A Special Fetish Flash Fiction Friday: “A Day at the Beach” w/C.A.B.!

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Recently I had the pleasure of collaborating with the noted fetish artist C.A.B.   He provided a pic and I provided the story - the opposite approach that Annoxanti & I used for “Demonic Possession.”

If you frequent the Tickling Media Forum, you’ll know C.A.B.’s wonderful Mr. Fetish comics; I expressed an interest in seeing a couple of Mr. Fetish’s lovely victims trapped in a ticklish situation and Mr. C. came through big time.  :)  Hopefully there’ll be more such collaborations to come.

OUT NOW: MAGGS #3!!

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Out now–even as I type this!–is the third issue of MAGGS, with the usual headbendingly superfantastic art by Rocio Zucchi and a script by my own self!

In this one, Maggs meets up with her idol, alternative rocker Kryssi Krush.  Kryssi’s in a jam because she’s laid up in matching ankle-casts, and needs somewhere quiet to hole up and write her latest album.   Maggs is quick to offer her apartment, but her roommates aren’t so happy about hosting a temperamental rock star.  Pretty soon they launch a devious all-out tickle-attack on the barefoot Kryssi.  Pretty soon Maggs has her hands full protecting her idol…AND herself!

Tons of barefoot tickling, CASTS, suppressed laughter and torture by…caterpillar?  This may be the hottest MAGGS yet!  Get it and start your weekend off right!  :)

FREE FETISH FLASH FICTION FRIDAYS: “DEMONIC POSSESSION” - art by Annoxanti!

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Well, the holidays have faded away to pleasant memories and it’s time to go back to work and classes.  I don’t know about you, but this strikes me as the perfect time for a Free Fetish Flash Fiction…er, Thursday Evening.  I’m still hoping to get stories back on track as a weekly gig, so if anyone’s interested in contributing art, please please please get in touch!

In the meantime, I’m pleased to present you with a tantalizing tickle-tale illustrated by none other than the always wonderful Annoxanti!  I hope it gives you all a devilish little post-holiday thrill…I call it…

Demonic Possession

by Colin

Illustration by Annoxanti

“I’m yours,” the demon told the scientist. She smiled winsomely, and wiggled one toe—the only movement she was capable of at the moment. She had materialized tightly bound, her naked, very female body expertly hogtied in a way that called to mind pictures in certain magazines Parsons enjoyed.

Helpless, Parsons thought. He had had a moment to get used to the demon’s materialization; now, against his will, he was becoming more than a little excited. She’s absolutely helpless. I could do anything I wanted to her. Anything at all.

“What’s wrong?” The demon’s voice was like boiled honey. She didn’t seem to mind being tied up at all. There was a playfulness to her that invited—all but begged—for anyone looking at her to avail themselves of her body. To play with it.

“Don’t you like me?”

“Like” didn’t come close. Parsons had never experienced perfection before. Everything about the demon—from her ink-black Bettie Page bangs to her fat coral nipples to the wrinkles on her bare, highly-arched and vulnerable soles—was exactly what Parsons had always dreamed of in his most deliciously shameful fantasies. That coupling of perfection and shame was what convinced him that this creature’s nature was diabolic. He was a man of science, and that part of him firmly rejected the notion that he was facing a female demon in a university-funded laboratory. But he was also a fetishist, and the product of a strict religious upbringing. It was no surprise which side of him won out.

He swallowed nervously. “You…weren’t what I was expecting.”

The demon’s smile widened and she began clenching and unclenching her toes with a gentle, steady rhythm that made it impossible to look away from them. “No? Let’s see…your experiment was supposed to recreate a specific pattern of Alpha waves…patterns you had deduced would be present in a highly neurotic, guilt-ridden male. An unworldly man with tendencies towards sexual fetishes and a belief in magical thinking, in miracles. You wanted to reproduce the conditions that would obtain before a medieval monk had a vision of a succubus, right?”

She giggled. “It seems to me you had a very good idea what to expect. You certainly put enough thought into it.”

She was right. Parsons had characterized his project to his colleagues as a rather frivolous exercise in creative thinking, a thought-experiment designed to recreate a particular mindset that would not have existed outside the Dark Ages. Perhaps it had begun that way, but as his research had progressed, Parsons had to admit to himself that his theoretical “monk” bore than a slight resemblance to himself. He also had to admit he had become rather fascinated with the project as a vehicle for his own fantasies. He had thought a lot about the kind of succubus who might visit him. She would be a lovely, barefoot girl, all tied up, ready for certain…games.

And now, simply by running a program on his computer, he had made her real.

