Po Lazarus
Registered User
- Joined
- May 24, 2011
- Messages
- 42
- Points
- 6
The Almost True Series No.2 – Anya
This is the second in a series I will be writing and sharing here on the fiction forum. As the title suggests they are instances from my life that almost belong on the ‘True Stories’ sub-forum (My favourite TMF area), but which I cannot in good conscience put on there and claim verisimilitude: they are based on real people (Names changed) and often on real situations and conversations, but I have embellished certain details, some related to the tickling, some related to the set up or other aspects of the anecdote. Some are exaggerations of real tickling incidents, some are fantasies thrust into my brain due to real happenings which could have gone that way, if the stars had aligned more or I had had a bit less inhibition at the time. I will not reveal which to the reader, I will simply write them as I wished they had happened, and how I sometimes think of them on those lonely, sexually frustrated nights that we all experience (Which I am experiencing a deluge of at present, as due to unfortunate circumstances that I won’t go into, I am living separately from my fiancé, which has spurred me to take a renewed interest in the TMF, and in erotic writing generally. I guess if you enjoy the stories, my loss is your gain!). They will all be presented autobiographically, in short story form. I hope you enjoy them. Feel free to leave feedback of course, just remember to be as respectful to me as I would always strive to be to you!
December 2021 Update: I’m stuck living apart from my fiancé again (Long, pandemic related story), so have dusted the writing off and thought I might as well share it where it may be read and appreciated. I hope you enjoy it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anya had been my boss for around two years and there had always been a degree of tension between us – sometimes this was sexual, but it didn’t start out that way. When I first started working under her she had seemingly seen me as a threat to her superiority, or perhaps felt that I had judged her for her occasional discomfort with written and spoken English. For she was Polish, and despite being in the most advanced position in the company, she was perhaps the least competent in her adopted language when compared with the other Eastern Europeans working there, of which there were a few. I was not judging her to any degree internally, and never made any overt attempt to undermine her, but being a reasonably well-spoken person she seemed suspicious of me in the early stages of our working relationship, as if she thought I was laughing behind her back about it.
She had something of a chip on her shoulder, and did what many people do in a professional setting when they lack self-belief: lash out at those around them. This led us to butt heads a couple of times in that first year, at first with minor arguments involving working practices or due to her being overly bureaucratic; stupid stuff. The tide turned when I had argued with another colleague on the day I had quit smoking, and was hauled into Anya’s office. What started as a stern conversation about my conduct turned into concern for my wellbeing and support over the fact I was quitting smoking, and going through personal issues. For some reason, she just warmed to me from then on in. I can’t say why.
Afterwards, our relationship flowered and we became much closer at work. It was an extremely stressful job (Supporting individuals with disabilities) and we leaned on each other in times of need, and the tension did indeed come to spill over into a slightly sexual paradigm. Neither of us would ever act on it; I was happy in my relationship, and Anya had an extremely overprotective husband, who had been so paranoid about the designs of other men that he had tried to add everyone from Anya’s work on Facebook to try and weed out the potential scores of imagined rivals for her affections. You could see why. Although by no means a 10/10, Anya was solidly attractive. In her late thirties, she had naturally bronzed skin, was of a healthy weight – not too thin or too big – and was medium height, with large breasts and a somewhat cherubic face. Her (dyed) blonde/brown hair was always pulled backwards across her head into a tight bun, accentuating the cute facial features she exhibited.
Once, I entered her office without knocking and found my eyes immediately drawn to a pair of un-shoed, nicely sized and shaped feet, with the same lush bronze skin tone as the rest of her. She wore flats to work and would kick them off under the desk in that tantalising way that professional women do. I made a habit of entering without knocking from that moment on, in the hopes of catching her shoeless, and was pleasantly rewarded many times. The only issue was that she was a pantyhose wearer. I have nothing against pantyhose, and I know it’s a major thing for some people, but personally I find it hard to give a complete judgement of a pair of feet whilst they’re clothed in that shiny, often opaque material. I wanted to see them bare to get a full appraisal, and began to wonder whether she was ticklish. Incredibly, I would get the chance to satisfy my curiosity in both cases.
