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MORE stories of Moms and Aunts...a new thread for 2022.

I’d start one, but I’m afraid nearly all of my own stories happened when I was pretty young, so wouldn’t go along with the rules of the Forum.
 
Saw some extended family during the holidays.
I have an aunt that enjoys a good beer or two, or six, and gets pretty feisty while inebriated. Not an alcoholic or anything, just likes to relax when the occasion allows.
As it happens her and I are close-ish in age, and we've always had a fairly good relationship. Less of an aunt/nephew, more of a brother/sister kind of deal.
Due to said relationship, I've had the privilege of tickling her senseless multiple times, and I know every piece of tickle-trivia about her.
The relevant part to this story: she's deathly ticklish just about everywhere, but her feet are the killer spots.

Part of the holiday celebration was at her house, so she was all dressed up, but that kind of thing isn't really her cup of tea.
Her and I were talking throughout the night as the party was going on and she complained multiple times about the shoes she was wearing, "Ugh, my feet are killing me!" takes a swig of Dos Equis

After what felt like the hundredth time, I finally just told her to go change her damn shoes lol.
We were still talking about some of her drama so I just followed her to the bedroom so she could do just that.
We reached a high point in her drama and she slammed her bedroom door shut and dramatically plopped down on her bed, face-down, and kicked off her heels, rubbing her tired feet together as they hung over the edge of the bed.

Without a second thought, I straddled her calves and started going to town on her bare, upturned size 6's.
She must have recently gotten them done because they were baby soft.
She tensed when she felt my weight on her legs, almost as if she knew what was coming, but she didn't have time to say or do anything before letting out a shrill shriek, and then dissolving into hearty, hysterical laughter as she pounded the bed with her fists.

I targeted the heels, the arches, the balls, and her toes, even using my fingers to pry her toes back and tickle the fleshy undersides.
I finally settled on the dead center of her arches, which definitely provoked the most cussing and thrashing.

It must have felt like an hour to her, but in reality it had to have been less than a minute.
The entire time, she was yelling at me to stop, telling me to leave her toes alone, swearing revenge, etc.

As soon as I stopped and let her go, she ripped her feet away and attempted to donkey-kick me, but I was ready for it and jumped out of the way, scribbling her left sole one last time and eliciting a sharp squeal, as well as more cussing.
She called me an asshole, reminded me of her ticklishness, and swore revenge once more.

Then, she changed her shoes, checked her hair and make up in the mirror, and we went back to the party like nothing happened.
 
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OK.... I dug deep into the memory banks for this one, as it involves bare feet (as apposed to the beloved nylons). It does involve an Aunt (although not mine...a stranger, in fact), and is close to being a buried-at-the-beach scenario.

I was spending a day on the Maryland shore, under an umbrella, reading a book. There was a family not too far from me that consisted of a 40ish husband and wife, a single woman (guessing a sister to one of the other adults), and the couple's son. They too were camped under umbrellas.

The son was digging a hole is the sand, kind of like a trench. I wasn't paying much attention until he yelled "Aunt Claire. Come check it out!". I really noticed Aunt Claire when she stood up. She was 40-something, with a killer body. Very strong and athletic. She had a one piece bathing suit that didn't reveal much, but you couldn't hide those strong legs with great calves. I couldn't see much of her head as she wore her glasses and floppy hat. She had a bit of a librarian look to her, but with those great legs, not to mention fairly large feet. I was checking this out from behind my own sunglasses, over the top of my book.

Her nephew seemed to want her to lie down in his hole, but she was reluctant. But she did get in, and soon all I could see was her head and her feet.

The brother or brother-in-law, whatever he was, did not wait for her to be buried. He was up and at her feet in no time. He pinned one down with one hand, and tickled her bare foot with the other. She immediately let out screams of
"Stop! Stop! STOPPPP!" until he got a good hold of her and then she just let out a piercing, laughing scream.

"WAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA STAHHHPHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHA!!"

