This is my first story post, so I apologize if it's not quite up to par with the others on here. Sorry if this is incredibly long, too; I'm a fan of details.
If this helps paint a picture for you guys as readers, I'm a 20 year old young woman, about 5'4" and 100 lbs., with long blonde hair and hazel eyes.
Intro:
I always HATED being tickled when I was growing up. If anyone even tried, I would scream and glare and essentially throw a fit, so people quickly learned not to even try. As I got older and got into high school, it became clear that guys liked to use little tickles as a method of flirting, and much to my surprise, I enjoyed it immensely (always acting, of course, like I didn't). I started mildly fantasizing about my crushes tickling me before pursuing other romantic interactions; then mild fantasizing turned into intense fantasizing in which romantic play became minimal at best and tickling dominated my erotic thoughts. It didn't really occur to me that there was such thing as a "tickling fetish"--I thought I was just weird. And then when I started scouring the internet for some sort of outlet for my tickling desires, I stumbled across the reality that tickling fetishes do exist, though in a relatively small fetishist community.
Upon discovering this, I was dating a guy who I'd met through a friend. We'll call him Van. We'd been together for about three months, and we hadn't had sex yet but we'd done pretty much everything else. Realizing this intense fetish I had, though, made me incredibly eager to see just how erotically charged tickling could get me when it was performed outside of the realms of my imagination. The opportunity to find out seemed to present itself nicely when Van and I went to my grandparents' farm for a weekend.
How We Met:
I need to backtrack a little, so sorry if this distracts from the story. Van and I met at a birthday party for my friend Marie when another friend of mine, Charlotte, brought him as a date. He was clearly into Charlotte, but once she introduced me to him, his eyes never seemed to leave me. In fact, my friend Ana even commented to me that he kept looking at me with an expression that she--and I--found incredibly sexy. It was one of those brooding, electric looks that just sizzles through the air.
Anyways, so at one point, half of us were just sitting around munching on pizza and bringing up our countless inside jokes that still made us laugh. Charlotte and Ana were part of the group, along with my best friend Reese and a couple other girls I wasn't very good of friends with. Van was the only guy in our little gathering. We were all huddled in a tight-knit sort of circle, with our feet all placed on the ottoman between us, and Van was sitting on the edge of the ottoman. I was trying to divide my attention between keeping up with the chatting of my friends and trying to silently respond to Van's prodding looks with my eyes, but he was just too sexy to ignore. (He's one of those GQ models--dark hair and eyes, excellent olive complexion, and a mouth to die for.) So I indulged my interest and said, "You don't look too comfortable hanging off the edge like that."
His mouth turned up in an alluring half-smile and he replied, "Well, you girls are taking up most of the space." To which we all graciously slid our feet back with ramblings of "Oh, no, we can move" and "Here, we'll make some space". He seated himself comfortably in the now-available space, and me, being the one of the bolder, more outgoing one in the group of my friends, proceeded to place my socked feet in his lap. He looked at me with a mixed expression of amusement and curiosity, so I explained with an easy grin, "It's more comfortable this way." He didn't object; he just cupped my size-6 feet in his hands and we got back to the conversation.
After about three minutes of joking and chatting with my friends, I noticed the look on Van's face had changed somewhat. Instead of being interested in our girlish talking or being seductive when focused on me, he'd adopted a mischievous half-grin that he seemed to be trying desperately to hide. I had just turned away from the conversation to look at him inquisitively when I realized why he was looking the way he did--one capable fingertip wriggled idly in my arch. I responded appropriately with a slight shriek and giggle. My friends' heads all whipped toward me to see the source of my sudden ecstasy, but I had recovered quickly and Van had forced his face into a look of ignorant innocence.
Thirty seconds later, I felt that same troublesome fingertip playing with my arch again. I clamped my lips tightly shut and all the muscles in my body tightened in response to my refusal to give in. His mouth curved into a determined grin. The one finger became two crawling up to the ball of my foot. I started to withdraw my sensitive ped from his lap, but he held it firmly in place and began a three-fingered assault across the entire surface of my foot. At this point, I was much too overwhelmed with tickly sensation, and I started giggling uncontrollably.