It happened at a convention we were sent to. A bunch of us were carted off via minibus to an expensive hotel in the countryside, and as our distance from work increased, our workplace inhibitions naturally decreased. We were staying for two days, and had the first day to relax before the convention the following day. En route, people started proposing the usual ‘cat’s away’ behaviour: go out, get drunk, stay up late, etc. Two of the party were actually in an open extramarital affair and had made it clear that they would not be leaving their hotel suite for the whole evening. I was in the camp that preferred to use this work-free time to simply relax and unwind.
I proposed a swim in the hotel pool, followed by a nice meal in the fancy restaurant, and an early night (My partying days weren’t and aren’t completely behind me, but I am not by any means a frequent user of five-star hotels, so I wanted to take advantage of the facilities, not go and get smashed in some bar or pub, which I could do anywhere). There were a couple of subscribers to my suggested agenda. Denise, an older, pleasant colleague, who I was on good terms with, and Anya. “That sounds awesome. I’ll meet you outside pool, after I check in. See you in half-hour” she said in her adorable “Polglish” as we pulled into the car park. I had no grand plan at this stage, and genuinely just wanted a swim. It would turn into so much more.
The first cheerful happenstance I was lucky enough to stumble upon was finally seeing Anya’s feet bare – which I did outside the pool entrance. She had gone up to her room and changed into a pair of plastic sliders that she had presumably got from the hotel. She was sat in a chair, looking at her phone as I approached with Denise, so I managed a decent scope out before she would be able to see me looking. I was not disappointed. Like the rest of her, her feet weren’t a 10/10, but more than qualified as attractive. Bigger than the average woman’s, perhaps, but not too big. Just plenty of surface area, with longish toes that cascaded in order pleasingly, and soft looking soles. I couldn’t make out the arch yet but I became increasingly excited at the prospect of sharing a swimming pool with her, as I knew I’d get a chance to lay eyes on them properly. I couldn’t imagine that I’d get chance to lay my hands on them, but the best was yet to come. We said “Hello” and walked into the pool area, me trying not to glance downwards too often as I was worried I’d be caught checking out Anya’s feet. Some of you know the situation I’m describing, I’m sure.
We went into the changing rooms and emerged fairly quickly. It was an average sized, 25 metre swimming pool, in a room of glass, with nice views of the hotel grounds. There were loungers around the perimeter of the pool on three sides, and a jacuzzi at the top end. We stretched out in the hot air and took in the room, pleasantly surprised to find it almost completely empty. “Well, that’s enough swimming for me!” Denise suddenly piped up, as we began to walk to the steps leading into the pool. “What do you mean?” Anya said, laughing “We’ve not even swimmed yet!” (A typically cute Polish/English misstep). “That Jacuzzi’s got my bloody name on it!” Denise chirped, marching off to the free jacuzzi, which did look lovely and inviting. We looked after her as she went. “We go in Jacuzzi after swim.” Anya matter-of-factly said.
We entered the pool and started doing some gentle lengths beside each other, before speeding up a bit. Anya was a natural competitor and was soon challenging me to a race. I’ve never been the best swimmer, and learned that she had been a semi-professional in Poland. She wiped the floor with me every time, however the more races we had, the less I cared: I was trailing behind her each time, but always close behind enough to steal constant glances at her feet, which in many instances passed blissfully close to my face as they propelled her at pace. I was definitely close enough to verify the smoothness and aesthetic quality of her feet. They were good. I felt that that was mission accomplished as far as this trip went: Anya’s bare feet seen. I would soon learn that this was just the warm-up to the main event.
When we decided we’d had enough, we headed towards the Jacuzzi to join Denise. Anya got in first and I followed and sat 90 degrees to her right, the both of us facing the middle of the Jacuzzi, with Denise on the opposite side. It wasn’t the biggest Jacuzzi and as we sat down we bumped slightly under the water, which was bubbling away soothingly. The warm embrace of the jetted water was exactly what the doctor ordered for our muscles after our fairly intense swim.