Everyone around stopped and looked. The wife eventually came to the rescue, but it took her a while to pull his arm away.

This happened back in the day, before everyone was carrying a camera. Damn.
 
good one Nick , unfortunately i never had a buried in the sand incident with my aunt Janet but would often have dreams or think about it , she would never allow herself to be put in that situation given my history lol
 
OK...I'm going to bend the rules a bit for this story. In this case the older woman was 21. I was 18 at the time. My girlfriend's older sister. Theresa. Theresa looked a bit like Kelli McGillis. My buddy always busted me by saying I was with the wrong sister, as Theresa had the nicest ass in town. I was at my girlfriend's house, and Theresa came home from her new job, all dressed up. Tan nylons, heels (which she immediately kicked off), and skirt. She was maybe 5'5 in her stockinged feet. Up to that point, I had never seen anyone in that house in pantyhose (not my GF (Argh!!!), Theresa, or their Mom). I could not take my eyes of her legs or feet, and both Theresa and my GF noticed ("you like Theresa because she's all dressed up"). Well, fuck yeah! No poker face that day (anyone else know what I'm talking about?) 🙂

Theresa was happy to see my attention, and was playing into it. She didn't change her clothes, and she ended up in the recliner, her stockinged legs and feet stretched out for all to see. Help me, Lord.

And, he did....

Her older brother came in through the back door. He didn't live there, just popping in. A big, construction guy. He said hello, and then said something like "what do we have here?"....he grabs Theresa's ankle, lifts her foot, and starts tickling her for all she was worth. Amazing.

Also amazing was her reaction. She bursts out laughing, but is really pissed off. So she's there laughing/screaming, with a pissed off face, trying to hit her brother...and I mean hit him if she could. She was taking some mean swings but couldn't quite reach him. I'm guessing this wasn't the first time he tickled her, nor the first time it pissed her off 🙂

She finally kicked her way free. She got up and smacked his arm hard. "Asshole!" That was it, the show was over...she went upstairs.

A bit of irony here. I was with the wrong sister. My GF had a very ticklish upper body, but her feet were not ticklish at all. We didn't last a year....
 
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Quotes of personal stories from the book - "Almost Everything You Wanted To Know About Tickling".
 

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bluey1 said:
Quotes of personal stories from the book - "Almost Everything You Wanted To Know About Tickling".
Click to expand...
Very interesting. :tickle: I have ordered this book and it is estimated to arrive on Wednesday.
 
SmashTV said:
My stories of tickling my aunt’s stocking feet can be found elsewhere on here. They’re told mainly from a nylon foot fetish perspective than anything else as tickling relaxes her more than makes her laugh, but I’m happy to share or signpost. However, in the meantime I’ll share some stories about tickling friend’s mothers. Hope you enjoy; this is quite long, but took place in the space of a single night.

I was 23, and a university housemate of mine was having a surprise 21st birthday party. Myself and the rest of the house made the trek to her actual family home for a party. I'd met her parents and friends before throughout the course of the year, and was on good terms with them. The part initially took place in a local hall, before carrying on at my mate's house into the wee small hours. The front room was rammed, and the seats were on a first come, first served basis. I found myself sat on the floor (purely by circumstances), and realised I was surrounded by lots of female legs and feet. Many of the women had changed from heels to slippers for comfort, and I had to find a space on the floor rather than stand. I nestled in between two middle aged Irish women, one of whom was wearing navy blue moccassin slippers, white/grey tights and a grey trouser suit. I’d later find out that this was my friend’s aunt. Her left leg was crossed over her right, and her foot dangled from her slipper some six inches from my face, exposing a smooth greyish white stocking instep.

