laughter_n_love
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Nov 2, 2001
- Messages
- 297
- Points
- 18
Out of the Rain (Part 1 of 2)
I left work on Friday afternoon and headed up north, just like every other weekend. The traffic was slow moving, as always, and the thunderclouds were already darkening the sky. Driving in the rain is not my favorite activity, and I secretly cursed the other motorists for clogging the highway and slowing the commute. As I put the miles behind me, the traffic began to thin out, and I was able to make better time. I pulled up in front of my weekend getaway just as the skies opened and the rain began to fall.
Up in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the rainstorms can be fierce, and this one appeared to be no exception. Within minutes of starting, the rain was pouring hard, and the thunder and lightning began to put on an audial and visual show. I stood in the front windows and watched for a moment. Deep in the woods, far from any main road or neighbors, my cabin was surrounded in darkness. The clouds obscured any signs of the moon, so the night outside was blacker than black. I couldn't even see the rain falling against the thick covering of the surrounding trees. Only the streaks on the windows and the sounds of thundering herds on the roof made the heavy rains outside obvious. A particularly close bolt of lighting and crack of thunder made me jump in spite of myself, and pulled myself away from the window to ready for the storm.
Thankfully, I had watched the weather forecast before leaving for the weekend, and was fully prepared for a weekend without power. Miles from civilization as I was, the power went out frequently, and often was not restored for days. I was used to reading by candlelight and eating cold meals up here. Armed with a bounty of candles, dry goods, and reading material, I would be fine for as long as the storm chose to continue.
Outside, there was another flash of light, and a huge roll of thunder followed immediately. The lights flickered twice and went out. I quickly set about lighting candles. Soon the room was bathed in the soft glow of many tiny flames, and the shadows flickered everywhere. A check of utilities and fuses confirmed what I already knew. The power was out. Already the cabin began to take on a chill. Minutes later, I had a fire in the fireplace that gave the room a warmth in more ways than one. I had plenty of dry wood and candles, and felt I would be fine for the night.
The wind howled and threatened to blow my little cabin down like in the fairy tales. I was unconcerned. The cabin was sturdy, and there was nothing and no one to fear out here in the middle of nowhere. In fact, I rather welcomed the prevailing storm outside. It was the only company I had.
I settled into the comfortable chair I always sat in and thought about that realization. I was alone, not just here, but in all aspects of my life. Twice engaged, and yet to make it to the altar. Why did this pattern keep reoccurring? What was it about me that made all relationships ultimately end? Did my moodiness drive them away? Was I intolerable to live with? Did I not show them enough love and affection?
The storm raged outside, but I was oblivious to it. I was consumed by my thoughts. I knew that none of the reasons I was batting about was the cause of my failed relationships. It was my fetish that was at fault. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I knew that to be the truth. I was a slave to my dark desires, and no relationship could compete with that. One way or another, it was my fetish that doomed each of my loves. This one didn't like it. That one didn't understand. This one thought I was a freak. That one tried to indulge me, so great was her love for me, but she didn't know how to give me what I needed. None of them understood what I needed. None of them could live up to my expectations. I was fully prepared to bury my hidden passions forever for my most recent fiance', but then she discovered my secret. The trust had been broken, the wheels fell off, and that was the end of that.
So now, week after week, when the work was done, I sought refuge in my mountain retreat. Alone. Alone to think about my flaws and failed relationships. Alone to question why I allowed my fetish to control my life. Alone to tear myself down, analyze my core bit by bit, and then build myself back up. But mainly, alone to sit and dream and hope that one day I might find the one woman out there who understood and accepted me completely. The one who would share my fetish without reservations or encouragement from me. The one who would crave what I crave, need what I need, and love what I love. The question was never, "When will I find her?" No, the question was always, "Does she exist?" I didn't know the answer, but up here, all alone in the woods, with only the storm to keep me company, anything was possible.
I rose from my chair and forced my brain to quiet. By my watch, I had been battling with my thoughts for over 2 hours. Time for peace. Time for solace. Time for wine.
Soon, I was back in my chair with glass of Merlot and handful of reading material. Fetish related reading material, of course. There was no one to hide it from here. I did not fear discovery. That brought a smile to my face. If there was one good thing about being alone, it was the peace of mind that comes with not having to sneak around behind the back of another.
The storm showed no signs of letting up. The fire was burning heartily, keeping the room warm and cozy. The wine added to my inner warmth, and I noted to myself that I was actually happy. Well, if not happy, then content. Other than the woman of my dreams, I had everything I needed at the moment. I picked up the first magazine and began to read.
Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the door.
I nearly jumped out of my skin! "Who the hell is that!?" was all I could think of. Fortunately, years of being cautious had trained me to first hide my fetish material before answering the door. Not wanting to delay too long, I stuff the magazines behind the pillow of my chair, and hoped that it would provide enough cover. Satisfied with my plan, I opened the door.
Standing in the door was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She didn't look like she felt too beautiful at the moment though. Her long black hair was soaked and clinging to her face. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and I could tell she had been crying. Her lip was trembling, and her whole body was shaking from the cold and wet, or maybe from the fear she was feeling. She looked terrified. We just looked at each other for a moment. I was too surprised by the suddenness of my visitor and the depth of her beauty to say anything. I don't know what she must have been thinking, because she too was silent, but every ounce of her screamed "Please help me!" while at the same time "Don't hurt me!"
Finally I broke the silence. "Are you all right?" She was still too scared to speak, so she just shook her her head. I could tell that she desperately wanted to be let in, but was afraid of who or what might be in this cabin in the woods. It occurred to me that despite her obvious need for help, it must have taken her great courage to knock on my door. I tried to convey that I had no intention of harming her. I stepped back and opened the door wide, letting the warmth and light of the fire reach her. "Come on in out of the rain." I told her reassuringly. Her eyes darted about the cabin, and seeing nothing threatening within, she finally entered.
The rain water was running off her in streams, making a puddle on my floormat. She just stood there, shaking and holding herself, still looking to me to help her. Not knowing what exactly to do, I started with the questions. "Are you okay?" I asked again. "Are you hurt? Do you need help?"
"I...I...I n-n-n-need h-h-h-help," she finally managed to stammer between trembling lips. Her eyes began to fill with tears again, and she looked at me pleadingly. I could tell she had been as strong as she had to be to get here, and now she needed rescuing. She was so beautiful, and in such need of me to take care of her, that I was overwhelmed with emotion. The white knight in me took over, and I did the only thing I could think of. I took her soaked little frame in my arms and embraced her.
It didn't surprise me at all that instead of recoiling in horror at being hugged by a stranger, she welcomed my gesture. In fact, she clung to me tight, and began to sob in my shoulder. She couldn't be strong any longer, and whether I represented a threat to her or not, she needed to be held. I held her close, and her body trembled and shuddered as her emotions poured forth. She was just a little thing, and whatever had happened to, it had put her through the emotional wringer. I stroked her hair and let her sob. It needed to come out, so I simply held her while it did.
