Christmas With Kate & Kelly
Posted: Sun Sep 01, 2019 6:33 am
Kate and I always had wonderful times together at Christmas. We typically spent Christmas Eve Day shopping, sledding, and hanging out at our grandmother's house decorating the family Christmas tree. Amidst these holiday activities, I always found opportunities to tickle my beautiful cousin.
At the time of this story, Kate and I were in our junior year of high school, and it was December 24th. Although I was essentially a young adult, I still had a childlike sense of enthusiasm about Christmas. I gleefully awoke before sunrise to make last minute preparations for the holidays.
Kate had been incredibly sweet about indulging my foot and tickling fetishes, especially after our vacation at the storm ravaged Belmont Hotel. She frequently allowed me access to her feet and also introduced me to a number of pretty girls at her school. I wanted to show my appreciation by giving her a special gift -- something that couldn't be purchased in a store.
Just a few weeks earlier, Kate mentioned that she yearned for the cookies our Aunt Gladys used to make for us at Christmas. Our beloved aunt died when we were ten years old, and no one ever successfully recreated her trademark sugar cookies. I knew Kate would be thrilled if I could make some, and I decided to try.
When I was only seven years old, Aunt Gladys spent a rainy Saturday afternoon teaching me how to make her famous cookies. I was pleasantly surprised that I could remember the high points of her instructions so many years later.
Within an hour, my mother's kitchen smelled exactly as it did the last time Aunt Gladys baked for us. The cookies turned out remarkably well. This was going to be Kate's first present from me, and I couldn't wait to see the look on her face.
I still needed additional presents for Kate, so I drove to the local shopping center. The beauty aisle featured an incredible assortment of lathering foot soaps, foot lotions, massage oils, and facial moisturizing creams. I selected a dozen items, mostly foot products. I also spotted adorable pink slippers and tossed a pair into my shopping cart.
My gifts for Kate had an obvious foot fetish theme, and I decided to balance things out by purchasing some of her favorite music and a football jersey dorm shirt with her favorite number on it. The customer service staff wrapped Kate's gifts in stylish holiday paper, and I delivered them to grandmother's house.
Kate arrived just before ten o'clock, and we ran to the living room like giddy children, eager to decorate the family Christmas tree. We hung the lights and ornaments with the skill of seasoned professionals. Grandmother and our parents spent a few minutes admiring our work before returning to the kitchen to squabble about trivial holiday details like place settings and wrapping paper.
Grandmother's living room looked beautiful, and no further decorating was required. Kate began carefully arranging gifts beneath the tree.
" I bought you so many presents that you'll still be opening them on New Year's Eve," she giggled.
"I have some nice presents for you too," I replied while handing her an elegantly wrapped gift. "About a month ago, you said this was something you wanted."
Kate excitedly tore through the wrapping paper, but she looked disappointed when she discovered I'd given her a jar of cookies.
"Those aren't just any cookies," I said with a smile. "Try one."
Kate snatched a cookie from the jar and literally squealed as she took a bite.
"These are the cookies Aunt Gladys used to make!" she exclaimed. "I haven't had these in years. Where did you get them?"
"You can't buy these at the store Kate," I laughed. "I made them this morning."
"This means a lot to me," she said while hugging me. "I can tell you put a lot of thought and effort into this."
After devouring several cookies, Kate announced that she wanted to go sledding behind the house. I should have known better. She pelted me with snowballs during my first run down the hill, and several of them lodged inside my coat.
Kate was an accomplished snowball fighter, and she never gave me an opportunity to return fire. The onslaught continued as I made a run for grandmother's front door. My lovely cousin was right behind me, giggling the entire time.
As I stood in the front hallway removing my coat, Kate threw her arms around me and began tickling my sides. This seemed unusual because she'd never tried to tickle me before. I squirmed around and tried to get away.
"That was so sweet of you to bake cookies for me," she giggled while continuing her attack. "Now I want to give you one of your presents."
Kate practically dragged me to the living room and asked me to sit down. She joined me on the couch and handed me a present. I was thrilled to discover she'd given me a video game system I'd been talking about for months.
"Thanks Kate!" I said while leaning over to hug her.
This beautiful holiday moment was interrupted when Kate's mother entered the room.
"Hey you two!" she shouted. "It's time to start getting ready for church."
Throughout our childhood, Kate and I dreaded going to church on Christmas Eve. It always seemed like our priest was trying to set a record for the longest Christmas service. His typical holiday mass lasted almost four hours.
Kate and I understood the religious significance of Christmas, but we didn't share our parents' affinity for lengthy church services. During our early teens, we negotiated a deal. If we attended one of the shorter services during the day, our parents allowed us to skip the marathon evening mass. We usually chose an afternoon service that lasted less than an hour.
Neither of us was properly dressed for church. It only took me ten minutes to throw on a nice shirt, tie, and black pants. Kate, on the other hand, was in the bathroom so long I thought she was undergoing plastic surgery. She emerged forty minutes later looking absolutely gorgeous.
Kate's hair, makeup and nail polish were flawless, as if she'd just come from a salon. She was wearing a white sweater and black skirt, both of which accentuated her figure. She'd also put on sheer nylons and a pair of black pumps I'd helped her shop for during our summer vacation.
"Kate, you look fantastic!" I said.
"Thanks," she replied. "I appreciate the compliment, but I'm going to ask a small favor of you this evening."
"What?" I asked.
"Last year, I got dressed up for church and some creepy guy hit on me while I was in line for communion," she explained. "If that happens again, I want you to pretend you're my boyfriend."
"No problem," I assured her.
Honoring Kate's request would not be difficult. People often mistook us for a couple because we had such an affectionate demeanor toward each other.
Snow began to fall as Kate and I left grandmother's house. Heavy accumulations were expected, and I was glad we'd be getting home early. Driving on treacherous winter roads wasn't one of my favorite activities.
There were many cars in the church parking lot, and the sidewalk leading to the building was covered in snowy footprints. Kate and I weren't the only parishioners who'd chosen not to attend the lengthy evening mass.
We entered the church, and I immediately noticed that Kate was turning heads. Several wide-eyed men watched my cousin as she looked for a place to sit. One older gentleman who was staring at her received a sharp elbow in the shoulder from his wife.
Kate seemed aware of the attention being paid her, and I think it made her slightly uncomfortable. She asked if we could sit toward the back of the church where there were several rows of empty pews.