“You must be a hallucination,” Parsons said, making one last fumbling attempt at sanity. “I’m overworked, I’m exhausted…”

“I do hope no one tickles my feet,” the demon purred, oblivious to the pleading note in his voice. “My poor little tootsies. See ‘em? All bare and helpless? I’m so ticklish and if anyone…oh!” The oh, delivered in a breathless squeak, marked the beginning of Parsons’ descent into what some would call damnation.

He went to her, his eyes glowing behind their glasses with an unholy lust. Only a moment before he was telling himself he couldn’t do it, that he shouldn’t and wouldn’t do it…but then he was on his knees beside her and grabbing at her bound feet, running his fingers over them. They were amazingly soft, like silk, and so responsive to his touch that Parsons felt a surge of something very like joy.

When Parsons watched young coeds relaxing on the campus green, he often heard them laughing as they joked and talked about boys. He recalled one luscious little brunette whose laughter had particularly excited him; she had a sort of breathless, hiccupping giggle. The demon’s laughter as he tickled her feet was exactly like the brunette’s.

She truly couldn’t move…at least, this body that she had put on to tempt and torment him was subject to the bondage it had materialized in; she had no way of escaping the ropes. No matter what this creature might have planned for his eternal soul, he owned her body, at least for the moment.

Parsons found that intoxicating.

“Does that tickle?” he whispered. “Huh?”

“No…please!” The succubus wriggled on the floor, her skin seeming to heat up as Parsons moved his fingers to her slim, hard ankles and then down her legs to her knees. The wriggling continued until she managed to roll herself over onto her side.

Bad move, honey, Parsons thought gloatingly. Now her soft belly was vulnerable to tickling. Her green eyes darted downward to glance her own exposed midsection, then back at him. Parsons didn’t think it was possible demons could feel fear, but this one at least looked more than a little nervous.

“Don’t…” she begged, and then was shrieking with laughter, even more loudly than when he had tickled her feet.

How could a demon have a bellybutton? Parsons wondered. And such a wonderful bellybutton, one that combined the best traits of an “innie” and “outie.” The demon’s navel was deep, but it containing a large knot of superticklish flesh to tempt his fingertip.

And there was more…her ribs, hidden under that silky skin; her armpits, which the intricacies of her bondage had left just exposed enough to tickle; even her chin and tiny ears (round, he saw, not pointed) were wonderfully, deliciously sensitive.

He could tickle her, he felt, for all eternity.

***

When Parsons finally came to his senses, early sunlight was beaming in through the windows of the lab, and the demon was still shrieking. He stood up, breathing hard. His excitement was only somewhat abated, but a tendril of fear had crept in. All that laughter would have made a flesh and blood girl pass out by now. The demon’s endurance was a fresh reminder of her supernatural nature.

“You’re a naughty boy,” the succubus smiled, licking her lips. Her tongue was not forked, but it was an unnaturally vivid shade of pink. “I’m going to love eating your soul.”

“This is a joke,” Parsons said, backing away. “You’re not really a succubus. Right? You’re some girl my colleagues hired to play a joke on me.”

“Aw, come on,” the demon giggled, shaking her plump breasts at him. “You still don’t believe? You want some proof?”

Flames blazed up on the floor, forming a ring around Parson’s shoes. More fire burst out on the counters and on his desk, burning fiercely but consuming nothing.

“Look down,” the demon suggested.

Parsons obeyed, and saw the fire-rimmed circle of floor at his feet was now transparent. He saw things beneath him that definitely were not part of the lab. Fire and brimstone and crimson things that capered and leered.

Hell. For real.

“I’m sorry,” Parsons whispered—who he was apologizing to, he had no idea.

“You have one more hour,” the succubus told him, smiling with heavily-lidded eyes. “I don’t have to give you the extra time, but I have to admit, I’m enjoying this. You’re a sensual man, and I love your touch. An hour before damnation can be very sweet…but I give it to you on one condition.”

“What’s that?” Parsons stammered.

“You don’t tickle my poor little feet no more,” the demon pouted. “I told you how ticklish they were, but you were so mean…”

“Okay,” Parsons said. “It’s a deal.” The flames guttered and died, and the scientist moved cautiously back to his desk, opening a drawer.

“What do you think you’re doing?” the demon asked suspiciously. “A bible? Holy water? I do hope you’re not going to insult me with such toys.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Parsons assured her, reaching into the drawer. “I know I belong to you. It’s a choice I made freely, I won’t try to cheat you. I’ll even hold to my agreement not to tickle your feet.

