ticklebrowse26
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Jan 12, 2006
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The Ex-Girlfriend
So I've been reading a lot of interesting stories on the TMF, and I think it's my turn.
This is a re-telling of my relationship with an ex-girlfriend of mine, Samantha. All of it is completely true. The dialogue is as accurate as I can remember it.
It's always fun to have dated girls that indulged my tickling fetish. It's nice when they were willing to put up with it so long as other types of erotic activities went along with it -- like being tied down and getting oral sex at the same time (for example).
It was even better when they *had fun* being tickled or when they had fun tickling me as an activity not tied to another sex act.
But it was very rare when a girl understood the tickling fetish, embraced it as her own, and then learned how to exploit me with it. This happened a few times in my life, with just a few fantastic women. Samantha was that kind of a girl.
Initially, Samantha and I dated for a full year and a half before parting amicably. In that year and a half, I introduced Samantha to my little world of tickling and being tickled. We were both in our early twenties and dating for all of one week when I sat her down on my sofa and told her, calmly but shyly, that one of my biggest turnons was -- in one word -- tickling.
Though completely shocked when she heard this, Samantha's initial reaction was to grin from ear to ear.
"Really? Tickling??" She was a brunette, fair skinned, about five foot five, with size nine feet. Very cute. In shape. Knew all the words to every ABBA song ever composed. Had an irrational fear of sharks. I had had a crush on her for about two months before mustering the courage to ask her out. Did I mention that she was really damn cute?
"Yes." I was probably a lot less cool than I am describing myself, but I remember myself as trying to be nonchalant about it.
"Tickling!?" Samantha was a close talker and she leaned in when she couldn't understand or comprehend. Not that she wasn't smart. At the age of twenty three she ran a catering business and went to grad school at the same time.
"Yes. Tickling. I love it." I had decided before in college that the direct approach earned me more tickling sessions than the coy approach. As I discovered in my midtwenties this worked, for the most part. But I'm getting beyond myself.
"You love tickling," she said again. We were both still sitting on my black faux-leather sofa, her legs were crossed and her right foot moved up and down frenetically. Still smiling at me.
I nodded. Trying to make myself as cute as possible. We do this sometimes, as guys. I have no idea if it ever works.
"Tickling girls or being tickled?" This is what I *loved* about Samantha while I dated her. Extensive attention to detail.
"Both."
"So if you tickled my feet right now this instant, you would get off on it."
I nodded again, enthusiastically.
And then she devastated me.
"Okay Mister Tickler, please tickle my feet."
And as I grabbed her ankles up onto my lap and removed her red flip flops, I knew that I had to hold on to this one. Her smile got bigger as I calmly laid my ten little fingers on her smoothly pedicured arches. Samantha with straight brown hair to her shoulders and blue jeans on her shapely legs ending in bare feet was already cute to begin with. But when she jumped ever so slightly as I started running my fingertips up and down her arches, I knew she was a keeper.
Reaching forward with her hands she tried to undo my grasp.
She and I would have fun together.
But first she would nearly break my nose.
She kicked me. With her right foot. On my face.
She gasped.
Then she was completely apologetic, telling me that she was "So sorry!" and that she was "so ticklish that she couldn't help but move her foot like that".
As an athletic male in my mid-twenties, I did all I could to surpress myself from crying like a little girl.
Instead I pretended that it didn't hurt like a brick, which it did, and calmly responded, "Next time, I'll just have to figure out a way to immobilize your feet."
She understood immediately. Smiling again and sitting with her legs in front of her on the sofa, this brunette cutie held her ankles together and replied, "I deserve it, I guess."
And this became the beginning of something spectacular.
We tied each other up. We tickled each other. Months later, she had become ruthless when it came to tickling me. She would tie me butt naked face up with my arms and legs apart to her four poster bed and tickle the living crap out of me, all the while laughing crazily at my predicament. It was crazy hot.
As the months went by we got kinkier. To turn me on when I wasn't in a sexy mood she would whisper to me about sometime when she was tickled in the past by an ex-boyfriend or an acquaintance or a friend of hers. Mad with jealousy and horny at the same time I would immediately chase her around her apartment, strip her and tie her down and tickle her where she absolutely couldn't take it -- where her inner thighs met her groin. And it ended in some of the hottest sex I ever had.