I kept looking at it from the corner of my eye, her slipper jigging up and down, heel popping out until I could take no more. I'd been making conversation with the woman here and there, had a few drinks inside of me so figured (drunkenly and with hindsight incorrectly) that it wouldn't be that out of line to play with her foot. As she spoke I reached up and slowly dragged my finger along her instep and down to her heel. Her foot inclined slightly, but she carried on talking. I repeated the motion, her instep and heel smooth against the material of her tights. I'd say she was about a size six UK shoe. She wasn't attractive as such, but was quite tall, brown bobbed hair and brown eyes. She let me carry on for a while as my fingers found her stocking sole. I began to really tickle her foot, and she began laughing and squirming, her foot wiggling and flexing. She was trying to maintain her conversation, but kept punctuating it with things like 'There's someone here who likes tickling feet!'. I carried on for about twenty seconds more until she regained her composure, looked at me and said 'There's people looking, you should stop now...', which I did. Don't want to draw attention to myself now, do I?

An hour or three and many beers after I'd tickled my friend's aunt's feet, I was standing in the hallway making conversation when a fairly drunk woman came up to me and rubbed her hands all over my chest. I think her hands were sticky (knowing my luck, so was my shirt!), but I was intrigued as to who she was as she was quite an attractive lady. Quite short, pleasantly plump, late 30s to early 40s I'd say, long brown hair and brown eyes, and was my friend's friend's mother. She was wearing a long white dress and white tights, shoes already gone. She went to sit in the front room, and began talking and playing with the family dog. The perfect excuse to take things further...at this point, I wasn't interested in her feet, but in seeing how far I could get!

I sat on the floor in front of her, pretending to take an interest in the dog but also talking to her, staring into her eyes intently at taking quick glances at her feet. As I was stroking the dog I said something like 'the dog's getting all the attention, you deserve some as well' which with hindsight implied I thought she was a dog! Regardless, I picked up one foot off the floor (UK size 6?), and began to gently massage and knead it. She didn't look overly comfortable, but seemed to enjoy the massage as her eyes were wide and mouth soft and pouty. I gave little tickles along the soles of her feet which made her smile and squeal, but focused mainly on the massage. I went for the other foot, when I became aware of another friend asking me to join him on the sofa. I ignored him, and continued with the massages and tickles.

His voice became more urgent and shouty, until I got fed up and asked him what he wanted. My initial thought was that he was jealous, and I was quite short with him when asking him what he was up to, until he responded 'If her husband sees you, he'll kill you....'

Oh.

I very sheepishly then sat back in the chair, desperately trying to blend into the scenery when not two minutes later the husband walked in. He didn't look in my direction, thankfully; if anything, he seemed more pissed off that his wife was drunk. I only saw the back of him, but he looked like he could hurt people... . They both left, and I let out a sigh of relief. I went into the kitchen to get a drink, and saw the mother of my friend whose birthday it was washing glasses at the sink. A short, blond Irish woman (think a much younger version of the mother from Everyone Loves Raymond), she was beavering away, and seemed quite sober. We made small talk, and she mentioned her feet were killing her. I looked down, and underneath her long black dress I saw that she had kicked off her shoes and was in black stocking feet....

Hmmmmm.

My friend's mother said her feet were sore, and I realised that she was shoeless. She'd been wearing standard black heels, which were now discarded as she stood at the sink in sheer black stocking feet. Well, we couldn't have her with sore feet now, could we?

I jokingly admonished her for washing up when there was a party going on, and told her I had just the cure. I pulled two chairs over (now, bear in mind that I'd only met this woman once or twice previously!), made her sit down and sat opposite her. I then told her to place her feet in my lap, as I was going to massager her feet for her (alcohol plays a great part sometimes...!) She did so quite willingly, and I ran my fingers over her stocking soles, kneading and caressing here and there, flexing her toes back and forth. She had quite small feet, about a UK size four I'd say, and we made general conversation as her feet received a going over. I may have given her little tickles here and there, I honestly can't remember. The whole thing lasted about ten minutes, and was apparently caught on film! Thankfully, the evidence was recorded over before it could be shown....phew!

