CUCKLED or CUCK'D: A Tickling Story

I placed down the shoe and felt an almost physical effort to pull my eyes from hers to look at the sole of her foot. I stared in wonder for several moments, admiring how the seam rounded her heel and meandered all the way up the reinforced sole to her toes. Her feet were daintier than I remembered. In comparison to Catherine's or mine--and certainly Anthony's--they were positively tiny; possibly a size three.

The reinforced layers of the nylon sole were a sexy hourglass shape, but prevented me from viewing the intricate details of her skin that I longed to see. Still, apparently some women were more ticklish in nylons than without them. To know whether this was the case for Amy Sergeant, I would need a comparison and so I unbuckled the second stiletto.

I neatly arranged the shoes next to each other. Amy was still regarding me with domineering impassivity and the little devil inside me resented it. I was the dominant one in this fantasy come true and I needed to demonstrate as such.

I slowly reached forward to the top of her left thigh. Anthony yanked at his bonds and began with a threatening tone, 'Hey man...'

He must have assumed I was heading somewhere inappropriate. In response I took hold of the top of Amy's stocking. As I rolled the stocking down her leg I allowed my fingers to lightly caress both sides of her incredibly soft thigh, over her knee and along her toned calf, causing her to stir.

It was then that I encountered a problem: I couldn't get the stocking past her ankle due to the restraint.

'I'm afraid I'm going to have to tear your stocking,' I said. 'But if you let me know the brand I can buy you another pair.'

Amy didn't answer. Her tactic seemed to be self-imposed listlessness. At this point I didn't care. Even if her feet weren't ticklish, I now knew plenty of places I could exploit to bring her out of a trance.

With shaking hands I took hold of the unreinforced side of her stocking and pulled. A ladder formed down the outer edge. I pushed one finger inside, feeling the trapped warmth around her foot. I swallowed again and ripped the nylon apart with a sense of impassioned relief; like a transforming werewolf ripping off his shirt. And there it was at last: Amy... Sergeant's... bare... foot.

The ripping of the nylon released a bouquet of moisturiser and nail varnish. Catherine knew that I loved to see her nails painted and the smell always turned me on because I knew she had done something to please me. Amy's toenails were not my favoured colour--they were painted white--so I turned my attention to her freshly exposed sole.

Her toes were wonderfully even and very cute. While she was a fit woman, her sole was somewhat pudgy, which was a good thing to me as it indicated softness. She had the slight remnant of a well-pumiced callus on the ball of her foot and, while I prefer no calluses at all, if one wants the visual gift provided by sexy high heels, that is generally the price one must pay. Her arch was deep, but then I already knew that from spying on her at work when she dangled those heels. And now, here was that arch in front of me.

The thought briefly flitted across my mind that the extent of my arousal was due to how different Amy's soles were compared to Catherine's. Catherine's feet were immaculate. She was a size eight, she had longish toes, with the second toes a little longer than her big toes, she had a high arch, but not as high as Amy's and she had no signs of calluses as she always wore comfortable, well-fitted shoes.

Catherine's soles were also angelically smooth. By contrast, Amy's had some most alluring natural light wrinkles. This made her feet look more mature than her age, even though they were obviously regularly moisturised.

Amy was now looking out the window, as though pondering her grocery list.

I stroked a finger down her nylon-clad right sole. Her body jolted and rocked gently. I mimicked the motion over her bare left sole. She jumped and an involuntary noise hiccuped in her throat. She kept her eyes on the window, evidently trying to pretend that I wasn't there.

I knelt between her feet and took it in turns to lightly tease her left sole, then her right, gauging the differences between nylon-covered and bare. It was quickly evident from her sweet, scrunching toes that her bare skin was more sensitive. I then had a thought and avoided the reinforced hourglass shape on the sole of the stocking to tickle a little of the outside edge with a lovely result -- she giggled and looked down at me with a smirk that indicated she knew she'd been caught out.

I literally growled with satisfaction and tickled the outer edge of her bare foot. Her reaction wasn't as strong so I scrabbled my fingernails up and down the her stockinged foot. She squeezed her eyes tight and her head fell back with a fixed grin as silent, internal giggles caused her body to pulse on the bed. I simultaneously tickled the centre of her bare foot and laughter burst from her lips. She shook her feet to try and avoid me so I laced my fingers between her toes and she squealed.