After a couple of minutes of amiable chatting, the jets underneath the water blasted particularly fiercely, and caught Anya’s right foot, which inadvertently flew up and booted me underneath my left knee, under the water. I felt her toes prod me brusquely. “Ow, what the hell?!” I playfully mocked. Anya giggled, “I kick your ass in the pool and in Jacuzzi!” She received the bird in response, and the three of us continued chatting. After a few more minutes, it happened again. Anya wasn’t doing it intentionally, but her feet were right in front of the jets and were genuinely being blown into my knee.
“Oi!!” I complained once more. Anya stuck her tongue out childishly, and giggled.
“Is she kicking you again?” Denise asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure she’s doing it on purpose!”
“I’m not, my foot is flying from water!”
“You’ll fly out of the water with it, if you carry on!”
It was then that the plan hatched in my head, gifted to me by the tickling Gods. Sometimes, a scheme just quickly develops in your mind. I waited. We went back to chatting, but I concentrated on the motion of the jets. I had realised that the pressure eased off for just a second before blasting so intensely every few minutes. I had to wait for that second. It was here. I subtly shifted my weight under the water, lifting up my knee and sliding towards Anya just a fraction. It worked to perfection: Anya’s foot popped up again, but rather than kicking my knee, it flew upwards underneath it, and as I slid along I trapped the foot between my legs, propping it on top of my right knee, with her ankle stuck between my legs.
Anya stuttered, mid-conversation with Denise, who was totally oblivious to the goings on underneath the gushing foam of the Jacuzzi. Mine and Anya’s eyes met, and I gave her a devilish stare for a few seconds. She continued talking to Denise, trying to act as though nothing untoward was happening. At first, I held the foot in my hands, making sure it was stuck fast between my legs. Anya shifted in her seat slightly, trying to leverage herself and escape from the leg-vice somehow. What she actually did was entrap herself further: she slipped down slightly on the slippery tiles, pushing her legs towards me more and allowing me a firmer hold on the foot. Denise noticed this shift in posture and laughed: “Make yourself comfy, why don’t you, Anya!” Anya smiled and tried to act normal, but I’m pretty sure she knew what was coming next.
I couldn’t believe my luck, and knew I had to take full advantage. The urge I’d had to discover if she was ticklish or not could finally be sated. I held the back of the foot with my left hand so my grip was sound, and slowly tickled the sole with the fingers of my right hand. I felt the foot tense up, and heard Anya take a deliciously sharp intake of breath. It wasn’t too loud, so Denise didn’t cotton on, but I instantly recognised it as a ticklish reaction. I didn’t want her bursting into full-throated laughter just yet, as I didn’t want to give the game away (For the tension, but also for fear of being made to stop either by Anya or a sympathetic Denise), so I didn’t tickle constantly. I’d poke in between the long toes, wiggle my fingers in the instep, or lazily drag my index finger up and down the soft, expansive sole. Every time this would invoke the same desperate – but subtle – reaction from Anya, and I could tell I had a particularly ticklish victim at my disposal.
I had particularly good fun waiting for Anya’s turn in the conversation, and tickling then, to see how she reacted, and enjoy seeing her trying to conceal it. Denise didn’t suspect anything as she prattled on, but I could hear the ever so slight change in inflection, the slight raise in pitch of the voice of somebody who is being tickled but is trying to pretend that they aren’t. Once I did go too far whilst spider tickling her sole and made her gasp slightly too loudly, which prompted a “Are you alright, Anya?” from Denise. “Yes, just tired from swim.” She stammered out. We exchanged a knowing look, and a flirtatious smile. By this point I was grateful that the bulge in my shorts couldn’t be felt by Anya, or seen by either of them, due to the ever-bubbling jets concealing it.
After a few minutes of this delicate, secret torture, Denise began to grow red in the face. “I’ve got a bit of a hot sweat on, you know?” She proclaimed, before treating us to a short diatribe about menopause. “I’m going to have to get out. Are you coming?”