Finally, she began to calm. I stroked her hair and repeated, "It's all right, it's all right", over and over. She disengaged herself, wiping the tears from her eyes. On top of everything else, she looked a bit embarrassed at her display of emotion and vulnerability. I decided to give her a moment to compose herself and fetched a towel. She took it gladly, and began to dry her hair. When I felt she was ready to talk, I asked her again, "Now, what's going on?"
She looked at me, and I could tell that she was trying to decide if she could trust me. I could almost read her thoughts. She was thinking that I had let her in out of the rain, and I had held her when she had needed to be held, and there were no signs of dead bodies or blood stains in the cabin. Then I caught her looking me up and down. I didn't look threatening, and I wanted to help her. I could almost hear her mentally deciding I was safe.
"My car," she began. "I was driving, in the rain, in this," she motioned towards the windows, and as if to help her story, the thunder rolled outside. "I couldn't see the road. There were no lights." I nodded as she spoke, trying to show her I understood exactly what she was trying to explain. She began to grow more comfortable as she spoke. "The wipers were going like crazy, but I couldn't see anything. It's so dark up here." Again I nodded, for I had been thinking the same thing just recently. "Somehow, I made the wrong turn, and got off the main road. I tried to turn around, but I got lost. I just kept driving and driving, hoping to find another car or a highway sign, but I couldn't find anything." Reliving the story was starting to upset her again. Like she was experiencing the panic all over again, she started to tremble. "It was so dark, and I was so scared. Then I thought I saw something in the middle of the road, so I swerved to miss it, and my car ended up in some ditch." My eyes flashed as I heard this, so she quickly added, "I'm okay. I stopped the car before I hit anything, but I couldn't get out of the ditch...there was a lot of mud." I looked down and saw signs of mud on her shoes and jeans. "I didn't know what to do. I knew I had to find some help. So I started walking, and I saw your light. I was just hoping someone would be here...someone who could help." She looked at me again.
I was relieved that there was no emergency and no one was hurt. I set about to help her. "Okay, wait here," I said. "I'll go check on your car...I think I know what ditch you are talking about." She visibly relaxed, now that I was going to help her. I led her to one of the kitchen stools, and grabbed my jacket and flashlight. "I'll be right back. Don't worry." She nodded and clung to the towel I had given her.
I was back in only a few minutes. She was standing in front of the fireplace, warming herself. "I found your car, but like you said, it's pretty stuck." My shoes and pant legs were covered in the mud of the ditch. "The good news is that it's off the road, so no one is going to hit it. The bad news is, it's not going anywhere." I shook the water from my hair and discarded my muddy shoes. Outside, the storm seemed to be increasing in strength.
"Do you have a phone I can use?" she asked.
"I do, but the lines are down, and so is the power," I said.
This didn't surprise her. "Can you give me a ride then?" she asked.
I thought about it for a moment. "I could, but I'm no better at driving these roads in this weather than you are. Why don't we wait a bit and see if the storm lets up, and then I can give you a ride to someone who can help," I said.
She looked out the window and knew I was right. There was no point in risking those roads again. Finally she nodded, "Okay".
"I know you want to get going, but it's really not safe to be out there right now," I said, reiterating my point. I looked her by the fire, still dripping wet. "You must be soaked." She smiled weakly and nodded. "You need some dry clothes," I stated.
"I need a shower," she said. "I'm freezing."
"Well, with no power, the shower isn't going to be hot, but you are welcome to use it." She looked visibly disappointed at the news. I felt powerless to help her. "Let me get you some dry stuff, okay?" I handed her one of the oversized towels that I use and some clothes from my drawers. I set a few candles in the bathroom for her, and left her to dry and change in peace. It was only then that I realized how wet I had gotten from my short time out in the downpour, and quickly I threw on some new warm clothes for myself. I was waiting for her when she emerged from the bathroom.
She was stunning. She had used my brush to comb her hair back, and was now sporting the 'wet look'. I could tell she would have a mess of curls when it was done drying. She had cleaned up her face with the cold water from the sink, and I saw truly for the first time how beautiful she was. She was wearing the sweatshirt and sweat pants I had given her, and they looked huge on her. "Thank you," she said, handing me back the two wet towels and the boxers and socks I had given her. "The underwear....um...isn't my style, and I hate socks." I looked down at the floor and saw the cutest little pair of bare feet I'd seen in a long time. She softly padded past me on the hardwood floor and stood on the rug in front of the fire. "Do you have anything warm to drink?" she asked.
The image of her little red toenails was still in my brain, and I didn't answer right away. "Um...no...not really...I have wine though."
"Actually, that's probably better. I could use a drink," she said.
I poured her a glass of the Merlot, and getting a moment's inspiration, grabbed one of the oversize blankets I have lying around the cabin. She was sitting on the sofa, still gazing into the fire. I saw immediately that the blanket was a good idea, and moment's latter, she was surrounded in it. She sipped the wine and smiled for the first time. "Thank you," she said again.
I sat in the chair. "You are welcome," I said. "By the way, my name is Jonathan."
"I'm Tracy," she said.
"Nice to meet you, Tracy. So tell me, what were you doing out there on the roads tonight?"
At my question, a cloud passed over her face. It was almost as if she had begun to enjoy my hospitality and had forgotten about her ordeal. She took a big sip of wine, drew her legs up underneath her, and looked at me. "Okay, let me tell you what happened."
She began to tell her story. "My husband surprised me with a hiking trip in the mountains. He was already out here on business, so I drove out this week to meet him." As if to replenish her courage, she drank the wine steadily as she spoke. "I'm thinking, 'what a great idea'. If I had only known." She went on and on about the details of her ride up, and how excited she had been to see her husband after being apart for a few days. At this point, I refilled her glass, and she continued. "Then, tonight, he confesses to me why he was being so nice with the surprise trip." Her lip began to tremble again. "He tells me that he's been having an affair...it's been going on for months...and now he thinks he's in love with her." The tears began to flow again, and I rounded up some tissue for her. She took another long pull of wine, and was able to collect herself after a few moments of silent anguish. "So I left. I just got in the car and started driving. I had to get away from him. I couldn't look at him." Her face reflect all the emotions, from the hurt to the anger. "Then this storm comes out of nowhere, and suddenly I'm lost." I nodded sympathetically, wishing I hadn't asked. "And well...you know the rest."
I sipped my wine and remained silent. I didn't know what to say to such a story, so I figured that silence was my best option. Tracy also fell silent, lost in her own thoughts of the recent events of her life. The fire crackled noisily, and outside, the weather continued to bombard the cabin. All that was missing was the ticking of a grandfather clock, and we'd of had ourselves a regular Alfred Hitchcock kind of scene.
Tracy drained her glass and refilled it on her own. She looked as though she were getting ready to talk again, and I wanted to be prepared. I took a moment to fetch another bottle of wine and add wood to the fire. I took my seat again, unaware that I had jostled the pillow hiding my reading material from before. When she saw I was again attentive, she went on with her tale. What she said next shocked me to my very core.
