HereNorThere
Registered User
- Joined
- Jul 28, 2025
- Messages
- 5
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- 3
A summer pool party. Drinking, debauchery, fun in the sun and all that stuff, right?
Well. Close enough at least.
When you’re in your 30s and everyone has kids running around, you take what you can get. And so, it might not be the pool party of your early 20s, but a blazing sunny Saturday spent around the pool with your friends and family will do.
Most of my in-laws were there and two of our closest friends. My brother in law was making mixed drinks and everyone was in and out of the pool.
If nothing else, these occasions are a nice opportunity to see my wife and her sister in skimpy bikinis. It’s really a sight to see but I won’t dwell on it.
At some point, as we sat in a semi circle around the pool in the lounge chairs, my wife was telling a story about something funny that happened to me earlier in the week to her sister and friend.
They were all laughing and sort of teasing me, and I guess I was feeling bold.
I was standing right behind my wife’s chair, and as she laughed and joked about me, she looked up and made eye contact, smiling sexily.
Thinking back,it was really the perfect smile and the laughter that made me do it, I think. I’ve always loved that about her.
I reached down with both hands without warning and dug my fingers into her ribs. She jumped and screeched.
I tickled her ribs in a flurry, slipping my hands down lower to the sides of her waist. My thumbs burrowed into valleys on the sides of her abdominal muscles and she yelped frantically.
She laughed so hard that she couldn’t talk. I heard her sister say “oh no” or maybe it was “uh oh”. I guess it doesn’t matter.
She looked so good sitting there with the sun beating on her, covered only by her teal bikini and the floral tattoos that adorned her sides. The residue of pool water and droplets of sweat flickered in the sunlight like glitter on her golden skin. Her belly, taught and dotted by her perfect belly button, glistened and her ab muscles rippled as she laughed and twisted wildly in the chair.
I was insanely turned on as the thought of her being vulnerable like this in front of people struck me like a lightening bolt.
Time slowed, I guess. It felt so protracted, but I knew it wasn’t. I didn’t want to let her go. Her legs kicked and her knees raised in a vain attempt to guard her belly.
I watched her pretty feet hang in mid air, suspended from the position of her bent knees. Her toes, painted to almost match her swimsuit, scrunched tightly.
And then something else caught my eye.
A hand, more graceful than mine, with long fingers tipped by long lavender nails covered my wife’s foot. The hand belonged to my wife’s closest friend, Theresa.I knew it but in that exact moment I was taken back.
I watched the fingers curl in such a way that landed the tips of her nails on the bottom of my wife’s perfect foot. Then her other hand landed on my wife’s ankle.
My ticklish wife yelped, knowing what was about to happen. I’d like to say I kept tickling her belly but I’m honestly not sure. I was too fixated on her feet.
She deserved this in some way, I think. She’d spent the day, the summer—actually, most of her life—barefoot. I have been obsessed with her gorgeous feet from the day we met.
She loves to show them off. Loves to have them touched and rubbed. Loves to make me crazy.
I only wished I had a better view of her soles at that moment. I’m sure they were wrinkled from her toes being scrunched and I’m sure they looked unbelievably soft, as they always did, when her toes splayed open from the feeling of her friends' fingernails scurrying over her soles.
Her ankles had become trapped in some way. I’d be lying if I said I knew exactly how it happened. It was chaotic and frantic. My wife’s legs bucked and jerked and her whole body was tense. I watched her muscles contract and listened to her voice crack as she said “no no no no”.
I plunged my fingers into her belly and squeezed. She chuckled deeply. I watched her toes wiggling and scrunching, desperate to defend against her friend's fingernails.
I may be new here, but I’ve read enough stories on here to know that right about now I should be recounting my wife begging in full statements, or saying things like “oh no! Not my feet! They’re so ticklish!”
But, I don’t have anything like that to report.
All she did was laugh until finally she could barely get the word “stop” out.
I stopped. I didn’t want to. But I did. I had this strange sense that if I kept going, people might know that I was into it.
In hindsight, I also didn’t expect my partner in crime to still be tickling her feet. But when I stopped and lifted my hands up, I heard my wife still giggling and saw her legs bucking and kicking.