I answered for both of us: “No, I think we’ll stay for a few more minutes. It’s good for the muscle recovery after the swimming, right Anya?” I tickled intensely in synchronicity.
“Yes!” she yelped.
Denise raised an eyebrow, but seemed to think nothing more of it. “OK, see you upstairs later, then.” She said as she climbed past us and out of the Jacuzzi. I did a quick scan of the pool and realised that we were the only people left in the room. There wasn’t even a lifeguard, as the pool was now empty. Anya looked over her shoulder to see Denise walking across the room. She turned back to me, and I met her eyes.
“So, we’re a bit ticklish, are we Champ?”
She dropped all pretence, and her sultry accent was perfectly sexy as she said “No!!! Please!!!”
I tickled properly. Fully went for it.
Peals of noisy laughter burst from Anya’s mouth, making both of us simultaneously thankful that no one else was around to hear her. I saw Denise reach the doorway to the changing rooms, and turn back briefly as she heard Anya’s wild guffawing. She simply smiled, shook her head warmly, and continued, thinking perhaps that I had just said something (Characteristically) hilarious. The truth was that in fact Anya was receiving the foot tickling of her life. Because of how slippery the tiles were, she couldn’t lean forward to fight me off; she had to expend all of her energy on grabbing the rim of the tub and holding herself upright, or she might fall under the water. She simply had to sit and take it. I held the foot firmly with one hand to stop it from thrashing loose, and tickled away happily with my free hand, just up and down the sole, on repeat, intensely. Anya hooted and screeched her full-bodied laughter, holding onto the side of the Jacuzzi for support but occasionally slapping the water in some kind of attempt to relieve the sensations somehow. It didn’t work. I had her too well-trapped, and she was too ticklish to be able to somehow eradicate the sensations of her desperately sensitive foot by physically distracting herself.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. Anya was losing control at such a rate that she slipped slightly, at the exact moment that the lower jets increased. Her other foot was propelled into my legs once again, and I felt it happen. Quick as lightning, I adjusted the position of her right foot with my hand and allowed the left foot to slip into the trap between both of my legs, right next to its ticklish counterpart. I stopped for a second, and allowed her to catch her breath. She had been so pre-occupied with being tickled she had barely noticed the trapping of her other foot, but now she did, as I crossed her ankles over to give me maximum access to the soles.
“Po, please stop! No more! I too ticklish! *I CAN’T STAND IT!!!*”
I began the taunting. “Hmmm, not as cocky now, are we Champ? Weren’t you bragging about kicking my ass before?” I didn’t allow an answer. I tightened my grip of her ankles with my legs, and tickled the shit out of both feet with both hands. Her reaction was absolutely electric. She screamed, bellowing beautiful laughter which echoed all around the pool room, just for me. I would stop, taunt, and then tickle before she could get her words out.
This continued for quite a long time, as there was no one to stop me and even though she was hating every second of it I could tell at the same time that she wasn’t uncomfortable with me doing it. Eventually she did something which was totally unique: she began to beg me in Polish. I had no idea what she was saying of course, but it turned me on that she had reached such a primal, almost embryonic state through being so thoroughly tickled, that she couldn’t even recall her acquired English anymore, to beg me in a language I could understand.
After a few more minutes, I could feel her genuinely begin to tire out, and felt it best to stop. She was my boss, after all, and I didn’t want her too pissed off with me. We were at just about the point where it may have gotten awkward if it continued. After giving her toes one last going over – causing some wonderful screams – I released my grip of her ankles. Her feet shot out as quick as a flash, and she leaned on the side of the Jacuzzi, panting and getting her breath back. After a minute, she aimed a playful swipe at my arm, walloping me.
“Oh my God, Po! Even my husband never tickle me as much as that!! I hate tickling!!!”
“Well, don’t tell him, he’ll stalk me forever!”
“I won’t, just don’t tickle me again!” She was complaining, but grinning ear-to-ear.
“I’m sorry, but you deserved it! You shouldn’t have kicked me! Or showed off about beating me in the swimming pool!”
“If you ever tickle me again, I will beat your ass for real!”