I laughed as a number of men peered over their shoulders, attempting to steal discreet glimpses of Kate. She responded by placing her arm around my shoulder, hoping to make us look like a couple.
"Haven't any of these guys seen a woman before?" she asked in a whisper.
"This is a small, conservative town," I explained. "Very few women here dress like you, and you're much prettier than most of them. That's why you stand out."
Kate thanked me for the compliment, and the mass began. The priest was terribly dull, and it would be fair to say he had the personality of dry toast. Four rows ahead of us, two elderly parishioners actually fell asleep.
The service droned on, and I could see that Kate was becoming bored. I was bored too. I thumbed through a prayer book, reset my watch several times, and used a copy of the parish newsletter to fashion a paper airplane.
My efforts to entertain myself were no defense against the drearily monotone sermon being piped through the church sound-system. I was in danger of falling asleep, until I noticed movement through the corner of my eye.
Kate was reflexively sliding her feet into and out of her shoes. Her ankles were sinuous and gracefully curved, and the delicate wrinkles of her silky arches were visible through her nylons. She caught me staring and decided to tease me.
While I pretended not to notice, Kate removed her shoes, wiggled her toes, and repeatedly arched her shapely feet. Their beguiling movements were literally driving me wild. I would have scooped them into my lap had we not been in church.
I became careless while enjoying my cousin's impromptu foot show. Instead of casually eyeing her movements, I was leaning forward with my mouth agape, staring down at her feet. It finally occurred to me that I was being rather obvious, and I looked up to find Kate smiling at me. She'd been watching me for several minutes.
Intense heat began to radiate from my head, and my face must have been a deep shade of purple. I was profoundly embarrassed. Kate, however, found the whole thing quite funny. She laughed, gave me a consoling pat on the back, and affectionately placed her head on my shoulder.
The priest announced it was time for communion. My cheeks were still completely flushed, and I felt rather self-conscious as I made my way to the front of the church. Kate was right beside me, and she continued to giggle about my reactions to her feet.
We received communion and quietly returned to our seats. There was a hymn, followed by a short prayer, and the mass ended.
The parish sidewalks were frosted with snow and ice, and Kate clung to me during our trek to the parking lot. She didn't make fun of me for ogling her feet in church, but the smirk on her face told me she was thinking about it. I tried to distract her by discussing our plans for the evening.
"We should have grandmother's house to ourselves for most of the night," I said. "What would you like to do?"
"I think we should finish exchanging gifts while the so-called grown-ups are gone," she suggested. "After that, we can just hang out."
"Sounds good to me," I responded.
Kate and I were hungry, and we knew things would be hectic at grandmother's house. Rather than battling our parents for control of the kitchen, we decided to have a restaurant meal on the way home.
Bellini's Pizzeria was the only local restaurant that remained open on Christmas Eve. Kate and I frequently dined there, and the food was always superb. We had our choice of seats and requested our favorite corner booth.
The waiter politely took our order and returned to the kitchen. He'd only been gone for a moment when Kate started to look uncomfortable. She awkwardly repositioned herself in the booth, and her shoeless feet suddenly appeared in my lap beneath the tablecloth.
"These shoes look like a million dollars, but they really hurt," she complained while showing me one of her pumps. "Would you rub my feet while we wait for our pizza?"
I hesitated to act on Kate's request, and that surprised her.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Well, I was hoping to give you a really long foot massage later," I sheepishly replied.
Kate covered her face with a napkin and laughed.
"It's okay sweetie," she giggled. "You can still give me one of your marathon spa-caliber foot massages after we get home. I'd love it."
That was all I needed to hear, and I began massaging Kate's nylon-clad feet with deep, soothing techniques. She sighed and leaned back in her seat, deeply relaxed.
Our pizza arrived, and it was a work of art -- pepperoni, three layers of farm-fresh cheese, and home-style tomato sauce on an authentic hand-tossed crust. The waiter also delivered a pitcher of premium root beer.
Kate offered to remove her feet from my lap, but I was eager to continue the massage. She smiled as I alternated between eating pizza and rubbing her feet.
My techniques seemed to influence her mood, and she became increasingly silly.
"You should have seen the look on your face when I took my shoes off in church," she giggled while pointing at me.
"Kate, what were you trying to do to me?" I asked.
"I was just having fun," she replied while gently wiggling her toes against my stomach. "You were mesmerized... it was really funny!"
Kate knew that I would never embarrass her by aggressively tickling her in a room full of people. She was teasing me, however, and I could no longer resist the urge to inflict some playful tickles.
I secured Kate's ankles with my left arm and methodically stroked her soles with a single fingernail. Her entire body jerked as if she'd received an electrical shock, but she managed not to burst out laughing.
Kate's face became increasingly red as I continued to tickle her feet. She was barely holding back the giggles, her body was shaking, and an involuntary smile was making its way across her face. She somehow managed to speak and quietly urged me to stop.
"He-he-he-he-he... please don't tickle... hoo-hoo-hoo... you'll embarrass me-hee-hee... ha-ha-ha-ha-ha," she whispered.
Kate had been wonderful about accepting my foot fetish. I truly didn't want to embarrass her, so I lightened my touch considerably. It didn't seem to make much difference.
The effects of my tickling were still quite pronounced. Kate was struggling to conceal her reactions from the other restaurant customers -- and she was quickly losing the battle. Her eyes were beginning to tear as she appealed to me one last time.
"Plee-hee-hee-ease stop... ha-ha-ha-ha-ha... tickles too-hoo-hoo much... he-he-he-he-he," she begged.
"Well, if I stop right now, do you promise to let me play with your bare feet when we get home?" I asked.
Kate was unable to speak, but she desperately nodded her response to my demands. I stopped tickling her, and she quickly withdrew her feet from my lap.
"You are terrible!" she exclaimed with a smile as she worked to locate her shoes under the table.
"As I recall, you were teasing me," I shot back. "Regardless, I plan to hold you to your promise."
Kate and I shared a few minutes of playful banter before leaving the restaurant. On our way home, we took a detour so we could admire the city Christmas lights. The town was frosted with snow and looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
Back at grandmother's house, things were insane. Grandmother and our parents were scrambling to get ready for church, and they were running late. Kate and I retreated to the living room, hoping to stay out of their way.
We were enjoying the view of our beautifully illuminated Christmas tree when it suddenly went dark. I volunteered to examine the lights, but Kate stopped me.
