XAsMoXDeUsX
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Sep 30, 2006
- Messages
- 142
- Points
- 16
THE DIDACTIC INTRO
The Ornate Maunderings of a Supercilious Fetishist
As of late, I have steadily evolved into primarily a sommie tickler-to be more specific, a sommie foot tickler. Nothing turns me on more than a pair of vulnerable female feet resigned, due to their host's dormancy, to endure whatever insidious (tickling) torment I choose to inflict on them. It is natural, therefore, that I should be so inclined as to gravitate toward the material on the TMF which deals with this very subject. However, I have unfortunately found this forum, as well as its sibling, Tickletheater, to be largely lacking (with the exception of perhaps a couple of true encounters comprised of no more than an emaciated paragraph with sparse detail) in this department. Therefore, seeing as I've had the pleasure of participating in scores of sommie tickles throughout the course of my young life, I've decided to pen these encounters, in the hopes that it may "get the ball rolling", so to speak.
That being said, without further ado, I bring you...
TORMENT IN SLUMBER
My poor girlfriend. Ever since the initiation of our relationship, I believe it's fair to say that she's known scarcely a moment's peace. I tickle her mercilessly whenever we're together; no hour of the day brings relief... or night, for that matter. While for most, repose might herald welcomed escapism from the various inconveniences and irritations which shamelessly infest the majority of our days, I would be lying if I were to say that sleep heralded my girlfriend's escape from my salacious tickling tortures. In fact, it would be more accurate to surmise that dozing actually increased said tortures.
Before I continue, I feel it necessary to describe my girlfriend (who will henceforth be known as Ellen, to protect the ticklish). She is approximately five six, with short, dark hair and hazel eyes. She is not fat, but retains a full figure (which, to be honest, I appreciate more than a rail-thin, anorexic one). Yet if I were forced to encapsulate my enumerations in one word alone, it would have to be "innocent". She is one of the most innocent looking girls I have known in my life (and, despite a lecherousness almost equivalent to mine, her appearance isn't misleading). To me, this adds to the fun. I've always enjoyed the idea of tickle torturing an innocent looking girl far more than Miss America; I suppose it's because the former rarely does anything to warrant such a cruel infliction and, as far as my fantasies go, tickling isn't about retribution. It's about torture.
Her feet are size nine, with long, scrumptios toes which delineate accordingly. Her soles are buttery and soft, with that perfect peach pink/white color that we foot fetishists hunger for. Of course it goes without saying that it's impossible to keep my fingers, feathers or tongue off of them for too long!
And how does Ellen repay my obsessions? By indulging them almost limitlessly. One would be hard pressed to find a more understanding parnter. But I digress.
To reiterate, I have tickled Ellen's sleepy feet many a time. But one of my all time favorites occured during Thanksgiving weekend.
Ellen and I started dating in high school. After graduation, we attended different schools-I stayed local (SoCal), while she opted to attend a school which was a few hours away (NorCal). Because our curriculums are somewhat different, her thanksgiving break ended up being a week long, while mine was only four and a half days. Whenever Ellen visits, it's customary for her to spend at least one night at my house (my family doesn't mind us sharing a room, as long as we don't make too much noise). On this particular evening, we stayed up until about two, watching TV and just shooting the breeze. When she finally decided she wanted to go to sleep, I was more than ready. I agreed, my heart pounding in my throat.
As the two of us prepared for bed, I realized, much to my dismay, that she was still wearing white socks. You're not going to go to bed with those on, are you, I thought to myself, though outwardly I merely smiled and lay down. But I wasn't too concerned. Ellen rarely slept with socks, and tonight was no different. Just before she switched off the light, she treated me to a show and slowly slipped her socks off her beautiful feet.
Because my bed is inordinately creaky, Ellen and I had long ago decided that it would be best for us to sleep on a spare mattress that I keep in my room. This made it much easier for me to slip away from her side and gingerly make my way over to her sleeping feet...