I didn’t know it then, but I would one day get chance to put that threat to the test. But that's for another day!
This is the second in a series I will be writing and sharing here on the fiction forum. As the title suggests they are instances from my life that almost belong on the ‘True Stories’ sub-forum (My favourite TMF area), but which I cannot in good conscience put on there and claim verisimilitude: they are based on real people (Names changed) and often on real situations and conversations, but I have embellished certain details, some related to the tickling, some related to the set up or other aspects of the anecdote. Some are exaggerations of real tickling incidents, some are fantasies thrust into my brain due to real happenings which could have gone that way, if the stars had aligned more or I had had a bit less inhibition at the time. I will not reveal which to the reader, I will simply write them as I wished they had happened, and how I sometimes think of them on those lonely, sexually frustrated nights that we all experience (Which I am experiencing a deluge of at present, as due to unfortunate circumstances that I won’t go into, I am living separately from my fiancé, which has spurred me to take a renewed interest in the TMF, and in erotic writing generally. I guess if you enjoy the stories, my loss is your gain!). They will all be presented autobiographically, in short story form. I hope you enjoy them. Feel free to leave feedback of course, just remember to be as respectful to me as I would always strive to be to you!
December 2021 Update: I’m stuck living apart from my fiancé again (Long, pandemic related story), so have dusted the writing off and thought I might as well share it where it may be read and appreciated. I hope you enjoy it.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Anya had been my boss for around two years and there had always been a degree of tension between us – sometimes this was sexual, but it didn’t start out that way. When I first started working under her she had seemingly seen me as a threat to her superiority, or perhaps felt that I had judged her for her occasional discomfort with written and spoken English. For she was Polish, and despite being in the most advanced position in the company, she was perhaps the least competent in her adopted language when compared with the other Eastern Europeans working there, of which there were a few. I was not judging her to any degree internally, and never made any overt attempt to undermine her, but being a reasonably well-spoken person she seemed suspicious of me in the early stages of our working relationship, as if she thought I was laughing behind her back about it.
She had something of a chip on her shoulder, and did what many people do in a professional setting when they lack self-belief: lash out at those around them. This led us to butt heads a couple of times in that first year, at first with minor arguments involving working practices or due to her being overly bureaucratic; stupid stuff. The tide turned when I had argued with another colleague on the day I had quit smoking, and was hauled into Anya’s office. What started as a stern conversation about my conduct turned into concern for my wellbeing and support over the fact I was quitting smoking, and going through personal issues. For some reason, she just warmed to me from then on in. I can’t say why.
Afterwards, our relationship flowered and we became much closer at work. It was an extremely stressful job (Supporting individuals with disabilities) and we leaned on each other in times of need, and the tension did indeed come to spill over into a slightly sexual paradigm. Neither of us would ever act on it; I was happy in my relationship, and Anya had an extremely overprotective husband, who had been so paranoid about the designs of other men that he had tried to add everyone from Anya’s work on Facebook to try and weed out the potential scores of imagined rivals for her affections. You could see why. Although by no means a 10/10, Anya was solidly attractive. In her late thirties, she had naturally bronzed skin, was of a healthy weight – not too thin or too big – and was medium height, with large breasts and a somewhat cherubic face. Her (dyed) blonde/brown hair was always pulled backwards across her head into a tight bun, accentuating the cute facial features she exhibited.
Once, I entered her office without knocking and found my eyes immediately drawn to a pair of un-shoed, nicely sized and shaped feet, with the same lush bronze skin tone as the rest of her. She wore flats to work and would kick them off under the desk in that tantalising way that professional women do. I made a habit of entering without knocking from that moment on, in the hopes of catching her shoeless, and was pleasantly rewarded many times. The only issue was that she was a pantyhose wearer. I have nothing against pantyhose, and I know it’s a major thing for some people, but personally I find it hard to give a complete judgement of a pair of feet whilst they’re clothed in that shiny, often opaque material. I wanted to see them bare to get a full appraisal, and began to wonder whether she was ticklish. Incredibly, I would get the chance to satisfy my curiosity in both cases.
