In many ways I consider the span of 2001-2003 to be the best years of my life (at the very
least from a tickling perspective). I met the woman who is now my wife during the frigid winter months
of 2001 and we began dating.
Shortly into our relationship when we were still in the 'long phone conversation stage', I managed
to muster up the nerve to bring up my tickling fetish and she was wonderfully receptive to the notion.
I never really expected much to follow, having been deprived of the tickling I craved for so long growing up.
What I actually got was beyond my wildest dreams...
In the early months of 2002 (a shame I can't recall the exact date), my future wife and I had dinner one
evening. Afterwards she suggested that we visit her cousin. I, of course agreed, and we drove to her house
to meet and talk with her.
What I expected to be a quick social call ended up dragging out longer and longer and I remember being bummed
out, sitting on their heavily padded couch, slumping into the cushions while watching Panic Room with vague disinterest.
Somewhere close to midnight, her cousin checked the locks and retired to the bedroom, shutting out the lights
on the way. I was a little confused that we were still there but played it off. My future wife proceeded to change the television
to a music channel and cranked up the volume. She then turned to me in all seriousness and said 'I'm going
to tickle you to death.'
Instantly my heart was in my throat, pounding like a galloping race horse.
Try to comprehend that being shy and socially inept for years, as I was growing up, I had cleverly concealed
my fixation with tickling, but my concealment did not in any way diminish my desire to be on the receiving end.
Before my wife came along, I had never experienced an extended tickling session.
I felt like a man dying of thirst in the Sahara Desert with an oasis in full view but unable to reach it.
Now after years of frustration, that thirst could possibly be quenched.
She instructed me to lay face-up on the couch and I did, breathless and trembling with anticipation.
First she began by tracing a simple line down my bare arm with a fingertip, stopping just short of my armpit.
I barely repressed a laugh and shuddered at the delicious sensation.
Then her exploratory finger found the hollow of my armpit, digging beneath the fold of my shirt
to swirl about in a teasing manner.
At this I released a stream of high-pitched giggles.
Without warning the genuine tickling began, with her making use of all five fingers.
When I couldn't remain still, she pinned my arm to the side of the couch and ruthlessly continued.
Not as if I could offer up much resistance. I was completely hysterical with laughter, feeling that wonderful
and deep sensation of utter helplessness.
Suddenly she altered her approach, straddling me and entering the bottom of my shit with both hands to
spider-walk her fingertips up my heaving sides. Is it just me or does it sometimes seem to tickle even more when you
are clothed or partially clothed? It's as if your mind is tricked by the clothing, thinking you're protected even though
you're clearly not. 😀
Either way, I completely lost it when the second hand entered play, exploding with breathless gusts of pleading
laughter. She was merciless. I thrashed and bucked about, but the soft cushions of the couch and her weight conspired
against me as she tickled me to within an inch of my life.
When she finally stopped, spots lingered in front of my eyes. I took the advantage of the brief respite to gasp
for precious oxygen. Her eyes gleamed in the dim illumination of the television and she gently patted the obvious
bulge in my pants. 'Wow, you weren't kidding when you said it turned you on, huh?'
I couldn't summon the presence of mind to reply. As it was, I didn't have much time anyway.
Apparently finished with the upper body for the moment, she turned to straddle my hips facing the other direction
and tested my legs with a few tentative pokes and prods. She elicited quite a bit of laughter from me when she got to my
knees, but paused only briefly on her way further down. I knew exactly where she was going.
My anticipation grew by the second. Logic told me that if the torment of my upper body had been bad, then the ordeal that
my socked feet were about to receive would be far worse.
Logic lied. It wasn't far worse... It was infinitely worse.
After a certain amount of time being tickled by someone well-versed in the art, even parts of you that you never
thought could be ticklish, become so. I was at this point of hypersensitivity when the first light touches descended on the
soles of my feet. Even through the material of my socks it was like lightning.
Instantly I was wracked by endless laughter as one finger was replaced by two, then five.
Since she was now straddling my knees, all I succeeded in doing with my hopeless struggles was in lifting my
upper body perhaps a foot off the couch before going completely rigid with merriment.
When the second hand touched down on my left foot, I went berserk. My laughter entered the silent stage
as her dexterous digits continued their devilish work.
She stopped abruptly, allowing me to catch up on my breathing for a few moments. Then she did the unthinkable.
Slowly and methodically, she peeled the socks from my now naked feet. I pleaded and begged but I should have saved my air.
As the torture resumed and the soundless laughter returned in wave after remorseless wave, the entire world
seemed to grow dim and distant. The only things remaining were the woman restraining me and the endless tickling
of my extremities.
I cannot say exactly how long she kept me wracked in silent but delectable suffering.
What was surely only ten minutes felt like hours of exquisite torment.
Surely I was in heaven, and these were the ministrations of an angel.
Finally after ages, she stopped and got up slowly, brushed the hair back from my forehead.
My whole body was covered with a sheen of sweat and I felt as if I had just run a marathon.
She smiled. And then she did some other things with those hands that aren't so PG rated.
And that, my friends, was my first true tickle torture experience.
In retrospect it was probably the best tickling of my life, and it will always remain above and beyond
similar times in my mind if for no other reason than simply because it was so fresh, new and special.
I have a few other stories to share some other time depending on if this is well received and if time presents itself.