"I'm actually glad this happened," she said, her words only slightly slurred. "Now I have an excuse to leave him. He....he doesn't understand my needs. He doesn't give me what I need." She was looking at me right in the eye as she spoke, and I was captured by the intensity of her stare. "Do you know what a fetish is, Jonathan?"
I nearly choked on my wine at hearing those words. I felt an icy chill around my heart, and didn't think I would be able to answer in a steady voice. Trying to be a nonchalant as possible, I nodded that I did.
"Good. Well, I have a fetish, and my husband just doesn't get it. He's never gotten it." Her words continued to come out a bit sloppy, but she didn't seem to be getting any worse. "Now I can go out and find someone who gets it. Someone who can satisfy me. Then I'll be happy for once."
My mouth was bone dry, and I swallowed hard. I desperately wanted to know what she was talking about, but I was afraid to hear the answer. It had to be something else. There is no way that I would be lucky enough to have a beautiful woman just appear out of nowhere who was looking for the same things as me. The odds were too great. This adorable creature must be referring to something else. Had to be. But still, I had to know. My voice came out as a whisper, "What is your fetish?"
At my question, a transformation came over Tracy. It was as though someone or something had swept through the room and taken all of her anger and sadness and bitterness away. Her eyes sparkled, and the effect made her even more beautiful. A smile crept over her face, and she pulled her wine glass up as if to hide behind it. A tiny giggle escaped from her, and I thought I had never heard anything so delightful. "I can't tell you," she said. "You'll think I'm nuts."
I was surprised by this sudden change in her personality. One would have thought that I'd expect the unexpected in this night of many surprises. I assumed the wine she had consumed was to blame, but my gut instincts told me that this was the 'real' Tracy. Tracy, the woman with the little girl inside her that would never die. This was the woman who made rooms light up with her smile and laugh when she wasn't having her life turned upside down on her. I was encouraged by her response. She wanted me to draw it out of her, that was clear. What I had to guard against was appearing too anxious to find out her secret. "I won't think you are nuts, " I said reassuringly. "You can tell me."
"Okay," she giggled, and sipped her wine again. Her face turned bright crimson even before she spoke. "I like to be tickled," she quickly blurted, and immediately buried her head under the blanket surrounding her. I could hear her giggling to herself from her hiding spot.
My heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be true. I had to have misheard. She couldn't possibly have said what I thought she said. Her words echoed in my head over and over. "I like to be tickled." I was too stunned to reply. Tracy must have taken my lack of response as a sign of disapproval. She peeked out from under the blanket. "Told you you'd think I was nuts."
I had to think fast. I couldn't let this opportunity slip away now that it had finally arrived. I couldn't let her think I "didn't get it". I had been waiting my whole life to find the woman who understood what I understood, and now that I had found her, I was about to scare her away by saying nothing. "I don't think that," I finally managed to say, but my voice was weak. I was struck my a moment of genius. Act dumb. "Tell me about it, " I said.
She saw by my face that I wasn't horrified or disgusted by what she had revealed, so she decided to continue. The giggle returned. "Well..." Giggling. "I like to be tickled." More giggling. So it was true...I hadn't misheard. "Actually, I love to be tickled!" Sustained giggling. Whether it was coincidence or not, her toes had crept out from beneath the blanket, and I found my eyes fixated on them. I managed to smile, and Tracy took that as a sign to keep sharing. She was building up momentum, growing more confident with each revelation. "Not just tickled...tickle tortured!" She was flushed with excitement. "I love being held down and tickled!" There was a stirring in my pants that I hoped she would not notice. I believe she was feeling too liberated in her confessions to notice my reactions other than I wasn't condemning her. I could tell that she had held back her inner desires for far too long, and now was reveling in the chance to let it all out. "To be tied down and tickled without mercy would be a fantasy come true!" she cried in finale. Outside, a
boom of thunder capped off her words, and she squeaked and giggled at being startled.
I was in a semi-concious state. I tried to soak up and absorb every ounce of her words. I told my brain to never, ever forget what I had just heard. My eyes were riveted to the tiny toes with the candy apple polish peeking out at me. My brain was being overloaded with stimuli. What do I say? What do I do? How to I make this moment go on forever?
My brain screamed "Smile!" at me. I smiled at Tracy, and she tittered and withdrew further under the blanket again. The movement exposed a bit more of her tiny creamy white foot, and the toes fluttered slightly. "Stop staring at her toes!" my brain next screamed. I pulled my eyes away and looked at her. She was still basking in her moment of truth, her weight of secrecy now lifted. But that moment would soon pass, and she would be expecting some kind of feedback. I musn't let her think she's said anything out of the ordinary. I must show her that I understand and that I'm okay with what she has revealed. "Say something!" was all my brain could come up with, but I was at a loss for words. "Well...ummm...I...ahhh...", I stammered.
A look of disappointment began to creep into her face. I was raining on her parade. As liberating as her moment just was, it was quickly being replaced with regret and self doubt. "You think I'm a freak," she said.
Her words felt like a blow to the chest. This wasn't supposed to happen! I'm blowing it! "No, no, not at all," I replied. But I had nothing else to follow up with. All was lost.
"What's that behind you?" she asked suddenly.
My heart froze again. This time, my brain refused to even try to function. She looked me for a moment, and all I could do was look at her wide eyed. I'm sure I turned as white as a ghost. Seeing that I wasn't going to give her an answer, she rose from the couch and approached me. I actually feared she might strike me, but instead, she reached past me and pulled something from behind the pillow. One of my fetish magazines!
"Oh my God!" she cried. "Why do you have this?!" She turned the magazine over in her hands. Tied and Tickled it was called. She began to leaf through the pictures of naked women bound and tickled in dozens of positions and situations. Her eyes grew as wide as saucers.
I tried to shrink into the chair. If I had a rock I would have crawled under it. Unlike Tracy, who had faced her dark secret bravely and come out under her own terms, I had been discovered. I felt terrible shame, and my cheeks were burning. I had no answers for her.
"You have a tickle fetish too, don't you?" she stated more than asked, and I reluctantly nodded. She rolled the magazine and whacked me with it in the shoulder. "You jerk! You made me feel like I was a freak, and all along you knew exactly what I was talking about!" She was so right it was scary, and I had no defense. I just tried to make myself a little smaller. She must have seen how bad I felt about the whole thing, and realizing herself what a burden of secrecy I carried with me, she softened almost immediately. To my surprise, she bent over and placed a soft kiss against my cheek. "It's okay, I forgive you. After all, you did rescue me." Her face was close to mine, and she smiled brightly at me. At once I knew it was going to be okay, and I smiled back, relieved to be off the hook. The worst had been averted. But these were strange happenings...where would this go from here?
In response to my thoughts, Tracy turned without another word and sat back down on the couch, still holding my magazine. She got herself comfortable, drawing her knees up and enveloping herself again under the blanket. This time I noticed that both bare feet were poking out, her bare soles facing my direction. Then, to my dismay, she began to read through it, page by page.
