved it up and down, tickling his foot inch by torturous inch. Oliver bit his lip, hoping to keep the giggles at bay. But he knew it was only a matter of time before the dam burst.
“You’re tickly,” Gitsy Geetha stated calmly, watching his feet twitch under her delicate touch. “Tickly boys always find their way here. Geetha knows what they want. Geetha knows what they need.” Satisfied, Gitsy Geetha let go of his feet and stood up, crossing the room to a small table in the corner where an ornate jewelry box was waiting for her.
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Sarita let out a shuddering breath as she held Oliver’s feet in her hands. The moment of truth was upon her. She gave them an affectionate squeeze. It was time to test these puppies. Sarita dragged her thumbnail down Oliver’s foot, ever so slowly, and was delighted when she felt his foot instinctively jerk away from her tease. The boy was ticklish! Sarita could barely contain her excitement.
Barely able to contain her excitement, Sarita released his feet and quietly left the room. She hurried to her bedroom and opened her sock drawer, retrieving a grey pigeon feather she’d been saving for just such as occasion. Her tool in hand, Sarita returned to Oliver’s room and knelt before his feet again.
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Oliver’s mind was racing. He needed to reason with Gitsy Geetha, somehow escape her trap before it was too late and she learned just how ticklish he was. After that, he couldn’t imagine she’d want to let him go any time soon.
“I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding,” Oliver said as calmly as he could, “I didn’t – I don’t know what I’m doing here. I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”
Gitsy Geetha shook her head, her back still turned to the panicking boy in her cauldron. She opened her jewelry box and contemplated how she’d play with her new toy. “No mistake. You’re tickly. And only tickly boys end up here. Tickly boys are my specialty. Naughty ones most of all.” Her hand wandered over her tools – backscratchers, metal slip-on finger claws, lotions and oils meant to heighten sensitivity – before finally settling on a soft but firm pigeon feather. It was one of her favorites.
In the past she had found dozens, hundreds of creative uses for this feather. It had proven to be incredibly versatile over the years. She smiled fondly at the many memories this particular feather evoked. Just a few sweet little words and a delicate touch was enough to break even the must stubborn of victims. This would more than suffice for now. She turned back to Oliver, twirling the feather between her fingers as she slowly approached the cauldron once more.
Oliver’s eyes widened at the sight of the feather. He could only imagine the damage it could do in the hands of such a skilled tickler. Oliver renewed his struggle but the cauldron held him tight. He couldn’t escape even if he wanted to. Wait, he did want to, didn’t he? “Please, you don’t have to do this. I’m sorry! Whatever I did I’m sorry! Just – just tell me what you want, please.”
Gitsy Geetha grabbed a short wooden stool and dragged it along the floor as slowly as she could, purposefully building suspense as she watched a wide-eyed Oliver begin to panic. She set the stool down and sat before his feet. Slipping her finger under the elastic of his right sock, Gitsy Geetha began to peel it off his foot.
“I want you to tell me why you came looking for me.”
“I wasn’t! I swear I wasn’t!”
The sock came free of his right foot, the cool air causing his toes to curl. Gitsy Geetha wasted no time and began to remove his left sock now. “Yes you were. There’s no use lying to me. All boys tell the truth eventually. It just depends on how many giggles you’ll give me before you do. Naughty boys love to tell me things. Their secrets are always safe with Gitsy Geetha. So, you can tell me now or you can tell me after.”
“A-after what…?” Oliver swallowed, as the sock slipped free from his left foot. With both feet now bare before the tickle witch before him, Oliver could feel his cheeks getting hot and his cock firming up against his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to escape this cauldron, so why was he feeling so…giddy?
Gitsy Geetha smiled at Oliver. “I think you know what, silly boy. Do you want to say it, or should I?”
Oliver hesitated. He dared not say it aloud. He didn’t need to, Gitsy Geetha already knew. She grasped his left foot in her hand. Her voice softened, speaking with what sounded like genuine concern. “Does little Ollie have something he wants to tell Gitsy Geetha? Hmm? Does he have a tickly little secret he’s keeping from me?” the witch cooed as she slowly lowered the gently twirling feather toward the lad’s squirming foot.
Fuck, every word cut through Oliver like a knife. It’s as if she knew each and every button to push, every word he’d ever wanted to hear come from such a woman. He wouldn’t say it, he couldn’t. Besides, if he did, then…
“N-no. No secret...” Oliver’s cheeks flushed as he said it. God this was humiliating, he sounded like a scared child. “Please…” But he wanted this. And what was worse, Gitsy Geetha knew it too.
“Please what?” Gitsy Geetha said, cocking her head to one side as the feather drew closer and closer to his foot, now only half-heartedly struggling against the hand that held it firm. “Please tickle?” Her words were sweet and teasing. She knew the answer.
The tip of the feather made contact with Oliver’s foot. He didn’t even bother trying to hold it in. What would be the point? Oliver let the giggles freely bubble from his mouth as he felt the feather’s touch.
