I’ve not been much of a poster in this forum since joining. This isn’t because I am too preoccupied indulging in the brilliance of a potential pen pal, because I forget this forum exists or because I have an unhealthy loathing for real tickling stories. Quite simply, it’s because I’m NEVER involved in tickling situations worthy of writing about (a quick poke of my friend’s side hardly warrants a thread of its own). Thoroughly pointless introduction though that sounds, there is a point. You can take every over-dramatically presented giggle, every over-descriptive emotion and every over-excitedly constructed detail as complete truth in this post. I read the most seemingly farfetched tales in here and question their validity (in truth, maybe that’s harsh, just because I have no wild tickling experiences it doesn’t mean others don’t) and, indeed, the stories that thrill me most are the ones which are most realistic in their simplicity. But that’s what this thread’s for. The ‘tie beautiful girl up and torture her boobies with a toothbrush’ posts can be left for the fictional stories thread; this is for the simple and the true. Thus, please enjoy this story in the knowledge that it is 100% genuine. I know I’ll manage to string 8 paragraphs out of it when 2 will do, but forgive me for doing so, for a) you can know that every detail is true to its core and b) well, it might be another year since I get the opportunity to post here again...
Let me set the scene for you. It’s the end of my final year at college (that might be high school for you American folk!) and I’ve just finished my last exam – English Literature. I have a whole summer of relaxation ahead of me and am walking home with my friend Lindsay (it’s about a 30 minute walk, in winter it’s an absolutely horrendous trek but it’s good for me!). Lindsay (which will later be shortened to Linzi for convencience) is, essentially, amazing to tickle. Her vibrant, giggly, never-moody personality makes you just want to make her laugh, and her laugh is so cute and feminine (she doesn’t scream with laughter like many, it’s a cute, quick, almost synchronised giggle) it could arouse you on its own. To add to this, she’s extremely hot. She has the nicest skin I’ve ever seen a girl have, is a sexy blond with longish, soft hair and is stylish. She is tanned (not overly, just beautifully bronzed), and her skin is soft (despite her age, she hasn’t a spot on her and is utterly blemishless). Her figure is awesome; she has a slightly curvy figure and is fully, er, developed in the upper areas. Because of her natural colour her legs are beautiful and when she wears the white skirt she wore this day she looks particularly awesome. Her feet are tanned and soft, and nicely petite. The above 3 or 4 lines, of course, are the opposite to me – a pasty skinned, not-overly-muscley geek with a zany, goofy sense of humour that many people see as plain stupidity. I’m essentially a slightly less better looking JD from Scrubs. And I’m not clever enough to be a doctor. Anyway, getting off the topic of self-criticism, I’ll give you a run-down of other tickling experiences I’ve had with this girl to give you an image of her ticklishness and also our connection and ease with one-another. So far I’ve got...
1) We sit with each other in English Lit(erature, for you pedantics out there), and on one day of enduring Hamlet I made things fun for myself by poking her a few times. I was expecting her to brush me off and refocus on her work as she’s very studious, but clearly losing the will to live herself, she looked excited at the prospect of a tickle game, put her arms around me and quickly squeezed my sides. Realising I wanted to pursue this, she folded her arms and curled up to hide her ticklish spots, I just aimlessly poked her legs and we had about 3 minutes of this messing around. (I’ve structured this terribly, but read the next section of the story and you’ll see how she is with me, and it will make this constant touchy-feely style we have in English more believable).
2) In French, I used to sit on the seat in front of her, and back then she used to wear tights with shoes so the tops of her feet were ‘tickleable’. I used to play with her feet with my pen and draw on her. She obviously enjoyed it and sometimes prompted me to by dangling her feet next to my floating arm. I’d usually stop when my Mr was worryingly hard and would soon burst out if I didn’t stop, and also when Mrs Saez was keeping a castful eye over the moron in the corner who wasn’t even pretending to work (that’s me).
