Are You Ticklish?
“What do you mean you don’t know if you’re ticklish or not? You’re
18 years old!” Bob had been dating Angela for about 2 months. She was
perfect – 5’5″, classic Italian looks, great body, great personality.
She was also the only child of a very wealthy car dealer in town, so she
was spoiled rotten, but had also been lonely most of her life.
“I just said nobody had ever tickled me, so I don’t know what it is
like,” she replied. “I’ve often wondered.”
“Your mother or father never tickled you as a child? Or anytime?” Bob
wondered. “No, they aren’t real touching people, so how could I have been?”
They were sitting on the side of Angela’s swimming pool. Boy, she
looked great in that blue bikini! Nobody else was home, so Bob had a great
idea. “Let’s go inside, and I’ll find out if you’re ticklish or not!”
Angela actually seemed sort of excited by the thought, and she jumped
right up and ran in the house. “Where should we go?” she asked. Bob thought
for a moment, then said “You have a four-poster bed, right?” She nodded.
“Go to your bedroom and pull the covers off of the bed, and I’ll be in in a
minute.” She ran off.
Bob went into the living room and found what he was looking for — a large
basket with long, stiff peacock feathers — and selected two of them. He
started upstairs, but then thought of something else and made a quick detour.
As Bob walked into the room holding the feathers in one hand, Angela
smiled, then asked, “Why is your other hand behind your back?” He answered,
“Well, since we don’t know if you’re ticklish, or how ticklish you are, I
thought maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make sure I didn’t accidentally get hit or
kicked if you started jerking around.” He pulled out the neckties he had found
in her father’s closet and said, “So, can I tie your hands and feet, just in
Angela looked a little unsure for a minute, but then agreed. “But if I
don’t like it, when I say STOP, I mean STOP. O.K.?” Bob also agreed.
Having Angela lay down on the bed, Bob tied one end of the necktie to her
right wrist and pulled her arm over her head to secure it to the bedpost. Going
to her left side, he did the same with her left wrist. He then repeated this
with both of her feet, leaving her bound spread-eagle and absolutely helpless.
Bob sat down on the bed next to her and said, “Are you sure you want to
do this?” She nodded her head, not quite sure what she may be in for. “O.K.!
Taking one of the feathers, he started at her left wrist and began slowly
sliding it down her arm. She did nothing. He got closer and closer to her
underarm, until she should have been writhing in agony. She didn’t flinch. He
picked up the other feather and used both of them on her armpits, sides, and
stomach. Nothing. Not even a smile.
Now sort of disappointed, he moved down a little and ran the feathers up
and down her soft inner thighs. Her eyes widened, and she started to wiggle a
bit. “What is that?” she asked amazedly. “That, my dear, is the start of your
ticklishness.” He continued stroking her legs, and was rewarded with more
squirming and some laughter.
Tiring of this after 15 minutes, he dropped the feathers and gently took
a knee in each hand and began tweaking them. She jumped around a little, but
not much. Then he reached underneath her to grab the backs of her legs, and
did the same thing. Now, she went wild! While she laughed uncontrollably and
tried to pull out of the ties, he tickled her for another 10 minutes.
When he finished, she was panting and sweating and looked at him and said,
“I don’t think I care for being tickled. Untie me please.”
With a devilish look in his eye, he innocently commented, “But I haven’t
gotten to your feet yet!” She didn’t even want to try though, insisting he
“I’m sorry you feel that way, Angie, but I can’t. I wouldn’t feel I had
fulfilled my duty to you if I didn’t help you find out if your feet were
ticklish or not!”
Pulling a chair up to the end of the bed, Bob sat down at Angela’s feet.
“You promised you would stop when I said to!” Angela screamed. “Sorry,”
was his only answer.
Taking a feather in each hand again, he began lightly running them up and
down the tops of Angela’s feet. Starting to get a smug grin back on her face,
Angela laughed and said, “Ha! Doesn’t do a thing. Now untie me!” Instead of
replying, Bob switched the feathers to the bottoms of her feet. Immediately
she regretted being smart-mouthed, and began giggling. “Please, stop. I can’t
take any more!” “No, we have to make sure you are really ticklish on your feet!
This is just the beginning!”
Taking the pencil-like tips of the feathers, he attacked her insteps and
heels without mercy, continuing for 15 minutes this way. NOW, she was begging
for him to stop. But still no relief.
Now he ran both ends of the feathers between her toes, creating a new wave
of chuckling and pleading.
Trying a new tactic, he found a ball-point pen and wrote ‘Bob loves Angela’
one each sole 5 times. “Oh, look. Your feet are dirty! I’ll have to wash
them for you!”
Going into her bathroom, he half-filled a bucket with warm, soapy water and
found a soft scrub brush. As he sat down, she realized what would happen, and
pulled even harder on the neckties, but he had tied her well.
Nearly in tears from the previous torture, she looked at him with puppy
dog eyes and said, “I beg you not to do this. Please?” He almost relented,
but something said “Why not?” So it began.
Dipping the brush into the water, he then brought it to the sole of her
right foot. “Still say ‘Doesn’t do a thing?'” he taunted. Holding the top of
her foot with one hand he scrubbed lightly but firmly across the arch, instep,
heel and under the toes of the foot, soaping it up good, but not removing much
ink. “This brush isn’t doing much good (although she had almost passed out from
being tickled so much) maybe I’ll try this nice sponge.” Thoroughly wetting the
sponge, he then applied that to her bare sole, again making her writhe and
Now he transferred his attentions to her left foot, with the same results.
She was getting tired, and crying from laughing so hard, so she just lay there,
occasionally jerking of jumping, but still unable to escape.
Her feet were now clean, and he produced a nice, fluffy towel to dry them
on. He then kissed each foot on the sole, each knee, each thigh, her tummy,
and gently licked and kissed each underarm (with the licking making her squirm
around and hoarsely whisper “PLEASE STOP”). Then he kissed her hard and long
on the lips and asked, “Are you mad at me for not untying you? ‘Cause if you
are, I can ask your feet instead!”
With a look of near-terror in her eyes, she vigorously shook her head and
said, “NO, I’m not mad!” Being bound and tickled for 2 hours left her limply
lying there when he untied her. He lay down next to her and began to caress
her face. “I think it’s time I help you find out if you’re ticklish, buddy!”
she exclaimed. He did decided it was only fair, and allowed her to tie his
wrists and ankles. He’d tell her later that he wasn’t ticklish!!!!