“eeehehehehehehehehehehe Ihihihihihihihi dihihihihihdn’t sahahahahahayyy thahahahahattt hehehehehehehehehehe”
Gitsy Geetha expertly drew the feather over his foot, barely making contact with his pink and trembling sole, flicking and fluttering the fluffy tip against every sensitive spot she could find with devastating precision. She swept it under his toes, causing them to twitch and spasm, before drawing it along his instep.
“Then why don’t you tell me to stop? Hmm? Tell Gitsy to stop. Come on; use your big boy words. Come on…”
But Oliver didn’t want her to stop. The feather’s touch was so playful and precise, knowing exactly where to tease and where to linger in order to produce the maximum amount of giggles from the boy. Oliver hadn’t been tickled in years, not since his girl cousins had pinned him down at a family reunion nearly a decade ago. He’d forgotten just how fun being tickled could be. While at first he’d feared Gitsy Geetha, now he saw through her witchy looks and dark abode. She knew exactly what he wanted and wanted to give it to him. She’d taken on the countenance of a playful tormentor, clearly having fun with Oliver. There seemed to be malevolent intent. If she’d wanted to hurt Oliver she would have done it by now.
As if she’d read his mind, Gitsy Geetha began speaking to him again, softly pushing his buttons as she flicked the feather over his wiggling toes.
“Look at these happy little toes! Oh they’re so happy! So happy to be with Gitsy Geetha, aren’t they?” She slowed the feather now, whispering it up and down his sole while she teased him. Speaking patiently to him, as she might to a child, Gitsy Geetha paid close attention to Oliver’s reddening face as she tested for more sensitive spots.
“See, Gitsy Geetha knows what naughty boys like you want. You wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? People think I trap my victims, that I kidnap them and spirit them way to this room to torture them with tickles. But that’s not true. No, the people who find themselves here, they want to be here. They come looking for me. They come to find the tickle monster. They’re all so curious at first. They want to know what it’s like, to see if they can take it. But sooner or later, they all end up the same, giggly little puddles begging for relief. Some of them try to hide it, the poor things. They try to keep their giggles from me. But you? You’re a smart boy. You didn’t make me work for it. You knew there was no resisting me. So giggle for me baby boy, giggle for Gitsy Geetha…”
Oliver was in heaven, overcome with giggles as Gitsy Geetha feathered his foot, patiently chipping away at him with her expert application of the feather against his sensitive toes. She was feathering both his feet now, knowing exactly when to move her attention between them, never allowing him to get used to one sensation or spot. With every sweep of the feather against his feet, he could feel his feet becoming more and more sensitive. How was that even possible?
“Tell me. Tell Gitsy. Tell me you love it. Come on, baby boy. Tell me. Coochie coochie coo, Gitsy Geetha is tickling youuuuu. Tell me you love your tickles. Come on, Ollie, come on! We both know the truth. You can’t hide from me. You love the tickle monster. You can tell me, sweetie. I’ll never tell a soul. It can be our little secret…”
Oliver’s member was fully erect now, straining against his stomach as the feather did its terrible work. The teasing was too much for him to bear, but he wouldn’t dare say it. Then she might stop. And Oliver was having too much fun for her to stop. All he could do was laugh and howl and wait for relief.
“Nooohohohohooohohooooo nahaahahahahahaaaaaa Gitseeheheheheeeee Geheheheheeethaahahahahaa nooohohohohohohohooo! ”
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Sarita beamed from ear to ear as she dragged the feather up and down Oliver’s sleeping feet. She’d been surprised by just how soft and clean they were once she had removed his socks. Given his slovenly lifestyle, Sarita had expected dirty, calloused feet that would require some (torturous) TLC before their full sensitivity could be exploited. But no, his feet were pink and tender to the touch. They were small feet, for a man, maybe a size 8. Maybe. But what his feet lacked in size they more than made up for in responsiveness.
With every pass of the feather along his feet he gave away new spots to exploit. Unconscious, he had no pride no ego, no reason to hide his spots from her. Right now, Olivers feet were an open book, two plump little maps of sensitivity that responded generously to every twirl of the feather between Sarita’s experienced fingers. She’d briefly been concerned that Oliver might wake up from her surreptitious tickle, but the boy seemed to be well and truly out cold. Though his feet twitched and jerked away from the feather, the boy’s body had barely stirred.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had so much fun mapping out a man’s tickle spots. Sarita could feed a hunger creeping in at the edges of her curiosity. She needed to stay in control, but the adrenaline had begun to take hold. It was too good to be true. Sarita knew how to bring the boy to heel now and could barely wait for the sun to rise so she could really get started. But first, she was going to have a little fun.
“….ehehehe…noooo….stop…”
Sarita froze. Did Oliver just say something? Sarita waited a moment in the darkness, waiting for a reckoning that did not come. Leaning over to get a good look at his face, Sarita was heartened to see that not only was Oliver very much asleep but he was…smiling?
Curious. Still keeping an eye on Oliver’s face, Sarita lowered the feather to his soles once more, dusting a little around his heels. After a few moments, Oliver giggled softly in his sleep, his words muffled by dreams and bedding.
“…hehe…no Gitsy Geetha…no…”
Sarita couldn’t believe it. Gitsy Geetha? Never in her wildest dreams did she think that the seed she’d planted could ever have taken root this deep. He was dreaming of her made-up tickle monster!