3) On a trip to France, we went to a water park and spent most of the day together. There were 4 of us - me, Lindsay and another couple (a couple who class themselves as a couple because they kiss each other sometimes and talk on MSN), and us 4 hung around with each other on that trip. With us all being half-naked, the couple were extremely into each other that day so I was ultimately left with Lindsay almost as my partner. We were on the monkey bars(!) and with her arms above her and her soft armpits exposed I tickled her underneath and she fell into the water. I did this 3 or 4 times so she couldn’t get across and teased her for not being able to do it. One of the incidents was amazing as she tried really hard to resist the urge to let go and was laughing hysterically as she endured the torture, but eventually gave in. Meanwhile, my fellow students were talking to French residents in order to prepare for the oral exam, which is apparently why we were there…
4) Our English lesson was once cancelled, and we had 2 hours ‘til our next lesson. We decided to make the most of the glorious weather and, because none of the remaining people in our class are close friends, went out onto the field to just chill on our own. She laid on her front and let the sun kiss her soft blond hair, while I sat uncomfortably burning in the midday heat as my far-paler-skin-than-hers sizzled and I whimpered. Agitated, I started to pick at the grass, and picked up a few pieces and prodded her with them, trying to spark a reaction as she was in such a relaxed state she’d forgot about me. Almost asleep, she said, to my delight, quite frankly, ‘If you’re gonna do that, you may as well give me a massage. I think she was joking, but I knew if I DID take her advice she wouldn’t contest it, so placed my hand on her semi-bare shoulder (she was wearing a white vest) and as I brushed her strap aside sensually she almost gave out an excited giggle, inviting me to stroke her soft skin even more. As I massaged her I occasionally drifted down to her lower back and stroked her sides, pretending I was trying to massage but knowing I was tickling. She squirmed for a bit and let out small laughs and eventually told me that it tickled (anyone else get that excited feeling when someone says the word ‘tickle’? No? Just the loser on the field with no girlfriend but an erection, then?). When I later went to massage her feet, I’d barely touched her soft sole before she jumped up and told me ‘Don’t touch my feet they’re way too ticklish’ (yes, this was the same girl who encouraged me to stroke her lovelies with my Brio – maybe girls just have some phobia of being tickled bare foot?).
Back to the story, Lindsay has also finished her exams and is in a fantastic mood, like me. We met up after the exam ready to walk home and she hugged me and held me around my waist as we walked as if I was her boyfriend (I’m not, but she is often like that – really friendly with me to the point where she often touches me and hugs me and yes, tickles me, at random points). She doesn’t fancy me but is that way inclined, hence her being quite touchy-feely in English, and accepting of me tickling her on other occasions. She seems more ‘into’ tickling than most girls as she enjoys me tickling her and often tickles me, but I wouldn’t say she’s into tickling any more than finding it quite fun. Now, as you can imagine, a fun-loving, giggly lass such as her is excellent to tickle. She was wearing a slim, sleeveless top (which meant - and crucial point, this – if I was to pin her down and put her arms above her head her armpits would be totally exposed). We left college and started to walk, and decided we’d stop off at the local shop (which is tucked away almost down an alleyway) for some celebratory, er, Lucozade. That isn’t a hint that we got alcohol. We actually did fancy some good old Lucozade. So we were both in happy, exciteable moods, we were on our own and were walking to the local, secluded shop, and she was looking hot and summery, wearing a ridiculously sexy, revealing top, a skirt which showed off her sliky, bronzed legs and them shoes with no heels (ladies, give them a name please - thanks in advance) meaning her soft ankles and back of her feet were temptingly visible but the depths of her feet were not. Easy to change that, though...
As we walked down the long, tree-shadowed road leading to the local shop, I found myself attracted to Lindsay in a way I never had before. Like we often do, we made witty one-liners about each other as we talked about random things, and followed the teasing comments by grabbing the other playfully and hugging as if to show the jokes had no malice and also to enhance our bond even more. It was almost like a corny scene from Neighbours – we walked and laughed and giggled, almost as if drunk and horny we cuddled each other and did some sexual things (I put my arm around her and stroked her upper arm tenderly, and she placed her arm back round me and laid her long fingernails on my midriff area). Strangely, though, it never felt intimate, or as if one was about to kiss the other mistakenly, misinterpreting the connection as more than it was, and the slightly embarrassed one telling the other ‘we’re just friends, yeah?’ with the other replying, ‘Of course, I just had a moment’ then an awkward silence for the remaining 20 minutes. It was a beautiful feeling of knowing whatever I did – kissed her, touched her, tickled her – she’d accept it as me messing around. We were in that giddy a mood.
