ticklebrowse26
TMF Expert
- Joined
- Jan 12, 2006
- Messages
- 388
- Points
- 0
Read the first part please before digging into this: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?210075-Prelude-to-The-Ticklish-Wife-(mmm-f)
A few have asked me how much of this is true. All of what I have written are details that the wife said to me over the phone. I have to believe her.
Stuff like this never ever happens to me. Ever. Excitement to me is usually half-off on the banana bread at the store. Really.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So Tina hung up, and I was left with the nagging feeling of having crossed from married normalcy into something else entirely different.
Tina hadn't explicitly asked me for permission to be tickled, I reflected. Rather, she had called to feel me out on the possibility of her getting "attacked". And by doing this she could navigate the evening on her own terms. She hadn't even asked for parameters, though I had volunteered a few.
And I decided, immediately, that this would have to be fine. I trusted her to make safe choices, even if she was kinda skeetering along the edge. One of the reasons she could do this was that she knew that tickling was sexual for me but not so for her. So, when she had teased me previously about being tickled by others (in fantasyland) it remained all fun and games in her mind. This evening would be an extension of that, I thought.
And I trusted her.
I didn't get much done that evening, as you can imagine. I made some very bad fantasy football decisions, which no one here wants to read about. I think even the cat thought was I absent-minded during our regular game of "chase the laser pointer".
So she called late in the evening. This is how our conversation went:
"Helloooooo," she said, in her syrupy sweet voice. She sounded giddy. It was midnight where she was calling from, a full one hour after my bedtime and hers.
"Hi there," I replied. Stay stoic, I told myself.
"How are youuu?" This woman sure knew how to make one syllable into two.
"Did you get tickled?" I asked, very matter-of-fact.
"That was really quick. You lasted all of five seconds." She was pleased with herself. She was always pleased with herself.
"Well didja?" I drooled.
"Hon, don't you want to hear about the amazing pool game I played?" She replied, changing the subject.
"You don't play pool." This woman was ridiculous.
"Or about this truly delicious beet salad I had for dinner?"
"No, honeybunches, I really truly don't."
"Well what do you want to talk about then?" She was really reaching it that night. I mean, really really dragging this out. She was in a position of power and I was not.
"Honey, I want to know what happened."
"Oh weeeeell, alright.
So we started off at happy hour after the last team building session. It was at the hotel bar. You told me to stay sober so I didn't drink anything...."
"Well that was very considerate of you..." I interjected.
"... at first. They were serving three dollar mojitos. Sweetie pie, I LOVE mojitos."
This was true, she was a girl, loved sweet girly drinks. I couldn't hold her at fault for drinking mojitos.
"I understand."
"So there were about seven of us at the bar...."
"Who was at the bar?"
"It was Tim, Derek, Ron, Gary, Melissa and Alicia. Stop interrupting."
"Ok."
"So Gary didn't drink anything because he never ever does. Everyone else got buzzed by 5:30. Who sells three dollar mojitos?" I think she said this all without taking a breath.
"It's like they were injecting mojito alcohol into women, right honey?" she repeated.
I shook my head.
"Ramada happy hour was ok. But it wasn't a lot of fun. So we asked around for what to do and where to go and heard about this cute little bar with pool tables, next to an Italian bistro. So we went. At this point Melissa bowed out."
I had no idea who Melissa was; it didn't matter.
"So we all packed into Gary's rental. Alicia went shotgun and I squeezed in the back with the other three guys."
"Ok."
"So it's not even six in the evening, and we're driving to this bar in rush-hour traffic, and we're all a little tipsy. Except the driver, of course."
"Of course." Gary was in his fifties and already played bocci ball in his spare time.
"To fit in the back seat, we were all tightly squeezed against each other. I didn't ride on anyone's lap, but I definitely got smooshed. I had to rest my legs on the console in between the two front seats.
"So everyone yelled at Gary anytime they saw a Prius on the road."
"Why?"
"I DON'T KNOW. It was hilarious at the time.
Anyways, I was going along with all of it, having a good time..."
"Being a teenager again..." I interjected.
"Guilty as charged, being a teenager again.... wearing jeans and a blouse with flip flops in the early winter, sure. so then I felt a hand grip my side."
Wow. I froze.
"I yelled out 'Hey who's pawing at the married lady.' Mr. Anonymous Hands gave my sides a squeeze and I laughed very loudly and thrashed around. And I elbowed the guy next to me."
"Ouch." She had elbowed me so many times. Sometimes she'd jump onto the bed and I had learned to protect myself rather than embrace the romantic moment.
"I know, ouch is right. I got him right in the solar plexus!" She sounded proud of herself. Always.
"I felt bad about it for exactly two point three seconds, because then Tim yelled out 'Ticklish just elbowed me'." I think Tim was fresh-out-of-college -- a young whipper snapper frat superstar. Or at least that's what Tina called him. She had said he was dumb and cute.
"It got really quiet in the car after Tim yelled that I had elbowed him. All the guys smiled and turned to me.
I didn't help in diffusing the situation. I said 'Serves you idiots right!'" Yup, sounds like my Tina.