What’s more, she could see a tent beginning to rise in his sheets. This was all the confirmation She needed. Not only was he clearly quite impressionable – no doubt exacerbated by his excessive weed habit – but his tickle fetish seemed even more potent than Sarita had assumed. By this time tomorrow, the boy would be putty in her hands.
“Aww, are you having a tickle dream, Oliver? Is the mean ol’ tickle monster playing with your little feet?” Sarita whispered as she teased his feet a few moments more. “Well just you wait, lucky boy, tomorrow your dreams will come true.”
Sarita spent a few more minutes at the sleeping boy’s feet, enjoying the soft giggles that escaped from the bed whenever she found a particularly tender spot. But soon Sarita began to catch herself yawning. Glancing at her phone, Sarita was surprised to find that she’d spent nearly an hour playing with Oliver’s feet. She needed to go to bed. Tomorrow would be fun, yes, but there was no guarantee that it would be easy.
Having had her fun, Sarita put the feather down, intentionally leaving it at the foot of Oliver’s bed. She crept out of the room, leaving Oliver giggling facedown on the bed, his bare feet still twitching under the touch of the tickle monster in his dreams.
Sarita Says: I Dream of Gitsy
That afternoon Sarita got her nails done. She made an appointment at the Soft Island Salon and smiled the whole drive there. Mani/Pedis were an indulgence Sarita did not often allow herself. She’d never been one for vanity. Usually she only got her nails done before formal events such as a wedding or celebratory dinner. But this was a special occasion, she supposed. It was a small but crucial part of her plan. In the drawing she’d seen on Oliver’s computer, she had been depicted with white fingernails and her feet had been prominently featured just below his face. She needed to get as close to his fantasy as she could for her plan to work. If that meant getting her nails done and having her feet pampered, who was she to argue?
As Sarita soaked her feet in the warm soapy water, she closed her eyes and contemplated the next step of her plan. There was just one thing she still needed to figure out before she could really step things up: just how ticklish was Oliver? Right now all she had to go on was the drawing he’d commissioned, but that was no guarantee of anything. As far as ticklish spots go, the feet were usually a safe bet. The soles of one’s feet hold more densely packed nerve receptors than just about anywhere else on the body. Most people were ticklish on their feet. For many it was their worst spot. But Sarita had encountered more than one stubborn boy in her time that would barely crack a smile when she’d tickled their toes. Of course that brought them little relief. Sarita’s hands would always wander upward and find ways to coax laughter from these men in other spots.
But now that Sarita was thinking about it she began to waver in her resolve. It was possible that Oliver’s feet weren’t ticklish at all, that it was just part of his fantasy. Perhaps it wasn’t her in the picture after all. What if Oliver was more into the bondage aspect of it all rather than the tickling itself? What if, Sarita wondered, she’d misread the whole situation? Her big plan, or what she’d mapped out so far anyway, was based on an image she looked at over a year ago for all of a few seconds. What was the thinking? What if she was wrong?
But she was already here and the warm water felt so good on her tired feet. Her fingernails had already been painted; in fact they were nearly dry. She could always back out later, Sarita figured. Worst case scenario, she’d found an excuse to treat herself and might very well forget all about the plan by the time she got home. The pedicurist returned, kneeled before Sarita’s feet, and began working on her nails.
Sarita’s size 9 feet were plump and a little wide with dexterous toes and absurdly soft soles. She’d always taken good care of her feet. Like many women she knew, Sarita often walked around barefoot. But while that could lead to callouses and dried out heels, Sarita had always figured that if her feet were going to be on display then it only made sense to take good care of them. It was true, pedicures were a rare and often expensive treat, but that didn’t mean that she let her feet suffer in between appointments. She lotioned her feet every night before bed and was diligent with her pumice stone in the shower, being sure to eradicate any dead skin she could find. Truthfully the pedicure was just a bonus at this point, but she wanted to be especially sure that her feet were in prime condition for what came next.
But it was Oliver’s feet she needed to think about now. It wouldn’t be the end of the world if his feet weren’t ticklish. Sarita was confident that she’d be able to break the boy down no matter what. If his feet were immune to her charms then she would turn her freshly manicured nails on his armpits. If his armpits failed then she’d just raspberry his belly until he peed his pants. If that didn’t pan out there was always his knees, his thighs, his neck, butt and so on. He’d fold like a cheap picnic table once she got him in her clutches.
She’d confirmed his tickle fetish already. His fascination with Gitsy Geetha had been all the proof she needed. She likely wouldn’t need much more than to wiggle her fingers at him to put him in the correct mindset. But his feet were the tickle spot featured in the drawing he’d commissioned, so it seemed like a good place to start.
But how would she be able to test them? She wouldn’t be able to start working on Oliver in earnest until the following day. He had already relieved himself that day, or at least in the one instance that she knew of, which would make it difficult to really rile him up the way Sarita knew she needed to. But in order to do so effectively, she needed to know where he was ticklish.
As the pedicurist began pumicing the bottoms of Sarita’s feet, it came to her. It was so obvious she could have kicked herself for not thinking of it sooner. All she needed to do was wait for Oliver to get back from the bar.