I sat in my chair, still overcome by all the shocking events. I was incredibly turned on by all this talk of tickling and fetishes. I was horrified by having my secret so suddenly unmasked. I was confused by the actions of this lovely woman sitting on my sofa, reading my tickling magazine. A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions were spinning around in my head. Should I go tickle her? Should I try to act cool? Should I do some confessing of my own?
But I did none of these things. I sat and quietly observed the beautiful stranger. She seemed quite absorbed in the magazine. My eyes moved from her face to her bare feet. Almost as if on a director's cue, her free hand moved down and touched her own foot. I smiled. I was growing more comfortable with the situation with every passing moment. As I had not condemned her, Tracy would not condemn me. As I had not judged her, she would not judge me. The reality of the situation began to sink in, and I was terribly excited by what was transpiring. Here was a woman, a beautiful woman, alone with me in my cabin in the woods, who shared my love for tickling, sitting on my sofa, toying with her own bare feet, reading a tickling magazine. My manhood rose as far as it could in my jeans, and I worried about her noticing my arousal. But absorbed as she was, I need not have worried. Relaxing, I reached down and sipped my wine. It was the first voluntary thing I'd done since she had discovered my hidden magazines. She caught my movement and looked at me, giggling and smiling. Her hand continued to trace the outer edge of her soles. I returned her smile warmly. She returned her attention to the magazine, and I continued to silently observe her.
As I sat and watched, I still pondered how next to proceed. I decided the safe approach was to pluck another of the magazines and do some reading of my own. Before I had a chance though, Tracy decided to move things in her own direction. "Oooooohhhhh," she said. "Jonathan, come take a look at this!"
I rose from my chair, but made no effort to hide the bulge in my pants. Plopped down beside her on the sofa, only millimeters away from where her bare feet poked out from under the blanket. Tracy seemed as aware of this as I was. In fact, this I suspect was her plan all along. She tucked her feet over to allow me to sit, but then let her toes brush up against my thigh as she repositioned herself again. My bulge fought for freedom, and I prayed that I would eventually grant him his wish at some point.
Tracy slid the magazine over so that it rest on the space between both our knees. I felt her toes sliding along my thigh as she moved. I couldn't tell if it was intentional, but I suspected it was. The magazine was open to a layout of a woman trapped in a set of stocks. She was naked, with her wrists tied over her head. The photos depicted another naked woman circling the first with a large ostrich feather. Each photo showed the bound woman being tickled in a different spot, and her face was contorted with forced laughter. The woman doing the tickling seemed to be having great fun. Seeing the photos made my bulge move again. Having Tracy in such close proximity might have had something to do with that as well.
"Doesn't that look like pure torture?!" Tracy chirped. Her eyes were dancing like they had when I had first asked about her fetish.
I spoke for the first time in some time, and my voice didn't waver this time. "Yes, that woman looks pretty ticklish." I gave her an exaggerated once over with my eyes, and she giggled, happy to see I was as comfortable as she in our current situation. "Are you ticklish, Tracy?"
"Oh my God yes!" she practically exploded. Her face was totally lit up now. "I'm the most ticklish person on the planet!" The toes brushing my leg wiggling involuntarily as if to prove her point.
Again my bulge jumped, and I silently thanked God for bringing this angel to my door. I smiled. Tracy and I were playing out a game. We both knew where this was leading. It was a matter of how we got there. Being the tickling enthusiasts that we were, we were both well rehearsed in this kind of dancing. She had spent years perfecting the art of being tickled, and I the art of tickling. It was she who had invited me to sit beside her. It was I who asked the obvious "are you ticklish" question. We were approaching our final destination, but neither of us was in a hurry to get there.
"The most ticklish person on the planet, eh?" I said, and she giggled and nodded. She's wondering what I'm going to do next. The ball is in my court. Do I go for the gold now, or do I let the foreplay continue? The moment was too rich to spoil just yet. "Where are you ticklish?" I asked, sticking to the tried and true list of questions. Both of us had completely forgotten that there was nearly hurricaine like conditions outside.
"Everywhere!" she said as fast as she could. "I'm just one big ticklespot!" My bulge again protested the zipper. She giggled, and slide her top foot up along my leg and out over my lap. "But my feet are the worst!" She was dangerously close to my trapped erection, and I suddenly realized she knew it. We exchanged grins and she wiggled her toes to make sure I understood who's feet were the most ticklish on the planet.
The game was so much fun. But I could only play for so long before I had the real fun. It was almost time for action. "Really...." I said. "So this foot is the most ticklish spot on the most ticklish person in the world then?"
"Nope!" she said. She swung around and put both feet out over my lap, toes pointing up. She wiggled her other foot around in her ankle socket. "THIS foot is the most ticklish spot on the most ticklish person in the world!" she giggled.
I took a moment to admire both of her feet. Like everything else about Tracy, they were perfect. The were small, with perfect little toes. The were smooth and creamy looking. They were flawless. I was dying to taste them, to tickle them, to worship them. Soon, I thought.
Again the ball was in my court. I had yet to touch her, and here she was, barefoot and proclaiming the severity of her ticklishness. Her legs were easily within trapping distance, and in a matter of a second or two, I could have her reduced to a ticklish pile of jelly. But I played it cool. "So it would be bad if I tickled your feet right now then, wouldn't it?" I said, letting her hear it before I actually did it. I made as if to grab.
As quick as the lightning outside, her feet were gone, once again hidden beneath the blanket. She giggled. I was surprised at her speed. "Oh no, I'm far too ticklish on my feet to let you tickle me," she said, teasing me. "Besides, I tend to kick a lot." She was grinning from ear to ear, baiting me to take the next step.
My lap missed her ankles. "Well, I'm not a big fan of getting kicked," I said. She nodded in understanding. "I guess I'd have to tie you up first before I tickled you." It was a gamble to take it this far, but how many times in life would I have an opportunity like this? The gamble paid off, as this is where Tracy had been leading me all along.
"Yes, I suppose you wouldn't get kicked if I was tied up." Her feet reappeared from under the blanket, and once again her toes were playing along my thigh. "But as I've been saying, I'm way too ticklish to be letting you tie me up and tickle me. I'd go crazy."
"Hmmmmm," was all I said, watching her toes touch my leg. "That's too bad."
"But...." she said. "You have been awfully kind to me, and you seem like a very nice man. I suppose....well...I suppose I could let you tie me up and tickle me, maybe just a little bit." My eyebrows raised, and she tittered. "Too bad you don't have a set of stocks like in the magazine."
"Oh really," I said. "If I did, you'd let me put you in them and tickle you?"
She looked at me, and called my bluff. "Yes, if you had a set of stocks, I'd let you put me in them and tickle me." Her eyes were blazing with a challenge.
"Funny you should say that, Tracy," I said, standing up. "Follow me."
