tickledcrazy
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2003
- Messages
- 87
- Points
- 0
I went to a holiday party with my wife. It was being held in a lounge overlooking the city. We got there early and saved a table for four near the window. As we were ordering drinks, my wife's friend Dana came in. Dana is about fourty years old and takes good care of herself. She'd a brunette that stands about 5'5" with a thin build. Her hair is short, like the style today dictates. Dana was wearing a black jumper-type outfit with kind of chunky black shoes with a treaded sole. Kind of a non-slip type that allows for dressy shoes to be worn rather than boots in the snowy climate we're in. Dana and my wife are close and it didn't take her long to find us. After we ordered drinks, the three of us went to the table, my wife and Dana on one side and me on the other. Dana sat directly across from me. As we were talking, I felt Dana kick me under the table a couple of times. I knew it was accidental, but I announced in a loud voice, "Dana, quit playing footsie with me. My wife is right here." We all laughed and the conversation continued, but every once in a while, Dana would kick me under the table...hard. She'd look over and give me a devious look as if it were punishment for embarassing her. Little did she know I'd be ready for her on the next kick.
As we sat there, I saw Dana move in her chair. Anticipating another kick, I placed both hands under the table. When she kicked at me with her right foot, I grabbed it by the ankle. She looked somewhat startled by this but continued talking to my wife as if nothing was different. I could feel a smooth feel at Dana's ankle and lifted her cuff to see that she was wearing black nylons with her outfit. As she talked, I reached a finger behind her foot and started to tug at the back of her shoe. She offered token resistance and shot me one really evil look but continued to chat with my wife. I muscled a finger into the back of her shoe and popped it off with my right hand, still holding her ankle firm with my left. There was enough conversational noise and radio music that the shoe hitting the floor went unnoticed. As she talked to my wife, I ran a single finger from my right hand from the heel to the toes on Dana's foot. In mid sentence, her voice got really high and it illicited a strange look from my wife. Dana tried to go back to her conversation just at the point that I scrabbled five fingers all over the sole of her foot. I continued to sit as if nothing was going on and Dana tried to do the same. I tickled her nylon clad foot for about five minutes before she finally broke down in hysterical laughter. As my wife was about to ask her what was so funnt, Dana blurted out, "Tell your husband to stop tickling my foot!" With that, I let go. I wasn't worried that my wife would be angry, but felt that I had accomplished my mission for the evening. Someday I think I'll take a second shot at Dana, but that's a story that is yet to come.
As we sat there, I saw Dana move in her chair. Anticipating another kick, I placed both hands under the table. When she kicked at me with her right foot, I grabbed it by the ankle. She looked somewhat startled by this but continued talking to my wife as if nothing was different. I could feel a smooth feel at Dana's ankle and lifted her cuff to see that she was wearing black nylons with her outfit. As she talked, I reached a finger behind her foot and started to tug at the back of her shoe. She offered token resistance and shot me one really evil look but continued to chat with my wife. I muscled a finger into the back of her shoe and popped it off with my right hand, still holding her ankle firm with my left. There was enough conversational noise and radio music that the shoe hitting the floor went unnoticed. As she talked to my wife, I ran a single finger from my right hand from the heel to the toes on Dana's foot. In mid sentence, her voice got really high and it illicited a strange look from my wife. Dana tried to go back to her conversation just at the point that I scrabbled five fingers all over the sole of her foot. I continued to sit as if nothing was going on and Dana tried to do the same. I tickled her nylon clad foot for about five minutes before she finally broke down in hysterical laughter. As my wife was about to ask her what was so funnt, Dana blurted out, "Tell your husband to stop tickling my foot!" With that, I let go. I wasn't worried that my wife would be angry, but felt that I had accomplished my mission for the evening. Someday I think I'll take a second shot at Dana, but that's a story that is yet to come.