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Oliver had messed up. He had drunk far too much on an empty stomach and was now suffering the consequences. Even now, waiting in line for his order at McDonald’s, he could feel a headache beginning to form behind his eyes. Being nearly 21 now, Oliver hadn’t yet experienced a real hangover. When he did drink too much his hangover often manifested as a mild headache or upset stomach. At worst, he’d be sick the morning after, have a lie down for an hour or two, and be ready to do it all over again by 5pm. But even with the mild consequences he’d experienced so far, Oliver knew he’d overdone it that night.
While Oliver took great pleasure at having his friends over as often as he did, he realized it was starting to get a little old. Plus, having Sarita in the house dampened the mood somewhat. His friends didn’t mind at first, if anything they were more than happy to avail themselves of the Kessler’s liquor cabinet. Oliver’s parents seldom drank, what liquor they did keep on hand was really meant for company. The way Oliver saw it, his friends were company, and so it made sense that they should indulge in his parents stash.
But Oliver’s buddies had gotten restless. As much as they loved hanging out at his parents’ house and smoking weed in between rounds of Mario Kart, they wanted to change things up a little. Namely, they wanted to go out and meet women. Oliver didn’t protest, but he wasn’t as enthused by this idea as his friends seemed to be. He’d never been very good with women. In high school this had made sense to him. Nobody got laid in high school, he figured. Those that did were the ones who peaked early and went on to live otherwise unfulfilling, unremarkable lives. So entering college relatively inexperienced hadn’t really bothered him.
Then Oliver got to college, and everyone got laid in college, right? It was all but a mathematical certainty. College party + hot girls + music and booze = sex. But life is no math equation, and Oliver was surprised when this sexual awakening that had been foretold in countless movies and TV shows never came to pass. This isn’t to say that Oliver didn’t get lucky on occasion. He’d had sex with two or three women in his year but he hadn’t really enjoyed himself. Sex was supposed to be exciting, wasn’t it? Yet whenever he managed to bring a girl back to his dorm room, Oliver always felt as if he were simply going through the motions and was often left unsatisfied.
When these women had permitted him to indulge in his foot fetish he felt like he was getting closer to that feeling. Kissing their feet and sucking on their toes had excited him, sure, but something was missing. Oliver knew what it was but had always been too afraid to ask for it. Really, Oliver just wanted to be told what to do. He wanted to be dominated.
He didn’t want these girls to be mean to him, exactly. No, Oliver wanted a softer form of domination. He wanted someone to be firm with him, but fair. He wanted a woman who knew what he needed better than he did, who instinctively understood what buttons to push to make him a pliant and submissive boy. All of Oliver’s greatest fantasies revolved around being tickled into submission by a woman. He didn’t know where this desire came from, perhaps from a cartoon he had seen as a young boy or maybe it was that time some girls held him down at the playground and tickled him until he nearly wet his pants. He wanted, no, needed a woman who knew his weakness and exploited it whenever she could.
But to ask for this sort of defeated the purpose. To do so would undercut the fantasy and mean he was still in control. And though he would never admit it, Oliver desperately needed someone to take that control away.
Oliver wasn’t insightful enough to understand this about himself, but his acting out, his recklessness, his disregard for rules and authority were all an attempt to force someone to step in and take control. His parents’ response had missed the mark entirely. They did nothing but throw money at their problems or find a way to get them out of sight. Being sent away to boarding school being a prime example.
And so his fantasies had only grown larger in his imagination over the years, trying to scratch an itch he didn’t fully understand. He’d come close a few times, one of which had been the drawing he’d commissioned of Sarita tickling his feet. Over time this had become one of his most potent fantasies. Unlike his parents, Sarita had never coddled him. She wasn’t rude to him exactly; she just didn’t have time for his nonsense. Unlike everyone else who handled him with kid gloves or treated him differently because of his [parents’] money, Sarita didn’t care about any of that. She looked at him in a way that he found incredibly compelling. She was a no nonsense woman, strong, hard working. In many ways she was his ideal dom. Soft and maternal but firm, unafraid to treat him the way he deserved to be treated.
One of the first times he’d seen Sarita had been over Thanksgiving break his junior year of high school. He passed by the sitting room and saw her on the couch, talking on the phone with her sister. She was wearing strappy sandals that showcased her regal, impossibly soft looking feet. Sarita had been distracted by the phone call, absentmindedly letting her sandal dangle from her elegant foot.
The sight had stopped Oliver in his tracks. The movement of her foot had mesmerized him, the sandal threatening to slip from her big toe and fall to the floor at any moment. But Sarita didn’t let it fall; she just kept it there, completely in control, as she spoke to her sister in a language Olvier didn’t understand. Whatever they were talking about, it was making Sarita smile. Her fingers lazily tickled the air as she talked, bracelets jingling against each other as her foot kept bouncing up and down, up and down, up and down. He watched her fingers trail in the air, wondering what effect they might have if they were ever turned against him. Oliver couldn’t take it anymore. He forced himself to step away from the doorway and hurried to his room so he could relieve himself.
As Oliver waited for his food, his pickled brain began to wander. All night long, he had returned again and again to the thought of Gitsy Geetha. There was something about the way Sarita told that story that had aroused him a way he hadn’t experienced in some time, something predatory.