(End of Part 1 of 2)
I left work on Friday afternoon and headed up north, just like every other weekend. The traffic was slow moving, as always, and the thunderclouds were already darkening the sky. Driving in the rain is not my favorite activity, and I secretly cursed the other motorists for clogging the highway and slowing the commute. As I put the miles behind me, the traffic began to thin out, and I was able to make better time. I pulled up in front of my weekend getaway just as the skies opened and the rain began to fall.
Up in the White Mountains of New Hampshire, the rainstorms can be fierce, and this one appeared to be no exception. Within minutes of starting, the rain was pouring hard, and the thunder and lightning began to put on an audial and visual show. I stood in the front windows and watched for a moment. Deep in the woods, far from any main road or neighbors, my cabin was surrounded in darkness. The clouds obscured any signs of the moon, so the night outside was blacker than black. I couldn't even see the rain falling against the thick covering of the surrounding trees. Only the streaks on the windows and the sounds of thundering herds on the roof made the heavy rains outside obvious. A particularly close bolt of lighting and crack of thunder made me jump in spite of myself, and pulled myself away from the window to ready for the storm.
Thankfully, I had watched the weather forecast before leaving for the weekend, and was fully prepared for a weekend without power. Miles from civilization as I was, the power went out frequently, and often was not restored for days. I was used to reading by candlelight and eating cold meals up here. Armed with a bounty of candles, dry goods, and reading material, I would be fine for as long as the storm chose to continue.
Outside, there was another flash of light, and a huge roll of thunder followed immediately. The lights flickered twice and went out. I quickly set about lighting candles. Soon the room was bathed in the soft glow of many tiny flames, and the shadows flickered everywhere. A check of utilities and fuses confirmed what I already knew. The power was out. Already the cabin began to take on a chill. Minutes later, I had a fire in the fireplace that gave the room a warmth in more ways than one. I had plenty of dry wood and candles, and felt I would be fine for the night.
The wind howled and threatened to blow my little cabin down like in the fairy tales. I was unconcerned. The cabin was sturdy, and there was nothing and no one to fear out here in the middle of nowhere. In fact, I rather welcomed the prevailing storm outside. It was the only company I had.
I settled into the comfortable chair I always sat in and thought about that realization. I was alone, not just here, but in all aspects of my life. Twice engaged, and yet to make it to the altar. Why did this pattern keep reoccurring? What was it about me that made all relationships ultimately end? Did my moodiness drive them away? Was I intolerable to live with? Did I not show them enough love and affection?
The storm raged outside, but I was oblivious to it. I was consumed by my thoughts. I knew that none of the reasons I was batting about was the cause of my failed relationships. It was my fetish that was at fault. As much as I didn't want to admit it, I knew that to be the truth. I was a slave to my dark desires, and no relationship could compete with that. One way or another, it was my fetish that doomed each of my loves. This one didn't like it. That one didn't understand. This one thought I was a freak. That one tried to indulge me, so great was her love for me, but she didn't know how to give me what I needed. None of them understood what I needed. None of them could live up to my expectations. I was fully prepared to bury my hidden passions forever for my most recent fiance', but then she discovered my secret. The trust had been broken, the wheels fell off, and that was the end of that.
So now, week after week, when the work was done, I sought refuge in my mountain retreat. Alone. Alone to think about my flaws and failed relationships. Alone to question why I allowed my fetish to control my life. Alone to tear myself down, analyze my core bit by bit, and then build myself back up. But mainly, alone to sit and dream and hope that one day I might find the one woman out there who understood and accepted me completely. The one who would share my fetish without reservations or encouragement from me. The one who would crave what I crave, need what I need, and love what I love. The question was never, "When will I find her?" No, the question was always, "Does she exist?" I didn't know the answer, but up here, all alone in the woods, with only the storm to keep me company, anything was possible.
I rose from my chair and forced my brain to quiet. By my watch, I had been battling with my thoughts for over 2 hours. Time for peace. Time for solace. Time for wine.
Soon, I was back in my chair with glass of Merlot and handful of reading material. Fetish related reading material, of course. There was no one to hide it from here. I did not fear discovery. That brought a smile to my face. If there was one good thing about being alone, it was the peace of mind that comes with not having to sneak around behind the back of another.
The storm showed no signs of letting up. The fire was burning heartily, keeping the room warm and cozy. The wine added to my inner warmth, and I noted to myself that I was actually happy. Well, if not happy, then content. Other than the woman of my dreams, I had everything I needed at the moment. I picked up the first magazine and began to read.
Suddenly, there was a loud banging on the door.
I nearly jumped out of my skin! "Who the hell is that!?" was all I could think of. Fortunately, years of being cautious had trained me to first hide my fetish material before answering the door. Not wanting to delay too long, I stuff the magazines behind the pillow of my chair, and hoped that it would provide enough cover. Satisfied with my plan, I opened the door.
Standing in the door was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She didn't look like she felt too beautiful at the moment though. Her long black hair was soaked and clinging to her face. Her eyes were rimmed with red, and I could tell she had been crying. Her lip was trembling, and her whole body was shaking from the cold and wet, or maybe from the fear she was feeling. She looked terrified. We just looked at each other for a moment. I was too surprised by the suddenness of my visitor and the depth of her beauty to say anything. I don't know what she must have been thinking, because she too was silent, but every ounce of her screamed "Please help me!" while at the same time "Don't hurt me!"
Finally I broke the silence. "Are you all right?" She was still too scared to speak, so she just shook her her head. I could tell that she desperately wanted to be let in, but was afraid of who or what might be in this cabin in the woods. It occurred to me that despite her obvious need for help, it must have taken her great courage to knock on my door. I tried to convey that I had no intention of harming her. I stepped back and opened the door wide, letting the warmth and light of the fire reach her. "Come on in out of the rain." I told her reassuringly. Her eyes darted about the cabin, and seeing nothing threatening within, she finally entered.
The rain water was running off her in streams, making a puddle on my floormat. She just stood there, shaking and holding herself, still looking to me to help her. Not knowing what exactly to do, I started with the questions. "Are you okay?" I asked again. "Are you hurt? Do you need help?"
"I...I...I n-n-n-need h-h-h-help," she finally managed to stammer between trembling lips. Her eyes began to fill with tears again, and she looked at me pleadingly. I could tell she had been as strong as she had to be to get here, and now she needed rescuing. She was so beautiful, and in such need of me to take care of her, that I was overwhelmed with emotion. The white knight in me took over, and I did the only thing I could think of. I took her soaked little frame in my arms and embraced her.
It didn't surprise me at all that instead of recoiling in horror at being hugged by a stranger, she welcomed my gesture. In fact, she clung to me tight, and began to sob in my shoulder. She couldn't be strong any longer, and whether I represented a threat to her or not, she needed to be held. I held her close, and her body trembled and shuddered as her emotions poured forth. She was just a little thing, and whatever had happened to, it had put her through the emotional wringer. I stroked her hair and let her sob. It needed to come out, so I simply held her while it did.
