CherryBombNic
Registered User
- Joined
- Jun 1, 2025
- Messages
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- 13
If you read Sgt Pepper's post "Nicole, Part 1: I can't believe my luck"...well, hi. I'm Nicole.
I'm not sure how many women (or Lees in general) post around here, but after I read his story I wanted to tell my side.
The first time I met him was on a Zoom call, through work connections. He lives in another state and he, like me, is recently divorced. He’s a little younger, which is new for me. I've always been drawn to older men, but I guess I'm in my cougar era?
I have a certain intuition about people, I seem to know immediately if I’m going to click with somebody. And I knew with him on that Zoom call. He was cute, funny. Smart and capable but also kinda silly and boyish in a charming as hell way. Work Nicole thought, “We’ll work well together, and we’ll probably even be friends.” Secret Nicole thought…Yeah, I’m probably gonna fuck that guy.
I was right, of course. About all of it. We started chatting about work stuff on LinkedIn, but I was never entirely innocent. I wanted him, and I let him feel it. He says he crushed on me first, and found out the crush was returned. But I say I masterminded the whole damn thing the moment I saw him on my laptop screen.
When things started feeling NSFW, we moved to Instagram DMs, where that kind of thing belongs.
I know how to tease a man. Intellectually, emotionally, sexually. As I said, I’m intuitive about people.
Sgt Pepper is anxious and tightly wound. I’m best described as dgaf. Unless you ask my ex-husband, who will tell you I’m lazy, careless, scatterbrained, and useless. But Sgt Pepper…he sees me as I see myself. Not lazy, laid back. Not careless, carefree. Scattered, sometimes, but smart.
Useless? Well, Sgt Pepper has found a few uses my ex never dreamed of.
I am quiet, though. I’m not the “life of the party” kind of laid back and carefree. From the outside I’m sometimes mistaken for Type A, or a snob. Red hair, freckles. Glasses. Reads a lot. I keep to myself, work hard, and stay on the sidelines for a lot of social interactions, mostly because I want to observe. I need to find the vibe, and I want to listen to others more than I want to talk, myself. That’s how you learn things.
Sgt Pepper fills silences like it’s his job. But he does it in a way that’s smart and charming and I’m grateful for it, not annoyed by it. I love the sound of his voice.
We are yin and yang, in so many ways. He’s careful, cautious, and was tentative about disclosing his kinks, at first. But he hinted, and I bit. And held on like a pit bull.
He eventually told me he was a Dom, and living an ENM lifestyle since his divorce. I told him I’m just single since mine, uninterested in labels, and actually, I’m kind of a sub.
But I knew his kinks ran deeper than bdsm. I don't remember when I first suspected the foot fetish. I remember once mentioning I was going to get a pedicure and he acted kind of weird about it.
And look, I know I have cute feet. I get actual compliments on them, from strangers. I’ve never been with a foot guy, but I don’t find it weird. I know it’s the most common kink, so it was probably a matter of time. It kind of excited me, because like I said, I have nice feet. Honestly it’s about time somebody paid them some devoted attention. I teased him later that I was going to find a man to worship every individual part of my body and just make the rounds.
So I flashed him a pic of my freshly painted toes and found out what I wanted to know. I think I just asked: "Are you a foot guy?" He said yes, and I wanted to know everything. It just felt like a whole new world of ways to turn a man on.
When he asked for a pic of the soles of my feet, my response was, “That’s weird and hot. Okay.” The rest is history.
I have my own kinks. A praise kink, for one. I need adoration. I need to hear every last way I turn you on. I need you to tell me I’m a good girl. I’m doing it right? Tell me. Please. And the thing that turns me on more than anything else is knowing that my partner is turned on by me. So a foot guy? Yes, I can do that. Give me a man who knows what he wants and can tell me, and I’ll make his dreams come true.
