Cheating Little Tickle Toy

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Oca 27, 2022 // By:admin // No Comment

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I sat on my bed and thought intensely while looking at my pink polka dot socks.


Foot bottoms.




Feet are a body part. A part of my body. I would often tell people “My feet are private,” because that was how I felt. The moment anyone looked my feet — I would automatically feel vulnerable. They were sensitive and very erogenous to me.

I bit my lip and held my camera up to point at them. I admit I tried to take a few different pictures — trying to get the most flattering angle. I didn’t want anyone seeing any foot wrinkles, any flaws and imperfections.


They are embarrassing.

The moment someone has them, owns them, and the soles and arches are trapped against their firm clasp, I whimper. The softest touches and strokes, they make me giggle and squint my eyes tight. My green eyes beneath the large frames of my glasses and desperately fighting to look — but also not to look — at the hands moving around them.

The moment hot breath falls near my toes, an uncontrollable moan escapes my pink lips. That is how erogenous these two tiny parts of my body are. Is it that I am so ashamed of my feet, that to think someone’s most keen senses are riding them, riddles me with shame? Or is it perhaps the pleasure of lips against my sensitive skin that makes me blush so? Because to moan as someone touches my least appealing features — is that not excruciating?

I curl my toes within the pink socks and delete the pictures from my phone.

Feet are private for me, and I have a husband who is warm and sweet. He touches my feet, nips them so that I will squeal in delight, wriggles soft and fast across the soles just to make me weak.

Yet I pick up my phone and look at the message staring back up at me.

Send me your soles. Now.

I’ve recently had a lot of discussion around what is cheating when it comes to Fetish and Kink. What makes you a cheater? What makes you selfish? I bite my lip tensely, the swoosh of guilt and lust within my belly.

I always thought – if this activity would hurt my husband’s feelings, and it is arousing, then it is cheating. Especially if I create, encourage, and pursue it. My hands reach down and grip my toes tightly as I re-read the message on my phone. It is a bad person who can be aroused by something that would hurt the one they loved.

It’s feet.

It’s a body part.

I’m a highly sexual person.

Most of the joy in my life was born of arousal.

I can be aroused by the sound of someone’s voice, or their choice of words. I can become aroused by an expression on someone’s face, or even an activity that would generally be considered non-sexual. I am aroused singing on stage. I am aroused when I stretch my body against unbearable heat. I am aroused as I type.

The main arousal I tend to experience is from the T word (outside of actual sex). The T word is a magical word to me. It provokes such intense arousal that I feel weak in my knees in a most literal sense. My body knows this word to mean… tortuous pleasure.

T#%klish. T#%kle. T#%kling.

I digress.

Clutching my feet.

I am aroused by co-workers, by friends, by books, by people I see on the street. I don’t tell people this – I don’t want anyone to feel kocaeli escort uncomfortable. I function, I work, I care, I play… but so very often, I am aroused. The bottoms of my feet start to tingle as I imagine fingers dragging slowly along them.

When it comes to the T word I seem to lose control. I confess, this loss of control, increases my arousal and I am desperate for it. Shamefully desperate. As you read my lust bitten words, know that there is a little t#%klee waiting to be taken and destroyed.

Aren’t they just feet?

Just a set of ribs?

Just the ears I expose to the world every single day?

I crave it from places outside of my marriage. As I think this, my hands loosen their grip on my feet and I lay back. I don’t understand the battle in my mind. Is it not demented to be aroused by something, that would trigger deep pain in someone you care for? My green eyes look up at the stars stuck to my ceiling. They look back at me thoughtfully.

I think in some ways it feels less like a desire, and more like need. It makes me feel better inside. It makes me feel excitement, and eases my anxieties and depression. It is unpredictable and uncertain when you are with someone you don’t know fully. Will their fingers feel different across my skin? Will they be crueller?

With every fibre of my being, I love and am totally committed to my husband. I love his lips; they are soft and pillowy. They leave tiny kisses on my face, which make me feel small and loved. His good nature, his giving heart — everything I could ever want in a man. I chose him because he was someone I could truly love.

Sometimes I think that I can love other people as well, at the same time. I know my partner is the constant, my other half so to speak. I want to experience everything with him and share my whole life with him. Yet I have so many feelings, and they overwhelm me.

Aren’t they just feet?

I spread my toes within the socks and continue looking up at the stars. I press my tiny lips together and feel the buzzing of my phone yet again. I sit up quickly and look to see another message.

I want you to think about your soles differently. They belong to me now.

I gulp and I see more text to come.

I don’t see why you should deprive yourself; you want this, you should feel it.

I mutter defiantly, “not everything can be about what I want or need.”

Other people have feelings and needs too. I know this. I know my partner so well now. He doesn’t want me being intimate with other people. The T word is highly intimate for me. It is the thing that makes my knees go weak. I cannot think clearly. I am overridden with lust and it’s this desperate-gaping-need that just begs me to fill it up.

I jump out of my bed and put shorts on. Perhaps a walk will do me some good. Perhaps I can shake off the emotions and just be normal already. Perhaps – my phone is ringing?

I look down and see the caller ID. Noel.

I answer my phone and the sweet sound of his voice runs over my body like warm maple.

“You know what I think?” He croons. My whole body stiffens in both guilt and pleasure, “I think you’re asking for it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You want this. You want to be tickled. You want me to ask you kocaeli escort bayan to come over, we could just watch a movie and I could just have your feet in my lap the whole time. I can say things like tickle… tickling… ticklish… I love the word ticklish. It feels good in my mouth, and you’re asking for it.”

