dumbledore
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jul 29, 2003
- Messages
- 229
- Points
- 18
One of my favourite moments in modern tickling videos is when the tickler brings out the brush or the massager, and proceeds to devastate their ticklee. It is usually the breaking point in their defence, if they're not already broken. The moment the laughter erupts out of them in unrelenting peals. The moment they discover, properly, how ticklish they are, and realize the terror of their situation.
Knowing how ticklish my girlfriend Amelia is, I've always, always wanted to try tools like this on her feet. But I've never really had a chance. She doesn't know I'm into tickling, and for now at least, I'd like to keep it that way.
But delightfully, this past week, I glimpsed what it is like to use a tickling tool on the soft skin of her soles, and the memory of the moment alone still turns me on.
We were in the bath, both of us together, the soapy water sloshing around us and the bubbles glistening on her pale skin. Her legs were either side of me, the dark red polish of her toes just visible underneath my arms. She was cleaning her arms with some sort of scrubbing lotion, and then she asked if she could use it on me.
"Ok," I said.
She rested one of my legs on her, and rubbed the gel into me. It soaped up, and I could feel tiny rough grains under her hands, like it was speckled with salt. She rubbed it into my leg and all over my foot. Then she took a nail brush, which was basically a big toothbrush about the size of a playing card, but with no handle, and scrubbed around my toes.
I twitched involuntarily. I'm not normally very ticklish, but all those bristles moving between my toes made it quite hard to keep my foot still.
"Does it tickle?" she said, unable to keep the grin from her face.
"A bit," I said.
Then, as she rinsed the rest of the soap off my leg, she said, "I wouldn't be able to handle it."
I felt a jolt of electricity downstairs, and moved my arms to cover up my excitement. Any mention of her ticklishness is a huge turn on for me. It reminded me of hearing about her first (and only) pedicure, where the scrubbing of her feet was too ticklish for her to bear.
"Let me have a go," I said playfully, grinning at her.
"Oh ... no," she said, staring me straight in the eyes, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips.
"Go on," I urged.
And to my incredible surprise, she smiled, and agreed. She leant back in the bath, her stomach and breasts framed by my knees. She handed me the nail brush, its tightly packed white bristles edged with the remains of the cleansing lotion. She lifted her right leg out of the water, and I put my knees together so she could rest her soapy ankle in the groove between them.
All I could see was the glistening bare sole of her foot, and the nervous look on her face behind it.
"Ooh," she said, chewing her cheek as I brought the brush closer.
She arched her foot, as if to pull away, but she didn't move it. I held her ankle to keep it steady, then brought the brush into contact with her skin, and scrubbed firmly.
"Ahh!" she squealed, her foot twitching a little, but as I scrubbed, my heart sank.
It wasn't having anything near the effect I'd been hoping for. Perhaps a nail brush wasn't the best tool after all. Or maybe I was doing something wrong...
I slowed down...
I stopped...
"It doesn't tickle so much when it's hard," she began to say, but as she did so, I scrubbed again, much lighter this time, the bristles only barely scratching the soapy soft surface of her skin.
She never finished her sentence.
"It doesn't tickle so much when it's h...aaaahhh!"
Her foot twitched, but it was clamped perfectly in place. I moved the bristles up to her toes, and scrubbed left and right, delving into the gaps between them.
"Ok!" she said quickly, "Ok-hahaha! That tickles! That tick-ha ha ha!"
Down her sole and back up, the brush gliding easily over her soft skin. Over to her arch...
"Hahahaaaaa! Okaaahahahaha! Ok ok okaaahahahahaha!"
I was barely touching her feet. The bath made her skin especially soft, and the brush did all the work. Dozens and dozens of tiny bristles, stroking and scratching and probing every wrinkle, torturing her shimmering, glistening sole. As she struggled, the water sloshed, lapping at her bouncing breasts.
"Ok!" she said, pulling away, grinning, still laughing in spurts. "It's too much," she giggled. "It's too much."