What I do recall, however, was that later on in proceedings I was sat next to her on the sofa, along with another housemate. She made reference to the foot massage, and my housemate looked at me in disbelief. I shrugged it off, saying I was offering a helping hand! My friend's mum had her feet scooped up on the sofa next to her, and I gave her a little tickle. She squirmed a bit, and I then paid attention to the toe band on her tights. It was slightly crooked, and so I discreetly manouvered it so that it covered her toes properly. She wiggled her toes and smiled at me, so I quietly asked if the foot massage and tickles were okay. She nodded, and said that she would often take her shoes off, stretch her legs out and ask her husband to tickle her feet.

Interestingly, her daughter once said that when she was younger she could only sleep if she had her feet tickled beforehand...it must be genetic!

Not bad for one night’s work, eh? I hope you enjoyed, guys.

Cheers, everybody,
SmashTV
Click to expand...
Loved this story! Thanks for writing it down and sharing it with all of us!🙏😍🪶👣🔥
 
kibdos said:
My Willing Mother-in-Law

I hope this is the appropriate thread for this contribution, since it is not strictly about a Mom or an Aunt. It is a true story. Everything happened exactly as I have described it.

Her feet weren’t as sexy as her daughter’s and she might not be as ticklish, but that was just the problem. My (then) future wife, Em, was so ticklish that she became angry whenever I grabbed her feet. Arguments rather than lovemaking always followed. I had long-range plans to change that but, for the moment, with Em going barefoot all the time and me in a constant state of excitement, I needed a stop-gap ticklee. And with Gloria – the woman who became my mother-in-law – it might be different.

My future father-in-law was an idiot, and for Gloria, her marriage was rather passionless. I certainly wasn’t setting out to seduce her, but the tickling side of my sexuality needed a release. The two questions were, "Was she ticklish?" and "Would she go along without telling everyone?"

Gloria not telling was important to me. I wasn’t out of the closet with my foot tickling preference (fifty years later, I’m still not), and I didn’t want a reputation as the local pervert. At that time (the 60’s), I thought I was alone in my tastes. It never occurred to me that there might be other guys out there who felt the same as I did. Also, I had managed to tickle assorted aunts and even some friends’ mothers. Since Em and I lived in the same area, I was worried that the secret might get out. So, I had to go carefully.

Gloria rarely went barefoot but, after working all day, she always slipped out of her shoes and stockings and into slippers or sandals. These offered tantalizing glimpses of her feet and would be no problem to take off. In fact, they often slipped off on their own accord. I had the means in my fingers and I sure as hell had the motive in my mind. All I needed was the opportunity.

It came one night when Em was in her bedroom on the phone to one of her friends. I was in the kitchen table alcove and Gloria was sitting across from me. As we talked, I played absentmindedly with a pencil, which I then let fall to the floor. “I’ll get it,” I said quickly as I dived under the table. I pushed the pencil towards her feet in case she looked underneath. Her feet were tucked under her chair, the toes of her left foot on the floor. Her narrow-strapped sandals, half-off, hid nothing. This was the closest I had ever been to her feet. They were high arched, wide, with short, nicely shaped toes – just my taste.

“Do you see it?” she asked.

“Got it,” I replied. Then I picked up the pencil and, reaching out, ran the tip down her bare right arch. She yelped once and pulled her foot back. I got back into my chair, and she grinned across at me, saying nothing. And when Em came back to the kitchen, Gloria said nothing to her, either. So, it seemed she was ticklish. That was good news. And she didn’t get angry or tell anyone. That was even better. Step One accomplished.

But the next few steps brought confusion rather than insight. I tickled her twice, both briefly, both when she was in stockings. The first time, she didn’t react at all. The second time, she yelped again. “What is going on?” I thought to myself. “Was she ticklish or not?” I was determined to find out.

I was in my second year of university at the time and had some mornings off. My girlfriend was in her last year of High School and had no free time at all. I found out that Tuesday was Gloria’s day off from the restaurant and so I turned up one morning, asking to look at some encyclopedias. No one in Gloria’s family had much education and she didn’t realize that university students don’t consult mundane sources, so it seemed a reasonable request to her.

