In childhood, tickling was a scary thing, and every time I'd see tickling on the TV, I would freak out and run and hide in the bedroom. I guess I was the subject of way to many tickle attacks when I was a baby.
First couple years of school was at a catholic school, with nuns wearing the long black robes that went to the ground, and where only their face and hands would show. Everything else was supposed to remain a mystery.
Some where pretty stern and where quick to dish out the discipline, so I would fantasize that I had captured five of them, squirreled away to a secret place on another planet where they could never get help. I had them in the kneeling position, of course, with their feet locked in stocks behind them to prevent much movement, their head and hands would be locked in a pillory device. I would sit at their feet and tickle those large wrinkly soles to my hearts delight, ignoring their pleas to stop until they were just about out of breath. I would give her a break while I moved on down to the next pair of bare feet on display and continue the tickling, while slowly moving down the line.
Nowadays at a session, the nuns have turned into more like harem girls, and I'm not nearly as cruel unless they request it.