It was at that point when my opportunity came. Had I been in a grumpier mood, had she been in a grumpier mood, or had there been anybody else around, I wouldn’t have seized it (better still, the opportunity wouldn’t have arisen in the first place as we wouldn’t have been fooling around). We were laughing happily as we walked down, and passed this little embankment that is weirdly situated just around the corner from the shop. It’s simply a square patch of grass to the side of the path, always a great place to sit and eat if you’ve just purchased your food from the local. It’s nicely kept, cool because of the trees overshadowing it and, most importantly for me on this occasion, totally secluded. As we passed I seized my opportunity. Still with her locked in my grasp, I playfully nudged her over onto the grass, knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep her balance. She laughed as she stumbled, and I followed her onto the grass by falling myself (pretending I too had lost my balance, but in reality just putting together my master plan – I might be shite at French but I’m a genius when it comes to spontaneous thinking). We both ended up, then, lying on the grass, giggling, in playful moods, and as I glared at her white shoes merely clinging on to her delicious feet I knew it was the perfect time to go for the kill...
In the end, however, I didn’t need to make the first move at all. Both laid out, she flipped over on top of me, grabbing both my arms and giggling as she started to playfully wrestle me. We struggled with each other until my strength prevailed and I was able to pin her down. Placing her arms above her head as she giggled more and more (possibly realising what I was about to do), I positioned myself so that my knees were on top of her naked arms, pinning them down and exposing her smooth armpits beneath me, and so had her arm movement totally restricted while my two hands were free to roam as my knees were doing the job of stopping her from moving. Buried beneath me, Lindsay continued to giggle hysterically as her top slid up her perfect body, revealing a chunk of beautiful, bronzed belly to play with before I got stuck into the real deal (her bound-to-be-ticklish ‘pits). As I planted my excited fingers on her smooth, moisturised belly, I heard the heart-melting delight of sensual laughter as she giggled frantically at both the erotic feeling of my fingers dancing on her belly button and the situation of being totally helpless and dominated and not knowing where my tickle-hungry hands were going to venture next. I writhed my fingers around her belly and midriff and she continued to giggle (how great is a girl who giggles almost in melody in comparison to an uncomfortable screamer?). Throughout the tickling she was writhing around in a futile attempt to escape and as she moved around she ended up simply locked more underneath me. Trapped. I was almost drunk on arousal, and in that state of euphoria I did stupid but sexy things such as play with her hair and tickle her chin, teasing her and treating her like a puppy. She was continuously laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, and as she managed to pull her left arm from beneath me to escape, I realised that she’d given me a better opportunity to torture her (in a way I never thought I could) than I ever could have created through the aforementioned devious planning or careful thinking. The opportunity just fell right into my lap, or, more literally, into my fingers. As her creamy, soft armpits exposed themselves right before my eager eyes, I positioned myself so that I could both keep her armpits exposed and keep one of my hands free to torture her. Somehow, after a mass wrestle and struggle, I managed to be sat on her arms, leaving her completely trapped, with her sexy armpits completely vulnerable and both my hands free. She was helpless, and was almost crying with laughter in realisation that she was about to be tortured into hysterics. There was nothing that she could do…
Planting my fingers on her naked pits, I began the tickling. My fingers danced up and down her naked arm as she tried desperately to break free and broke out into hysterical laughter. For some people armpit tickling is the worst kind, and Linzi was one of these people. She let out a squeal which smacked of ‘this tickles too much!’ but the squeal turned back into a relentless laughter before I had time to show her any sympathy. Gliding my fingers up and down, I not only realised that she was enjoying it more than you’d expect whilst being sat on by a Jaffa cake filled 18 year old (apparently they’re good for eating pre-exam – its not some fetish I have to munch on them whilst tickling a girl. Then again…) but that, hey, I’m a bloody good tickler. It was a proud moment for me as I realised I had a beautiful blond locked in my grasp and I was tickling her so well that only an ‘I need to peeeeeeee’ would have made the whole thing more perfect. After Linzi gave a desperate, breathless plea of ‘please stop’ I took mercy on her and stopped with the armpit tickling (it would have been amateurish of me to spoil the situation by over-tickling her, wouldn’t it?) but I kept her locked beneath me, teasing her and playfully telling her how I would make her cry with laughter. She was enjoying it. Anything less and I might well have stopped, but when I gave her a break she had the opportunity to demand that I stop and she never even suggested it. Maybe somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was fulfilling a boyhood dream of mine, and was willing to take the torture to give lifelong pleasure to the cute boy she’d known since she was 11.