"I'll get it," she said. "I used to be good at this when we were kids."
Kate crawled under the tree, seemingly unconcerned with her expensive clothes. By the time she reached the plug for the lights, only her feet were sticking out.
"Can you see the problem?" I asked.
"Yeah, we didn't have the lights plugged in firmly," she explained. "While we were decorating the tree, we jostled it, and the master set of lights became unplugged. Just to make sure this doesn't happen again, I'm going to unplug all of the lights and plug them in again."
The tree shook as Kate yanked on the various strings of lights.
"These plugs are so old they've become stiff," she grunted while struggling to plug in the lights. "I can do this, but it's going to take a few minutes."
Kate whistled a Christmas carol while working on the lights. She also began flexing her feet with enticing movements intended to get my attention.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Have you forgotten already?" she giggled. "I'm fixing the Christmas lights."
"You know what I'm talking about," I replied.
"No, I really don't," she answered in the most innocent tone she could muster.
Kate was doing her best to tease me with her wiggling feet. She went a step further by extending her left foot and pinching my nose with her toes. That was the last straw. I grasped her ankles and began tickling her feet.
"Foot monster... hee hee hee... if you don't want everyone to know about our foot fun... ha-ha-ha-ha-ha... you'd better be gentle... hee hee hee," she giggled.
Kate was right. If I tickled her aggressively, she would scream and draw unwanted attention to our activities. I couldn't risk that, so I continued stroking her soles with gentle techniques. Her reactions were delightful.
The nylons seemed to make Kate more ticklish than usual, and my lightest touches caused her to giggle heartily. Unfortunately, our parents were approaching, and I had to stop.
Kate resumed work on the lights, and I pretended to assist her. Our parents entered the room, chattering about last minute holiday errands. They paid us no attention and quickly returned to the kitchen.
The Christmas tree sprang to life as Kate finished connecting the final strand of lights. I was complimenting her work when she pinched my nose with her toes again.
"Thanks foot monster," she giggled.
Kate was satisfied that she'd teased me to my breaking point, and she left the room to change her clothes. She returned wearing a cute sweatshirt, jeans, and adorable white socks. I was dying to tickle her, but I had to wait until we were alone.
Time seemed to stand still as I waited for our family to leave for church. Grandmother lost her purse, Kate's father couldn't find his jacket, and my dad misplaced his car keys. This was typical.
Grandmother and our parents never did anything in an organized fashion. Twenty long minutes passed before they were finally ready to leave. Kate's mom stopped to talk with us on her way out the door.
"The mass probably won't end until midnight," she explained. "After church we're going to the reception, so we won't be home until very late."
Our church always hosted a midnight reception after the lengthy Christmas Eve mass. Half of the people in town would gather there for coffee, conversation, and homemade pie. The last time Kate and I attended this event, we didn't get home until two o'clock in the morning.
It seemed likely that grandmother and our parents would be gone for several hours. I saw this as a golden opportunity for foot fetish and tickling fun with my beautiful cousin.
The churchgoers finally left the house, but I knew they might return if they'd forgotten something. I stood at the living room window and watched as their car pulled out of grandmother's driveway. When they reached the intersection at the end of the street, I knew they wouldn't be back.
I turned to look at Kate, and she backed away from me. We'd played this game of "tickle chase" many times as children, and she knew what was coming. When I tried to approach her, she giggled and took off running.
Kate ran laps around the dining room table as I chased her. She was almost within reach, until she veered off and darted toward the kitchen. I finally caught up with her in grandmother's bedroom. She squealed and giggled as I threw my arms around her waist, tickled her sides, and gently tossed her onto the bed.
A playful wrestling match ensued as I struggled to capture Kate's wildly kicking legs and remove her socks. Her feet were beautiful beyond words, and I spent a few minutes caressing them as she wiggled her toes and giggled nervously.
Realizing that she was helpless and about to be tickled, Kate clenched the sheets so tightly that her knuckles turned white. I paused for a moment, allowing her the chance to take a few long, deep breaths. With her ankles firmly gripped under my left arm, I used my right hand to tickle both of her soles aggressively.
"Cootchy cootchy coo!" I gleefully teased as Kate thrashed all over the bed.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… MY GAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHD IT TEEEEHEEHEEKLES!" Kate screamed. “GAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHD NONONONONO… PLEEE-HEE-HEEZE S-STOP!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA… IT TEEEEHEEHEEKLES… HAHAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Oh, come on, we’ve just gotten started,” I replied. “Besides, you’ve been teasing me all night. Tickle tickle tickle!”
Kate’s eyes widened and involuntary laughter continued to pour from her mouth as I dug into the soles of her feet with wildly scribbling fingers.
"AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… ST-HA-HA-HA-P… HAHAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA,” Kate pleaded. “NONONOHAHAHA … HAHAHAHAHAHAA… IT TEEEEHEEHEEKLES… HAHAHAHAHA!”
“I think if I pushed you just a little bit harder, your voice could go a full octave higher,” I said in a sarcastic tone. “Let’s see what happens when I tickle your arches and the spaces between your toes really hard.”
With that, I applied my most vicious techniques to Kate’s velvety soft feet. As predicted, she let out a high-pitched, ear-piercing shriek that only Mariah Carey could duplicate.
“HAHAHAHA… TOO MUCH… HAHAHAHAHAHAHA… PLEEEEEHEEE-HEEEEZE… HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Kate begged through hysterical laughter. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHA… IT TEEEHEEHEEKLES TOO MUCH… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… PLEEEEEHEEE-HEEEEZE ST-HAA-HA-HAP!”
Kate was completely hysterical, and I didn’t want to cross the line between harmless fun and outright cruelty.
“Okay…I don’t want you to hate me, but I’m having too much fun to stop yet,” I explained in a teasing voice. “I’ll try to be more gentle.”
Kate didn’t seem the least bit reassured. She continued to giggle and fidget as I lightly drew circular patterns across the soles of her feet, including several passes up and down her arches.
"Hee hee hee hee hee... oooooh gaaaawwwd... you're still tickling me-hee-hee… ha-ha-ha,” Kate said through her giggles.
“Silly, of course I’m still tickling you,” I replied sarcastically.
I punctuated my teasing by rapidly stroking both of Kate’s arches simultaneously. Kate threw her head back and another hail of giggles poured from her mouth.