I’m a very sexual person. It goes back to intuition. I know what people want. I sense what they need. And I crave the satisfaction that comes with being the one to give it to them. I’m also recently out of a loveless 20-year marriage and kind of in my “find new experiences and try anything once” midlife crisis, I guess. I bought a sports car and hooked up with a fetishist. I pass for ten years younger, and I’m cute. So I’m enjoying my midlife crisis. A lot.
In his story, he skipped over "all the anticipation." But that's my favorite part. Over two months I drew his secrets out, one by one. Feet. Tickling. Foot worship. Tickle torture. I asked him to send me tickling videos. Show me what turns you on, Sir, please? So I can do it for you. I left him filthy voice messages, took to the foot pics thing like a duck to water and started sending photos of my feet in different poses, videos of myself tickling them, watching to see which he reacted strongest to. I drove him insane from a distance. And collected data to use against his defenses.
That’s my kink. Pleasing my Sir with such focused and enthusiastic attention I bring him to his knees with gratitude and adoration, and he calls me "good girl" with awe in his voice.
I thought I’d wasted all my best years on my unappreciative husband. But here I am in my 40s, having the hottest sex of my life with a foot and tickle fetishist.
That's the other thing. I am extremely ticklish. Like…really fucking ticklish. It's a thing people know about me, a pain in my ass. My entire life, people used it to torment and tease me. Just a playful tickle to my knee or my foot had my jumping out of my skin. My husband in particular used it cruelly, to bring me to submission, to make me feel small and helpless.
So when Sgt Pepper, who I was already so desperate to please, wanted to tickle me? I wasn’t sure I could take it. But he and I have such a good thing. I want to be everything he wants. So I wanted to try. Try anything once, right?
We had plenty of time for buildup.
He coached me, dominated me on the phone and via text, told me how to touch myself, how to tickle my own feet, told me how much it turned him on, how sexy I was, how responsive. And I’m a good student.
I remember the first night I really relaxed to the soothing tones of his authoritative voice in my ear, guiding my fingernails across the arch of my foot, around all my toes. He made me tickle every part of me, and I obeyed, laughing and gasping into the phone, afraid, trusting, confused—wanting to put a stop to it but knowing I was safe, and in control, and could sit with it as long as my Sir wanted me to. Determined to see how far I could go.
As my long, polished fingernail dragged across the tender flesh of my sole, I giggled, a real, happy giggle, and got chills, and breathed into the phone “I…I think I just realized why we laugh when we’re tickled. It never made sense before, because I was never happy. But oh my god. We laugh in response to joy.”
I suddenly saw with clarity that tickling was a source of joy, and one I was born to experience, but it has been weaponized against me all these years. And this delicious, attentive, dominant man across the country wants to give it back to me.
So with Sgt Pepper’s close personal tutelage, I reclaimed the feeling of being tickled and embraced it. After a lot of breathless tickle play over voice and video, and some exploration on my own, I found a spot in the arch of my foot, the fleshiest point, where a vibrator pressed firmly resonates straight to my clit.
The night I put that together, I came 4 times touching only my feet.
I thought foot fetishists had this huge secret, and then he told me that was rare. Really? I've gotten pretty good at it.
Finally, we were both in the same city for a conference and conspired to book rooms at the same hotel, away from the ones all of our colleagues were staying in. We only used one room.
He walked in and took me in his arms and from that moment he was in control.
The first time he tickled me I jumped. But I smiled, and I meant it. I leaned in for more, and he gave it to me. I was terrified for this. It was one thing to be alone on my bed in the dark, his voice in my ear, tickling myself gently. He was going to tie me. He wasn’t going to let me get away. He wasn't going to be gentle. But I had a safe word and I knew he would respect it.
That first night he didn’t tie me, just easily overpowered me, pinning my hands, locking my legs, manipulating my body to his will. He tickled me for what felt like hours. I laughed so hard my abs hurt, and I fought hard, because that’s my instinct. I kicked and flailed. Squirmed and twisted. I laughed until I cried.
But I never safeworded. And then, at last, he gave in, and he was fucking me.
He started the story. He can finish it—once he’s caught his breath.
I'm not sure how many women (or Lees in general) post around here, but after I read his story I wanted to tell my side.
The first time I met him was on a Zoom call, through work connections. He lives in another state and he, like me, is recently divorced. He’s a little younger, which is new for me. I've always been drawn to older men, but I guess I'm in my cougar era?
I have a certain intuition about people, I seem to know immediately if I’m going to click with somebody. And I knew with him on that Zoom call. He was cute, funny. Smart and capable but also kinda silly and boyish in a charming as hell way. Work Nicole thought, “We’ll work well together, and we’ll probably even be friends.” Secret Nicole thought…Yeah, I’m probably gonna fuck that guy.
I was right, of course. About all of it. We started chatting about work stuff on LinkedIn, but I was never entirely innocent. I wanted him, and I let him feel it. He says he crushed on me first, and found out the crush was returned. But I say I masterminded the whole damn thing the moment I saw him on my laptop screen.
When things started feeling NSFW, we moved to Instagram DMs, where that kind of thing belongs.
I know how to tease a man. Intellectually, emotionally, sexually. As I said, I’m intuitive about people.
Sgt Pepper is anxious and tightly wound. I’m best described as dgaf. Unless you ask my ex-husband, who will tell you I’m lazy, careless, scatterbrained, and useless. But Sgt Pepper…he sees me as I see myself. Not lazy, laid back. Not careless, carefree. Scattered, sometimes, but smart.
Useless? Well, Sgt Pepper has found a few uses my ex never dreamed of.
I am quiet, though. I’m not the “life of the party” kind of laid back and carefree. From the outside I’m sometimes mistaken for Type A, or a snob. Red hair, freckles. Glasses. Reads a lot. I keep to myself, work hard, and stay on the sidelines for a lot of social interactions, mostly because I want to observe. I need to find the vibe, and I want to listen to others more than I want to talk, myself. That’s how you learn things.
Sgt Pepper fills silences like it’s his job. But he does it in a way that’s smart and charming and I’m grateful for it, not annoyed by it. I love the sound of his voice.
We are yin and yang, in so many ways. He’s careful, cautious, and was tentative about disclosing his kinks, at first. But he hinted, and I bit. And held on like a pit bull.
He eventually told me he was a Dom, and living an ENM lifestyle since his divorce. I told him I’m just single since mine, uninterested in labels, and actually, I’m kind of a sub.
But I knew his kinks ran deeper than bdsm. I don't remember when I first suspected the foot fetish. I remember once mentioning I was going to get a pedicure and he acted kind of weird about it.
And look, I know I have cute feet. I get actual compliments on them, from strangers. I’ve never been with a foot guy, but I don’t find it weird. I know it’s the most common kink, so it was probably a matter of time. It kind of excited me, because like I said, I have nice feet. Honestly it’s about time somebody paid them some devoted attention. I teased him later that I was going to find a man to worship every individual part of my body and just make the rounds.
So I flashed him a pic of my freshly painted toes and found out what I wanted to know. I think I just asked: "Are you a foot guy?" He said yes, and I wanted to know everything. It just felt like a whole new world of ways to turn a man on.
When he asked for a pic of the soles of my feet, my response was, “That’s weird and hot. Okay.” The rest is history.
I have my own kinks. A praise kink, for one. I need adoration. I need to hear every last way I turn you on. I need you to tell me I’m a good girl. I’m doing it right? Tell me. Please. And the thing that turns me on more than anything else is knowing that my partner is turned on by me. So a foot guy? Yes, I can do that. Give me a man who knows what he wants and can tell me, and I’ll make his dreams come true.
I’m a very sexual person. It goes back to intuition. I know what people want. I sense what they need. And I crave the satisfaction that comes with being the one to give it to them. I’m also recently out of a loveless 20-year marriage and kind of in my “find new experiences and try anything once” midlife crisis, I guess. I bought a sports car and hooked up with a fetishist. I pass for ten years younger, and I’m cute. So I’m enjoying my midlife crisis. A lot.