As I got the feeling me dominating her was too sexual and not playful enough, I decided it was time to let her go from under my grasp. However, I didn’t want the tickling to end there. It didn’t need to. I didn’t want it and, actually, neither did she. Thus, I made the switch from getting up from sitting on her arms to spinning her onto her front and tickling her sides as quick as possible. She was now free to fight back (to an extent, though I was still on top of her), but she had neither the strength nor desire to reverse the roles and as I dug my fingers into her exposed sides I got the symphony of ticklish laughter I loved, hell, I craved. I lifted her short top up and got stuck into the ribs, and in the excitement of tickling euphoria I even tickled the sides of her bum and moved up to play with her neck. Exhausted, she ended her resistance and flopped her arms out as if to say ‘I give in’ and this gave me fuel for one last, brilliantly evil attack. I was seated on her lower back facing her upper body, but it was time for a quick spin. It was time to get her feet. In truth, the experience had obviously killed her sharpness as it took her far too long to realise what I was doing. She enabled me to turn and sit on the backs of her legs, remove her already-semi-removed white shoes and plant my fingers on her ankles (when tickling feet I often like to play with the ankles as almost a warning of what’s to come – a teasing, if you will) before she reacted. By that time, though, I was all set. As I stroked the soft, delightful area around her left foot she began to flinch and kicked her foot towards my face instinctively to save herself. But I pinned the foot down and began to dance on her silky soles – it was like touching butter – and she screamed with laughter as she begged ‘DOOOON’T!’. I felt her starting to twist and turn as I did the same to her right foot, and she did everything to escape my clutches as I continued to make her giggle harmoniously. And as she shouted, ‘Pleeease you know my feet are too ticklish!’ that was enough. I realised she deserved mercy. She remembered the French lessons when I stroked my Brio along her arches. She remembered telling me in the scorching June sun that her feet were way too ticklish to be massaged. And she’d definitely remember this.
My work was done. I’d had my fun, and, brilliantly, so had she. As we picked ourselves up from the scene of one of the greatest moments of my tickling life and she gave me a friendly push in the side for getting grass stains on her new white skirt, we headed to the local, and, indeed, bought that Lucozade. It was a fantastic experience, and one that I’ll never forget. All I need now is to have passed that fucking English exam…
Let me set the scene for you. It’s the end of my final year at college (that might be high school for you American folk!) and I’ve just finished my last exam – English Literature. I have a whole summer of relaxation ahead of me and am walking home with my friend Lindsay (it’s about a 30 minute walk, in winter it’s an absolutely horrendous trek but it’s good for me!). Lindsay (which will later be shortened to Linzi for convencience) is, essentially, amazing to tickle. Her vibrant, giggly, never-moody personality makes you just want to make her laugh, and her laugh is so cute and feminine (she doesn’t scream with laughter like many, it’s a cute, quick, almost synchronised giggle) it could arouse you on its own. To add to this, she’s extremely hot. She has the nicest skin I’ve ever seen a girl have, is a sexy blond with longish, soft hair and is stylish. She is tanned (not overly, just beautifully bronzed), and her skin is soft (despite her age, she hasn’t a spot on her and is utterly blemishless). Her figure is awesome; she has a slightly curvy figure and is fully, er, developed in the upper areas. Because of her natural colour her legs are beautiful and when she wears the white skirt she wore this day she looks particularly awesome. Her feet are tanned and soft, and nicely petite. The above 3 or 4 lines, of course, are the opposite to me – a pasty skinned, not-overly-muscley geek with a zany, goofy sense of humour that many people see as plain stupidity. I’m essentially a slightly less better looking JD from Scrubs. And I’m not clever enough to be a doctor. Anyway, getting off the topic of self-criticism, I’ll give you a run-down of other tickling experiences I’ve had with this girl to give you an image of her ticklishness and also our connection and ease with one-another. So far I’ve got...