“Of course,” he went on, lifting up a long, sharp-tipped white feather. “I personally don’t count your toes as part of your feet, per se. And I’ve been saving this little beauty for a special occasion.” He offered the succubus a doomed smile. “I suppose damnation is as good an occasion as any.”

END

Happy New Year! From Gigglegasm (and Salma Hayek’s Feet)

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Ahem…now that I got your attention…  :)

Well, 2011 is winding down and 2012 is waiting in the wings.  If all goes well, I’ll have some terrific new projects out for your perusal next year, including comics with Bigfootfantasies, Ghostely, Rocio Zucchi and others, as well as (I hope!) more NOVELS from Renaissance eBooks, Noble Romance and of course MTJ Publishing. I’ll also be doing my part to bring you new foot & tickling fantasies through my fetish bookshoppe!

But before I leave you all to your New Year’s revelry, here’s a quick request: if you’ve bought any of my non-MTJ fiction (like LAUGH FOR ME, or TICKLE TOY or SOLES IN TORMENT or GIRLVILLE) through an online venue like Amazon or a site like Noble’s that supports reader reviews or ratings, and you’ve actually enjoyed said fiction, please consider writing a word or two of recommendation.  That’s a huge factor in helping attract new fans.   Salma and I both appreciate it!  :)

Here’s hoping for a happy & prosperous 2012 for us all!

Yer pal,

Colin

Happy Holidays from Tammi and Gigglegasm!

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The Tammi pic above was commissioned by MTJ Publishing a while back as a “Happy Holidays” greeting.  I’ve always loved this picture and thought it really needed a little story to go with it.

Happy holidays to one & all!

Colin

THE FIRST TICKLE WITCH

“Once there was a witch…” Iris Griffin smiled as she spoke, leaning her head with its reddish-blonde bob of hair back on the sofa. Her pink lips formed a lazy smile. “A very mischievous witch,” she went on, then let her voice trail off into a low almost-growl that sounded oddly like a cat’s purr.

Snow and sleet rattled against the tightly spell-bound windows. Logs crackled and spat on the hearth, casting a warm glow on the living room. Professor Penelope Pringle sat on the floor with her legs curled demurely beneath her, sipping a mug of the most delicious herbal tea she had ever tasted. She had accepted the Griffins’ invitation eagerly, but also with a certain trepidation. After all, Iris was a very powerful witch, and Professor Pringle knew she had made a bit of a pest of herself occasionally. All she was trying to do was become a witch herself, after all, which she was certain was her destiny. But some people did tend to overreact. And while Iris’s niece Tammi was a very junior witch, she was that rarest and most peculiar example of the breed, a tickle witch. The Professor’s sensitive feet had suffered under Tammi’s wriggling, spell-casting fingers more than once. What if this invitation was simply a pretext for a bit of tickle-torture?

So she had packed her bag full of protective amulets and charms and pre-intoned cantrips before setting out for the Griffin house. But she had been so charmed by the utter coziness of the place that she immediately forgotten all caution. She had even taken off her shoes at Iris’s request, meekly as a lamb.

Tammi squirmed on the floor. “C’mon, Aunt Iris!” she said. “Don’t tease like that!”

“Yeah,” her friend Rachael said. “What about that mischievous witch? Was she anything like this one?” she added, pointing her bare toes at Tammi, then giggling and pulling her foot away as the laughing blonde witch grabbed for it.

The Professor watched the girls’ playful antics shrewdly. She couldn’t quite figure Rachael out. She wasn’t a witch, but there was something about her…she teased Tammi quite fearlessly, wriggling her toes just out of reach while lazy Tammi tried to tickle them without relinquishing her comfy spot on the floor. A moment later Professor Pringle felt a tingle in the air as magical energy began accumulating. Oh my goodness, she’s going to use tickle magic…oh dear. Trying to be casual, she grabbed her toes, pretending to warm them, but really holding onto them for dear life.

“Girls,” a voice cautioned grumpily. “Stop that nonsense.” The voice was thrillingly deep and masculine, a Richard Burton kind of voice…but it came from the tiny grey kitten that sat beside Iris on the couch. That was another case of appearances being deceptive. Penelope Pringle had heard very frightening rumors in the online magic community concerning the nature of Iris Griffin’s familiar Pyewackit.

“What is this story about, exactly?” Professor Pringle asked timidly, feeling a need to intervene before Pyewackit decided to discipline his unruly charges. Perhaps the little demon would decide that a good tongue-lashing on the girls’ soles would be appropriate…and he might just decide to include Penelope in that punishment.

“It’s my story,” Tammi said proudly, kicking her bare feet in the air. “I make Aunt Iris tell it to me every Yule. It’s the story of the very first tickle witch!”