My friends turned to us again, and this time neither he nor I attempted to hide his tickling endeavor. Charlotte, to my surprise, didn't appear to be jealous in the least, and actually vocalized some ticklish teasing. "Mimi's tick-uh-lish," she sang, grinning. "And that's just one foot... I wonder what would happen with two?"
In the midst of my rapid giggling, I turned to her and demanded with shaking laughter, "What are you doing to me?!" Of course, Van was enchanted with her idea, and suddenly my cotton-clad feet were both trapped in his lap with his fingers scrabbling up and down. My stomach did numbers of somersaults, and I threw my head back with a combination of shrieks and laughs spilling from my ecstatic mouth. "Omigod, omigod, stop!" I begged, grasping the thighs of the friends beside me in an attempt to brace myself and pull away. They just smiled and commented and looked on, leaving me to my ticklish hell.
When I felt my sock beginning to slip over my small heel, I panicked. I have a phobia of being barefoot, and especially a phobia of my bare feet being touched. Immediately, I screamed and bent forward, reaching for my feet to protect them from his evil ticklish intentions. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no," I chanted. "Not my bare feet. No, no!"
He grinned at me naughtily, tugged the cotton further up my foot by a minimal amount, then complied with my pleas and re-dressed the poor, tortured foot. I sighed and fell back against the couch, reveling in the moment of declining sensitivity, and just as the conversation picked up again, Van tightened his hold on my feet and started wiggling his fingernails over the soft fabric again. I emitted a half-shocked, half-delighted squeal and struggled once more against his confines, but to no avail. This session didn't last as long as the prior, however, so I wasn't quite desperate for breath after he'd finished.
Then Marie came in and announced she was heavily craving cake, and as it was her birthday, we ought to allow her the temptation. So we all got up and went to sing happy birthday.
And a month later, Van was my boyfriend.
[[I'll post Part 2 in a separate thread. Thanks for reading, if you did!]]
If this helps paint a picture for you guys as readers, I'm a 20 year old young woman, about 5'4" and 100 lbs., with long blonde hair and hazel eyes.
Intro:
I always HATED being tickled when I was growing up. If anyone even tried, I would scream and glare and essentially throw a fit, so people quickly learned not to even try. As I got older and got into high school, it became clear that guys liked to use little tickles as a method of flirting, and much to my surprise, I enjoyed it immensely (always acting, of course, like I didn't). I started mildly fantasizing about my crushes tickling me before pursuing other romantic interactions; then mild fantasizing turned into intense fantasizing in which romantic play became minimal at best and tickling dominated my erotic thoughts. It didn't really occur to me that there was such thing as a "tickling fetish"--I thought I was just weird. And then when I started scouring the internet for some sort of outlet for my tickling desires, I stumbled across the reality that tickling fetishes do exist, though in a relatively small fetishist community.
Upon discovering this, I was dating a guy who I'd met through a friend. We'll call him Van. We'd been together for about three months, and we hadn't had sex yet but we'd done pretty much everything else. Realizing this intense fetish I had, though, made me incredibly eager to see just how erotically charged tickling could get me when it was performed outside of the realms of my imagination. The opportunity to find out seemed to present itself nicely when Van and I went to my grandparents' farm for a weekend.
How We Met:
I need to backtrack a little, so sorry if this distracts from the story. Van and I met at a birthday party for my friend Marie when another friend of mine, Charlotte, brought him as a date. He was clearly into Charlotte, but once she introduced me to him, his eyes never seemed to leave me. In fact, my friend Ana even commented to me that he kept looking at me with an expression that she--and I--found incredibly sexy. It was one of those brooding, electric looks that just sizzles through the air.