Ever since she’d first told him about Gitsy Geetha that afternoon, Oliver’s mind had been luxuriating in the fantasy of her. An old woman in the woods who loved to tickle naughty boys? Oliver couldn’t imagine anything better. He’d Googled “Gitsy Geetha” on his phone but found no results. Had she made it up? Perhaps, but that didn’t make the idea of such a fiendish tickler any less enticing to Oliver. He imagined what it might be like to be caught by such a woman, to have his armpits tickled relentlessly and his feet were reduced to wriggling playthings in her hands. Hell, he might even make it easy for her. Had his search produced any results, Oliver might have bought a ticket to visit Sarita’s village and gone looking for Gitsy Geetha himself.
“Number 317?”
Oliver’s order was ready. He shook himself from his trance and stepped forward. Having claimed his food, Oliver ordered an Uber home.
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Oliver had finished eating by the time his Uber pulled to a stop in front of his house. He was still quite drunk and had nearly fallen asleep in the backseat on his way home. But he’d made it home more or less upright. Soon he could collapse into his bed and shut himself off to the world.
Oliver stumbled out of the car and made his way toward the front door. It took him a few tries but eventually his key found its way into the lock and he let himself inside.
The house was dark and it was taking Oliver’s eyes longer than usual to adjust. Soft music was playing from an unseen speaker somewhere in the house. Was that…sitar music? No matter, Oliver needed to get to bed.
Yawning as he trudged up the stairs, Oliver detected the faintest smell of incense in the air. What had Sarita been doing while he was out? He wondered if she might be observing some kind of holiday or perhaps making her presence known as some sort of power move after their confrontational conversation. Whatever the answer, Oliver was fading fast and didn’t have the bandwidth to think too much about it. Just as he reached the landing, Oliver stumbled over the final step and fell forward, landing with a loud THUD on the hardwood floor.
“Ah! Fuck…”
From down the hall, Oliver heard the door to the guest bedroom open and shut. He tried to get up but his body would not obey him and a dull pain was now radiating from his knee. He must have landed on it funny. He heard the sound of soft footsteps approaching and felt stiff hands land under his armpits, hoisting him up to his feet. He could smell Sarita’s sweet perfume intermingling with the incense in the air as she kept him upright and helped him walk to his room.
“S-sarita?” Oliver slurred. He wrapped his arm around her now, leaning on her as they crossed the threshold of him bedroom. “What’re you doin’?”
“Ssssshhh, you just took a tumble is all, and now I’m helping you to bed. Growing boys need their sleep. It’s way past your bedtime and we have such a big day tomorrow.”
That last bit confused Oliver. What big day tomorrow?
“Big day? What do you – UFF!”
They had reached the bed. Sarita shrugged Oliver off her shoulder and he dropped like a stone. He landed facedown on the bed with a muted thud, bouncing a little off his soft mattress.
“Oopsie!” Sarita giggled, “Did the baby take a tumble?”
Oliver’s ears picked up at that. He didn’t like being treated like a child, especially by the help. Hearing Sarita speak to him in such a manner made his ears hot. Oliver tried to push himself off the mattress so he could respond properly and salvage some semblance of control. But the softness of his bed made his arms go all wobbly when he tried to get up, “No, I just –“
“Shhhhhh,” Sarita shushed as she knelt beside the bed. She placed her palm on Oliver’s back and began lazily rubbing it while gently pushing him deeper into the mattress, encouraging him to rest. “Hush now little one, there will be plenty of time for that later. Now it’s time for sleep.”
Oliver opened his mouth to protest but nothing came out. His body had already begun to sink into the mattress, the muscles in his back and shoulders relaxing as he let out a little sigh. Sarita’s warm and wandering palm felt so good on his back. He could feel his mind slowing down. To attempt any kind of rational thought was akin to trying to run underwater. It was as if Sarita’s hand was smoothing out the wrinkles of his brain as it moved up and down his back. Any thought that he tried to wrap his mind around seemed to disappear like vapor. Oliver could never admit it, but it felt good.
“That’s right,” Sarita whispered as she felt his body unwinding under her palm, “just relax. You’re so good at relaxing, aren’t you? Even in the dark I can see just how tired those sleepy eyes of yours must be. Looking at screens all day and pink from smoke, it must feel so good to finally lie down and shut your eyes. After all it’s way past your bedtime, isn’t it?”
Oliver tried to protest, to send Sarita from his room so he could finally unwind in private, but all that came out was a long, sleepy sigh. Oliver felt as if all the air was escaping his body; deflating into the bed like a punctured air mattress. He was moments away from restful oblivion and could no longer summon the will to fight against the gravitational pull of sleep. Sarita could see the fight leaving his body as his eyelids fluttered closed.
“Shhhhhh, good boy. So soft and sleepy for Sarita. Shhhhhh….”
Sarita slowly pulled her hand away from Oliver’s back as she watched his breathing deepen with each and every breath that escaped through his barely-parted lips. In moments his sleep would deepen further, and Sarita could get to work.