1) We sit with each other in English Lit(erature, for you pedantics out there), and on one day of enduring Hamlet I made things fun for myself by poking her a few times. I was expecting her to brush me off and refocus on her work as she’s very studious, but clearly losing the will to live herself, she looked excited at the prospect of a tickle game, put her arms around me and quickly squeezed my sides. Realising I wanted to pursue this, she folded her arms and curled up to hide her ticklish spots, I just aimlessly poked her legs and we had about 3 minutes of this messing around. (I’ve structured this terribly, but read the next section of the story and you’ll see how she is with me, and it will make this constant touchy-feely style we have in English more believable).
2) In French, I used to sit on the seat in front of her, and back then she used to wear tights with shoes so the tops of her feet were ‘tickleable’. I used to play with her feet with my pen and draw on her. She obviously enjoyed it and sometimes prompted me to by dangling her feet next to my floating arm. I’d usually stop when my Mr was worryingly hard and would soon burst out if I didn’t stop, and also when Mrs Saez was keeping a castful eye over the moron in the corner who wasn’t even pretending to work (that’s me).
3) On a trip to France, we went to a water park and spent most of the day together. There were 4 of us - me, Lindsay and another couple (a couple who class themselves as a couple because they kiss each other sometimes and talk on MSN), and us 4 hung around with each other on that trip. With us all being half-naked, the couple were extremely into each other that day so I was ultimately left with Lindsay almost as my partner. We were on the monkey bars(!) and with her arms above her and her soft armpits exposed I tickled her underneath and she fell into the water. I did this 3 or 4 times so she couldn’t get across and teased her for not being able to do it. One of the incidents was amazing as she tried really hard to resist the urge to let go and was laughing hysterically as she endured the torture, but eventually gave in. Meanwhile, my fellow students were talking to French residents in order to prepare for the oral exam, which is apparently why we were there…
4) Our English lesson was once cancelled, and we had 2 hours ‘til our next lesson. We decided to make the most of the glorious weather and, because none of the remaining people in our class are close friends, went out onto the field to just chill on our own. She laid on her front and let the sun kiss her soft blond hair, while I sat uncomfortably burning in the midday heat as my far-paler-skin-than-hers sizzled and I whimpered. Agitated, I started to pick at the grass, and picked up a few pieces and prodded her with them, trying to spark a reaction as she was in such a relaxed state she’d forgot about me. Almost asleep, she said, to my delight, quite frankly, ‘If you’re gonna do that, you may as well give me a massage. I think she was joking, but I knew if I DID take her advice she wouldn’t contest it, so placed my hand on her semi-bare shoulder (she was wearing a white vest) and as I brushed her strap aside sensually she almost gave out an excited giggle, inviting me to stroke her soft skin even more. As I massaged her I occasionally drifted down to her lower back and stroked her sides, pretending I was trying to massage but knowing I was tickling. She squirmed for a bit and let out small laughs and eventually told me that it tickled (anyone else get that excited feeling when someone says the word ‘tickle’? No? Just the loser on the field with no girlfriend but an erection, then?). When I later went to massage her feet, I’d barely touched her soft sole before she jumped up and told me ‘Don’t touch my feet they’re way too ticklish’ (yes, this was the same girl who encouraged me to stroke her lovelies with my Brio – maybe girls just have some phobia of being tickled bare foot?).
Back to the story, Lindsay has also finished her exams and is in a fantastic mood, like me. We met up after the exam ready to walk home and she hugged me and held me around my waist as we walked as if I was her boyfriend (I’m not, but she is often like that – really friendly with me to the point where she often touches me and hugs me and yes, tickles me, at random points). She doesn’t fancy me but is that way inclined, hence her being quite touchy-feely in English, and accepting of me tickling her on other occasions. She seems more ‘into’ tickling than most girls as she enjoys me tickling her and often tickles me, but I wouldn’t say she’s into tickling any more than finding it quite fun. Now, as you can imagine, a fun-loving, giggly lass such as her is excellent to tickle. She was wearing a slim, sleeveless top (which meant - and crucial point, this – if I was to pin her down and put her arms above her head her armpits would be totally exposed). We left college and started to walk, and decided we’d stop off at the local shop (which is tucked away almost down an alleyway) for some celebratory, er, Lucozade. That isn’t a hint that we got alcohol. We actually did fancy some good old Lucozade. So we were both in happy, exciteable moods, we were on our own and were walking to the local, secluded shop, and she was looking hot and summery, wearing a ridiculously sexy, revealing top, a skirt which showed off her sliky, bronzed legs and them shoes with no heels (ladies, give them a name please - thanks in advance) meaning her soft ankles and back of her feet were temptingly visible but the depths of her feet were not. Easy to change that, though...