It happened at a convention we were sent to. A bunch of us were carted off via minibus to an expensive hotel in the countryside, and as our distance from work increased, our workplace inhibitions naturally decreased. We were staying for two days, and had the first day to relax before the convention the following day. En route, people started proposing the usual ‘cat’s away’ behaviour: go out, get drunk, stay up late, etc. Two of the party were actually in an open extramarital affair and had made it clear that they would not be leaving their hotel suite for the whole evening. I was in the camp that preferred to use this work-free time to simply relax and unwind.
I proposed a swim in the hotel pool, followed by a nice meal in the fancy restaurant, and an early night (My partying days weren’t and aren’t completely behind me, but I am not by any means a frequent user of five-star hotels, so I wanted to take advantage of the facilities, not go and get smashed in some bar or pub, which I could do anywhere). There were a couple of subscribers to my suggested agenda. Denise, an older, pleasant colleague, who I was on good terms with, and Anya. “That sounds awesome. I’ll meet you outside pool, after I check in. See you in half-hour” she said in her adorable “Polglish” as we pulled into the car park. I had no grand plan at this stage, and genuinely just wanted a swim. It would turn into so much more.
The first cheerful happenstance I was lucky enough to stumble upon was finally seeing Anya’s feet bare – which I did outside the pool entrance. She had gone up to her room and changed into a pair of plastic sliders that she had presumably got from the hotel. She was sat in a chair, looking at her phone as I approached with Denise, so I managed a decent scope out before she would be able to see me looking. I was not disappointed. Like the rest of her, her feet weren’t a 10/10, but more than qualified as attractive. Bigger than the average woman’s, perhaps, but not too big. Just plenty of surface area, with longish toes that cascaded in order pleasingly, and soft looking soles. I couldn’t make out the arch yet but I became increasingly excited at the prospect of sharing a swimming pool with her, as I knew I’d get a chance to lay eyes on them properly. I couldn’t imagine that I’d get chance to lay my hands on them, but the best was yet to come. We said “Hello” and walked into the pool area, me trying not to glance downwards too often as I was worried I’d be caught checking out Anya’s feet. Some of you know the situation I’m describing, I’m sure.
We went into the changing rooms and emerged fairly quickly. It was an average sized, 25 metre swimming pool, in a room of glass, with nice views of the hotel grounds. There were loungers around the perimeter of the pool on three sides, and a jacuzzi at the top end. We stretched out in the hot air and took in the room, pleasantly surprised to find it almost completely empty. “Well, that’s enough swimming for me!” Denise suddenly piped up, as we began to walk to the steps leading into the pool. “What do you mean?” Anya said, laughing “We’ve not even swimmed yet!” (A typically cute Polish/English misstep). “That Jacuzzi’s got my bloody name on it!” Denise chirped, marching off to the free jacuzzi, which did look lovely and inviting. We looked after her as she went. “We go in Jacuzzi after swim.” Anya matter-of-factly said.
We entered the pool and started doing some gentle lengths beside each other, before speeding up a bit. Anya was a natural competitor and was soon challenging me to a race. I’ve never been the best swimmer, and learned that she had been a semi-professional in Poland. She wiped the floor with me every time, however the more races we had, the less I cared: I was trailing behind her each time, but always close behind enough to steal constant glances at her feet, which in many instances passed blissfully close to my face as they propelled her at pace. I was definitely close enough to verify the smoothness and aesthetic quality of her feet. They were good. I felt that that was mission accomplished as far as this trip went: Anya’s bare feet seen. I would soon learn that this was just the warm-up to the main event.
When we decided we’d had enough, we headed towards the Jacuzzi to join Denise. Anya got in first and I followed and sat 90 degrees to her right, the both of us facing the middle of the Jacuzzi, with Denise on the opposite side. It wasn’t the biggest Jacuzzi and as we sat down we bumped slightly under the water, which was bubbling away soothingly. The warm embrace of the jetted water was exactly what the doctor ordered for our muscles after our fairly intense swim.