She looked over the sleeping form before her. If Sarita wanted, she could tame him right now. In this vulnerable state it wouldn’t take much effort to secure him to the bed and tickle him hysteric. But that wasn’t the plan. She needed to show restraint, at least for now. Sarita looked toward the end of the bed, where Oliver’s still shoed feet were hanging off the edge of the mattress.
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The air was thick with the smell of incense and scented candles, a smoky, sweet aroma that reminded Oliver of a candy shop in the summertime. His eyes fluttered open but it took his eyes a moment to adjust. This place was dark and unfamiliar to him. The room was round and dimly lit by a small fireplace to Oliver’s right, supplemented by small candles that lined the walls and cast dark shadows all around him. The walls were made of smooth, rounded clay, and there didn’t seem to be a window or even a door. Oliver was underground, but where? How did he even get here? The last thing he remembered was falling into bed and Sarita…
Shit, where was he?
Oliver suddenly realized that he couldn’t move. His body was upright, a firm pressure pushing against his shoulders. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, Oliver realized that he was sitting in a large, black cauldron. His butt was touching the bottom, his body bent like a V so that his knees and thighs were pressed against his chest while his calves and feet were allowed to hang over the lip of the cauldron facing away from him, exposed. His arms were trapped against his sides, boxed in by the sloping sides of the cauldron. Oliver could wriggle around a bit here and there, but he couldn’t get the necessary leverage to maneuver his body out through the narrow mouth of the pot.
“Naughty boy…” hissed a feminine voice behind him. “What were you doing alone out here so late?”
Oliver’s head snapped back as far as his position would allow, attempting to get a look at his captor. But despite his best efforts and maneuvering, Oliver could not see her.
“Who are you?” Oliver asked, fear rising in his chest as he struggled to get out of the cauldron to no avail.
“Me? Why everyone knows me. Everyone with sense, that is…” the woman said. Judging from her voice, she had to be quite old. Her voice was soft, sweet, but with a light rasp the betrayed her age and experience. She sounded not unlike a kindly grandmother with a fondness for cigarettes.
Oliver felt the old woman’s shadow pass over him as she rounded the cauldron, her hand reaching out to tease his ears as she moved. Oliver reflexively jerked his head away, but in his position he could do little to avoid her touch. Coming to a stop in front of him, Oliver’s breath caught in his throat. She was short, no taller than 5 feet tall from what Oliver could tell. Her hair was white and hung well past her shoulders, reaching all the way to her butt. She was quite round, her plump soft hands rubbing against each other greedily as she sized Oliver up. There was a serene little smile on her face, as if she didn’t have a care in the world, confident that her prey would not break free.
“Why, I’m Gitsy Geetha, little one. And I heard you’ve been looking for me...”
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Sarita knelt before Oliver’s feet, excitement brimming over in her gut. She’d been fantasizing about this all day. Now that she was finally here she could barely contain herself. Any doubts that had lingered earlier were suddenly banished from her mind. She needed to be careful, of course, but the wheels of her plan were now firmly in motion. Carefully, ever so carefully, Sarita’s finger began teasing the laces of Oliver’s shoes loose, her nails picking apart the clumsy knots with ease.
His shoes now untied, Sarita took a firm hold of the heel of his right foot and gently worried it loose from his foot. She did the same to his left foot and soon she was staring at Oliver’s socked feet, twitching slightly as he slept.
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“What? No! I haven’t, I swear! I don’t even know where I am!”
Gitsy Geetha had begun calmly removing Oliver’s shoes, despite his resistance. Even in his position Oliver was able to lamely kick is feet in protest, but this provided little challenge for Gitsy Geetha’s nimble hands. In seconds Oliver’s shoes were whisked away, leaving his socked feet to flail about before the amused woman. She grasped his feet, one in each hand, and held them firm.
“Don’t lie to me. That will only make things worse.”
“But I’m not lying, I swea-AH!”
Oliver let out a yelp as Gitsy Geetha gently pressed her thumbnail into the center of his left sole and slowly moved it up and down, tickling his foot inch by torturous inch. Oliver bit his lip, hoping to keep the giggles at bay. But he knew it was only a matter of time before the dam burst.
“You’re tickly,” Gitsy Geetha stated calmly, watching his feet twitch under her delicate touch. “Tickly boys always find their way here. Geetha knows what they want. Geetha knows what they need.” Satisfied, Gitsy Geetha let go of his feet and stood up, crossing the room to a small table in the corner where an ornate jewelry box was waiting for her.
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Sarita let out a shuddering breath as she held Oliver’s feet in her hands. The moment of truth was upon her. She gave them an affectionate squeeze. It was time to test these puppies. Sarita dragged her thumbnail down Oliver’s foot, ever so slowly, and was delighted when she felt his foot instinctively jerk away from her tease. The boy was ticklish! Sarita could barely contain her excitement.
Barely able to contain her excitement, Sarita released his feet and quietly left the room. She hurried to her bedroom and opened her sock drawer, retrieving a grey pigeon feather she’d been saving for just such as occasion. Her tool in hand, Sarita returned to Oliver’s room and knelt before his feet again.
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Oliver’s mind was racing. He needed to reason with Gitsy Geetha, somehow escape her trap before it was too late and she learned just how ticklish he was. After that, he couldn’t imagine she’d want to let him go any time soon.