"And then I felt them. Three pairs of hands on my sides, armpits and knees. It was crazy insane how quickly they attacked. Whoever got into my armpits kept brushing against my breasts, but there was nothing I could do. And whoever got my sides was a complete sadist. I think it was Derek. He was kneading me and tickling hard in that way that made me totally break down."
"Really? Wow." Derek was a supertall guy in his late thirties. Very divorced and very funny. I liked him.
"To escape I swung my legs around to kick people.
Big mistake. I lost a flip flop in the process."
Uh oh. I knew where she was taking this.
"You know where this is going right?" She read my mind.
"Tim gripped my ankles so that my knees were drawn up to my chest and Derek tickled my defenseless soles. I could not move them or wriggle out or ANYTHING. Gary and Alicia did nothing except smile at me from the front seat. Derek kept saying 'Ticklish is ticklish on the feet!'"
"Holy crap, how could you take it?" So many times I had stopped going after her smooth size seven feet when she screamed or cried after a few seconds.
"I HAD NO CHOICE. My arms were already clamped and practically stuck against my sides from the lack of space. I had to just bear the foot tickling and hope for one of them to die eventually," she said in her businesslike voice again.
"Wow." I was mesmerized.
"Yeah, it was out of hand. I just could not protect my feet, sweetie. Alicia said I looked and sounded like a manic chimpanzee. It was rough. I think I will have bruises from it on my body."
"Bruises," I said disingenuously.
"Yep. Little reminders of what I went through for you..." said my poor suffering wife.
"Oh you did this for yourself too," I replied.
"And my soles were bright red afterwards." Her voice had dropped into her seductive mode, I could tell.
"Geez Tina. How did that make you feel?"
"Bright red soles," she repeated.
"How did you feel?" I ignored her obvious attempt to distract me.
"Helpless." She paused. "It was very hot too, to lose control like that with men holding me down and tickling my bare feet." She was getting frisky on the phone.
"You were horny!" I yelped out.
"Can you take it that I was horny? Can you really take the mental picture of your wife being tickled by other men? Doesn't it bother you that while one was torturing my underarms and rubbing against my boobies, another was enjoying the sacred hallowed ground of my naked ticklish feet?" She was digging into me again, knowing full well my weaknesses.
I didn't say anything.
"I don't think you can take it. You KNOW at least one of them was getting off on touching me too."
I still didn't reply. The air was getting kinda thick. It was hard to breathe.
"Oh you are TOTALLY getting off on your wife's perfectly pedicured soles being tickled by another man. Well when I get home I bet this is all we will talk about during sex." She sounded triumphant.
"You think so?" I was dizzy.
"I know so. And you know what else...? I might even do it again and not ask for permission next time. Take that one home."
I did.
A few have asked me how much of this is true. All of what I have written are details that the wife said to me over the phone. I have to believe her.
Stuff like this never ever happens to me. Ever. Excitement to me is usually half-off on the banana bread at the store. Really.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
So Tina hung up, and I was left with the nagging feeling of having crossed from married normalcy into something else entirely different.
Tina hadn't explicitly asked me for permission to be tickled, I reflected. Rather, she had called to feel me out on the possibility of her getting "attacked". And by doing this she could navigate the evening on her own terms. She hadn't even asked for parameters, though I had volunteered a few.
And I decided, immediately, that this would have to be fine. I trusted her to make safe choices, even if she was kinda skeetering along the edge. One of the reasons she could do this was that she knew that tickling was sexual for me but not so for her. So, when she had teased me previously about being tickled by others (in fantasyland) it remained all fun and games in her mind. This evening would be an extension of that, I thought.
And I trusted her.
I didn't get much done that evening, as you can imagine. I made some very bad fantasy football decisions, which no one here wants to read about. I think even the cat thought was I absent-minded during our regular game of "chase the laser pointer".
So she called late in the evening. This is how our conversation went:
"Helloooooo," she said, in her syrupy sweet voice. She sounded giddy. It was midnight where she was calling from, a full one hour after my bedtime and hers.
"Hi there," I replied. Stay stoic, I told myself.
"How are youuu?" This woman sure knew how to make one syllable into two.
"Did you get tickled?" I asked, very matter-of-fact.
"That was really quick. You lasted all of five seconds." She was pleased with herself. She was always pleased with herself.
"Well didja?" I drooled.
"Hon, don't you want to hear about the amazing pool game I played?" She replied, changing the subject.
"You don't play pool." This woman was ridiculous.
"Or about this truly delicious beet salad I had for dinner?"
"No, honeybunches, I really truly don't."
"Well what do you want to talk about then?" She was really reaching it that night. I mean, really really dragging this out. She was in a position of power and I was not.
"Honey, I want to know what happened."
"Oh weeeeell, alright.
So we started off at happy hour after the last team building session. It was at the hotel bar. You told me to stay sober so I didn't drink anything...."
"Well that was very considerate of you..." I interjected.
"... at first. They were serving three dollar mojitos. Sweetie pie, I LOVE mojitos."
This was true, she was a girl, loved sweet girly drinks. I couldn't hold her at fault for drinking mojitos.
"I understand."
"So there were about seven of us at the bar...."