We got out of the bath soon after, and I couldn't help wondering... If that was too much, how bad, how brilliant, how ticklish would it be, if her feet were properly restrained, and it was a hairbrush doing the work.
Knowing how ticklish my girlfriend Amelia is, I've always, always wanted to try tools like this on her feet. But I've never really had a chance. She doesn't know I'm into tickling, and for now at least, I'd like to keep it that way.
But delightfully, this past week, I glimpsed what it is like to use a tickling tool on the soft skin of her soles, and the memory of the moment alone still turns me on.
We were in the bath, both of us together, the soapy water sloshing around us and the bubbles glistening on her pale skin. Her legs were either side of me, the dark red polish of her toes just visible underneath my arms. She was cleaning her arms with some sort of scrubbing lotion, and then she asked if she could use it on me.
"Ok," I said.
She rested one of my legs on her, and rubbed the gel into me. It soaped up, and I could feel tiny rough grains under her hands, like it was speckled with salt. She rubbed it into my leg and all over my foot. Then she took a nail brush, which was basically a big toothbrush about the size of a playing card, but with no handle, and scrubbed around my toes.
I twitched involuntarily. I'm not normally very ticklish, but all those bristles moving between my toes made it quite hard to keep my foot still.
"Does it tickle?" she said, unable to keep the grin from her face.
"A bit," I said.
Then, as she rinsed the rest of the soap off my leg, she said, "I wouldn't be able to handle it."
I felt a jolt of electricity downstairs, and moved my arms to cover up my excitement. Any mention of her ticklishness is a huge turn on for me. It reminded me of hearing about her first (and only) pedicure, where the scrubbing of her feet was too ticklish for her to bear.
"Let me have a go," I said playfully, grinning at her.
"Oh ... no," she said, staring me straight in the eyes, the ghost of a grin tugging at her lips.
"Go on," I urged.
And to my incredible surprise, she smiled, and agreed. She leant back in the bath, her stomach and breasts framed by my knees. She handed me the nail brush, its tightly packed white bristles edged with the remains of the cleansing lotion. She lifted her right leg out of the water, and I put my knees together so she could rest her soapy ankle in the groove between them.
All I could see was the glistening bare sole of her foot, and the nervous look on her face behind it.
"Ooh," she said, chewing her cheek as I brought the brush closer.
She arched her foot, as if to pull away, but she didn't move it. I held her ankle to keep it steady, then brought the brush into contact with her skin, and scrubbed firmly.
"Ahh!" she squealed, her foot twitching a little, but as I scrubbed, my heart sank.
It wasn't having anything near the effect I'd been hoping for. Perhaps a nail brush wasn't the best tool after all. Or maybe I was doing something wrong...
I slowed down...
I stopped...
"It doesn't tickle so much when it's hard," she began to say, but as she did so, I scrubbed again, much lighter this time, the bristles only barely scratching the soapy soft surface of her skin.
She never finished her sentence.
"It doesn't tickle so much when it's h...aaaahhh!"
Her foot twitched, but it was clamped perfectly in place. I moved the bristles up to her toes, and scrubbed left and right, delving into the gaps between them.
"Ok!" she said quickly, "Ok-hahaha! That tickles! That tick-ha ha ha!"
Down her sole and back up, the brush gliding easily over her soft skin. Over to her arch...
"Hahahaaaaa! Okaaahahahaha! Ok ok okaaahahahahaha!"
I was barely touching her feet. The bath made her skin especially soft, and the brush did all the work. Dozens and dozens of tiny bristles, stroking and scratching and probing every wrinkle, torturing her shimmering, glistening sole. As she struggled, the water sloshed, lapping at her bouncing breasts.
"Ok!" she said, pulling away, grinning, still laughing in spurts. "It's too much," she giggled. "It's too much."
We got out of the bath soon after, and I couldn't help wondering... If that was too much, how bad, how brilliant, how ticklish would it be, if her feet were properly restrained, and it was a hairbrush doing the work.
Thanks for sharing your experience here. 