'Eek! Not the toe-ho-ho-hoes!'

There was a new ingredient to her laughter. It seemed like genuine amusement; as though she had decided to embrace the "game". I wanted to make sure I wasn't projecting this mindset and so asked, 'Why not the toes, Amy?'

'You know why!' she screeched. 'They're really tickly!' and with that, she threw her head back and gave in to abandoned laughter -- all resistance gone.

I was lost in the moment. I sat with my head so close to my fingers that I could hear the rasp of the nylon as my fingernails glided all over her foot. I got my nose so close to her bare sole that I could smell the mild scent of perspiration and see the prints of her scrunching toes. I relished each and every second. Life felt complete.

I felt so elated that I almost didn't know I had torn open her other stocking until I'd done it. I revelled in tickling both bare soles at once. Now it was just as slick and effective as with the nylon because Amy was sweating. Her laughter filled the entire house as she tossed her head back and forth, making a mess of her luscious blonde curls.

'That's enough!' shouted Anthony, who I'd quite forgotten was in the room.

'She must pay your penance! It hasn't been ten minutes, Anthony!'

'Yes, it has!'

Amy and I looked to the bedroom clock. Anthony was correct -- time had flown past, but I was nowhere near satiated. I stopped tickling Amy's feet but she kept giggling.

I had been enraptured in this wonderful moment and didn't want it to end. Ever. Sweet Lord, I couldn't appreciate Amy's feet enough! I had surreal visions of trying to absorb them into me or climb inside them.

Out of nowhere I heard myself say, 'Amy, can I suck your toes?'

Amy was still giggling but appeared disconcerted.

'No, you can't!' shouted Anthony.

Having not asked Anthony, I was irritated. 'I think you'll change your mind,' I said, and knelt between the foot of the bed and the foot of the chaise longue, which was now pretty close to the bed since Anthony rode it towards the door.

'No!' he could predict what was coming. 'Don't touch-- BWAAAAHAHAHAHAAA!' he exploded with laughter as my fingers attacked his huge soles. I loved Amy's reactions but I was mesmerised by how completely this controlled Anthony.

Amy watched him with palpable disenchantment. 'Don't you get cocky, young lady!' I said and put my other hand to work on her right sole. She spasmed in surprise and a comical release of breath rasped from between her pursed lips before she broke into open-mouthed laughter.

I looked between him and her. It was like a dream and I could not have been more turned on: I was dominating this hot and helpless couple by tickling their bound bare feet.

'Now, can I please suck your wife's toes?' I asked.

With his eyes clenched tight and his nose to the heavens, Anthony was unable to verbalise a full answer. He nodded emphatically while the word "yes" was stolen from his lips several times by wheezing laughter.

Through a cascade of giggles, Amy glanced at me as my mouth closed in on her foot and grimaced in expectation of the new sensations. I focussed on her pretty toes until my vision blurred and, with an inhalation of nail polish, I closed my mouth around her big toe.

A moan mixed with Amy's laughter. While it could have been interpreted a hundred different ways, Anthony appeared stung by her response. I understand he might have wanted his wife to mask any pleasure she felt, but, as a man who wasn't currently doing his best to resist displaying his emotions, he should not have been throwing accusatory looks at anyone.

Sucking on Amy's slippery, wet toe felt indescribable. I widened my lips and popped one more little piggy after another into my mouth until I had the whole top of her foot inside. As I did so, I explored the every tickling technique I could think of, from chewing and nibbling her toes to flickering and licking at the spaces in between. With each new addition, Amy's laughter wavered through a variety of tones, from surprised shrieks to guttural guffaws.

I instinctively straddled the leg of the bed and pressed against it as I continued their persecution. After a short while I paused and said, 'I have an idea, let's see who is the most ticklish!' They both looked at me, sweating and breathing hard. 'Whoever loses gets another ten minutes, uninterrupted!'

'No!' Anthony cried. He seemed close to tears; the loser was easy to predict.

'Let's start with the heels,' I said, ignoring him. I gently teased my finger nails over the heels of Amy's right foot and Anthony's left. Both tried to resist but it was Anthony who cracked first.