"Who was at the bar?"
"It was Tim, Derek, Ron, Gary, Melissa and Alicia. Stop interrupting."
"Ok."
"So Gary didn't drink anything because he never ever does. Everyone else got buzzed by 5:30. Who sells three dollar mojitos?" I think she said this all without taking a breath.
"It's like they were injecting mojito alcohol into women, right honey?" she repeated.
I shook my head.
"Ramada happy hour was ok. But it wasn't a lot of fun. So we asked around for what to do and where to go and heard about this cute little bar with pool tables, next to an Italian bistro. So we went. At this point Melissa bowed out."
I had no idea who Melissa was; it didn't matter.
"So we all packed into Gary's rental. Alicia went shotgun and I squeezed in the back with the other three guys."
"Ok."
"So it's not even six in the evening, and we're driving to this bar in rush-hour traffic, and we're all a little tipsy. Except the driver, of course."
"Of course." Gary was in his fifties and already played bocci ball in his spare time.
"To fit in the back seat, we were all tightly squeezed against each other. I didn't ride on anyone's lap, but I definitely got smooshed. I had to rest my legs on the console in between the two front seats.
"So everyone yelled at Gary anytime they saw a Prius on the road."
"Why?"
"I DON'T KNOW. It was hilarious at the time.
Anyways, I was going along with all of it, having a good time..."
"Being a teenager again..." I interjected.
"Guilty as charged, being a teenager again.... wearing jeans and a blouse with flip flops in the early winter, sure. so then I felt a hand grip my side."
Wow. I froze.
"I yelled out 'Hey who's pawing at the married lady.' Mr. Anonymous Hands gave my sides a squeeze and I laughed very loudly and thrashed around. And I elbowed the guy next to me."
"Ouch." She had elbowed me so many times. Sometimes she'd jump onto the bed and I had learned to protect myself rather than embrace the romantic moment.
"I know, ouch is right. I got him right in the solar plexus!" She sounded proud of herself. Always.
"I felt bad about it for exactly two point three seconds, because then Tim yelled out 'Ticklish just elbowed me'." I think Tim was fresh-out-of-college -- a young whipper snapper frat superstar. Or at least that's what Tina called him. She had said he was dumb and cute.
"It got really quiet in the car after Tim yelled that I had elbowed him. All the guys smiled and turned to me.
I didn't help in diffusing the situation. I said 'Serves you idiots right!'" Yup, sounds like my Tina.
"And then I felt them. Three pairs of hands on my sides, armpits and knees. It was crazy insane how quickly they attacked. Whoever got into my armpits kept brushing against my breasts, but there was nothing I could do. And whoever got my sides was a complete sadist. I think it was Derek. He was kneading me and tickling hard in that way that made me totally break down."
"Really? Wow." Derek was a supertall guy in his late thirties. Very divorced and very funny. I liked him.
"To escape I swung my legs around to kick people.
Big mistake. I lost a flip flop in the process."
Uh oh. I knew where she was taking this.
"You know where this is going right?" She read my mind.
"Tim gripped my ankles so that my knees were drawn up to my chest and Derek tickled my defenseless soles. I could not move them or wriggle out or ANYTHING. Gary and Alicia did nothing except smile at me from the front seat. Derek kept saying 'Ticklish is ticklish on the feet!'"
"Holy crap, how could you take it?" So many times I had stopped going after her smooth size seven feet when she screamed or cried after a few seconds.
"I HAD NO CHOICE. My arms were already clamped and practically stuck against my sides from the lack of space. I had to just bear the foot tickling and hope for one of them to die eventually," she said in her businesslike voice again.
"Wow." I was mesmerized.
"Yeah, it was out of hand. I just could not protect my feet, sweetie. Alicia said I looked and sounded like a manic chimpanzee. It was rough. I think I will have bruises from it on my body."
"Bruises," I said disingenuously.
"Yep. Little reminders of what I went through for you..." said my poor suffering wife.
"Oh you did this for yourself too," I replied.
"And my soles were bright red afterwards." Her voice had dropped into her seductive mode, I could tell.
"Geez Tina. How did that make you feel?"
"Bright red soles," she repeated.
"How did you feel?" I ignored her obvious attempt to distract me.
"Helpless." She paused. "It was very hot too, to lose control like that with men holding me down and tickling my bare feet." She was getting frisky on the phone.
"You were horny!" I yelped out.
"Can you take it that I was horny? Can you really take the mental picture of your wife being tickled by other men? Doesn't it bother you that while one was torturing my underarms and rubbing against my boobies, another was enjoying the sacred hallowed ground of my naked ticklish feet?" She was digging into me again, knowing full well my weaknesses.
I didn't say anything.
"I don't think you can take it. You KNOW at least one of them was getting off on touching me too."
I still didn't reply. The air was getting kinda thick. It was hard to breathe.
"Oh you are TOTALLY getting off on your wife's perfectly pedicured soles being tickled by another man. Well when I get home I bet this is all we will talk about during sex." She sounded triumphant.
"You think so?" I was dizzy.
"I know so. And you know what else...? I might even do it again and not ask for permission next time. Take that one home."
I did.
Last edited:
