During the holidays, like most folks out there, I did a fair amount of shopping. As usual, the malls were full of fantasy-fodder: LOTS of very attractive girls and their mothers. Of course, in November and December - at least where I am - you don’t see a lot of bare feet and sandals, but nice heels and well-made boots aren’t to be sneered at either.
A lot of the moms and forty-something women really got my tickle-fiend’s imagination going. There’s just something about the image of a very sophisticated, experienced woman being tickled; her you’ve got this immaculately made-up lady in designer clothes, maybe a successful businesswoman, who just happens to have insanely ticklish - let’s say feet.
As I waited in line with my box of variously-sized Pyrex bowls (couldn’t pass up that price) I found myself imagining such a woman. For the sake of convenience, let’s call her Victoria: not too tall, maybe with frosted blonde hair she’d just gotten cut short. She’s dressed to the nines, but she’s a little self-conscious about the hair; she’s very aware that it makes her look younger. Also, she’s worn her hair long up to this point; the nape of her neck now feels extremely vulnerable. I imagine Victoria to be in a loveless marriage, or maybe single, but when she was younger she had lovers, and she had kind of a thing about having the back of her neck kissed or caressed.
Because it tickles. It causes her to gasp and jerk her shoulders up and try to wrest herself away from the caresser. It turns her on, but it also embarrasses her slightly; it makes her feel out of control. Victoria’s feet are another prime tickle-spot; they’re fairly small, with high arches and little, evenly-sized toes. They’re incredibly CUTE feet; when she wears sandals other women always comment on how “pretty” they are, but sometimes they phrase it as “You have such cute little tootsies.” Victoria gets that same wriggle-and-gasp response from being told she has cute tootsies that she does when someone kisses her vulnerable neck-nape. And she absolutely can’t stand having those tootsies touched. Pedicures are agony for her because she ALWAYS laughs and she always suspects the hot younger girls in the beauty salon she goes to are deliberately letting their fingers stray over her arches for a moment or two too long, just long enough to make poor Victoria’s face crumble up and break into that sweet, tortured smile. But what can she do? She can complain, but that would be like letting the girls win. So Victoria endures it.
Sometimes during one of those ticklish moments, Victoria thinks about how sexy/awful/delicious/terrifying it would be to be put into bondage and have her shoes slowly removed. She never dwells on this fantasy; it comes over her in a quick rush, the mere IDEA of sitting with her feet on a stool, her wrists tied, nervously flexing her toes in their sheath of sheer nylon. Anyone could tickle them, and if she were in a public place probably someone would eventually - maybe a cute girl like the ones at the salon, maybe a hot young guy. Maybe a business associate or an old rival whose lover she stole once upon a time.
She’d laugh. And laugh and squeal and look incredibly young and sexy and hot and helpless. She’d be regressed by her ticklishness into a younger woman, a girl who just can’t stand being tickled. What would she do? Cry? Would she be reduced to begging? Maybe she’d be so freaked out/turned on that she’d allow herself to offer her tormentor head in return for mercy. All the while those cute feet would be flexing and wriggling, unable to get away.
Yeah, I liked Victoria a lot. She sure made waiting in line easier. Maybe one of these days I’ll turn on the old fantasy-machine and see her again…
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