'Up to the arches...' I said. Anthony was already lost to glassy-eyed hysterics. Amy again tried to resist but quickly burst into angelic giggles.

'Over the tops...' I said, tracing my fingertips around the soft skin of the tops of their feet. This time it was Amy who flailed the most. She hooted with surprise at how sensitive the tops of her feet were. It indicated to me that I was the first ever to do it. Meanwhile, Anthony jolted and clenched his teeth in a fixed grimace that made him look and sound as though he was being electrocuted.

'And finally, the toes...'

'NO!' they both cried.

There was a moment of silence as they looked at me and then to one another; empathising and dreading what was to come.

I paused for dramatic effect, then unleashed my nimble fingers under, around and between their toes. Both erupted into the pinnacle of their hilarity so far. Their combined laughter was like a divine symphony and both seemed utterly defeated. Anthony wept behind his laughter and Amy stopped struggling -- she had her head back in resigned hilarity and the only things moving were the muscles of her glistening stomach as laughter was forced from her lungs.

I needed to pay those muscles above her hips some more attention, but as the thought occurred to me, and I watched her reaction to her toes being tickled, I got overexcited. I wanted to stop it but at the same time I needed it to happen and, as I continued to press myself against the smooth leg of the bed, euphoria washed over me.

I moaned a little but thankfully my fingers were on automatic pilot I was drowned out by the continuous laughter.

I slowed to a stop and looked down. It wouldn't be long before my accident became visible. All three of us were panting.

Anthony appeared truly broken -- tears in his eyes and fearful as to what would happen next. Amy, on the other hand, was still tittering.

I walked on my knees to her side. 'What are you going to do now?' she asked, half-smiling.

In response I slowly released one wrist cuff and got ready for her to punch at me, but she didn't. She gave a little moan of relief and stretched her aching shoulder. I stood and quickly covered myself with my coat.

'You should be able to get yourselves free now. And I should go,' I said.

I leant forward and kissed Amy's left big toe. They both looked at me but said nothing.

'Thank you,' I said and hurried down the stairs and out into the street, slamming the front door behind me.

-- -- -- -- --

***Chapter 11***

I had visions of a semi-naked Anthony charging down the road after me so I ran as fast as I could whilst attempting to keep the jacket casually draped over my arm to hide the expanding patch on my trousers.

Every minute seemed like an hour as I waited on the train platform at the end farthest from the entrance. I kept an eye on the turnstiles, expecting to see Anthony at any second and didn't hear the train until it appeared right in front of me. I got on and slunk down into a corner seat.

As the train pulled away my deep sigh of relief that was accompanied by a particularly feminine moan, which attracted the attention of an old woman who sat diagonally across from me.

I straightened up and marvelled at such a rare and unimaginably fantastic afternoon. If I had been given a year to plan it, I couldn't have devised a more erotic experience. It will be something I will never forget. I knew that while it was happening and revelled in every moment; every sight, sound, smell and touch.

However, since my climax, I also felt an unshakable sense of guilt and worry. Guilt, because I had effectively cheated on Catherine. No, I didn't have sex with anyone, but touching and blowing bubbles onto a bound and beautiful young woman in just her underwear could never be classified as innocent in Catherine's eyes. I wouldn't be able to tell her about this and I'd never kept any important secrets from her before. And there would be multiple other questions to answer about why I was there and why I did what I did with another woman...and a man!

And, apart from that, would Amy and Anthony go to the police? The thought sent a cold rush through me. There would have been security cameras at the train station. I'd be really easy to identify, especially if they put posters up around the station and someone who shared the same train as me every day saw them! I resolved to throw away the clothes I was wearing.

From a selfishly sexual perspective, in the cold and post-orgasmic light of day, I recognised that Catherine's feet were by far more to my taste than Amy's and despite how extraordinary the experience had been, I really didn't want to lose Catherine. Or my family.

My heart was pumping and my mouth was dry again.

-- -- -- -- --

***Chapter 12***

I thought about that perfect afternoon every single day for a year. I have "thought" about it countless times and it always did the trick when I made love to Catherine and was struggling to get aroused. As I said before, it will ever leave me.

At the same time, the thought of coinciding with Amy on the way home held a very different flavour -- something told me she would recognise me this time! If she threw a fit on a packed South Western train and told people what happened I would be mortified. I might even get lynched! At the very least, it would end my life as I knew it. I'd lose my wife, my family, my house; everything.

I consoled myself that I never heard any more about it. There were no reports in the local news and Thames Valley Police hadn't requested public assistance to track down The Fiendish Sunningdale Tickler.

This led me to believe that Amy and Anthony hadn't mentioned the incident to anyone. Dwelling on it further made me wonder if there was a chance they enjoyed the encounter. Perhaps they spoke about it when they made love... Maybe they even had the hope that it might one day repeat itself!

My tummy tingled at the idea.

That is why, a year to the day--on Billy and Julie's birthday--I found myself taking the detour once again. When I left the house that morning I took a high-collared coat and the hat Catherine's mother bought me for my 40th birthday that had never seen the light of day. I convinced myself all the way to Virginia Water that there was a 99% chance I wouldn't go to Sunningdale, but it was very easy to just sit still and watch the doors close.

As I walked the streets towards Amy and Anthony's house I pulled up my collar and put on the hat. My heart rate increased and my palms sweated as I arrived at their street. My mind raced with all the possibilities of what might happen. Might the front door be left open for me in a homage to the previous year? If it was, would they be tied again? Or would it be a trap, deliberately set by police psychologists who had worked on my profile and who predicted I would turn up?

I neared the house from the opposite side of the road. The front door was shut. There were no signs of life and the Mercedes was not on the front drive. I crossed the road to get a closer look and peer across the driveway into the window, hoping to get some proof the house wasn't empty. The living room had furniture in it, which gave me a sense of relief but at that exact moment a car appeared out of nowhere and turned into the drive.

I immediately walked away and crossed the street. As I heard nobody chasing after me, I stopped, pretended to check my phone and glanced back at the house.

A burgundy 4x4 sat on the front drive and an amiable Indian family were carrying groceries into the house.

Amy and Anthony were gone.

-- -- -- -- --

***PART III***

***Chapter 13***

It was a Thursday evening some weeks later when Catherine had decided we needed to do the weekly shop. I suspected it was, in part, to show off her new hairstyle -- a neat bob that I wasn't actually as fond of as her previous shoulder-length style. In any case, anything other than a smile from me would just make her unhappy and, knowing that I wouldn't be taking her to a cocktail party any time soon, I didn't argue when she suggested a trip to Tesco.

I was not a fan of these outings, particularly after a long day at work, but at least the kids were now at an age when they could occupy themselves with their phones rather than complain about how bored they were. Plus, Catherine did all the thinking. My duty was simply to push the trolley.

I would occupy myself with Who's The Most Ticklish? -- an imaginary game show I invented to pass the time in which all other female shoppers were unwitting contestants. The rules were that when any two women stood close together I would have to declare who I thought was the most ticklish and the main rule was that their level of attractiveness wasn't allowed to influence my decision. Then, as we reached the checkout, I would have to decide who won the main prize -- a night with me in a BDSM dungeon!

Quite often the selected girl would be someone I fancied the most rather than the one I deemed to be the most ticklish. As long-standing champion of the show, nobody could impose rules on my choice of prize and I suspected tonight's winner would be the champion of Round 5: the ruby-redhead from the tinned vegetables aisle.

The central aisle was the best place for this game because you got to see everyone in the store as they criss-crossed between the north and south aisles. I could remain there while Catherine and the twins jettisoned off to get what they wanted and bring them back to the mothership... mother-trolley.

'Sunday roast. Lamb or beef, honey?' asked Catherine as she put the milk in the trolley.

'Hmm. I quite fancy lamb.'

'Me too!' She smiled and kissed me on the lips.

I watched her head to the meat section and once again recognised that it didn't matter what she did with her hair; she was the sweetest woman I'd ever known and I loved her more than ever. However, for some reason this feeling was accompanied by a sudden surge of unease and I didn't know why. It felt as though a grand piano was about to drop on my head. I even looked to the ceiling to make sure no such thing wasn't about to occur. Thankfully there were no loose light fittings, support beams, or oversized concert instruments but as I brought my gaze down, I caught sight of something that halted my breath: at the far end of the aisle, head and shoulders above everyone else in the store, stood Anthony. His eyes were locked on me.