One time even as I started tickling her she started obnoxiously screaming -- while frantically laughing as I kneaded her inner thighs -- that she was a bad girl and let other guys tickle her. This egged me on to tickle her harder and she knew it. And her fair-skinned five foot five frame shook the foundations of her four poster bed as she laughed. Hard. The type of laugh where you worried about a girl getting enough air. But she had sealed her fate by teasing me with her jealousy-inspiring words.
Her pretty wiggling red colored toes didn't help her ticklish predicament, either. But this isn't a foot board, so her foot shenanigans I'll save for another day (or another board). Needless to say that I tickled her in all her sensitive naked places.
Anyhow, I wasn't sure to believe her claim that she let other men tickle her. She wasn't a ... well... promiscuous, but then again she was freer than most girls with her body. For example, we would go to a bar together, and while she wasn't dressed skimpily by any stretch of the imagination she wore high heels and clothes that revealed a hint of cleavage.
She flirted with guys. Unashamedly. Lots of hugging with her male friends. Free drinks from the bartenders.
She was unlike any girl I had ever seriously dated in terms of her being a flirt.
And I was torn about it. As the months progressed she learned that she could use her flirtaciousness as a seduction weapon. And her ticklishness.
I left town one week to visit a friend and she wrote me a long email about how she received a pedicure with my favorite dark red color, and how... well, just read it for yourself. The beginning is about her feet and the end is about tickling:
"Dear [...]
Poor, poor baby part.... I'm going to go ahead and
describe the spa experience, because it was interesting, but the worst part for you will be the end result, so let's go ahead and get there. My feet look soooo good.
And they feel soooo good. Sadly you are in [...]. I got a
paraffin treatment with the manicure and pedicure, which essentially exfoliates the skin... so they're really soft. And, remembering your words that the next manicure I get should be with a dark red... I got dark red. And it's a particularly slutty color if I do say so myself. And you missed the
woman giving my feet a lovely massage. Not your day baby.
Also, last night I stuck my feet through the back of the chair in front of me at the movies... it was a very tight fit. I wonder if anyone noticed? I bet you would have noticed my perfect feet in distress.
Then today, Matt came over to fix the internet. Do you know what he did to me? When I went to unplug the computer under the desk he SAT on my legs and tickled my perfectly pedicured feet. Kind of unfair, dontcha think? Another guy tickle torturing my perfect feet? Before you even get to see the pedicure?
Now now.. don't be jealous. He DID stop when I started crying.
kisses, and come back soon,
[Samantha]"
I would be a liar if I said I didn't enjoy this. Immensely.
When I got back I tried to play it cool but eventually (that is, five minutes into talking to her at her home) asked her if she had really gotten herself tickled.
Her response... she looked slyly into my eyes with her big brown eyes.
"Yeah. So what if I did? Shouldn't I be disciplined in your absence, Mister Tickler? Can I really help it if other men overpower me and tickle torture my cute little body??? Could I really help it if while I was held down I enjoyed being tickled by other men???"
She was evil.
The thoughts running through my head were complicated. To make a long story shorter I decided that her being disciplined in my absence required that I disciplined her. Complicated to talk about, but it pretty much meant that she was given a couple of rounds on the old four poster tickle bed.
That day, after coming back from out of town and getting those scandalous emails, I initally spent a good amount of time on her upper body, to vary the tempo. Then I ravished her inner thighs and white feet. As I had said before, she was in shape with a medium sized bosom and pink aerolas that heaved when she laughed.
There was something powerful about provoking a certain desperate laughter in her.
It would make her mine and mine only. At least at that moment of sweaty nakedness when she couldn't free herself and I would tickle her without safewords.
That day she tried to hold eye contact while laughing and offered all kinds of unspeakable services to make me stop.
As I played the accordion on her taut torso and she pulled on her velcro bonds, I thought about giving this little tickle-tart a break.
"Please. Please stop." She yelled in between breaths.
"I swear I'll do anything you want."
I went in for the kill by kneading where her legs met her groin.
Her laughter got maniacal as I calmly leaned in and replied, while still tickling,
"I guess you can't help but enjoy being tickled."
I was evil too.
In other posts I'll share more about my strange yet amazing relationship with ticklish Samantha. Wherever she is I hope she is getting tickled. On her magnificent underarms, on her deathly sensitive inner thighs, and of course... on her luscious, well-preened size nine pedicured feet.