“HAHAHAHA…hoo-hoo-hoo…if you don’t stop I’ll pee…hahahahaha!" Kate laughed. "Ha-ha-ha… pleeeheeheeeze stop… hee-hee-hee!”
“Alright, but there’s one more thing I have to do first,” I teased. "This little piggy went to market, and this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, and this little piggy had none, and this little piggy went wee wee wee all the way home... cootchy cootchy coo!!!"
Kate’s toes wiggled and she wildly flexed her feet. Each individual toe seemed like it was trying to get away from my tickling fingers.
"GAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHD NO-HOO-HOO!” Kate screamed. “S-STOP… HOHOHO… I’LL DO ANYTHING… HAHAHAHAHA… DONT! IT TICKLES! HAHAHAHAHA… S-STOP!"
”If you agree to go barefoot for the rest of the evening, I’ll stop tickling you now,” I explained.
Kate was laughing too hard to speak, but she nodded her agreement to my terms. I immediately stopped tickling her, but she continued to giggle for several minutes. When she finally pulled herself together, her entire demeanor changed, and she stared at me with a mischievous smile.
"I've been thinking about something," Kate said. "Who decided that you always get to tickle me?"
I didn't have a good answer for her, and I remained quiet.
"I've been a very good sport about letting you tickle me all of these years,” Kate explained. “Now I think it's my turn to do the tickling," she explained.
Kate wasn't angry with me. She was simply being playful, and also seemed a little fascinated. In all of our years of playing together, I had always been the tickler. Kate seemed intrigued with the idea of reversing roles.
She asked me to lie down on our grandmother's bed. Once I was in position, she straddled my waist and raised my shirt. She also knelt on my hands so I wouldn't simply overpower her and pull away.
I was a little bit apprehensive about this process. Very few people had ever tickled me, and most of them weren't any good at it. As such, I didn't really know what this would feel like, and I had no idea what my reaction would be.
Kate sensed my nervousness and loved it. I tickled her countless times without showing any mercy, and now it was her turn. As I looked up at her, Kate wiggled her fingers over my stomach.
"Are you ready?" she asked with a huge grin on her face.
Before I could answer, Kate plunged her wiggling fingers into my stomach with a bread-kneading motion. I think tickling skills must be inherited, because Kate quickly located ticklish spots I didn’t know I had. Kate was having a wonderful time forcing involuntary laughter from me. She intensified her techniques while simultaneously teasing me.
"My goodness you’re ticklish,” Kate said in a playful voice. “Tickle tickle tickle!”
Kate punctuated her comments by digging in even harder. The tickling was driving me completely out of my mind, and a chorus of involuntary laughter was pouring from my mouth.
"I can see why you like to be the tickler," Kate said. "This really is fun. Let me make you laugh foot monster!”
Somehow, Kate managed to make the tickling even more intense, and she persisted for at least two minutes. I was actually struggling to breathe, and Kate decided to be merciful.
"Relax,” Kate said in a soothing voice. “I’m not ready to stop yet, but I’ll be a little more gentle.”
Almost immediately, Kate eased up, and the tickling became less torturous. Although I was still giggling, Kate could tell that I was more relaxed.
"That’s better," she said. "How does that feel?”
“HAHAHA… um… hee hee hee… it tickles… ha-ha,” I replied in a giggly voice.
"Good," Kate said with a sinister grin. "It’s supposed to.”
Over the next few minutes, Kate stroked, poked, and gently kneaded my stomach. Throughout the process, I didn’t stop giggling, and I could tell that Kate thoroughly enjoyed my reactions. However, she also appeared concerned about my breathing, and she didn’t want to overtax me.
"I can’t believe how ticklish you are,” Kate said in a gleeful voice. “I'm really having fun, but I should stop."
"Um… he-he-he-he-he... I'm okay... ha-ha-ha... you're not hurting me... he-he-he," I managed while giggling.
This was the first time anyone had ever tickled me like this, and I was actually having fun.
I really didn't want Kate to stop, and she picked up on that. She leaned over me so that our noses were almost touching and started giggling.
"Does someone like being tickled?" Kate asked in a silly voice.
I was too embarrassed to answer.
"Since you won’t answer me, I think I should continue,” Kate teased. “Tickle tickle tickle!”
Kate continued ticking my stomach while cooing at me. For the better part of five minutes she had me giggling like a child. Suddenly her attention shifted. The next thing I knew, my feet were in her lap and she was removing my socks.
“You’ve tickled my feet hundreds of times,” Kate explained. “I think I deserve the chance to tickle your feet once.”
Instead of tickling me, Kate spent a few minutes caressing my feet. Then she looked at me with a growing smile.
“Wow… you don’t have ugly guy feet,” Kate chuckled.
I looked at Kate with a shocked expression, and she quickly clarified that she didn’t have a foot fetish. However, her past several boyfriends had ugly feet (scraggly nails, ugly calluses, and so on). She was a little surprised to find my feet so well maintained.
Kate seemed slightly vengeful as she tickled my feet, and her first techniques were very aggressive. I squealed loudly and yanked my feet from her grasp.
“If you keep pulling away like that, you’ll never see my feet again,” she mockingly threatened. “Now get back here.”
Kate knew that was the leverage she needed, and I returned my feet to her lap. She immediately resumed her most intense techniques, and I could hardly sit still. As she had done with my stomach, Kate decided to use a gentler touch.
"Fine, you big ticklish baby,” Kate laughed. “I’ll keep things gentle. Does this still tickle?”
"He-he-he... yes… ha-ha-ha... you're tickling me... ha-ha-ha-ha-ha," I replied.
"Good," Kate said. " Cootchy cootchy coo!”
The tickling went on for at least ten minutes, and Kate’s techniques were relatively gentle.
Every so often she would intensify things when she wasn’t satisfied with my reactions.
While tickling me, Kate started talking about our childhood and all of the fun times we had together growing up. Eventually, she seemed to get lost in our conversation, and her tickling techniques took on an absent-minded quality. She was lazily dragging her fingernails all over my feet, just enough to tickle. Moments later, she stopped tickling me and put my socks back on.
“Come on,” Kate said. “We’ve still got at least three hours before everyone gets home. Let’s go open some presents.”
We made our way to the living room, giggling as we went. Both of us were in a silly mood, and opening presents on Christmas Eve was always fun.