Hope you enjoyed.
least from a tickling perspective). I met the woman who is now my wife during the frigid winter months
of 2001 and we began dating.
Shortly into our relationship when we were still in the 'long phone conversation stage', I managed
to muster up the nerve to bring up my tickling fetish and she was wonderfully receptive to the notion.
I never really expected much to follow, having been deprived of the tickling I craved for so long growing up.
What I actually got was beyond my wildest dreams...
In the early months of 2002 (a shame I can't recall the exact date), my future wife and I had dinner one
evening. Afterwards she suggested that we visit her cousin. I, of course agreed, and we drove to her house
to meet and talk with her.
What I expected to be a quick social call ended up dragging out longer and longer and I remember being bummed
out, sitting on their heavily padded couch, slumping into the cushions while watching Panic Room with vague disinterest.
Somewhere close to midnight, her cousin checked the locks and retired to the bedroom, shutting out the lights
on the way. I was a little confused that we were still there but played it off. My future wife proceeded to change the television
to a music channel and cranked up the volume. She then turned to me in all seriousness and said 'I'm going
to tickle you to death.'
Instantly my heart was in my throat, pounding like a galloping race horse.
Try to comprehend that being shy and socially inept for years, as I was growing up, I had cleverly concealed
my fixation with tickling, but my concealment did not in any way diminish my desire to be on the receiving end.
Before my wife came along, I had never experienced an extended tickling session.
I felt like a man dying of thirst in the Sahara Desert with an oasis in full view but unable to reach it.
Now after years of frustration, that thirst could possibly be quenched.
She instructed me to lay face-up on the couch and I did, breathless and trembling with anticipation.
First she began by tracing a simple line down my bare arm with a fingertip, stopping just short of my armpit.
I barely repressed a laugh and shuddered at the delicious sensation.
Then her exploratory finger found the hollow of my armpit, digging beneath the fold of my shirt
to swirl about in a teasing manner.
At this I released a stream of high-pitched giggles.
Without warning the genuine tickling began, with her making use of all five fingers.
When I couldn't remain still, she pinned my arm to the side of the couch and ruthlessly continued.
Not as if I could offer up much resistance. I was completely hysterical with laughter, feeling that wonderful
and deep sensation of utter helplessness.
Suddenly she altered her approach, straddling me and entering the bottom of my shit with both hands to
spider-walk her fingertips up my heaving sides. Is it just me or does it sometimes seem to tickle even more when you
are clothed or partially clothed? It's as if your mind is tricked by the clothing, thinking you're protected even though
you're clearly not. 😀
Either way, I completely lost it when the second hand entered play, exploding with breathless gusts of pleading
laughter. She was merciless. I thrashed and bucked about, but the soft cushions of the couch and her weight conspired
against me as she tickled me to within an inch of my life.
When she finally stopped, spots lingered in front of my eyes. I took the advantage of the brief respite to gasp
for precious oxygen. Her eyes gleamed in the dim illumination of the television and she gently patted the obvious
bulge in my pants. 'Wow, you weren't kidding when you said it turned you on, huh?'
I couldn't summon the presence of mind to reply. As it was, I didn't have much time anyway.
Apparently finished with the upper body for the moment, she turned to straddle my hips facing the other direction
and tested my legs with a few tentative pokes and prods. She elicited quite a bit of laughter from me when she got to my
knees, but paused only briefly on her way further down. I knew exactly where she was going.
My anticipation grew by the second. Logic told me that if the torment of my upper body had been bad, then the ordeal that
my socked feet were about to receive would be far worse.
Logic lied. It wasn't far worse... It was infinitely worse.
After a certain amount of time being tickled by someone well-versed in the art, even parts of you that you never
thought could be ticklish, become so. I was at this point of hypersensitivity when the first light touches descended on the
soles of my feet. Even through the material of my socks it was like lightning.
Instantly I was wracked by endless laughter as one finger was replaced by two, then five.
Since she was now straddling my knees, all I succeeded in doing with my hopeless struggles was in lifting my
upper body perhaps a foot off the couch before going completely rigid with merriment.
When the second hand touched down on my left foot, I went berserk. My laughter entered the silent stage
as her dexterous digits continued their devilish work.
She stopped abruptly, allowing me to catch up on my breathing for a few moments. Then she did the unthinkable.
Slowly and methodically, she peeled the socks from my now naked feet. I pleaded and begged but I should have saved my air.
As the torture resumed and the soundless laughter returned in wave after remorseless wave, the entire world
seemed to grow dim and distant. The only things remaining were the woman restraining me and the endless tickling
of my extremities.
I cannot say exactly how long she kept me wracked in silent but delectable suffering.
What was surely only ten minutes felt like hours of exquisite torment.
Surely I was in heaven, and these were the ministrations of an angel.
Finally after ages, she stopped and got up slowly, brushed the hair back from my forehead.
My whole body was covered with a sheen of sweat and I felt as if I had just run a marathon.
She smiled. And then she did some other things with those hands that aren't so PG rated.
And that, my friends, was my first true tickle torture experience.
In retrospect it was probably the best tickling of my life, and it will always remain above and beyond
similar times in my mind if for no other reason than simply because it was so fresh, new and special.
I have a few other stories to share some other time depending on if this is well received and if time presents itself.
Hope you enjoyed.