I had to wait about ten minutes for her to fall asleep, but I decided to give her another five just to be on the safe side. Usually with sommie tickles, the more time you allow the ticklee to sleep, the better, but I just couldn't wait anymore. I slowly began to shift from my side of the mattress, inching ever so steadily to the floor of my room. After what felt like an eternity, I had successfully eased myself off of the mattress. Now I slowly stood up and ambled over to its foot. I gently brushed my hand over the top of the blanket we had been using to feel for Ellen's foot. A few seconds into my endeavor I felt something hard beneath the cloth and realized I had hit the jackpot.
Now I slowly reached my hand in to check whether or not her feet were entangled with the blanket. I could feel the warmth exuding from where her feet were, and I began to get hard. As luck would have it, her feet were unobsctructed, but I felt her twitch slightly and began to panic. I froze, not daring to move lest I give myself away. And then... Ellen began to snore.
I exhaled in relief and, with newfound resolve, slowly peeled the blanket back from her feet. Ellen was sleeping on her side, so it was her right foot which was immediately apparent upon peeling back the blanket. The sole was facing me, her toes tilted at a fourty-five degree angle. It was perfect. As the moonlight streamed into the room, I could make out the features of her sleeping face, as well as the black nail polish which she had applied to her toes only a few days ago. It glowed in the silvery ambiance, beckoning to my lust with its immaculate tint (Of all the feet I've tickled, bare with painted toes have always been my preference).
I took the whole scene in for a moment longer, bracing myself for what was to come. It was time to start.
Lately, I had been experimenting with using tools for sommie tickles. Now, I have perfected my art down to where I need exactly three instruments: 1) a feather 2) a pencil and 3) a brush-but not just any brush. I am talking about a midge of a makeup brush, with immediate, short bristles which apply far more pressure due to their deficient length.
I grinned wickedly at Ellen's sleeping foot, then reached under my bed for where I kept my tools. For now, I decided to go with the feather. (Because this feather had been weathered from months of application, the barb and afterfeather had become quite squiggly, and their texture was more akin to that of a bristly paintbrush). I gripped the feather by its calamus, and wafted it a few times in the air. Then, I slowly lowered it and began tickling Ellen's soul, up and down, up and down. There was no initial reaction, and at first I was ready to give up and try a different tool, when suddenly Ellen's toes fanned a bit. Enticed, I continued the tickling, this time increasing the speed. After a few minutes, Ellen scrunched her foot up, then relaxed it once more. I was in heaven. I could make her feet dance to my heart's desire, and she was powerless to stop me!
I continued with the tickling, my pace undeterred by Ellen's movements. As I tickled, I looked up ahead and noticed that her expression had changed to one of slight irritation. She moaned.
Suddenly, without warning, she turned herself over onto her other side. The feather had tickled her so much she had had to turn over!
I wasn't alarmed by her movements. Prior experience had taught me that they were reflexive. She was, I knew, still very much asleep. So I wasted no time in relocating her feet and renewing the torture.
In their new position, her feet were tilted to the left. The soles were resting horizontally, at a (seemingly) perfect ninety degree angle, the left foot atop the right one (this is one of my all time favorite positions for sleeping feet to assume). Two for the price of one, I chuckled to myself. Once again I gripped the feather by the calamus and began to brush it against her left sole. That illicited no reaction, so I turned the feather over and sloooooowly (I'm so cruel) traced one of the wrinkles of her left sole with it. Ellen scrunched her left foot and fanned her toes wildly. This was so much fun, and I could have continued all night, but alas, I was getting tired. Besides, her toes were so tempting that I couldn't leave them out of the fun. I creeped ever closer to Ellen's feet and bent over diagonally, to where I could almost completely peer over without losing my balance, and grazed Ellen's middle toes with my eager, moist lips. I let my drool dribble down, trickling to both her soles. I slowly drew my tongue up the sole of her left foot. No reaction, but I wasn't looking for one. I just wanted the sweet, succulent taste of her delectable feet in my mouth. I continued to lick her soles, but this time I increased the speed and pressure of my licks. For the grand finale, I grazed her left sole with my teeth, causing her to draw her foot back sharply. Having climaxed, I was satiated... for now. I settled back on my side of the mattress, knowing full well that I would probably only doze for the next two hours or so. After all, I rarely saw Ellen these days, what with school and everything else, and one must make up for lost time...