As we walked down the long, tree-shadowed road leading to the local shop, I found myself attracted to Lindsay in a way I never had before. Like we often do, we made witty one-liners about each other as we talked about random things, and followed the teasing comments by grabbing the other playfully and hugging as if to show the jokes had no malice and also to enhance our bond even more. It was almost like a corny scene from Neighbours – we walked and laughed and giggled, almost as if drunk and horny we cuddled each other and did some sexual things (I put my arm around her and stroked her upper arm tenderly, and she placed her arm back round me and laid her long fingernails on my midriff area). Strangely, though, it never felt intimate, or as if one was about to kiss the other mistakenly, misinterpreting the connection as more than it was, and the slightly embarrassed one telling the other ‘we’re just friends, yeah?’ with the other replying, ‘Of course, I just had a moment’ then an awkward silence for the remaining 20 minutes. It was a beautiful feeling of knowing whatever I did – kissed her, touched her, tickled her – she’d accept it as me messing around. We were in that giddy a mood.
It was at that point when my opportunity came. Had I been in a grumpier mood, had she been in a grumpier mood, or had there been anybody else around, I wouldn’t have seized it (better still, the opportunity wouldn’t have arisen in the first place as we wouldn’t have been fooling around). We were laughing happily as we walked down, and passed this little embankment that is weirdly situated just around the corner from the shop. It’s simply a square patch of grass to the side of the path, always a great place to sit and eat if you’ve just purchased your food from the local. It’s nicely kept, cool because of the trees overshadowing it and, most importantly for me on this occasion, totally secluded. As we passed I seized my opportunity. Still with her locked in my grasp, I playfully nudged her over onto the grass, knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep her balance. She laughed as she stumbled, and I followed her onto the grass by falling myself (pretending I too had lost my balance, but in reality just putting together my master plan – I might be shite at French but I’m a genius when it comes to spontaneous thinking). We both ended up, then, lying on the grass, giggling, in playful moods, and as I glared at her white shoes merely clinging on to her delicious feet I knew it was the perfect time to go for the kill...
In the end, however, I didn’t need to make the first move at all. Both laid out, she flipped over on top of me, grabbing both my arms and giggling as she started to playfully wrestle me. We struggled with each other until my strength prevailed and I was able to pin her down. Placing her arms above her head as she giggled more and more (possibly realising what I was about to do), I positioned myself so that my knees were on top of her naked arms, pinning them down and exposing her smooth armpits beneath me, and so had her arm movement totally restricted while my two hands were free to roam as my knees were doing the job of stopping her from moving. Buried beneath me, Lindsay continued to giggle hysterically as her top slid up her perfect body, revealing a chunk of beautiful, bronzed belly to play with before I got stuck into the real deal (her bound-to-be-ticklish ‘pits). As I planted my excited fingers on her smooth, moisturised belly, I heard the heart-melting delight of sensual laughter as she giggled frantically at both the erotic feeling of my fingers dancing on her belly button and the situation of being totally helpless and dominated and not knowing where my tickle-hungry hands were going to venture next. I writhed my fingers around her belly and midriff and she continued to giggle (how great is a girl who giggles almost in melody in comparison to an uncomfortable screamer?). Throughout the tickling she was writhing around in a futile attempt to escape and as she moved around she ended up simply locked more underneath me. Trapped. I was almost drunk on arousal, and in that state of euphoria I did stupid but sexy things such as play with her hair and tickle her chin, teasing her and treating her like a puppy. She was continuously laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation, and as she managed to pull her left arm from beneath me to escape, I realised that she’d given me a better opportunity to torture her (in a way I never thought I could) than I ever could have created through the aforementioned devious planning or careful thinking. The opportunity just fell right into my lap, or, more literally, into my fingers. As her creamy, soft armpits exposed themselves right before my eager eyes, I positioned myself so that I could both keep her armpits exposed and keep one of my hands free to torture her. Somehow, after a mass wrestle and struggle, I managed to be sat on her arms, leaving her completely trapped, with her sexy armpits completely vulnerable and both my hands free. She was helpless, and was almost crying with laughter in realisation that she was about to be tortured into hysterics. There was nothing that she could do…