For the better part of ten minutes, we exchanged gifts. Kate gave me some very nice clothes, a good selection of music, a new football, and a new basketball. I remember feeling a little awkward because Kate obviously spent more money than I did, but she assured me that it didn’t matter.
As she opened her presents from me, Kate noticed the disproportionate amount of foot products I’d bought for her. She looked at me and started laughing.
“Should I be expecting a few foot massages during the holidays?” Kate asked sarcastically.
“That’s the idea,” I replied.
Kate didn’t require any convincing. She extended her feet, playfully wiggled her toes, and handed me the pile of foot massage supplies I had given her. I wanted to start by soaking Kate’s feet, but my grandmother had expensive wood floors, and I couldn’t afford any spills or mishaps. Since we had the house to ourselves, I decided to use the kitchen sink.
I filled the sink with warm water and a generous amount of the richly lathering foot soap I gave Kate for Christmas. She laughed as I picked her up, set her down on the counter, and placed her feet in the sink.
“The last spa I went to didn’t go to this much trouble,” Kate laughed as she wiggled her toes in the water. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
“I was planning to wash your feet and give you a nice long foot massage while we hang out,” I replied.
“You always wash my feet,” Kate said with a smile. “Do they stink?”
“Not at all… I just like washing your feet,” I explained. “There’s something about holding your bare feet in the water and caressing them with lather… it’s fun.”
Kate reached down and patted me on the head.
“You really are strange but you’re also very sweet and I love being pampered,” she laughed. “Knock yourself out.”
Both of us laughed as I worked Kate’s feet into a luxurious lather that began to fill the sink. She was enjoying the process and repeatedly flexed and wiggled her feet, causing soapsuds to squirt from between her toes.
The site of Kate’s beautifully painted toenails peeking out from beneath the soapsuds was nothing short of irresistible. I applied additional lather to Kate’s feet and started massaging her toes.
“That feels so good,” Kate said in a relaxed voice. “You just keep getting better at this.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I replied. “Kelly is coming tomorrow, and I want to make sure my techniques are solid.”
“Trust me, she’ll love this,” Kate said while flexing her feet.
For those of you who didn’t see my previous story, Kelly was Kate’s best friend. Kate introduced me to her after our weekend at the Belmont Hotel. Kelly and I had become very good friends, which worked out well for me.
For starters, Kelly was very flirtatious and affectionate, so I was able to manage plenty of hugs, kisses, and snuggling. Additionally, she loved having attention paid to her feet (massages were her favorite, but she also let me kiss and tickle her feet). Kate briefed Kelly about my foot fetish history before we met, so foot-play was part of our relationship from the day we met.
A few days before Christmas, Kelly told me that she had annoying relatives coming to her house after lunch on Christmas Day. She desperately wanted an excuse to leave her parents’ house before these dreaded houseguests arrived. I invited her to join Kate and me at our grandmother’s house, and she accepted.
“Just one question foot monster,” Kate giggled as she splashed her feet in the sink. “Grandmother’s house is going to be a zoo tomorrow. How are you going to find the privacy you need for having foot-fun with Kelly?”
“I’ve got a plan,” I replied in an exaggerated, sinister voice.
“I won’t even ask,” Kate replied while laughing and burying her face in her hands.
For more than twenty minutes, I continued washing Kate’s feet, employing a nice array of massage techniques. She would have been content to let me wash her feet for another hour, but the sink was rapidly filling with soapsuds, and I was afraid it would overflow.
I carefully emptied the sink and proceeded to rinse Kate’s feet. This took a few minutes because they were covered in profuse quantities of richly foaming lather. When I was finished, I brought Kate’s feet to my nose and inhaled deeply.
“Absolutely wonderful,” I said in a silly voice. “They smell like flowers.”
Kate found my actions quite funny and doubled over laughing. Moments later, I carried her to the living room, propped her feet up with pillows and helped her get comfortable on the couch. Then I raced to the kitchen and came back with a serving tray full of sodas and snacks. Kate helped herself and urged me to begin the foot massage.
I grabbed the richest of the foot lotions and went to work on Kate’s arches, using her favorite massage techniques. Before long, I could see Kate becoming drowsily relaxed, and she also became noticeably less talkative. During the next forty-five minutes, she fell asleep at least four times. My instincts told me this would be a good time to stop for the evening.
Kate was completely limp and looked as if she’d received surgical sedation. Instead of attempting to wake her, I carried her to the bed in the guest room and tucked her in. Throughout the process, she never woke up.
With Kate tucked into bed for the evening, I decided to put away all of my foot massage supplies and clean the living room and kitchen. It took me fifteen minutes to put everything away and wash the sink. I also burned some heavily scented Christmas candles to cover up the scent of massage products that was wafting through the room. Satisfied that any evidence of my foot fetish activities with Kate had been erased, I went to bed in the other spare bedroom.
Christmas morning arrived, and Kate and I awoke before anyone else. We met in the hallway outside of the bathroom after I showered. Kate looked at me for a moment and started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“It always amazes me,” Kate giggled. “Whenever you give me one of those marathon foot massages, my feet still feel wonderful the following morning.”
Kate gave me a hug and stepped into the bathroom. I continued on my way to the living room. Kate joined me about twenty minutes later, and we organized all of the presents under the Christmas tree.
At the time of this story, Kate and I were in our junior year of high school, and it was December 24th. Although I was essentially a young adult, I still had a childlike sense of enthusiasm about Christmas. I gleefully awoke before sunrise to make last minute preparations for the holidays.
Kate had been incredibly sweet about indulging my foot and tickling fetishes, especially after our vacation at the storm ravaged Belmont Hotel. She frequently allowed me access to her feet and also introduced me to a number of pretty girls at her school. I wanted to show my appreciation by giving her a special gift -- something that couldn't be purchased in a store.
Just a few weeks earlier, Kate mentioned that she yearned for the cookies our Aunt Gladys used to make for us at Christmas. Our beloved aunt died when we were ten years old, and no one ever successfully recreated her trademark sugar cookies. I knew Kate would be thrilled if I could make some, and I decided to try.
When I was only seven years old, Aunt Gladys spent a rainy Saturday afternoon teaching me how to make her famous cookies. I was pleasantly surprised that I could remember the high points of her instructions so many years later.
Within an hour, my mother's kitchen smelled exactly as it did the last time Aunt Gladys baked for us. The cookies turned out remarkably well. This was going to be Kate's first present from me, and I couldn't wait to see the look on her face.
