MaternalLoveFor
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- Nov 4, 2004
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I use to tickle my girlfriend. And I don't mean to say it was a playful thing the two of us shared every once in a while. This was constant torture. I am stronger than her, and I can hold her down helplessly and still have a free hand if I want to. She's spoken to me about it on a few occasions, asking, and in one case, ordering me to ease off her. One time I used my kneesto hold her arms over her head, immobily, and I tickled her until she begged me to let her up. It was incredible.
Besides my fetish, to which she probably knew though I would never admit, we were a happy couple. It would take my first up close experience with Angela's mother to make me fully understand how uncomfortable I could make her when I went wild.
Angela's mother Shannon isn't what I would call an incredibly beutiful woman. Angela did get many of her sexier genes from her mom, (including her size 6, high arched, stubby toed feet) but Shannon is 43 and showing it. It's her personality that I find incredibly attractive. She seems unaffected and in charge. Sure of herself. Angela takes more after her father in that she's sheepish and go-with-the-flow. It's this quality in my girlfriend that lead to the "discussion" (as she would later bring it up as) that I was forced to have with Shannon.
One night when Angela's father was out of town, I was invited to dinner. Angela, her mother, her little sister, and I ate a nice pasta dish with what I assume was a nice bottle of wine. We all got a little tipsy, and the fact that I wouldn't be 21 for another 4 months sealed Shannon's decision that I shouldn't be driving home.
We sat up and talked until Angela and her sister were tired. They went to bed, but Shannon said she hadn't been sleeping well, and she could use some company. She poured me another glass of wine.
Apparently, Angela had told her I use to be a boy scout, and she asked me if I was any good at tying knots. It was one of my first badges, I said. So she got some rope from the garage and I showed her how to tie different knots.
"My father was an illusionist," she said. "He knew how to tie and untie knots incredibly fast." By this point, I was slightly more than tipsy, but not beligerent. "Know that I know how to tie unbreakable knots, I'll bet you couldn't escape them." This was all it took for her to trick me into complete agony.
Flash forward to my bound wrists keeping my arms completely outstretched and hanging from a (very sturdy) wall lamp. my knees were tied together and resting on the coffee table in front of the couch I was sitting on. Shannon was seated in a wooden chair facing parallel to the couch, and perpendicular to my now helpless body. As though it weren't enough that my ankles were securley tied together, she locked them comfortably between her muscular thighs and was now removing my sneakers.
Then she spoke in a completely different voice, the teenage cheerleaders use to talk to kittens and babies. "My baby Angela is very ticklish. She tells me sometimes you get carried away and she can't take it." My other shoe hit the floor. Then Shannon preceded to slowly peel my sweaty socks off my feet that I had walked on all day. When the air hit them, they felt cool, and more vulnerable than I can ever remember. I thought about being babysat by my sister, and how she use to trap my legs between the stair banister and tickle my toes. Its 10 years later and my humiliation still comes with lint between the toes.
"Let's see if little Evan is ticklish too." She used her thumb and forefinger of her left hand to restrain my two big toes together, and picked up a turkey feather from the coffee table.
The noise that came out of me can only be described as a squeal. It was the cross between a laugh and a light scream. I can only imagine how my face must have looked as I struggled hopelessly to fight the laughter. My eyes were wide and crying right away.
She swept the soles of my feet with the bristles of the feather in all the worst places. She mocked my wiggling toes as she tickled, and kept returning to that sensitive little spot where the arch meets the ball of the foot. I was in hysterics, and beging already. She dropped the feather.
"Cootchie cootchie coo. Evan is sooooo ticklish. Does that tickle Evan?"
"Yes!" I screamed, hoping that if I played along she'd have mercy. She used only the index finger on her right hand , and she kept her finger nails short. But her light touches and her probing strokes all ticked in their own way. I was wiggling against my bondage, begging for her to stop tickling me.
"This little piggy went to the market..." she began stroking my toes, and between them. I thought I was going to die. She was dragging it out to be as humiliating and degrading as possible. When she got to my pinky toes she said ".. and this little piggy went whee whee whee all the way home." And with that she started lightly pinching my soles, as though she was sucking the screams of laughter out of my body. I'm 20 years old, totally helpless, with a 43 year old woman half my size making me beg for mercy through hysterical laughter as she tickles my bare feet, and this is how I fall asleep, because this is the last thing I can remember. I passed out.
I awoke to Angela shaking me for breakfast. I was lying on the couch underneath a blanket, in all the same clothes I had worn the night before, except my shoes and my socks were in a pile on the floor. My bare feet were sticking out from under the blanket, and I looked at them and wondered if I had just dreamed the whole ordeal. Angela's mother walked into the room and said "It's getting cold kids." Then she looked at me. "Does little Evan want a cup of coffee with breakfast?" she said in a child-like voice. I sheepishly nodded as I pulled my bare feet under the blanket.