Finally, she began to calm. I stroked her hair and repeated, "It's all right, it's all right", over and over. She disengaged herself, wiping the tears from her eyes. On top of everything else, she looked a bit embarrassed at her display of emotion and vulnerability. I decided to give her a moment to compose herself and fetched a towel. She took it gladly, and began to dry her hair. When I felt she was ready to talk, I asked her again, "Now, what's going on?"
She looked at me, and I could tell that she was trying to decide if she could trust me. I could almost read her thoughts. She was thinking that I had let her in out of the rain, and I had held her when she had needed to be held, and there were no signs of dead bodies or blood stains in the cabin. Then I caught her looking me up and down. I didn't look threatening, and I wanted to help her. I could almost hear her mentally deciding I was safe.
"My car," she began. "I was driving, in the rain, in this," she motioned towards the windows, and as if to help her story, the thunder rolled outside. "I couldn't see the road. There were no lights." I nodded as she spoke, trying to show her I understood exactly what she was trying to explain. She began to grow more comfortable as she spoke. "The wipers were going like crazy, but I couldn't see anything. It's so dark up here." Again I nodded, for I had been thinking the same thing just recently. "Somehow, I made the wrong turn, and got off the main road. I tried to turn around, but I got lost. I just kept driving and driving, hoping to find another car or a highway sign, but I couldn't find anything." Reliving the story was starting to upset her again. Like she was experiencing the panic all over again, she started to tremble. "It was so dark, and I was so scared. Then I thought I saw something in the middle of the road, so I swerved to miss it, and my car ended up in some ditch." My eyes flashed as I heard this, so she quickly added, "I'm okay. I stopped the car before I hit anything, but I couldn't get out of the ditch...there was a lot of mud." I looked down and saw signs of mud on her shoes and jeans. "I didn't know what to do. I knew I had to find some help. So I started walking, and I saw your light. I was just hoping someone would be here...someone who could help." She looked at me again.
I was relieved that there was no emergency and no one was hurt. I set about to help her. "Okay, wait here," I said. "I'll go check on your car...I think I know what ditch you are talking about." She visibly relaxed, now that I was going to help her. I led her to one of the kitchen stools, and grabbed my jacket and flashlight. "I'll be right back. Don't worry." She nodded and clung to the towel I had given her.
I was back in only a few minutes. She was standing in front of the fireplace, warming herself. "I found your car, but like you said, it's pretty stuck." My shoes and pant legs were covered in the mud of the ditch. "The good news is that it's off the road, so no one is going to hit it. The bad news is, it's not going anywhere." I shook the water from my hair and discarded my muddy shoes. Outside, the storm seemed to be increasing in strength.
"Do you have a phone I can use?" she asked.
"I do, but the lines are down, and so is the power," I said.
This didn't surprise her. "Can you give me a ride then?" she asked.
I thought about it for a moment. "I could, but I'm no better at driving these roads in this weather than you are. Why don't we wait a bit and see if the storm lets up, and then I can give you a ride to someone who can help," I said.
She looked out the window and knew I was right. There was no point in risking those roads again. Finally she nodded, "Okay".
"I know you want to get going, but it's really not safe to be out there right now," I said, reiterating my point. I looked her by the fire, still dripping wet. "You must be soaked." She smiled weakly and nodded. "You need some dry clothes," I stated.
"I need a shower," she said. "I'm freezing."
"Well, with no power, the shower isn't going to be hot, but you are welcome to use it." She looked visibly disappointed at the news. I felt powerless to help her. "Let me get you some dry stuff, okay?" I handed her one of the oversized towels that I use and some clothes from my drawers. I set a few candles in the bathroom for her, and left her to dry and change in peace. It was only then that I realized how wet I had gotten from my short time out in the downpour, and quickly I threw on some new warm clothes for myself. I was waiting for her when she emerged from the bathroom.
She was stunning. She had used my brush to comb her hair back, and was now sporting the 'wet look'. I could tell she would have a mess of curls when it was done drying. She had cleaned up her face with the cold water from the sink, and I saw truly for the first time how beautiful she was. She was wearing the sweatshirt and sweat pants I had given her, and they looked huge on her. "Thank you," she said, handing me back the two wet towels and the boxers and socks I had given her. "The underwear....um...isn't my style, and I hate socks." I looked down at the floor and saw the cutest little pair of bare feet I'd seen in a long time. She softly padded past me on the hardwood floor and stood on the rug in front of the fire. "Do you have anything warm to drink?" she asked.
The image of her little red toenails was still in my brain, and I didn't answer right away. "Um...no...not really...I have wine though."
"Actually, that's probably better. I could use a drink," she said.
I poured her a glass of the Merlot, and getting a moment's inspiration, grabbed one of the oversize blankets I have lying around the cabin. She was sitting on the sofa, still gazing into the fire. I saw immediately that the blanket was a good idea, and moment's latter, she was surrounded in it. She sipped the wine and smiled for the first time. "Thank you," she said again.
I sat in the chair. "You are welcome," I said. "By the way, my name is Jonathan."
"I'm Tracy," she said.
"Nice to meet you, Tracy. So tell me, what were you doing out there on the roads tonight?"
At my question, a cloud passed over her face. It was almost as if she had begun to enjoy my hospitality and had forgotten about her ordeal. She took a big sip of wine, drew her legs up underneath her, and looked at me. "Okay, let me tell you what happened."
She began to tell her story. "My husband surprised me with a hiking trip in the mountains. He was already out here on business, so I drove out this week to meet him." As if to replenish her courage, she drank the wine steadily as she spoke. "I'm thinking, 'what a great idea'. If I had only known." She went on and on about the details of her ride up, and how excited she had been to see her husband after being apart for a few days. At this point, I refilled her glass, and she continued. "Then, tonight, he confesses to me why he was being so nice with the surprise trip." Her lip began to tremble again. "He tells me that he's been having an affair...it's been going on for months...and now he thinks he's in love with her." The tears began to flow again, and I rounded up some tissue for her. She took another long pull of wine, and was able to collect herself after a few moments of silent anguish. "So I left. I just got in the car and started driving. I had to get away from him. I couldn't look at him." Her face reflect all the emotions, from the hurt to the anger. "Then this storm comes out of nowhere, and suddenly I'm lost." I nodded sympathetically, wishing I hadn't asked. "And well...you know the rest."
I sipped my wine and remained silent. I didn't know what to say to such a story, so I figured that silence was my best option. Tracy also fell silent, lost in her own thoughts of the recent events of her life. The fire crackled noisily, and outside, the weather continued to bombard the cabin. All that was missing was the ticking of a grandfather clock, and we'd of had ourselves a regular Alfred Hitchcock kind of scene.
Tracy drained her glass and refilled it on her own. She looked as though she were getting ready to talk again, and I wanted to be prepared. I took a moment to fetch another bottle of wine and add wood to the fire. I took my seat again, unaware that I had jostled the pillow hiding my reading material from before. When she saw I was again attentive, she went on with her tale. What she said next shocked me to my very core.