I still needed additional presents for Kate, so I drove to the local shopping center. The beauty aisle featured an incredible assortment of lathering foot soaps, foot lotions, massage oils, and facial moisturizing creams. I selected a dozen items, mostly foot products. I also spotted adorable pink slippers and tossed a pair into my shopping cart.
My gifts for Kate had an obvious foot fetish theme, and I decided to balance things out by purchasing some of her favorite music and a football jersey dorm shirt with her favorite number on it. The customer service staff wrapped Kate's gifts in stylish holiday paper, and I delivered them to grandmother's house.
Kate arrived just before ten o'clock, and we ran to the living room like giddy children, eager to decorate the family Christmas tree. We hung the lights and ornaments with the skill of seasoned professionals. Grandmother and our parents spent a few minutes admiring our work before returning to the kitchen to squabble about trivial holiday details like place settings and wrapping paper.
Grandmother's living room looked beautiful, and no further decorating was required. Kate began carefully arranging gifts beneath the tree.
" I bought you so many presents that you'll still be opening them on New Year's Eve," she giggled.
"I have some nice presents for you too," I replied while handing her an elegantly wrapped gift. "About a month ago, you said this was something you wanted."
Kate excitedly tore through the wrapping paper, but she looked disappointed when she discovered I'd given her a jar of cookies.
"Those aren't just any cookies," I said with a smile. "Try one."
Kate snatched a cookie from the jar and literally squealed as she took a bite.
"These are the cookies Aunt Gladys used to make!" she exclaimed. "I haven't had these in years. Where did you get them?"
"You can't buy these at the store Kate," I laughed. "I made them this morning."
"This means a lot to me," she said while hugging me. "I can tell you put a lot of thought and effort into this."
After devouring several cookies, Kate announced that she wanted to go sledding behind the house. I should have known better. She pelted me with snowballs during my first run down the hill, and several of them lodged inside my coat.
Kate was an accomplished snowball fighter, and she never gave me an opportunity to return fire. The onslaught continued as I made a run for grandmother's front door. My lovely cousin was right behind me, giggling the entire time.
As I stood in the front hallway removing my coat, Kate threw her arms around me and began tickling my sides. This seemed unusual because she'd never tried to tickle me before. I squirmed around and tried to get away.
"That was so sweet of you to bake cookies for me," she giggled while continuing her attack. "Now I want to give you one of your presents."
Kate practically dragged me to the living room and asked me to sit down. She joined me on the couch and handed me a present. I was thrilled to discover she'd given me a video game system I'd been talking about for months.
"Thanks Kate!" I said while leaning over to hug her.
This beautiful holiday moment was interrupted when Kate's mother entered the room.
"Hey you two!" she shouted. "It's time to start getting ready for church."
Throughout our childhood, Kate and I dreaded going to church on Christmas Eve. It always seemed like our priest was trying to set a record for the longest Christmas service. His typical holiday mass lasted almost four hours.
Kate and I understood the religious significance of Christmas, but we didn't share our parents' affinity for lengthy church services. During our early teens, we negotiated a deal. If we attended one of the shorter services during the day, our parents allowed us to skip the marathon evening mass. We usually chose an afternoon service that lasted less than an hour.
Neither of us was properly dressed for church. It only took me ten minutes to throw on a nice shirt, tie, and black pants. Kate, on the other hand, was in the bathroom so long I thought she was undergoing plastic surgery. She emerged forty minutes later looking absolutely gorgeous.
Kate's hair, makeup and nail polish were flawless, as if she'd just come from a salon. She was wearing a white sweater and black skirt, both of which accentuated her figure. She'd also put on sheer nylons and a pair of black pumps I'd helped her shop for during our summer vacation.
"Kate, you look fantastic!" I said.
"Thanks," she replied. "I appreciate the compliment, but I'm going to ask a small favor of you this evening."
"What?" I asked.
"Last year, I got dressed up for church and some creepy guy hit on me while I was in line for communion," she explained. "If that happens again, I want you to pretend you're my boyfriend."
"No problem," I assured her.
Honoring Kate's request would not be difficult. People often mistook us for a couple because we had such an affectionate demeanor toward each other.
Snow began to fall as Kate and I left grandmother's house. Heavy accumulations were expected, and I was glad we'd be getting home early. Driving on treacherous winter roads wasn't one of my favorite activities.
There were many cars in the church parking lot, and the sidewalk leading to the building was covered in snowy footprints. Kate and I weren't the only parishioners who'd chosen not to attend the lengthy evening mass.
We entered the church, and I immediately noticed that Kate was turning heads. Several wide-eyed men watched my cousin as she looked for a place to sit. One older gentleman who was staring at her received a sharp elbow in the shoulder from his wife.
Kate seemed aware of the attention being paid her, and I think it made her slightly uncomfortable. She asked if we could sit toward the back of the church where there were several rows of empty pews.
I laughed as a number of men peered over their shoulders, attempting to steal discreet glimpses of Kate. She responded by placing her arm around my shoulder, hoping to make us look like a couple.
"Haven't any of these guys seen a woman before?" she asked in a whisper.
"This is a small, conservative town," I explained. "Very few women here dress like you, and you're much prettier than most of them. That's why you stand out."
Kate thanked me for the compliment, and the mass began. The priest was terribly dull, and it would be fair to say he had the personality of dry toast. Four rows ahead of us, two elderly parishioners actually fell asleep.
The service droned on, and I could see that Kate was becoming bored. I was bored too. I thumbed through a prayer book, reset my watch several times, and used a copy of the parish newsletter to fashion a paper airplane.
My efforts to entertain myself were no defense against the drearily monotone sermon being piped through the church sound-system. I was in danger of falling asleep, until I noticed movement through the corner of my eye.
Kate was reflexively sliding her feet into and out of her shoes. Her ankles were sinuous and gracefully curved, and the delicate wrinkles of her silky arches were visible through her nylons. She caught me staring and decided to tease me.
While I pretended not to notice, Kate removed her shoes, wiggled her toes, and repeatedly arched her shapely feet. Their beguiling movements were literally driving me wild. I would have scooped them into my lap had we not been in church.
I became careless while enjoying my cousin's impromptu foot show. Instead of casually eyeing her movements, I was leaning forward with my mouth agape, staring down at her feet. It finally occurred to me that I was being rather obvious, and I looked up to find Kate smiling at me. She'd been watching me for several minutes.