Planting my fingers on her naked pits, I began the tickling. My fingers danced up and down her naked arm as she tried desperately to break free and broke out into hysterical laughter. For some people armpit tickling is the worst kind, and Linzi was one of these people. She let out a squeal which smacked of ‘this tickles too much!’ but the squeal turned back into a relentless laughter before I had time to show her any sympathy. Gliding my fingers up and down, I not only realised that she was enjoying it more than you’d expect whilst being sat on by a Jaffa cake filled 18 year old (apparently they’re good for eating pre-exam – its not some fetish I have to munch on them whilst tickling a girl. Then again…) but that, hey, I’m a bloody good tickler. It was a proud moment for me as I realised I had a beautiful blond locked in my grasp and I was tickling her so well that only an ‘I need to peeeeeeee’ would have made the whole thing more perfect. After Linzi gave a desperate, breathless plea of ‘please stop’ I took mercy on her and stopped with the armpit tickling (it would have been amateurish of me to spoil the situation by over-tickling her, wouldn’t it?) but I kept her locked beneath me, teasing her and playfully telling her how I would make her cry with laughter. She was enjoying it. Anything less and I might well have stopped, but when I gave her a break she had the opportunity to demand that I stop and she never even suggested it. Maybe somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she was fulfilling a boyhood dream of mine, and was willing to take the torture to give lifelong pleasure to the cute boy she’d known since she was 11.
As I got the feeling me dominating her was too sexual and not playful enough, I decided it was time to let her go from under my grasp. However, I didn’t want the tickling to end there. It didn’t need to. I didn’t want it and, actually, neither did she. Thus, I made the switch from getting up from sitting on her arms to spinning her onto her front and tickling her sides as quick as possible. She was now free to fight back (to an extent, though I was still on top of her), but she had neither the strength nor desire to reverse the roles and as I dug my fingers into her exposed sides I got the symphony of ticklish laughter I loved, hell, I craved. I lifted her short top up and got stuck into the ribs, and in the excitement of tickling euphoria I even tickled the sides of her bum and moved up to play with her neck. Exhausted, she ended her resistance and flopped her arms out as if to say ‘I give in’ and this gave me fuel for one last, brilliantly evil attack. I was seated on her lower back facing her upper body, but it was time for a quick spin. It was time to get her feet. In truth, the experience had obviously killed her sharpness as it took her far too long to realise what I was doing. She enabled me to turn and sit on the backs of her legs, remove her already-semi-removed white shoes and plant my fingers on her ankles (when tickling feet I often like to play with the ankles as almost a warning of what’s to come – a teasing, if you will) before she reacted. By that time, though, I was all set. As I stroked the soft, delightful area around her left foot she began to flinch and kicked her foot towards my face instinctively to save herself. But I pinned the foot down and began to dance on her silky soles – it was like touching butter – and she screamed with laughter as she begged ‘DOOOON’T!’. I felt her starting to twist and turn as I did the same to her right foot, and she did everything to escape my clutches as I continued to make her giggle harmoniously. And as she shouted, ‘Pleeease you know my feet are too ticklish!’ that was enough. I realised she deserved mercy. She remembered the French lessons when I stroked my Brio along her arches. She remembered telling me in the scorching June sun that her feet were way too ticklish to be massaged. And she’d definitely remember this.
My work was done. I’d had my fun, and, brilliantly, so had she. As we picked ourselves up from the scene of one of the greatest moments of my tickling life and she gave me a friendly push in the side for getting grass stains on her new white skirt, we headed to the local, and, indeed, bought that Lucozade. It was a fantastic experience, and one that I’ll never forget. All I need now is to have passed that fucking English exam…
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