"I'm actually glad this happened," she said, her words only slightly slurred. "Now I have an excuse to leave him. He....he doesn't understand my needs. He doesn't give me what I need." She was looking at me right in the eye as she spoke, and I was captured by the intensity of her stare. "Do you know what a fetish is, Jonathan?"
I nearly choked on my wine at hearing those words. I felt an icy chill around my heart, and didn't think I would be able to answer in a steady voice. Trying to be a nonchalant as possible, I nodded that I did.
"Good. Well, I have a fetish, and my husband just doesn't get it. He's never gotten it." Her words continued to come out a bit sloppy, but she didn't seem to be getting any worse. "Now I can go out and find someone who gets it. Someone who can satisfy me. Then I'll be happy for once."
My mouth was bone dry, and I swallowed hard. I desperately wanted to know what she was talking about, but I was afraid to hear the answer. It had to be something else. There is no way that I would be lucky enough to have a beautiful woman just appear out of nowhere who was looking for the same things as me. The odds were too great. This adorable creature must be referring to something else. Had to be. But still, I had to know. My voice came out as a whisper, "What is your fetish?"
At my question, a transformation came over Tracy. It was as though someone or something had swept through the room and taken all of her anger and sadness and bitterness away. Her eyes sparkled, and the effect made her even more beautiful. A smile crept over her face, and she pulled her wine glass up as if to hide behind it. A tiny giggle escaped from her, and I thought I had never heard anything so delightful. "I can't tell you," she said. "You'll think I'm nuts."
I was surprised by this sudden change in her personality. One would have thought that I'd expect the unexpected in this night of many surprises. I assumed the wine she had consumed was to blame, but my gut instincts told me that this was the 'real' Tracy. Tracy, the woman with the little girl inside her that would never die. This was the woman who made rooms light up with her smile and laugh when she wasn't having her life turned upside down on her. I was encouraged by her response. She wanted me to draw it out of her, that was clear. What I had to guard against was appearing too anxious to find out her secret. "I won't think you are nuts, " I said reassuringly. "You can tell me."
"Okay," she giggled, and sipped her wine again. Her face turned bright crimson even before she spoke. "I like to be tickled," she quickly blurted, and immediately buried her head under the blanket surrounding her. I could hear her giggling to herself from her hiding spot.
My heart skipped a beat. It couldn't be true. I had to have misheard. She couldn't possibly have said what I thought she said. Her words echoed in my head over and over. "I like to be tickled." I was too stunned to reply. Tracy must have taken my lack of response as a sign of disapproval. She peeked out from under the blanket. "Told you you'd think I was nuts."
I had to think fast. I couldn't let this opportunity slip away now that it had finally arrived. I couldn't let her think I "didn't get it". I had been waiting my whole life to find the woman who understood what I understood, and now that I had found her, I was about to scare her away by saying nothing. "I don't think that," I finally managed to say, but my voice was weak. I was struck my a moment of genius. Act dumb. "Tell me about it, " I said.
She saw by my face that I wasn't horrified or disgusted by what she had revealed, so she decided to continue. The giggle returned. "Well..." Giggling. "I like to be tickled." More giggling. So it was true...I hadn't misheard. "Actually, I love to be tickled!" Sustained giggling. Whether it was coincidence or not, her toes had crept out from beneath the blanket, and I found my eyes fixated on them. I managed to smile, and Tracy took that as a sign to keep sharing. She was building up momentum, growing more confident with each revelation. "Not just tickled...tickle tortured!" She was flushed with excitement. "I love being held down and tickled!" There was a stirring in my pants that I hoped she would not notice. I believe she was feeling too liberated in her confessions to notice my reactions other than I wasn't condemning her. I could tell that she had held back her inner desires for far too long, and now was reveling in the chance to let it all out. "To be tied down and tickled without mercy would be a fantasy come true!" she cried in finale. Outside, a
boom of thunder capped off her words, and she squeaked and giggled at being startled.
I was in a semi-concious state. I tried to soak up and absorb every ounce of her words. I told my brain to never, ever forget what I had just heard. My eyes were riveted to the tiny toes with the candy apple polish peeking out at me. My brain was being overloaded with stimuli. What do I say? What do I do? How to I make this moment go on forever?
My brain screamed "Smile!" at me. I smiled at Tracy, and she tittered and withdrew further under the blanket again. The movement exposed a bit more of her tiny creamy white foot, and the toes fluttered slightly. "Stop staring at her toes!" my brain next screamed. I pulled my eyes away and looked at her. She was still basking in her moment of truth, her weight of secrecy now lifted. But that moment would soon pass, and she would be expecting some kind of feedback. I musn't let her think she's said anything out of the ordinary. I must show her that I understand and that I'm okay with what she has revealed. "Say something!" was all my brain could come up with, but I was at a loss for words. "Well...ummm...I...ahhh...", I stammered.
A look of disappointment began to creep into her face. I was raining on her parade. As liberating as her moment just was, it was quickly being replaced with regret and self doubt. "You think I'm a freak," she said.
Her words felt like a blow to the chest. This wasn't supposed to happen! I'm blowing it! "No, no, not at all," I replied. But I had nothing else to follow up with. All was lost.
"What's that behind you?" she asked suddenly.
My heart froze again. This time, my brain refused to even try to function. She looked me for a moment, and all I could do was look at her wide eyed. I'm sure I turned as white as a ghost. Seeing that I wasn't going to give her an answer, she rose from the couch and approached me. I actually feared she might strike me, but instead, she reached past me and pulled something from behind the pillow. One of my fetish magazines!
"Oh my God!" she cried. "Why do you have this?!" She turned the magazine over in her hands. Tied and Tickled it was called. She began to leaf through the pictures of naked women bound and tickled in dozens of positions and situations. Her eyes grew as wide as saucers.
I tried to shrink into the chair. If I had a rock I would have crawled under it. Unlike Tracy, who had faced her dark secret bravely and come out under her own terms, I had been discovered. I felt terrible shame, and my cheeks were burning. I had no answers for her.
"You have a tickle fetish too, don't you?" she stated more than asked, and I reluctantly nodded. She rolled the magazine and whacked me with it in the shoulder. "You jerk! You made me feel like I was a freak, and all along you knew exactly what I was talking about!" She was so right it was scary, and I had no defense. I just tried to make myself a little smaller. She must have seen how bad I felt about the whole thing, and realizing herself what a burden of secrecy I carried with me, she softened almost immediately. To my surprise, she bent over and placed a soft kiss against my cheek. "It's okay, I forgive you. After all, you did rescue me." Her face was close to mine, and she smiled brightly at me. At once I knew it was going to be okay, and I smiled back, relieved to be off the hook. The worst had been averted. But these were strange happenings...where would this go from here?
In response to my thoughts, Tracy turned without another word and sat back down on the couch, still holding my magazine. She got herself comfortable, drawing her knees up and enveloping herself again under the blanket. This time I noticed that both bare feet were poking out, her bare soles facing my direction. Then, to my dismay, she began to read through it, page by page.