Intense heat began to radiate from my head, and my face must have been a deep shade of purple. I was profoundly embarrassed. Kate, however, found the whole thing quite funny. She laughed, gave me a consoling pat on the back, and affectionately placed her head on my shoulder.
The priest announced it was time for communion. My cheeks were still completely flushed, and I felt rather self-conscious as I made my way to the front of the church. Kate was right beside me, and she continued to giggle about my reactions to her feet.
We received communion and quietly returned to our seats. There was a hymn, followed by a short prayer, and the mass ended.
The parish sidewalks were frosted with snow and ice, and Kate clung to me during our trek to the parking lot. She didn't make fun of me for ogling her feet in church, but the smirk on her face told me she was thinking about it. I tried to distract her by discussing our plans for the evening.
"We should have grandmother's house to ourselves for most of the night," I said. "What would you like to do?"
"I think we should finish exchanging gifts while the so-called grown-ups are gone," she suggested. "After that, we can just hang out."
"Sounds good to me," I responded.
Kate and I were hungry, and we knew things would be hectic at grandmother's house. Rather than battling our parents for control of the kitchen, we decided to have a restaurant meal on the way home.
Bellini's Pizzeria was the only local restaurant that remained open on Christmas Eve. Kate and I frequently dined there, and the food was always superb. We had our choice of seats and requested our favorite corner booth.
The waiter politely took our order and returned to the kitchen. He'd only been gone for a moment when Kate started to look uncomfortable. She awkwardly repositioned herself in the booth, and her shoeless feet suddenly appeared in my lap beneath the tablecloth.
"These shoes look like a million dollars, but they really hurt," she complained while showing me one of her pumps. "Would you rub my feet while we wait for our pizza?"
I hesitated to act on Kate's request, and that surprised her.
"What's the matter?" she asked.
"Well, I was hoping to give you a really long foot massage later," I sheepishly replied.
Kate covered her face with a napkin and laughed.
"It's okay sweetie," she giggled. "You can still give me one of your marathon spa-caliber foot massages after we get home. I'd love it."
That was all I needed to hear, and I began massaging Kate's nylon-clad feet with deep, soothing techniques. She sighed and leaned back in her seat, deeply relaxed.
Our pizza arrived, and it was a work of art -- pepperoni, three layers of farm-fresh cheese, and home-style tomato sauce on an authentic hand-tossed crust. The waiter also delivered a pitcher of premium root beer.
Kate offered to remove her feet from my lap, but I was eager to continue the massage. She smiled as I alternated between eating pizza and rubbing her feet.
My techniques seemed to influence her mood, and she became increasingly silly.
"You should have seen the look on your face when I took my shoes off in church," she giggled while pointing at me.
"Kate, what were you trying to do to me?" I asked.
"I was just having fun," she replied while gently wiggling her toes against my stomach. "You were mesmerized... it was really funny!"
Kate knew that I would never embarrass her by aggressively tickling her in a room full of people. She was teasing me, however, and I could no longer resist the urge to inflict some playful tickles.
I secured Kate's ankles with my left arm and methodically stroked her soles with a single fingernail. Her entire body jerked as if she'd received an electrical shock, but she managed not to burst out laughing.
Kate's face became increasingly red as I continued to tickle her feet. She was barely holding back the giggles, her body was shaking, and an involuntary smile was making its way across her face. She somehow managed to speak and quietly urged me to stop.
"He-he-he-he-he... please don't tickle... hoo-hoo-hoo... you'll embarrass me-hee-hee... ha-ha-ha-ha-ha," she whispered.
Kate had been wonderful about accepting my foot fetish. I truly didn't want to embarrass her, so I lightened my touch considerably. It didn't seem to make much difference.
The effects of my tickling were still quite pronounced. Kate was struggling to conceal her reactions from the other restaurant customers -- and she was quickly losing the battle. Her eyes were beginning to tear as she appealed to me one last time.
"Plee-hee-hee-ease stop... ha-ha-ha-ha-ha... tickles too-hoo-hoo much... he-he-he-he-he," she begged.
"Well, if I stop right now, do you promise to let me play with your bare feet when we get home?" I asked.
Kate was unable to speak, but she desperately nodded her response to my demands. I stopped tickling her, and she quickly withdrew her feet from my lap.
"You are terrible!" she exclaimed with a smile as she worked to locate her shoes under the table.
"As I recall, you were teasing me," I shot back. "Regardless, I plan to hold you to your promise."
Kate and I shared a few minutes of playful banter before leaving the restaurant. On our way home, we took a detour so we could admire the city Christmas lights. The town was frosted with snow and looked like something out of a Norman Rockwell painting.
Back at grandmother's house, things were insane. Grandmother and our parents were scrambling to get ready for church, and they were running late. Kate and I retreated to the living room, hoping to stay out of their way.
We were enjoying the view of our beautifully illuminated Christmas tree when it suddenly went dark. I volunteered to examine the lights, but Kate stopped me.
"I'll get it," she said. "I used to be good at this when we were kids."
Kate crawled under the tree, seemingly unconcerned with her expensive clothes. By the time she reached the plug for the lights, only her feet were sticking out.
"Can you see the problem?" I asked.
"Yeah, we didn't have the lights plugged in firmly," she explained. "While we were decorating the tree, we jostled it, and the master set of lights became unplugged. Just to make sure this doesn't happen again, I'm going to unplug all of the lights and plug them in again."
The tree shook as Kate yanked on the various strings of lights.
"These plugs are so old they've become stiff," she grunted while struggling to plug in the lights. "I can do this, but it's going to take a few minutes."
Kate whistled a Christmas carol while working on the lights. She also began flexing her feet with enticing movements intended to get my attention.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Have you forgotten already?" she giggled. "I'm fixing the Christmas lights."
"You know what I'm talking about," I replied.
"No, I really don't," she answered in the most innocent tone she could muster.
Kate was doing her best to tease me with her wiggling feet. She went a step further by extending her left foot and pinching my nose with her toes. That was the last straw. I grasped her ankles and began tickling her feet.
"Foot monster... hee hee hee... if you don't want everyone to know about our foot fun... ha-ha-ha-ha-ha... you'd better be gentle... hee hee hee," she giggled.
Kate was right. If I tickled her aggressively, she would scream and draw unwanted attention to our activities. I couldn't risk that, so I continued stroking her soles with gentle techniques. Her reactions were delightful.