Fresh from a shower, she was still in a bright pink housecoat and – My God – she was barefoot! “I’m not leaving this place,” I promised myself, “until I give this woman a real hard tickling.” I pulled the books from the shelf and spread them around me on the floor. Instead of sitting, as I had hoped, she stood right next to me. But she stood on her left leg and crossed her right foot over balanced on her toes. Her bare right sole was only inches from my hand. I pretended to turn the pages while I gazed at her delicious sole, imagining my fingers tickling the soft skin. Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore.

Without looking up, I reached over and lightly ran one finger from her toes down into her arch and back again. She didn’t move. I stroked her again. She still didn’t move, and she said nothing. I looked up and her large brown eyes were sparkling at me. She grinned and winked.

“I’m not ticklish,” she said. She kept her foot in place and I kept tickling her gently.

“You’re not?”

“Nope.” Then she walked across the hall to her bedroom, sat down on the corner of the bed and stretched out her feet in front of her, her ankles crossed, one heel resting on the floor, both soles facing me. “You can tickle my feet all day and it wouldn’t bother me.” Only later would I realize that this was an invitation to do just that. Only even later would she admit that she stood next to me that way, hoping I would tickle her feet. But I had never met a woman who wanted to be tickled – and, in addition, I was very nervous. I didn’t want to wreck my relationship with Em or her mother. So, I missed the hints and left, frustrated. Again, Gloria said nothing to her daughter.

Later in the month, I went over once more. Housedress this time and light canvas slip-on shoes. She sat nearby while I was working, her legs crossed, her right shoe dangling on the tips of her toes. I still couldn’t bring myself to believe she was doing it deliberately. During the hour I was there, I tickled her briefly, in a teasing way, three times, each time getting a cheerful squeal and the mock-indignant words, “I’m not ticklish! I told you.” But she didn’t seem to mind it and – again – said nothing to her daughter.

Two weeks after that, it happened: the incident that changed our entire relationship. I went over to borrow one of her husband’s many tape recorders. He was like a child with his toys and would have flipped if he knew that I was using one of them. Gloria shrugged and said, “We’ll just keep it between us.” She was wearing a housedress again and the ugliest, heaviest slippers that I had ever seen, completely hiding her feet. I was in sandals that I kicked off when I came in.

I followed her upstairs to the crowded room where her husband kept his junk. She stood at the door, waved in the general direction of the recorders, and said, “Help yourself. I’ve got dishes to do.” I went in and knelt beside the scattered machines. “She seems distracted,” I thought, “and not in the best of moods. No action today.” But I was aware that she hadn’t gone downstairs. She stood watching me from the doorway. What I didn’t know then was that she was making up her mind. Suddenly, she was behind me and this time it was her hands on my feet!

“Tickle, tickle, tickle!” she laughed. Though I’m not ticklish, I jumped in surprise. Then she added, “It serves you right!” As she said this, she stepped slowly passed me, carefully picking her way through the mess of recorders. Again, only later did I realize that she was giving me an opportunity to grab her feet. But I missed my chance.

“It doesn’t serve me right,” I protested. “Why does it serve me right?”

There was a leather armchair and large footstool in front of me. She settled into the chair and slowly put both of her feet on the stool, inches from my hands. “Well, you tickle my feet and I’m not ticklish.”

I looked at her for a moment, stunned. She looked back with a teasing smile. “My God!” I realized with a shock, “She wants it! She’s asking to be tickled!” I deliberately pushed one of the recorders out of the way. She grinned, knowing what was coming. Returning her smile, I said, “You’re not?”

“Nope.” Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief. This mature woman was flirting like a teenager!

I lunged.

She squealed as my left arm wrapped tightly around her ankles and my right hand swept off her slippers. I began tickling her bare feet hard, my fingers digging into her soft soles. She laughed, saying over and over, “I’m not… I’m not… I’m not!”. But she wasn’t struggling. Her laughter then subsided to elated little squeaks and occasional – surprising - moans of pleasure. I took a risk and released her ankles. To my relief, she didn’t pull away but kept her feet on the stool. Now I able to use both hands and, realizing she wasn’t fighting me, my tickling slowed to light, lingering caresses. She arched her feet and spread her toes as my fingers ran between them. Her squeaks of protest diminished but the long, drawn-out sighs of enjoyment increased.