“I think there’s been some sort of misunderstanding,” Oliver said as calmly as he could, “I didn’t – I don’t know what I’m doing here. I think there’s been some kind of mistake.”
Gitsy Geetha shook her head, her back still turned to the panicking boy in her cauldron. She opened her jewelry box and contemplated how she’d play with her new toy. “No mistake. You’re tickly. And only tickly boys end up here. Tickly boys are my specialty. Naughty ones most of all.” Her hand wandered over her tools – backscratchers, metal slip-on finger claws, lotions and oils meant to heighten sensitivity – before finally settling on a soft but firm pigeon feather. It was one of her favorites.
In the past she had found dozens, hundreds of creative uses for this feather. It had proven to be incredibly versatile over the years. She smiled fondly at the many memories this particular feather evoked. Just a few sweet little words and a delicate touch was enough to break even the must stubborn of victims. This would more than suffice for now. She turned back to Oliver, twirling the feather between her fingers as she slowly approached the cauldron once more.
Oliver’s eyes widened at the sight of the feather. He could only imagine the damage it could do in the hands of such a skilled tickler. Oliver renewed his struggle but the cauldron held him tight. He couldn’t escape even if he wanted to. Wait, he did want to, didn’t he? “Please, you don’t have to do this. I’m sorry! Whatever I did I’m sorry! Just – just tell me what you want, please.”
Gitsy Geetha grabbed a short wooden stool and dragged it along the floor as slowly as she could, purposefully building suspense as she watched a wide-eyed Oliver begin to panic. She set the stool down and sat before his feet. Slipping her finger under the elastic of his right sock, Gitsy Geetha began to peel it off his foot.
“I want you to tell me why you came looking for me.”
“I wasn’t! I swear I wasn’t!”
The sock came free of his right foot, the cool air causing his toes to curl. Gitsy Geetha wasted no time and began to remove his left sock now. “Yes you were. There’s no use lying to me. All boys tell the truth eventually. It just depends on how many giggles you’ll give me before you do. Naughty boys love to tell me things. Their secrets are always safe with Gitsy Geetha. So, you can tell me now or you can tell me after.”
“A-after what…?” Oliver swallowed, as the sock slipped free from his left foot. With both feet now bare before the tickle witch before him, Oliver could feel his cheeks getting hot and his cock firming up against his stomach. He wanted nothing more than to escape this cauldron, so why was he feeling so…giddy?
Gitsy Geetha smiled at Oliver. “I think you know what, silly boy. Do you want to say it, or should I?”
Oliver hesitated. He dared not say it aloud. He didn’t need to, Gitsy Geetha already knew. She grasped his left foot in her hand. Her voice softened, speaking with what sounded like genuine concern. “Does little Ollie have something he wants to tell Gitsy Geetha? Hmm? Does he have a tickly little secret he’s keeping from me?” the witch cooed as she slowly lowered the gently twirling feather toward the lad’s squirming foot.
Fuck, every word cut through Oliver like a knife. It’s as if she knew each and every button to push, every word he’d ever wanted to hear come from such a woman. He wouldn’t say it, he couldn’t. Besides, if he did, then…
“N-no. No secret...” Oliver’s cheeks flushed as he said it. God this was humiliating, he sounded like a scared child. “Please…” But he wanted this. And what was worse, Gitsy Geetha knew it too.
“Please what?” Gitsy Geetha said, cocking her head to one side as the feather drew closer and closer to his foot, now only half-heartedly struggling against the hand that held it firm. “Please tickle?” Her words were sweet and teasing. She knew the answer.
The tip of the feather made contact with Oliver’s foot. He didn’t even bother trying to hold it in. What would be the point? Oliver let the giggles freely bubble from his mouth as he felt the feather’s touch.
“eeehehehehehehehehehehe Ihihihihihihihi dihihihihihdn’t sahahahahahayyy thahahahahattt hehehehehehehehehehe”
Gitsy Geetha expertly drew the feather over his foot, barely making contact with his pink and trembling sole, flicking and fluttering the fluffy tip against every sensitive spot she could find with devastating precision. She swept it under his toes, causing them to twitch and spasm, before drawing it along his instep.
“Then why don’t you tell me to stop? Hmm? Tell Gitsy to stop. Come on; use your big boy words. Come on…”
But Oliver didn’t want her to stop. The feather’s touch was so playful and precise, knowing exactly where to tease and where to linger in order to produce the maximum amount of giggles from the boy. Oliver hadn’t been tickled in years, not since his girl cousins had pinned him down at a family reunion nearly a decade ago. He’d forgotten just how fun being tickled could be. While at first he’d feared Gitsy Geetha, now he saw through her witchy looks and dark abode. She knew exactly what he wanted and wanted to give it to him. She’d taken on the countenance of a playful tormentor, clearly having fun with Oliver. There seemed to be malevolent intent. If she’d wanted to hurt Oliver she would have done it by now.
As if she’d read his mind, Gitsy Geetha began speaking to him again, softly pushing his buttons as she flicked the feather over his wiggling toes.