I took a step to my left and assessed the situation. My sister in law watched in awe. Or perhaps horror. Theresa grinned. It was one of those sly smiles that had a sneakiness to it. Like she knew she was enjoying herself a little too much but didn’t care.
I looked down at my wife, her back pressed against the lounge chair, arching up slightly as Theresa’s nails grazed over a certain spot. Deep in the center of her arch, I imagined. Or maybe the plush ball of her foot. Those are the spots that I always target when I want a reaction.
Which reminds me of a point that hit me later that night: I never get a reaction like this from tickling my wife’s feet.
Legs jumping, toe curling, ankles rolling, giggling… that’s what I’m used to seeing. But this? This steady stream of real laughter, now mixing with semi-exhausted panting and the sexiest sort of sighing that I’ve ever heard, took me by surprise.
The hearty belly laughs from, well, tickling her belly, I expected—she’s always been desperately ticklish there—but what a pleasant surprise to see her completely vulnerable and undone from Theresa’s foot tickling.
I wish I could say this went on longer. Or that something else happened. But after maybe two minutes, probably less, Theresa just stopped.
My wife didn’t even have the energy to remove her feet from danger. I watched the toes on her left foot wiggle and rest atop of the toes of the right one, almost as if to hide them from anymore torture. But her feet laid there on the teak slats of the lounge chair. Her head tilted back and her breasts heaved as she caught her breath and said “What.. The. Fuck?”
Theresa, still grinning, shrugged and stood up. She grabbed her drink off the table between the lounge chairs and said “that was fun.” before she walked off.
I couldn’t believe how non-chalant she was. To me this was an amazing sight to see, and to her, it seemed as if it were totally normal. I looked over at my sister-in-law, who was back to relaxing and absorbing the sun, apparently also not fazed.
“This is your fault!” My wife said as she neatened up her ponytail.
I smirked and said “guilty” as I looked down at the red marks that my fingers had left on her belly, fading one by one as the tickling itself did.
When I think about it now, I wonder what made her join in. But I guess that’s neither here nor there.
Well. Close enough at least.
When you’re in your 30s and everyone has kids running around, you take what you can get. And so, it might not be the pool party of your early 20s, but a blazing sunny Saturday spent around the pool with your friends and family will do.
Most of my in-laws were there and two of our closest friends. My brother in law was making mixed drinks and everyone was in and out of the pool.
If nothing else, these occasions are a nice opportunity to see my wife and her sister in skimpy bikinis. It’s really a sight to see but I won’t dwell on it.
At some point, as we sat in a semi circle around the pool in the lounge chairs, my wife was telling a story about something funny that happened to me earlier in the week to her sister and friend.
They were all laughing and sort of teasing me, and I guess I was feeling bold.
I was standing right behind my wife’s chair, and as she laughed and joked about me, she looked up and made eye contact, smiling sexily.
Thinking back,it was really the perfect smile and the laughter that made me do it, I think. I’ve always loved that about her.
I reached down with both hands without warning and dug my fingers into her ribs. She jumped and screeched.
I tickled her ribs in a flurry, slipping my hands down lower to the sides of her waist. My thumbs burrowed into valleys on the sides of her abdominal muscles and she yelped frantically.
She laughed so hard that she couldn’t talk. I heard her sister say “oh no” or maybe it was “uh oh”. I guess it doesn’t matter.
She looked so good sitting there with the sun beating on her, covered only by her teal bikini and the floral tattoos that adorned her sides. The residue of pool water and droplets of sweat flickered in the sunlight like glitter on her golden skin. Her belly, taught and dotted by her perfect belly button, glistened and her ab muscles rippled as she laughed and twisted wildly in the chair.
I was insanely turned on as the thought of her being vulnerable like this in front of people struck me like a lightening bolt.
Time slowed, I guess. It felt so protracted, but I knew it wasn’t. I didn’t want to let her go. Her legs kicked and her knees raised in a vain attempt to guard her belly.