If this was fiction, I would now start sucking her toes and she would have loved it. Since this is a true story, I didn’t have the nerve – I had never kissed a woman’s feet before, anyway - and she would have been shocked at such intimacy. It would have blown everything. Besides, I was having enough fun.

I am both a foot-lover and a tickler. But, up to this moment, all my tickling had been hard struggles - grasping a girl’s bucking ankle, scrambling my fingers over a writhing sole, laughing protests filling my ears. I had never done slow, sensuous tickling before, with a woman whose only noises were encouraging sounds of delight. The electric feeling between my fingertips and her soft skin was incredible. My hungry eyes roamed over her soles, probing the curves and wrinkles just as my fingers were doing.

I doubt she had ever heard about foot fetishes: She was very religious, quite inhibited, trapped in what seemed a loveless marriage, and this was the mid 1960’s. It probably never occurred to her then that the tickling was sexual - but she must have known I was enjoying myself.

Both my hands were now focused on her right foot, my left playing with her toes, my right lightly tickling her arch. I looked up at her. She smiled. “It feels good….but I’m not ticklish.”

“But it feels good?” I asked encouragingly.

Like an offering, she raised her left foot and spread her toes invitingly. “Sure….Try the other one.”

It was the beginning of a fifteen-year foot-tickling “affair”. And she never told anyone.
Click to expand...
One of the most amazing true tickling tales I’ve ever read! Thank you! Wow! Incredibly HOT! And incredibly well written!

I posted the story to my website giving you major kudos, kibdos!

Here’s the link:
https://thelaughtermechanic.wordpre...lling-mother-in-law-m-f-erotic-foot-tickling/

A woman who enjoys being tickled and is asking a man/woman to tickle her is one of the most erotic things that can happen between humans in my humble opinion.

Thanks again for sharing!🙏

Kibdos, if you’d be open to me writing a short fictionalized account of the part in the story where you mention your toe sucking fantasy with Gloria, I’d be happy to write that one for you 🙂

Just a thought.

Thanks for considering🙏
TLM
https://thelaughtermechanic.wordpress.com
 
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purbeck said:
Used to tickle my Mums feet as a kid she’d said it drove her mad but never the less always relented after my request
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Hey, 🙂 You said it drove her mad - having her feet tickled (which is FANTASTIC, btw 😛). But she let you tickle them upon request.

So, when you say it drove her mad - do you mean: Your mum HATED having her feet tickled because it drove her mad? Or, she LIKED having her feet tickled even though it drove her mad?

And - related after your request - so you would ask her if you could tickle her feet and she would let you?

If it drove her mad and she hated it I wouldn't have thought she would let you tickle them. They would have to be opportunistic sneak/surprise feet tickling's. But if she did, you're really lucky 🙂.
 
I have distant memories of being a kid when my uncle and aunt from out of town would visit my grandmother (my uncle's mom). They only came up 2-3 times a year so it was a big deal to me. In those days, my aunt was probably in her late 30's (white brunette woman)and it's right around the time I noticed my foot fetish. If it was summer, I loved seeing her in sandals but I seem to recall a colder holiday like Thanksgiving or Christmas where she was wearing white heels and whitish nylons. I'm pretty sure I got up the courage to go under the table and quickly tickle one of her stockinged feet but it's so long ago that I can't remember details. I just remember being mesmerized by the sight of her heels next to the front door at my grandmother's house while she walked around in stockinged feet.
 
Although it's not very likely, it would be great to hear about an instance in which a mom (or wife) was tickled by a very young adult male (say, 18, 19, 20 years old). Wouldn't have to be intense tickling. Just a reaction to a tweak to the ribs, poke to the belly maybe a tickle under chin or of course, a ticklish footrub. Please share.
 