The Ornate Maunderings of a Supercilious Fetishist
As of late, I have steadily evolved into primarily a sommie tickler-to be more specific, a sommie foot tickler. Nothing turns me on more than a pair of vulnerable female feet resigned, due to their host's dormancy, to endure whatever insidious (tickling) torment I choose to inflict on them. It is natural, therefore, that I should be so inclined as to gravitate toward the material on the TMF which deals with this very subject. However, I have unfortunately found this forum, as well as its sibling, Tickletheater, to be largely lacking (with the exception of perhaps a couple of true encounters comprised of no more than an emaciated paragraph with sparse detail) in this department. Therefore, seeing as I've had the pleasure of participating in scores of sommie tickles throughout the course of my young life, I've decided to pen these encounters, in the hopes that it may "get the ball rolling", so to speak.
That being said, without further ado, I bring you...
TORMENT IN SLUMBER
My poor girlfriend. Ever since the initiation of our relationship, I believe it's fair to say that she's known scarcely a moment's peace. I tickle her mercilessly whenever we're together; no hour of the day brings relief... or night, for that matter. While for most, repose might herald welcomed escapism from the various inconveniences and irritations which shamelessly infest the majority of our days, I would be lying if I were to say that sleep heralded my girlfriend's escape from my salacious tickling tortures. In fact, it would be more accurate to surmise that dozing actually increased said tortures.
Before I continue, I feel it necessary to describe my girlfriend (who will henceforth be known as Ellen, to protect the ticklish). She is approximately five six, with short, dark hair and hazel eyes. She is not fat, but retains a full figure (which, to be honest, I appreciate more than a rail-thin, anorexic one). Yet if I were forced to encapsulate my enumerations in one word alone, it would have to be "innocent". She is one of the most innocent looking girls I have known in my life (and, despite a lecherousness almost equivalent to mine, her appearance isn't misleading). To me, this adds to the fun. I've always enjoyed the idea of tickle torturing an innocent looking girl far more than Miss America; I suppose it's because the former rarely does anything to warrant such a cruel infliction and, as far as my fantasies go, tickling isn't about retribution. It's about torture.
Her feet are size nine, with long, scrumptios toes which delineate accordingly. Her soles are buttery and soft, with that perfect peach pink/white color that we foot fetishists hunger for. Of course it goes without saying that it's impossible to keep my fingers, feathers or tongue off of them for too long!
And how does Ellen repay my obsessions? By indulging them almost limitlessly. One would be hard pressed to find a more understanding parnter. But I digress.
To reiterate, I have tickled Ellen's sleepy feet many a time. But one of my all time favorites occured during Thanksgiving weekend.
Ellen and I started dating in high school. After graduation, we attended different schools-I stayed local (SoCal), while she opted to attend a school which was a few hours away (NorCal). Because our curriculums are somewhat different, her thanksgiving break ended up being a week long, while mine was only four and a half days. Whenever Ellen visits, it's customary for her to spend at least one night at my house (my family doesn't mind us sharing a room, as long as we don't make too much noise). On this particular evening, we stayed up until about two, watching TV and just shooting the breeze. When she finally decided she wanted to go to sleep, I was more than ready. I agreed, my heart pounding in my throat.
As the two of us prepared for bed, I realized, much to my dismay, that she was still wearing white socks. You're not going to go to bed with those on, are you, I thought to myself, though outwardly I merely smiled and lay down. But I wasn't too concerned. Ellen rarely slept with socks, and tonight was no different. Just before she switched off the light, she treated me to a show and slowly slipped her socks off her beautiful feet.
Because my bed is inordinately creaky, Ellen and I had long ago decided that it would be best for us to sleep on a spare mattress that I keep in my room. This made it much easier for me to slip away from her side and gingerly make my way over to her sleeping feet...