So I've been reading a lot of interesting stories on the TMF, and I think it's my turn.
This is a re-telling of my relationship with an ex-girlfriend of mine, Samantha. All of it is completely true. The dialogue is as accurate as I can remember it.
It's always fun to have dated girls that indulged my tickling fetish. It's nice when they were willing to put up with it so long as other types of erotic activities went along with it -- like being tied down and getting oral sex at the same time (for example).
It was even better when they *had fun* being tickled or when they had fun tickling me as an activity not tied to another sex act.
But it was very rare when a girl understood the tickling fetish, embraced it as her own, and then learned how to exploit me with it. This happened a few times in my life, with just a few fantastic women. Samantha was that kind of a girl.
Initially, Samantha and I dated for a full year and a half before parting amicably. In that year and a half, I introduced Samantha to my little world of tickling and being tickled. We were both in our early twenties and dating for all of one week when I sat her down on my sofa and told her, calmly but shyly, that one of my biggest turnons was -- in one word -- tickling.
Though completely shocked when she heard this, Samantha's initial reaction was to grin from ear to ear.
"Really? Tickling??" She was a brunette, fair skinned, about five foot five, with size nine feet. Very cute. In shape. Knew all the words to every ABBA song ever composed. Had an irrational fear of sharks. I had had a crush on her for about two months before mustering the courage to ask her out. Did I mention that she was really damn cute?
"Yes." I was probably a lot less cool than I am describing myself, but I remember myself as trying to be nonchalant about it.
"Tickling!?" Samantha was a close talker and she leaned in when she couldn't understand or comprehend. Not that she wasn't smart. At the age of twenty three she ran a catering business and went to grad school at the same time.
"Yes. Tickling. I love it." I had decided before in college that the direct approach earned me more tickling sessions than the coy approach. As I discovered in my midtwenties this worked, for the most part. But I'm getting beyond myself.
"You love tickling," she said again. We were both still sitting on my black faux-leather sofa, her legs were crossed and her right foot moved up and down frenetically. Still smiling at me.
I nodded. Trying to make myself as cute as possible. We do this sometimes, as guys. I have no idea if it ever works.
"Tickling girls or being tickled?" This is what I *loved* about Samantha while I dated her. Extensive attention to detail.
"Both."
"So if you tickled my feet right now this instant, you would get off on it."
I nodded again, enthusiastically.
And then she devastated me.
"Okay Mister Tickler, please tickle my feet."
And as I grabbed her ankles up onto my lap and removed her red flip flops, I knew that I had to hold on to this one. Her smile got bigger as I calmly laid my ten little fingers on her smoothly pedicured arches. Samantha with straight brown hair to her shoulders and blue jeans on her shapely legs ending in bare feet was already cute to begin with. But when she jumped ever so slightly as I started running my fingertips up and down her arches, I knew she was a keeper.
Reaching forward with her hands she tried to undo my grasp.
She and I would have fun together.
But first she would nearly break my nose.
She kicked me. With her right foot. On my face.
She gasped.
Then she was completely apologetic, telling me that she was "So sorry!" and that she was "so ticklish that she couldn't help but move her foot like that".
As an athletic male in my mid-twenties, I did all I could to surpress myself from crying like a little girl.
Instead I pretended that it didn't hurt like a brick, which it did, and calmly responded, "Next time, I'll just have to figure out a way to immobilize your feet."
She understood immediately. Smiling again and sitting with her legs in front of her on the sofa, this brunette cutie held her ankles together and replied, "I deserve it, I guess."
And this became the beginning of something spectacular.
We tied each other up. We tickled each other. Months later, she had become ruthless when it came to tickling me. She would tie me butt naked face up with my arms and legs apart to her four poster bed and tickle the living crap out of me, all the while laughing crazily at my predicament. It was crazy hot.
As the months went by we got kinkier. To turn me on when I wasn't in a sexy mood she would whisper to me about sometime when she was tickled in the past by an ex-boyfriend or an acquaintance or a friend of hers. Mad with jealousy and horny at the same time I would immediately chase her around her apartment, strip her and tie her down and tickle her where she absolutely couldn't take it -- where her inner thighs met her groin. And it ended in some of the hottest sex I ever had.