I could feel a heat come over my body — like I had run into a wall and my whole body slammed into shivering anticipation.

No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no.

Stop it brain. Stop it.

“Stop it.” I say back to him, but my voice is wavery.

They are just feet. It’s just a word. I am in love with someone. I’m a good person, right?

“Ooooh well.” He said teasingly. “I guess this is all we get to do. Just talk like this. I’ll never get to slowly trace a finger down the sole of your foot. Never get to see how truly ticklish you are…”

My cheeks burn. My heart was racing. My knees buckled. I leaned against the wall just to steady myself and thanked the skies that he could not see me like this. Yet, I love my husband. How can I have these feelings and also love my husband?

I bite my lip and close my eyes tightly again. The same tightly I would do when feeling the tingling sensation across my soles, but this time I felt confused. I notice I’m still on the phone with Noel and say, “you are really mean.”

Of course, that is not the harsh — I have a husband so don’t talk to me ever again — that I was meant to give. It was the — You are mean and I kind of like it — that I had whipped out.

I decide to open communications with my Husband, but I fear hurting him. How can I assure him that he is the love of my life, whilst also in the next breath saying – but I want to be aroused by other people? I want to enjoy torture with people who are new, different, crueller, or softer… I can fall in love and like over, and over, and over, and over again, but you are my soul mate. You are the one I have chosen to be with forever.

“What did I say? Was it… the word tickle?” – I weaken — “was it….. the word ticklish?” — I fluster losing my train of thought — “you know, you could just come by and I could just tickle you. Then you can go back to your Husband and fuck his brains out.”

I shiver inside at the thought. Some dangerous man out there wants to tie me down and torture me with his soft and teasing fingertips and I am meant to not want it. I am meant to be a good girl.

I consider my mantra.

Good girls don’t think, they are obedient. Obedience is pleasure.

“Wait,” I interject, “I can’t do this without his permission. I need him to be okay with it.”

I hang up the phone, shaking. Was I aroused? Yes. I was the kind of aroused where you know your panties are a little wet and you wonder if you have forgotten how to walk. Noel knew exactly what to say, because he shared my kink. He knew where it would hit me the hardest. He knew that allowing the T word to roll off his tongue the way it did, would just drive me crazy.

Is it simply that I cannot have both lives? I need to pick a path and stay on it? I can’t have a loving husband who I am happily satisfied with, but also be a little t#%kle toy who is thrilled to death by the hands of T#%klers escort kocaeli in the community? Can I not be both?

I think I would be most devastated to lose my Husband, who I love, because of my lust for torturous T monster thrills. Yes, he is my partner, he is my soul mate, he is wonderfully skilled and attentive with my sensitive curves and crevices. I am very satisfied when I interact with him. Yet when he leaves, I continue to love him, but desperately want to be t#%kle molested by a cruel Ler who just loves teasing little girls.

I would feel sorrow to never experience the heights of pleasure that I am certain would exist if I became free to pursue them. That being said, even if I were to choose pleasure over love, I don’t think I could ever be fulfilled with a broken heart. My heart breaks a little even at the thought of it.

They are just FEET!

I hear myself saying – I just want to feel good. I just want to feel better. I just want to feel joy. One day I will die, one day I will feel pain, and sickness, and loss…. again, and again… so I just want to feel good now, if I can.

It’s like this narrow tunnel of dialogue that is constant and pulling me closer and closer to giving in. My partner makes me feel good, makes me feel better, yes – but just because that’s not enough, doesn’t mean that *he’s* not enough. He is very good at playing the Ler for me, perhaps it is a fault on my end that I am never satisfied or constantly craving.

I am basically walking lust whenever I’m not fearing death. Lust and arousal are the only things I’ve successfully harnessed in the face of my anxieties. Helpless arousal is the only power I have to ease the aches and pains and sufferings. I much rather pleasure over fear, especially in a life that is so short and so absolute in its mortality.

Show me the soles of my little toy’s feet.

No socks.


Or I will stop talking to you.

I tell myself — okay — they are just feet, right?

Nervously I hop back onto the bed and open my phone camera again. I try a few different angles — trying to get the most appealing pose. I feel myself shying away, but as I read and re-read his message… Or I will stop talking to you… I notice a tingling sense of arousal.

How horrible that he would just stop talking to me, and that he demands my compliance. How assertive and domineering and cruel and… I take the picture.

How horribly arousing it was.

How horribly needy I felt for his approval.

How submissive it felt to obey his words, just because he delivered them in such a dominant fashion.

He didn’t want me; he wanted my feet.

My Husband has me, the wife, the mother of our children, the supportive lover, the caring soulmate. My Husband has my undying affection, he has my commitment to stand by his side through all seasons of life. He touches me in every place, and knows me better than anyone.

Then, there is “feet.”

Teasing the ribs, tracing the neck, scratching down the back, spidering along the sides, wriggling under the arms, below the belly, across the belly, down the inner thighs, over the knees, under the knees, around the ankles, between the toes, over the soles, across the heels, along the calves, the back of the thighs, across the buttocks, along the spine, around the breasts, direct on the nipples, under the chin, around the ears, along the arms, right on the palms, right on the feet.

…. Can I be a loving and loyal wife if I am also an obedient little tickle toy?

Can I be a good person and just have both?

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