In his story, he skipped over "all the anticipation." But that's my favorite part. Over two months I drew his secrets out, one by one. Feet. Tickling. Foot worship. Tickle torture. I asked him to send me tickling videos. Show me what turns you on, Sir, please? So I can do it for you. I left him filthy voice messages, took to the foot pics thing like a duck to water and started sending photos of my feet in different poses, videos of myself tickling them, watching to see which he reacted strongest to. I drove him insane from a distance. And collected data to use against his defenses.
That’s my kink. Pleasing my Sir with such focused and enthusiastic attention I bring him to his knees with gratitude and adoration, and he calls me "good girl" with awe in his voice.
I thought I’d wasted all my best years on my unappreciative husband. But here I am in my 40s, having the hottest sex of my life with a foot and tickle fetishist.
That's the other thing. I am extremely ticklish. Like…really fucking ticklish. It's a thing people know about me, a pain in my ass. My entire life, people used it to torment and tease me. Just a playful tickle to my knee or my foot had my jumping out of my skin. My husband in particular used it cruelly, to bring me to submission, to make me feel small and helpless.
So when Sgt Pepper, who I was already so desperate to please, wanted to tickle me? I wasn’t sure I could take it. But he and I have such a good thing. I want to be everything he wants. So I wanted to try. Try anything once, right?
We had plenty of time for buildup.
He coached me, dominated me on the phone and via text, told me how to touch myself, how to tickle my own feet, told me how much it turned him on, how sexy I was, how responsive. And I’m a good student.
I remember the first night I really relaxed to the soothing tones of his authoritative voice in my ear, guiding my fingernails across the arch of my foot, around all my toes. He made me tickle every part of me, and I obeyed, laughing and gasping into the phone, afraid, trusting, confused—wanting to put a stop to it but knowing I was safe, and in control, and could sit with it as long as my Sir wanted me to. Determined to see how far I could go.
As my long, polished fingernail dragged across the tender flesh of my sole, I giggled, a real, happy giggle, and got chills, and breathed into the phone “I…I think I just realized why we laugh when we’re tickled. It never made sense before, because I was never happy. But oh my god. We laugh in response to joy.”
I suddenly saw with clarity that tickling was a source of joy, and one I was born to experience, but it has been weaponized against me all these years. And this delicious, attentive, dominant man across the country wants to give it back to me.
So with Sgt Pepper’s close personal tutelage, I reclaimed the feeling of being tickled and embraced it. After a lot of breathless tickle play over voice and video, and some exploration on my own, I found a spot in the arch of my foot, the fleshiest point, where a vibrator pressed firmly resonates straight to my clit.
The night I put that together, I came 4 times touching only my feet.
I thought foot fetishists had this huge secret, and then he told me that was rare. Really? I've gotten pretty good at it.
Finally, we were both in the same city for a conference and conspired to book rooms at the same hotel, away from the ones all of our colleagues were staying in. We only used one room.
He walked in and took me in his arms and from that moment he was in control.
The first time he tickled me I jumped. But I smiled, and I meant it. I leaned in for more, and he gave it to me. I was terrified for this. It was one thing to be alone on my bed in the dark, his voice in my ear, tickling myself gently. He was going to tie me. He wasn’t going to let me get away. He wasn't going to be gentle. But I had a safe word and I knew he would respect it.
That first night he didn’t tie me, just easily overpowered me, pinning my hands, locking my legs, manipulating my body to his will. He tickled me for what felt like hours. I laughed so hard my abs hurt, and I fought hard, because that’s my instinct. I kicked and flailed. Squirmed and twisted. I laughed until I cried.
But I never safeworded. And then, at last, he gave in, and he was fucking me.
He started the story. He can finish it—once he’s caught his breath.
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