I don't tickle my girlfriend anymore.
Besides my fetish, to which she probably knew though I would never admit, we were a happy couple. It would take my first up close experience with Angela's mother to make me fully understand how uncomfortable I could make her when I went wild.
Angela's mother Shannon isn't what I would call an incredibly beutiful woman. Angela did get many of her sexier genes from her mom, (including her size 6, high arched, stubby toed feet) but Shannon is 43 and showing it. It's her personality that I find incredibly attractive. She seems unaffected and in charge. Sure of herself. Angela takes more after her father in that she's sheepish and go-with-the-flow. It's this quality in my girlfriend that lead to the "discussion" (as she would later bring it up as) that I was forced to have with Shannon.
One night when Angela's father was out of town, I was invited to dinner. Angela, her mother, her little sister, and I ate a nice pasta dish with what I assume was a nice bottle of wine. We all got a little tipsy, and the fact that I wouldn't be 21 for another 4 months sealed Shannon's decision that I shouldn't be driving home.
We sat up and talked until Angela and her sister were tired. They went to bed, but Shannon said she hadn't been sleeping well, and she could use some company. She poured me another glass of wine.
Apparently, Angela had told her I use to be a boy scout, and she asked me if I was any good at tying knots. It was one of my first badges, I said. So she got some rope from the garage and I showed her how to tie different knots.
"My father was an illusionist," she said. "He knew how to tie and untie knots incredibly fast." By this point, I was slightly more than tipsy, but not beligerent. "Know that I know how to tie unbreakable knots, I'll bet you couldn't escape them." This was all it took for her to trick me into complete agony.
Flash forward to my bound wrists keeping my arms completely outstretched and hanging from a (very sturdy) wall lamp. my knees were tied together and resting on the coffee table in front of the couch I was sitting on. Shannon was seated in a wooden chair facing parallel to the couch, and perpendicular to my now helpless body. As though it weren't enough that my ankles were securley tied together, she locked them comfortably between her muscular thighs and was now removing my sneakers.
Then she spoke in a completely different voice, the teenage cheerleaders use to talk to kittens and babies. "My baby Angela is very ticklish. She tells me sometimes you get carried away and she can't take it." My other shoe hit the floor. Then Shannon preceded to slowly peel my sweaty socks off my feet that I had walked on all day. When the air hit them, they felt cool, and more vulnerable than I can ever remember. I thought about being babysat by my sister, and how she use to trap my legs between the stair banister and tickle my toes. Its 10 years later and my humiliation still comes with lint between the toes.
"Let's see if little Evan is ticklish too." She used her thumb and forefinger of her left hand to restrain my two big toes together, and picked up a turkey feather from the coffee table.
The noise that came out of me can only be described as a squeal. It was the cross between a laugh and a light scream. I can only imagine how my face must have looked as I struggled hopelessly to fight the laughter. My eyes were wide and crying right away.
She swept the soles of my feet with the bristles of the feather in all the worst places. She mocked my wiggling toes as she tickled, and kept returning to that sensitive little spot where the arch meets the ball of the foot. I was in hysterics, and beging already. She dropped the feather.
"Cootchie cootchie coo. Evan is sooooo ticklish. Does that tickle Evan?"
"Yes!" I screamed, hoping that if I played along she'd have mercy. She used only the index finger on her right hand , and she kept her finger nails short. But her light touches and her probing strokes all ticked in their own way. I was wiggling against my bondage, begging for her to stop tickling me.
"This little piggy went to the market..." she began stroking my toes, and between them. I thought I was going to die. She was dragging it out to be as humiliating and degrading as possible. When she got to my pinky toes she said ".. and this little piggy went whee whee whee all the way home." And with that she started lightly pinching my soles, as though she was sucking the screams of laughter out of my body. I'm 20 years old, totally helpless, with a 43 year old woman half my size making me beg for mercy through hysterical laughter as she tickles my bare feet, and this is how I fall asleep, because this is the last thing I can remember. I passed out.
I awoke to Angela shaking me for breakfast. I was lying on the couch underneath a blanket, in all the same clothes I had worn the night before, except my shoes and my socks were in a pile on the floor. My bare feet were sticking out from under the blanket, and I looked at them and wondered if I had just dreamed the whole ordeal. Angela's mother walked into the room and said "It's getting cold kids." Then she looked at me. "Does little Evan want a cup of coffee with breakfast?" she said in a child-like voice. I sheepishly nodded as I pulled my bare feet under the blanket.
I don't tickle my girlfriend anymore.