“Look at these happy little toes! Oh they’re so happy! So happy to be with Gitsy Geetha, aren’t they?” She slowed the feather now, whispering it up and down his sole while she teased him. Speaking patiently to him, as she might to a child, Gitsy Geetha paid close attention to Oliver’s reddening face as she tested for more sensitive spots.
“See, Gitsy Geetha knows what naughty boys like you want. You wanted me to catch you, didn’t you? People think I trap my victims, that I kidnap them and spirit them way to this room to torture them with tickles. But that’s not true. No, the people who find themselves here, they want to be here. They come looking for me. They come to find the tickle monster. They’re all so curious at first. They want to know what it’s like, to see if they can take it. But sooner or later, they all end up the same, giggly little puddles begging for relief. Some of them try to hide it, the poor things. They try to keep their giggles from me. But you? You’re a smart boy. You didn’t make me work for it. You knew there was no resisting me. So giggle for me baby boy, giggle for Gitsy Geetha…”
Oliver was in heaven, overcome with giggles as Gitsy Geetha feathered his foot, patiently chipping away at him with her expert application of the feather against his sensitive toes. She was feathering both his feet now, knowing exactly when to move her attention between them, never allowing him to get used to one sensation or spot. With every sweep of the feather against his feet, he could feel his feet becoming more and more sensitive. How was that even possible?
“Tell me. Tell Gitsy. Tell me you love it. Come on, baby boy. Tell me. Coochie coochie coo, Gitsy Geetha is tickling youuuuu. Tell me you love your tickles. Come on, Ollie, come on! We both know the truth. You can’t hide from me. You love the tickle monster. You can tell me, sweetie. I’ll never tell a soul. It can be our little secret…”
Oliver’s member was fully erect now, straining against his stomach as the feather did its terrible work. The teasing was too much for him to bear, but he wouldn’t dare say it. Then she might stop. And Oliver was having too much fun for her to stop. All he could do was laugh and howl and wait for relief.
“Nooohohohohooohohooooo nahaahahahahahaaaaaa Gitseeheheheheeeee Geheheheheeethaahahahahaa nooohohohohohohohooo! ”
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Sarita beamed from ear to ear as she dragged the feather up and down Oliver’s sleeping feet. She’d been surprised by just how soft and clean they were once she had removed his socks. Given his slovenly lifestyle, Sarita had expected dirty, calloused feet that would require some (torturous) TLC before their full sensitivity could be exploited. But no, his feet were pink and tender to the touch. They were small feet, for a man, maybe a size 8. Maybe. But what his feet lacked in size they more than made up for in responsiveness.
With every pass of the feather along his feet he gave away new spots to exploit. Unconscious, he had no pride no ego, no reason to hide his spots from her. Right now, Olivers feet were an open book, two plump little maps of sensitivity that responded generously to every twirl of the feather between Sarita’s experienced fingers. She’d briefly been concerned that Oliver might wake up from her surreptitious tickle, but the boy seemed to be well and truly out cold. Though his feet twitched and jerked away from the feather, the boy’s body had barely stirred.
She couldn’t remember the last time she had so much fun mapping out a man’s tickle spots. Sarita could feed a hunger creeping in at the edges of her curiosity. She needed to stay in control, but the adrenaline had begun to take hold. It was too good to be true. Sarita knew how to bring the boy to heel now and could barely wait for the sun to rise so she could really get started. But first, she was going to have a little fun.
“….ehehehe…noooo….stop…”
Sarita froze. Did Oliver just say something? Sarita waited a moment in the darkness, waiting for a reckoning that did not come. Leaning over to get a good look at his face, Sarita was heartened to see that not only was Oliver very much asleep but he was…smiling?
Curious. Still keeping an eye on Oliver’s face, Sarita lowered the feather to his soles once more, dusting a little around his heels. After a few moments, Oliver giggled softly in his sleep, his words muffled by dreams and bedding.
“…hehe…no Gitsy Geetha…no…”
Sarita couldn’t believe it. Gitsy Geetha? Never in her wildest dreams did she think that the seed she’d planted could ever have taken root this deep. He was dreaming of her made-up tickle monster!
What’s more, she could see a tent beginning to rise in his sheets. This was all the confirmation She needed. Not only was he clearly quite impressionable – no doubt exacerbated by his excessive weed habit – but his tickle fetish seemed even more potent than Sarita had assumed. By this time tomorrow, the boy would be putty in her hands.
“Aww, are you having a tickle dream, Oliver? Is the mean ol’ tickle monster playing with your little feet?” Sarita whispered as she teased his feet a few moments more. “Well just you wait, lucky boy, tomorrow your dreams will come true.”
Sarita spent a few more minutes at the sleeping boy’s feet, enjoying the soft giggles that escaped from the bed whenever she found a particularly tender spot. But soon Sarita began to catch herself yawning. Glancing at her phone, Sarita was surprised to find that she’d spent nearly an hour playing with Oliver’s feet. She needed to go to bed. Tomorrow would be fun, yes, but there was no guarantee that it would be easy.
Having had her fun, Sarita put the feather down, intentionally leaving it at the foot of Oliver’s bed. She crept out of the room, leaving Oliver giggling facedown on the bed, his bare feet still twitching under the touch of the tickle monster in his dreams.
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