I watched her pretty feet hang in mid air, suspended from the position of her bent knees. Her toes, painted to almost match her swimsuit, scrunched tightly.
And then something else caught my eye.
A hand, more graceful than mine, with long fingers tipped by long lavender nails covered my wife’s foot. The hand belonged to my wife’s closest friend, Theresa.I knew it but in that exact moment I was taken back.
I watched the fingers curl in such a way that landed the tips of her nails on the bottom of my wife’s perfect foot. Then her other hand landed on my wife’s ankle.
My ticklish wife yelped, knowing what was about to happen. I’d like to say I kept tickling her belly but I’m honestly not sure. I was too fixated on her feet.
She deserved this in some way, I think. She’d spent the day, the summer—actually, most of her life—barefoot. I have been obsessed with her gorgeous feet from the day we met.
She loves to show them off. Loves to have them touched and rubbed. Loves to make me crazy.
I only wished I had a better view of her soles at that moment. I’m sure they were wrinkled from her toes being scrunched and I’m sure they looked unbelievably soft, as they always did, when her toes splayed open from the feeling of her friends' fingernails scurrying over her soles.
Her ankles had become trapped in some way. I’d be lying if I said I knew exactly how it happened. It was chaotic and frantic. My wife’s legs bucked and jerked and her whole body was tense. I watched her muscles contract and listened to her voice crack as she said “no no no no”.
I plunged my fingers into her belly and squeezed. She chuckled deeply. I watched her toes wiggling and scrunching, desperate to defend against her friend's fingernails.
I may be new here, but I’ve read enough stories on here to know that right about now I should be recounting my wife begging in full statements, or saying things like “oh no! Not my feet! They’re so ticklish!”
But, I don’t have anything like that to report.
All she did was laugh until finally she could barely get the word “stop” out.
I stopped. I didn’t want to. But I did. I had this strange sense that if I kept going, people might know that I was into it.
In hindsight, I also didn’t expect my partner in crime to still be tickling her feet. But when I stopped and lifted my hands up, I heard my wife still giggling and saw her legs bucking and kicking.
I took a step to my left and assessed the situation. My sister in law watched in awe. Or perhaps horror. Theresa grinned. It was one of those sly smiles that had a sneakiness to it. Like she knew she was enjoying herself a little too much but didn’t care.
I looked down at my wife, her back pressed against the lounge chair, arching up slightly as Theresa’s nails grazed over a certain spot. Deep in the center of her arch, I imagined. Or maybe the plush ball of her foot. Those are the spots that I always target when I want a reaction.
Which reminds me of a point that hit me later that night: I never get a reaction like this from tickling my wife’s feet.
Legs jumping, toe curling, ankles rolling, giggling… that’s what I’m used to seeing. But this? This steady stream of real laughter, now mixing with semi-exhausted panting and the sexiest sort of sighing that I’ve ever heard, took me by surprise.
The hearty belly laughs from, well, tickling her belly, I expected—she’s always been desperately ticklish there—but what a pleasant surprise to see her completely vulnerable and undone from Theresa’s foot tickling.
I wish I could say this went on longer. Or that something else happened. But after maybe two minutes, probably less, Theresa just stopped.
My wife didn’t even have the energy to remove her feet from danger. I watched the toes on her left foot wiggle and rest atop of the toes of the right one, almost as if to hide them from anymore torture. But her feet laid there on the teak slats of the lounge chair. Her head tilted back and her breasts heaved as she caught her breath and said “What.. The. Fuck?”
Theresa, still grinning, shrugged and stood up. She grabbed her drink off the table between the lounge chairs and said “that was fun.” before she walked off.
I couldn’t believe how non-chalant she was. To me this was an amazing sight to see, and to her, it seemed as if it were totally normal. I looked over at my sister-in-law, who was back to relaxing and absorbing the sun, apparently also not fazed.
“This is your fault!” My wife said as she neatened up her ponytail.
I smirked and said “guilty” as I looked down at the red marks that my fingers had left on her belly, fading one by one as the tickling itself did.
When I think about it now, I wonder what made her join in. But I guess that’s neither here nor there.
Thanks for sharing your experience here. 