I’ve just recalled another experience with my aunt from later years. This would be about twenty years ago, and was quite impromptu!

She was leaving to return to Scotland, and was getting a coach from London. She’d arrived by coach a week or so earlier, and as I worked near the coach station I met her without warning to surprise her. We’d said our goodbyes previously, but as I knew she was getting an early coach I got the train to London early to maybe see her again. My aunt must have had an inkling I’d do just this as I received a text en route saying ‘Are you awake, you lazy bastard?’! 😀

I laughed and replied that not only was I awake but I was en route to see her off and that I’d see her soon. She replied with a smiley face, and I hoped that the train would get a move on! I eventually arrived at the station and made my way to the coach station to find my aunt, who greeted me with a hug and said ‘I knew you’d come, I just knew it!’, so she was obviously onto my plan….and was fully onboard with it!

I sat next to her and we began talking, as there was still some time before her coach left. Now, while I can’t remember the specifics I’m certain that I had some brief foot fun with her while she visited - the odd quick socked foot tickle here and there while we were alone in the room - so it only seemed right to ask for one last experience before she went! I mean, she could only say no, right?

‘Look, I know you need to go soon, and I need to get to work but before we go would you like to have your feet tickled?’

To be honest, I expected her to say no, as time was short and it was in public. Instead, she briefly contemplated it and agreed…albeit just the one foot! She unzipped her right black ankle boot and placed her black socked foot in my lap. Despite the crowd I took full advantage, massaging and tickling my aunt’s foot as she smiled and moaned contentedly. Maybe because there was no chance of being disturbed she was more receptive, but she happily let me play with her foot for about fifteen minutes, asking me some questions about why I liked feet. When I reminded her that she was my first indulgence - we’d discussed it in depth previously - she laughed, saying that she was ‘responsible for setting me on this path of destruction’!

All too soon, the call came for the coach to be boarded, and so I had to stop. My aunt put her boot back on, thanked me for meeting her and for the tickles, and we shared a goodbye hug. I waved her off on the coach, and then went to work with a spring in my step. I was very nearly late, but it was definitely worth it!

Cheers, everybody,
SmashTV
 
laffmaker1234 said:
Although it's not very likely, it would be great to hear about an instance in which a mom (or wife) was tickled by a very young adult male (say, 18, 19, 20 years old). Wouldn't have to be intense tickling. Just a reaction to a tweak to the ribs, poke to the belly maybe a tickle under chin or of course, a ticklish footrub. Please share.
Click to expand...
Some of my earlier posts in this thread are about this. Although at 22 I was a bit older than the ages you’ve specified, but I still got some foot massages and tickles in on friend’s middle aged mothers. Hope you enjoy them if you’ve not already read them.

Cheers, everybody,
SmashTV
 
A slight stretch here, but I once got the briefest of tickles in on my ‘office mother’ - who was a mother herself, so maybe it counts!

She was my line manager, and was a tall, buxom woman in her 50s with an outwardly stern demeanour but was actually very compassionate with a big heart. By ‘office mother’ I mean that she had my back and supported me, protected me from office politics that I remained blissfully unaware of and gave me a kick up the arse when necessary!

This particular day, some twenty years back, she’d actually tickled me first! I was talking to a colleague and as she walked past she gave me a rapid fire series of poles in my sides and ribs. I squirmed at the unexpected ticklish sensation, and she walked off laughing.

It’s only fair I get my revenge, right?

A few hours later she was also talking to a colleague, so I crept up behind her and tickled her sides. It was essentially just a quick goosing, as I was in the workplace and there are limits! However, I dug in quite deeply and she let out a loud wooping noise which echoed around the office! She laughed when she saw it was me, and I smiled that I was paying her back from earlier. That was my story, anyway…!

I never did anything like it again, but as always, it felt good to see a mature woman was unexpectedly ticklish!

Cheers, everybody,
SmashTV
 
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