One time even as I started tickling her she started obnoxiously screaming -- while frantically laughing as I kneaded her inner thighs -- that she was a bad girl and let other guys tickle her. This egged me on to tickle her harder and she knew it. And her fair-skinned five foot five frame shook the foundations of her four poster bed as she laughed. Hard. The type of laugh where you worried about a girl getting enough air. But she had sealed her fate by teasing me with her jealousy-inspiring words.
Her pretty wiggling red colored toes didn't help her ticklish predicament, either. But this isn't a foot board, so her foot shenanigans I'll save for another day (or another board). Needless to say that I tickled her in all her sensitive naked places.
Anyhow, I wasn't sure to believe her claim that she let other men tickle her. She wasn't a ... well... promiscuous, but then again she was freer than most girls with her body. For example, we would go to a bar together, and while she wasn't dressed skimpily by any stretch of the imagination she wore high heels and clothes that revealed a hint of cleavage.
She flirted with guys. Unashamedly. Lots of hugging with her male friends. Free drinks from the bartenders.
She was unlike any girl I had ever seriously dated in terms of her being a flirt.
And I was torn about it. As the months progressed she learned that she could use her flirtaciousness as a seduction weapon. And her ticklishness.
I left town one week to visit a friend and she wrote me a long email about how she received a pedicure with my favorite dark red color, and how... well, just read it for yourself. The beginning is about her feet and the end is about tickling:
"Dear [...]
Poor, poor baby part.... I'm going to go ahead and
describe the spa experience, because it was interesting, but the worst part for you will be the end result, so let's go ahead and get there. My feet look soooo good.
And they feel soooo good. Sadly you are in [...]. I got a
paraffin treatment with the manicure and pedicure, which essentially exfoliates the skin... so they're really soft. And, remembering your words that the next manicure I get should be with a dark red... I got dark red. And it's a particularly slutty color if I do say so myself. And you missed the
woman giving my feet a lovely massage. Not your day baby.
Also, last night I stuck my feet through the back of the chair in front of me at the movies... it was a very tight fit. I wonder if anyone noticed? I bet you would have noticed my perfect feet in distress.
Then today, Matt came over to fix the internet. Do you know what he did to me? When I went to unplug the computer under the desk he SAT on my legs and tickled my perfectly pedicured feet. Kind of unfair, dontcha think? Another guy tickle torturing my perfect feet? Before you even get to see the pedicure?
Now now.. don't be jealous. He DID stop when I started crying.
kisses, and come back soon,
[Samantha]"
I would be a liar if I said I didn't enjoy this. Immensely.
When I got back I tried to play it cool but eventually (that is, five minutes into talking to her at her home) asked her if she had really gotten herself tickled.
Her response... she looked slyly into my eyes with her big brown eyes.
"Yeah. So what if I did? Shouldn't I be disciplined in your absence, Mister Tickler? Can I really help it if other men overpower me and tickle torture my cute little body??? Could I really help it if while I was held down I enjoyed being tickled by other men???"
She was evil.
The thoughts running through my head were complicated. To make a long story shorter I decided that her being disciplined in my absence required that I disciplined her. Complicated to talk about, but it pretty much meant that she was given a couple of rounds on the old four poster tickle bed.
That day, after coming back from out of town and getting those scandalous emails, I initally spent a good amount of time on her upper body, to vary the tempo. Then I ravished her inner thighs and white feet. As I had said before, she was in shape with a medium sized bosom and pink aerolas that heaved when she laughed.
There was something powerful about provoking a certain desperate laughter in her.
It would make her mine and mine only. At least at that moment of sweaty nakedness when she couldn't free herself and I would tickle her without safewords.
That day she tried to hold eye contact while laughing and offered all kinds of unspeakable services to make me stop.
As I played the accordion on her taut torso and she pulled on her velcro bonds, I thought about giving this little tickle-tart a break.
"Please. Please stop." She yelled in between breaths.
"I swear I'll do anything you want."
I went in for the kill by kneading where her legs met her groin.
Her laughter got maniacal as I calmly leaned in and replied, while still tickling,
"I guess you can't help but enjoy being tickled."
I was evil too.
In other posts I'll share more about my strange yet amazing relationship with ticklish Samantha. Wherever she is I hope she is getting tickled. On her magnificent underarms, on her deathly sensitive inner thighs, and of course... on her luscious, well-preened size nine pedicured feet.