After a couple of minutes of amiable chatting, the jets underneath the water blasted particularly fiercely, and caught Anya’s right foot, which inadvertently flew up and booted me underneath my left knee, under the water. I felt her toes prod me brusquely. “Ow, what the hell?!” I playfully mocked. Anya giggled, “I kick your ass in the pool and in Jacuzzi!” She received the bird in response, and the three of us continued chatting. After a few more minutes, it happened again. Anya wasn’t doing it intentionally, but her feet were right in front of the jets and were genuinely being blown into my knee.
“Oi!!” I complained once more. Anya stuck her tongue out childishly, and giggled.
“Is she kicking you again?” Denise asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure she’s doing it on purpose!”
“I’m not, my foot is flying from water!”
“You’ll fly out of the water with it, if you carry on!”
It was then that the plan hatched in my head, gifted to me by the tickling Gods. Sometimes, a scheme just quickly develops in your mind. I waited. We went back to chatting, but I concentrated on the motion of the jets. I had realised that the pressure eased off for just a second before blasting so intensely every few minutes. I had to wait for that second. It was here. I subtly shifted my weight under the water, lifting up my knee and sliding towards Anya just a fraction. It worked to perfection: Anya’s foot popped up again, but rather than kicking my knee, it flew upwards underneath it, and as I slid along I trapped the foot between my legs, propping it on top of my right knee, with her ankle stuck between my legs.
Anya stuttered, mid-conversation with Denise, who was totally oblivious to the goings on underneath the gushing foam of the Jacuzzi. Mine and Anya’s eyes met, and I gave her a devilish stare for a few seconds. She continued talking to Denise, trying to act as though nothing untoward was happening. At first, I held the foot in my hands, making sure it was stuck fast between my legs. Anya shifted in her seat slightly, trying to leverage herself and escape from the leg-vice somehow. What she actually did was entrap herself further: she slipped down slightly on the slippery tiles, pushing her legs towards me more and allowing me a firmer hold on the foot. Denise noticed this shift in posture and laughed: “Make yourself comfy, why don’t you, Anya!” Anya smiled and tried to act normal, but I’m pretty sure she knew what was coming next.
I couldn’t believe my luck, and knew I had to take full advantage. The urge I’d had to discover if she was ticklish or not could finally be sated. I held the back of the foot with my left hand so my grip was sound, and slowly tickled the sole with the fingers of my right hand. I felt the foot tense up, and heard Anya take a deliciously sharp intake of breath. It wasn’t too loud, so Denise didn’t cotton on, but I instantly recognised it as a ticklish reaction. I didn’t want her bursting into full-throated laughter just yet, as I didn’t want to give the game away (For the tension, but also for fear of being made to stop either by Anya or a sympathetic Denise), so I didn’t tickle constantly. I’d poke in between the long toes, wiggle my fingers in the instep, or lazily drag my index finger up and down the soft, expansive sole. Every time this would invoke the same desperate – but subtle – reaction from Anya, and I could tell I had a particularly ticklish victim at my disposal.
I had particularly good fun waiting for Anya’s turn in the conversation, and tickling then, to see how she reacted, and enjoy seeing her trying to conceal it. Denise didn’t suspect anything as she prattled on, but I could hear the ever so slight change in inflection, the slight raise in pitch of the voice of somebody who is being tickled but is trying to pretend that they aren’t. Once I did go too far whilst spider tickling her sole and made her gasp slightly too loudly, which prompted a “Are you alright, Anya?” from Denise. “Yes, just tired from swim.” She stammered out. We exchanged a knowing look, and a flirtatious smile. By this point I was grateful that the bulge in my shorts couldn’t be felt by Anya, or seen by either of them, due to the ever-bubbling jets concealing it.
After a few minutes of this delicate, secret torture, Denise began to grow red in the face. “I’ve got a bit of a hot sweat on, you know?” She proclaimed, before treating us to a short diatribe about menopause. “I’m going to have to get out. Are you coming?”
I answered for both of us: “No, I think we’ll stay for a few more minutes. It’s good for the muscle recovery after the swimming, right Anya?” I tickled intensely in synchronicity.