I had to wait about ten minutes for her to fall asleep, but I decided to give her another five just to be on the safe side. Usually with sommie tickles, the more time you allow the ticklee to sleep, the better, but I just couldn't wait anymore. I slowly began to shift from my side of the mattress, inching ever so steadily to the floor of my room. After what felt like an eternity, I had successfully eased myself off of the mattress. Now I slowly stood up and ambled over to its foot. I gently brushed my hand over the top of the blanket we had been using to feel for Ellen's foot. A few seconds into my endeavor I felt something hard beneath the cloth and realized I had hit the jackpot.
Now I slowly reached my hand in to check whether or not her feet were entangled with the blanket. I could feel the warmth exuding from where her feet were, and I began to get hard. As luck would have it, her feet were unobsctructed, but I felt her twitch slightly and began to panic. I froze, not daring to move lest I give myself away. And then... Ellen began to snore.
I exhaled in relief and, with newfound resolve, slowly peeled the blanket back from her feet. Ellen was sleeping on her side, so it was her right foot which was immediately apparent upon peeling back the blanket. The sole was facing me, her toes tilted at a fourty-five degree angle. It was perfect. As the moonlight streamed into the room, I could make out the features of her sleeping face, as well as the black nail polish which she had applied to her toes only a few days ago. It glowed in the silvery ambiance, beckoning to my lust with its immaculate tint (Of all the feet I've tickled, bare with painted toes have always been my preference).
I took the whole scene in for a moment longer, bracing myself for what was to come. It was time to start.
Lately, I had been experimenting with using tools for sommie tickles. Now, I have perfected my art down to where I need exactly three instruments: 1) a feather 2) a pencil and 3) a brush-but not just any brush. I am talking about a midge of a makeup brush, with immediate, short bristles which apply far more pressure due to their deficient length.
I grinned wickedly at Ellen's sleeping foot, then reached under my bed for where I kept my tools. For now, I decided to go with the feather. (Because this feather had been weathered from months of application, the barb and afterfeather had become quite squiggly, and their texture was more akin to that of a bristly paintbrush). I gripped the feather by its calamus, and wafted it a few times in the air. Then, I slowly lowered it and began tickling Ellen's soul, up and down, up and down. There was no initial reaction, and at first I was ready to give up and try a different tool, when suddenly Ellen's toes fanned a bit. Enticed, I continued the tickling, this time increasing the speed. After a few minutes, Ellen scrunched her foot up, then relaxed it once more. I was in heaven. I could make her feet dance to my heart's desire, and she was powerless to stop me!
I continued with the tickling, my pace undeterred by Ellen's movements. As I tickled, I looked up ahead and noticed that her expression had changed to one of slight irritation. She moaned.
Suddenly, without warning, she turned herself over onto her other side. The feather had tickled her so much she had had to turn over!
I wasn't alarmed by her movements. Prior experience had taught me that they were reflexive. She was, I knew, still very much asleep. So I wasted no time in relocating her feet and renewing the torture.
In their new position, her feet were tilted to the left. The soles were resting horizontally, at a (seemingly) perfect ninety degree angle, the left foot atop the right one (this is one of my all time favorite positions for sleeping feet to assume). Two for the price of one, I chuckled to myself. Once again I gripped the feather by the calamus and began to brush it against her left sole. That illicited no reaction, so I turned the feather over and sloooooowly (I'm so cruel) traced one of the wrinkles of her left sole with it. Ellen scrunched her left foot and fanned her toes wildly. This was so much fun, and I could have continued all night, but alas, I was getting tired. Besides, her toes were so tempting that I couldn't leave them out of the fun. I creeped ever closer to Ellen's feet and bent over diagonally, to where I could almost completely peer over without losing my balance, and grazed Ellen's middle toes with my eager, moist lips. I let my drool dribble down, trickling to both her soles. I slowly drew my tongue up the sole of her left foot. No reaction, but I wasn't looking for one. I just wanted the sweet, succulent taste of her delectable feet in my mouth. I continued to lick her soles, but this time I increased the speed and pressure of my licks. For the grand finale, I grazed her left sole with my teeth, causing her to draw her foot back sharply. Having climaxed, I was satiated... for now. I settled back on my side of the mattress, knowing full well that I would probably only doze for the next two hours or so. After all, I rarely saw Ellen these days, what with school and everything else, and one must make up for lost time...
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