“This was a long time ago,” Iris said, her brilliant green eyes closed. “There were a lot more witches then, and the clans were much better organized, with a lot less in-fighting. This witch I’m telling you about…nobody remembers her name or which clan she belonged to. She might have been an Alicorne or a Drake, a Manticora, or even a Wyvern…”

“I’ll bet she was a Griffin, like you guys,” Rachael said.

“Perhaps she was. I wouldn’t be at all surprised. But the point is, she was considered rather odd. She was very accomplished in all the major branches of spellcraft, but she had never given herself over to one discipline, as most witches do when they come of age. She went barefoot every chance she could get.”

“Just like Tammi,” Rachael laughed.

“And she was extremely fond of tickling other girls her age, whether they were mortal or witch.”

“Guilty!” Tammi giggled, raising a hand.

“And the really funny thing was,” Iris went on, sipping from her own mug. “Everyone felt a peculiar urge to tickle her as well. And she really was ticklish, possibly the most ticklish girl anyone had ever met.”

“That’s Tammi alright,” Rachael said, smiling at her friend so mischievously and yet so affectionately that the Professor felt oddly jealous.

“So as you might imagine, she very much enjoyed life, this witch of ours. But she knew she didn’t fit in and it bothered her. The older witches were very disapproving. As were their familiars,” Iris added, playfully ruffling Pyewackit’s fur.

“Very rightly too,” the familiar grumped. “Magic’s not for giggling and toe-wiggling. I always say…”

“They wanted her to commit to a particular area of magic,” Iris interrupted quickly. “But she simply wasn’t interested in hearth magic or herbalism or pyromancy or what have you. So she decided to travel into the deep dimensions and consult an oracle to find out what magical discipline she was best suited for.

“Now this was serious business, because the oracles are beings of pure magic who exist on multiple time-planes.” Professor Pringle understood that Iris was speaking directly to her, explaining an arcane bit of magic lore that Tammi and probably even Rachael probably knew all about. She wasn’t sure if she felt offended or delighted.

“They’re generally friendly, but if they think someone is going to cause problems or make an alliance with evil, they’ll just…” The witch lifted a slender hand and made an odd gesture like someone pinching out a candle flame.

“This oracle lived in a deserted temple in a wild wood within the deep dimensions. The witch journeyed a long time to get to her, and once she arrived at the temple she had to wait even longer before the oracle manifested.

“She looked like a young girl, very beautiful, with long white hair and a flowing robe…”

“And she was barefoot,” Tammi cried, her eyes wide with delight.

“Yes, she certainly was. The witch felt quite humble and began fumbling in her bag for the offering of fruit she had brought. But as the beautiful oracle drew nearer, she felt strange and light-headed. Then, before she knew it, she was fast asleep.

“When she woke up, she was bound to the stone table that the temple was built around. Her own sandals had been removed, and when she saw the oracle smiling down at her bare feet, with a feather in her hand, she knew exactly what was going to happen. She was scared, but not entirely, because she loved tickling and being tickled so much. So when the oracle began drawing the feather over the soles of her feet, she giggled and giggled, but didn’t cry for mercy.

“And it’s just as well, because the oracle was merciless. She tickled each of the witch’s toes with her feather and slid her nails over her arches. It was as though she were playing a musical instrument of some kind, an instrument based on laughter. The witch laughed until she shook and tears rolled down her cheeks. She laughed until birds flew out of the trees and she laughed the sun right out of the sky. Then when the moon took its place she laughed that out as well, until the sun came creeping timidly back. But at no point did she beg for mercy or curse the oracle.”

Professor Pringle had been sitting quite still, listening raptly to Iris’s story. She realized suddenly that Tammi and Rachael and even Pyewackit were looking down at the carpet before the fire. A glowing light had manifested in the air there, and in it Professor Pringle could see shapes. A beautiful young girl with close-cropped blonde hair (who indeed bore a resemblance to Tammi) was strapped to a stone table, giggling helplessly as another blonde girl tickled her toes with a feather.

The images seemed to shift before her eyes, showing her the scene from different perspectives. Professor Pringle realized that Iris was doing this. She sat with her eyes closed and her hands extended, her delicate fingers seeming to tickle the air as she told her story.

“Finally,” Iris said. “The oracle stopped tickling. The bonds fell from her body and the oracle said, ‘You have come to me to learn what kind of magic you should pursue, and the answer was within you all the time. You are not a fire witch or a hearth witch, not a stone witch or an herbalist. You are a creature of laughter and joy and a pleasure so subtle it is sometimes torturous. You are a barefoot creature of delight. You are a tickle witch.’”