“Yes!” she yelped.
Denise raised an eyebrow, but seemed to think nothing more of it. “OK, see you upstairs later, then.” She said as she climbed past us and out of the Jacuzzi. I did a quick scan of the pool and realised that we were the only people left in the room. There wasn’t even a lifeguard, as the pool was now empty. Anya looked over her shoulder to see Denise walking across the room. She turned back to me, and I met her eyes.
“So, we’re a bit ticklish, are we Champ?”
She dropped all pretence, and her sultry accent was perfectly sexy as she said “No!!! Please!!!”
I tickled properly. Fully went for it.
Peals of noisy laughter burst from Anya’s mouth, making both of us simultaneously thankful that no one else was around to hear her. I saw Denise reach the doorway to the changing rooms, and turn back briefly as she heard Anya’s wild guffawing. She simply smiled, shook her head warmly, and continued, thinking perhaps that I had just said something (Characteristically) hilarious. The truth was that in fact Anya was receiving the foot tickling of her life. Because of how slippery the tiles were, she couldn’t lean forward to fight me off; she had to expend all of her energy on grabbing the rim of the tub and holding herself upright, or she might fall under the water. She simply had to sit and take it. I held the foot firmly with one hand to stop it from thrashing loose, and tickled away happily with my free hand, just up and down the sole, on repeat, intensely. Anya hooted and screeched her full-bodied laughter, holding onto the side of the Jacuzzi for support but occasionally slapping the water in some kind of attempt to relieve the sensations somehow. It didn’t work. I had her too well-trapped, and she was too ticklish to be able to somehow eradicate the sensations of her desperately sensitive foot by physically distracting herself.
Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better, it did. Anya was losing control at such a rate that she slipped slightly, at the exact moment that the lower jets increased. Her other foot was propelled into my legs once again, and I felt it happen. Quick as lightning, I adjusted the position of her right foot with my hand and allowed the left foot to slip into the trap between both of my legs, right next to its ticklish counterpart. I stopped for a second, and allowed her to catch her breath. She had been so pre-occupied with being tickled she had barely noticed the trapping of her other foot, but now she did, as I crossed her ankles over to give me maximum access to the soles.
“Po, please stop! No more! I too ticklish! *I CAN’T STAND IT!!!*”
I began the taunting. “Hmmm, not as cocky now, are we Champ? Weren’t you bragging about kicking my ass before?” I didn’t allow an answer. I tightened my grip of her ankles with my legs, and tickled the shit out of both feet with both hands. Her reaction was absolutely electric. She screamed, bellowing beautiful laughter which echoed all around the pool room, just for me. I would stop, taunt, and then tickle before she could get her words out.
This continued for quite a long time, as there was no one to stop me and even though she was hating every second of it I could tell at the same time that she wasn’t uncomfortable with me doing it. Eventually she did something which was totally unique: she began to beg me in Polish. I had no idea what she was saying of course, but it turned me on that she had reached such a primal, almost embryonic state through being so thoroughly tickled, that she couldn’t even recall her acquired English anymore, to beg me in a language I could understand.
After a few more minutes, I could feel her genuinely begin to tire out, and felt it best to stop. She was my boss, after all, and I didn’t want her too pissed off with me. We were at just about the point where it may have gotten awkward if it continued. After giving her toes one last going over – causing some wonderful screams – I released my grip of her ankles. Her feet shot out as quick as a flash, and she leaned on the side of the Jacuzzi, panting and getting her breath back. After a minute, she aimed a playful swipe at my arm, walloping me.
“Oh my God, Po! Even my husband never tickle me as much as that!! I hate tickling!!!”
“Well, don’t tell him, he’ll stalk me forever!”
“I won’t, just don’t tickle me again!” She was complaining, but grinning ear-to-ear.
“I’m sorry, but you deserved it! You shouldn’t have kicked me! Or showed off about beating me in the swimming pool!”
“If you ever tickle me again, I will beat your ass for real!”
I didn’t know it then, but I would one day get chance to put that threat to the test. But that's for another day!