Anyways, so at one point, half of us were just sitting around munching on pizza and bringing up our countless inside jokes that still made us laugh. Charlotte and Ana were part of the group, along with my best friend Reese and a couple other girls I wasn't very good of friends with. Van was the only guy in our little gathering. We were all huddled in a tight-knit sort of circle, with our feet all placed on the ottoman between us, and Van was sitting on the edge of the ottoman. I was trying to divide my attention between keeping up with the chatting of my friends and trying to silently respond to Van's prodding looks with my eyes, but he was just too sexy to ignore. (He's one of those GQ models--dark hair and eyes, excellent olive complexion, and a mouth to die for.) So I indulged my interest and said, "You don't look too comfortable hanging off the edge like that."
His mouth turned up in an alluring half-smile and he replied, "Well, you girls are taking up most of the space." To which we all graciously slid our feet back with ramblings of "Oh, no, we can move" and "Here, we'll make some space". He seated himself comfortably in the now-available space, and me, being the one of the bolder, more outgoing one in the group of my friends, proceeded to place my socked feet in his lap. He looked at me with a mixed expression of amusement and curiosity, so I explained with an easy grin, "It's more comfortable this way." He didn't object; he just cupped my size-6 feet in his hands and we got back to the conversation.
After about three minutes of joking and chatting with my friends, I noticed the look on Van's face had changed somewhat. Instead of being interested in our girlish talking or being seductive when focused on me, he'd adopted a mischievous half-grin that he seemed to be trying desperately to hide. I had just turned away from the conversation to look at him inquisitively when I realized why he was looking the way he did--one capable fingertip wriggled idly in my arch. I responded appropriately with a slight shriek and giggle. My friends' heads all whipped toward me to see the source of my sudden ecstasy, but I had recovered quickly and Van had forced his face into a look of ignorant innocence.
Thirty seconds later, I felt that same troublesome fingertip playing with my arch again. I clamped my lips tightly shut and all the muscles in my body tightened in response to my refusal to give in. His mouth curved into a determined grin. The one finger became two crawling up to the ball of my foot. I started to withdraw my sensitive ped from his lap, but he held it firmly in place and began a three-fingered assault across the entire surface of my foot. At this point, I was much too overwhelmed with tickly sensation, and I started giggling uncontrollably.
My friends turned to us again, and this time neither he nor I attempted to hide his tickling endeavor. Charlotte, to my surprise, didn't appear to be jealous in the least, and actually vocalized some ticklish teasing. "Mimi's tick-uh-lish," she sang, grinning. "And that's just one foot... I wonder what would happen with two?"
In the midst of my rapid giggling, I turned to her and demanded with shaking laughter, "What are you doing to me?!" Of course, Van was enchanted with her idea, and suddenly my cotton-clad feet were both trapped in his lap with his fingers scrabbling up and down. My stomach did numbers of somersaults, and I threw my head back with a combination of shrieks and laughs spilling from my ecstatic mouth. "Omigod, omigod, stop!" I begged, grasping the thighs of the friends beside me in an attempt to brace myself and pull away. They just smiled and commented and looked on, leaving me to my ticklish hell.
When I felt my sock beginning to slip over my small heel, I panicked. I have a phobia of being barefoot, and especially a phobia of my bare feet being touched. Immediately, I screamed and bent forward, reaching for my feet to protect them from his evil ticklish intentions. "No, no, no, no, no, no, no," I chanted. "Not my bare feet. No, no!"
He grinned at me naughtily, tugged the cotton further up my foot by a minimal amount, then complied with my pleas and re-dressed the poor, tortured foot. I sighed and fell back against the couch, reveling in the moment of declining sensitivity, and just as the conversation picked up again, Van tightened his hold on my feet and started wiggling his fingernails over the soft fabric again. I emitted a half-shocked, half-delighted squeal and struggled once more against his confines, but to no avail. This session didn't last as long as the prior, however, so I wasn't quite desperate for breath after he'd finished.
Then Marie came in and announced she was heavily craving cake, and as it was her birthday, we ought to allow her the temptation. So we all got up and went to sing happy birthday.
And a month later, Van was my boyfriend.
[[I'll post Part 2 in a separate thread. Thanks for reading, if you did!]]