Tammi was smiling rapturously, her eyes shut. “I wish I could have known her,” she whispered.

“I feel like I already do,” Rachael said fondly, looking at her friend.

“It was a lovely story,” Professor Pringle blurted out. “So beautiful. So what happened to the witch?” She stared at the glowing spot on the carpet but it was already fading out of existence.

“She went back to the world and practiced her own special magic as best she could. She did some quite remarkable things, but that’s a story for another time. Now,” Iris went on, smiling. “Who would like some spice cake?”

“Me!” Tammi cried, scrambling to her feet. “I’ll go get the plates and forks.”

“I’ll help,” Rachael said, following her.

“It was really lovely of you to invite me tonight,” Professor Pringle told Iris once they were alone. “I know I haven’t always endeared myself to you…”

“Don’t worry about the past tonight, Penelope,” Iris said, smiling her lazy smile. “It’s Yule. Just enjoy it.”

“You know,” Professor Pringle said, clearing her throat. “Perhaps I should consult an oracle myself…I do feel I have so much untapped magical potential…what do you think?”

“I think perhaps I should suggest a barefoot tickle fight when the girls get back in,” Iris told her, her smile widening in a way that was just a bit frightening.

“Ah,” Professor Pringle said nervously. “You know,” she went on quickly, raising her mug to her lips, “This really is the most wonderful tea!”

“Glad you like it,” Iris said, winking.

THE END

New from MTJ Publishing & Ozzy: “VICTORIA”

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Just out from MTJ Publishing is Victoria #1, the beginning of a whole new series from Yenny and Yoly creator Ozzy.  Victoria is a lovely, dark-skinned superheroine whose powers come from her skin’s extreme sensitivity!  When she’s kidnapped by a supervillain, guess what torture’s first on the menu?

That’s right - TICKLING!  And wait till you meet Victoria’s sidekick, a giantess with the world’s most ticklish boobs!  This has quickly become one of my all-time fave Ozzy comics.  We here at Gigglegasm predict a long and delightful career for this beautiful, ticklish crimefighter!

Get it at http://www.mtjpub.com/mtj07_iteminfo.php?item_id=313

For the Nylon Lovers

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Stockings Advert

Click on the words above to view this on Youtube.  A delightful animated commercial from a German stocking manufacturer.  Like the ad says, “Qualitat!!”  :)

Colin

OUT NOW: GIRLVILLE by Colin, from Renaissance eBooks!

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Renaissance eBooks just brought out a new edition of my femdom novel Girlville, originally published by Pink Flamingo under another name more than…gosh, was it really more than ten years ago?  I feel old.   This one has a strong feminization theme, as an obnoxious yuppie gets shanghaied by a mob of mad strippers and forced to take on a female persona…all part of their plan to rescue their former TS-slave from a rival domme.  Fans of foot-worship and F/M tickle-torture will love this one!  The dommes can’t seem to keep their heels on and their fingers are itchin’ to do some tickling on helpless male slaves!

Get it from http://shop.renebooks.com/ProductDetails.asp?ProductCode=RUBIS-03

It should also be up on Amazon before long.  Happy Friday, peoples!

OUT NOW: NAVEL MANEUVERS: Bellybutton-Tickling Erotica!!

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MTJ Publishing has just released my Navel Encounters, an ebook collection of four stories with a bellybutton-tickling theme.  There are a good many ticklers whose fascination centers on navels, and while there are video-clips aplenty (just check Youtube) there’s precious little fiction.  I had a great time with these and so far the reaction has been fantastic.  And just check out that cover by Ghostely, who also did the art for the MTJ In a Ticklish Spot pin-up ebook!  Is that blonde to die for or what?  So give her tummy a wee click and get thee over to MTJ-dot-pub, where thou canst procure it!  Weekend’s comin’, folks…and you all know I’m a BIG proponent of the weekend!!

Happy Tickling!

Colin

Jeanne Moreau: Tummy-Shot!

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Why is This Woman Laughing?

Why is This Woman Laughing?

I make no secret of the fact that I’m a shameless Jeanne Moreau fanboy.  I’ve written in another post about the beauty of the woman’s feet, and I would love to find a casual shot of her with bare soles facing the camera while she gives us that unforgettably sexy pout…maybe one day.

In the meantime, here’s a little tidbit I stumbled on…not a foot shot, but I dare you not to fantasize about giving that tummy just a little tickle.  And look at that laugh.  Forget Garbo…when Jeanne Moreau laughs out loud, my day is made.  :)

Colin