I sat in my chair, still overcome by all the shocking events. I was incredibly turned on by all this talk of tickling and fetishes. I was horrified by having my secret so suddenly unmasked. I was confused by the actions of this lovely woman sitting on my sofa, reading my tickling magazine. A whirlwind of thoughts and emotions were spinning around in my head. Should I go tickle her? Should I try to act cool? Should I do some confessing of my own?
But I did none of these things. I sat and quietly observed the beautiful stranger. She seemed quite absorbed in the magazine. My eyes moved from her face to her bare feet. Almost as if on a director's cue, her free hand moved down and touched her own foot. I smiled. I was growing more comfortable with the situation with every passing moment. As I had not condemned her, Tracy would not condemn me. As I had not judged her, she would not judge me. The reality of the situation began to sink in, and I was terribly excited by what was transpiring. Here was a woman, a beautiful woman, alone with me in my cabin in the woods, who shared my love for tickling, sitting on my sofa, toying with her own bare feet, reading a tickling magazine. My manhood rose as far as it could in my jeans, and I worried about her noticing my arousal. But absorbed as she was, I need not have worried. Relaxing, I reached down and sipped my wine. It was the first voluntary thing I'd done since she had discovered my hidden magazines. She caught my movement and looked at me, giggling and smiling. Her hand continued to trace the outer edge of her soles. I returned her smile warmly. She returned her attention to the magazine, and I continued to silently observe her.
As I sat and watched, I still pondered how next to proceed. I decided the safe approach was to pluck another of the magazines and do some reading of my own. Before I had a chance though, Tracy decided to move things in her own direction. "Oooooohhhhh," she said. "Jonathan, come take a look at this!"
I rose from my chair, but made no effort to hide the bulge in my pants. Plopped down beside her on the sofa, only millimeters away from where her bare feet poked out from under the blanket. Tracy seemed as aware of this as I was. In fact, this I suspect was her plan all along. She tucked her feet over to allow me to sit, but then let her toes brush up against my thigh as she repositioned herself again. My bulge fought for freedom, and I prayed that I would eventually grant him his wish at some point.
Tracy slid the magazine over so that it rest on the space between both our knees. I felt her toes sliding along my thigh as she moved. I couldn't tell if it was intentional, but I suspected it was. The magazine was open to a layout of a woman trapped in a set of stocks. She was naked, with her wrists tied over her head. The photos depicted another naked woman circling the first with a large ostrich feather. Each photo showed the bound woman being tickled in a different spot, and her face was contorted with forced laughter. The woman doing the tickling seemed to be having great fun. Seeing the photos made my bulge move again. Having Tracy in such close proximity might have had something to do with that as well.
"Doesn't that look like pure torture?!" Tracy chirped. Her eyes were dancing like they had when I had first asked about her fetish.
I spoke for the first time in some time, and my voice didn't waver this time. "Yes, that woman looks pretty ticklish." I gave her an exaggerated once over with my eyes, and she giggled, happy to see I was as comfortable as she in our current situation. "Are you ticklish, Tracy?"
"Oh my God yes!" she practically exploded. Her face was totally lit up now. "I'm the most ticklish person on the planet!" The toes brushing my leg wiggling involuntarily as if to prove her point.
Again my bulge jumped, and I silently thanked God for bringing this angel to my door. I smiled. Tracy and I were playing out a game. We both knew where this was leading. It was a matter of how we got there. Being the tickling enthusiasts that we were, we were both well rehearsed in this kind of dancing. She had spent years perfecting the art of being tickled, and I the art of tickling. It was she who had invited me to sit beside her. It was I who asked the obvious "are you ticklish" question. We were approaching our final destination, but neither of us was in a hurry to get there.
"The most ticklish person on the planet, eh?" I said, and she giggled and nodded. She's wondering what I'm going to do next. The ball is in my court. Do I go for the gold now, or do I let the foreplay continue? The moment was too rich to spoil just yet. "Where are you ticklish?" I asked, sticking to the tried and true list of questions. Both of us had completely forgotten that there was nearly hurricaine like conditions outside.
"Everywhere!" she said as fast as she could. "I'm just one big ticklespot!" My bulge again protested the zipper. She giggled, and slide her top foot up along my leg and out over my lap. "But my feet are the worst!" She was dangerously close to my trapped erection, and I suddenly realized she knew it. We exchanged grins and she wiggled her toes to make sure I understood who's feet were the most ticklish on the planet.
The game was so much fun. But I could only play for so long before I had the real fun. It was almost time for action. "Really...." I said. "So this foot is the most ticklish spot on the most ticklish person in the world then?"
"Nope!" she said. She swung around and put both feet out over my lap, toes pointing up. She wiggled her other foot around in her ankle socket. "THIS foot is the most ticklish spot on the most ticklish person in the world!" she giggled.
I took a moment to admire both of her feet. Like everything else about Tracy, they were perfect. The were small, with perfect little toes. The were smooth and creamy looking. They were flawless. I was dying to taste them, to tickle them, to worship them. Soon, I thought.
Again the ball was in my court. I had yet to touch her, and here she was, barefoot and proclaiming the severity of her ticklishness. Her legs were easily within trapping distance, and in a matter of a second or two, I could have her reduced to a ticklish pile of jelly. But I played it cool. "So it would be bad if I tickled your feet right now then, wouldn't it?" I said, letting her hear it before I actually did it. I made as if to grab.
As quick as the lightning outside, her feet were gone, once again hidden beneath the blanket. She giggled. I was surprised at her speed. "Oh no, I'm far too ticklish on my feet to let you tickle me," she said, teasing me. "Besides, I tend to kick a lot." She was grinning from ear to ear, baiting me to take the next step.
My lap missed her ankles. "Well, I'm not a big fan of getting kicked," I said. She nodded in understanding. "I guess I'd have to tie you up first before I tickled you." It was a gamble to take it this far, but how many times in life would I have an opportunity like this? The gamble paid off, as this is where Tracy had been leading me all along.
"Yes, I suppose you wouldn't get kicked if I was tied up." Her feet reappeared from under the blanket, and once again her toes were playing along my thigh. "But as I've been saying, I'm way too ticklish to be letting you tie me up and tickle me. I'd go crazy."
"Hmmmmm," was all I said, watching her toes touch my leg. "That's too bad."
"But...." she said. "You have been awfully kind to me, and you seem like a very nice man. I suppose....well...I suppose I could let you tie me up and tickle me, maybe just a little bit." My eyebrows raised, and she tittered. "Too bad you don't have a set of stocks like in the magazine."
"Oh really," I said. "If I did, you'd let me put you in them and tickle you?"
She looked at me, and called my bluff. "Yes, if you had a set of stocks, I'd let you put me in them and tickle me." Her eyes were blazing with a challenge.
"Funny you should say that, Tracy," I said, standing up. "Follow me."
(End of Part 1 of 2)
(adjusts imaginary pair of glasses)
Happy Tickling