The nylons seemed to make Kate more ticklish than usual, and my lightest touches caused her to giggle heartily. Unfortunately, our parents were approaching, and I had to stop.
Kate resumed work on the lights, and I pretended to assist her. Our parents entered the room, chattering about last minute holiday errands. They paid us no attention and quickly returned to the kitchen.
The Christmas tree sprang to life as Kate finished connecting the final strand of lights. I was complimenting her work when she pinched my nose with her toes again.
"Thanks foot monster," she giggled.
Kate was satisfied that she'd teased me to my breaking point, and she left the room to change her clothes. She returned wearing a cute sweatshirt, jeans, and adorable white socks. I was dying to tickle her, but I had to wait until we were alone.
Time seemed to stand still as I waited for our family to leave for church. Grandmother lost her purse, Kate's father couldn't find his jacket, and my dad misplaced his car keys. This was typical.
Grandmother and our parents never did anything in an organized fashion. Twenty long minutes passed before they were finally ready to leave. Kate's mom stopped to talk with us on her way out the door.
"The mass probably won't end until midnight," she explained. "After church we're going to the reception, so we won't be home until very late."
Our church always hosted a midnight reception after the lengthy Christmas Eve mass. Half of the people in town would gather there for coffee, conversation, and homemade pie. The last time Kate and I attended this event, we didn't get home until two o'clock in the morning.
It seemed likely that grandmother and our parents would be gone for several hours. I saw this as a golden opportunity for foot fetish and tickling fun with my beautiful cousin.
The churchgoers finally left the house, but I knew they might return if they'd forgotten something. I stood at the living room window and watched as their car pulled out of grandmother's driveway. When they reached the intersection at the end of the street, I knew they wouldn't be back.
I turned to look at Kate, and she backed away from me. We'd played this game of "tickle chase" many times as children, and she knew what was coming. When I tried to approach her, she giggled and took off running.
Kate ran laps around the dining room table as I chased her. She was almost within reach, until she veered off and darted toward the kitchen. I finally caught up with her in grandmother's bedroom. She squealed and giggled as I threw my arms around her waist, tickled her sides, and gently tossed her onto the bed.
A playful wrestling match ensued as I struggled to capture Kate's wildly kicking legs and remove her socks. Her feet were beautiful beyond words, and I spent a few minutes caressing them as she wiggled her toes and giggled nervously.
Realizing that she was helpless and about to be tickled, Kate clenched the sheets so tightly that her knuckles turned white. I paused for a moment, allowing her the chance to take a few long, deep breaths. With her ankles firmly gripped under my left arm, I used my right hand to tickle both of her soles aggressively.
"Cootchy cootchy coo!" I gleefully teased as Kate thrashed all over the bed.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… MY GAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHD IT TEEEEHEEHEEKLES!" Kate screamed. “GAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHD NONONONONO… PLEEE-HEE-HEEZE S-STOP!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA… IT TEEEEHEEHEEKLES… HAHAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
“Oh, come on, we’ve just gotten started,” I replied. “Besides, you’ve been teasing me all night. Tickle tickle tickle!”
Kate’s eyes widened and involuntary laughter continued to pour from her mouth as I dug into the soles of her feet with wildly scribbling fingers.
"AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… ST-HA-HA-HA-P… HAHAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA,” Kate pleaded. “NONONOHAHAHA … HAHAHAHAHAHAA… IT TEEEEHEEHEEKLES… HAHAHAHAHA!”
“I think if I pushed you just a little bit harder, your voice could go a full octave higher,” I said in a sarcastic tone. “Let’s see what happens when I tickle your arches and the spaces between your toes really hard.”
With that, I applied my most vicious techniques to Kate’s velvety soft feet. As predicted, she let out a high-pitched, ear-piercing shriek that only Mariah Carey could duplicate.
“HAHAHAHA… TOO MUCH… HAHAHAHAHAHAHA… PLEEEEEHEEE-HEEEEZE… HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Kate begged through hysterical laughter. “HAHAHAHAHAHAHA… IT TEEEHEEHEEKLES TOO MUCH… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA… PLEEEEEHEEE-HEEEEZE ST-HAA-HA-HAP!”
Kate was completely hysterical, and I didn’t want to cross the line between harmless fun and outright cruelty.
“Okay…I don’t want you to hate me, but I’m having too much fun to stop yet,” I explained in a teasing voice. “I’ll try to be more gentle.”
Kate didn’t seem the least bit reassured. She continued to giggle and fidget as I lightly drew circular patterns across the soles of her feet, including several passes up and down her arches.
"Hee hee hee hee hee... oooooh gaaaawwwd... you're still tickling me-hee-hee… ha-ha-ha,” Kate said through her giggles.
“Silly, of course I’m still tickling you,” I replied sarcastically.
I punctuated my teasing by rapidly stroking both of Kate’s arches simultaneously. Kate threw her head back and another hail of giggles poured from her mouth.
“HAHAHAHA…hoo-hoo-hoo…if you don’t stop I’ll pee…hahahahaha!" Kate laughed. "Ha-ha-ha… pleeeheeheeeze stop… hee-hee-hee!”
“Alright, but there’s one more thing I have to do first,” I teased. "This little piggy went to market, and this little piggy stayed home, this little piggy had roast beef, and this little piggy had none, and this little piggy went wee wee wee all the way home... cootchy cootchy coo!!!"
Kate’s toes wiggled and she wildly flexed her feet. Each individual toe seemed like it was trying to get away from my tickling fingers.
"GAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHD NO-HOO-HOO!” Kate screamed. “S-STOP… HOHOHO… I’LL DO ANYTHING… HAHAHAHAHA… DONT! IT TICKLES! HAHAHAHAHA… S-STOP!"
”If you agree to go barefoot for the rest of the evening, I’ll stop tickling you now,” I explained.
Kate was laughing too hard to speak, but she nodded her agreement to my terms. I immediately stopped tickling her, but she continued to giggle for several minutes. When she finally pulled herself together, her entire demeanor changed, and she stared at me with a mischievous smile.
"I've been thinking about something," Kate said. "Who decided that you always get to tickle me?"
I didn't have a good answer for her, and I remained quiet.
"I've been a very good sport about letting you tickle me all of these years,” Kate explained. “Now I think it's my turn to do the tickling," she explained.
Kate wasn't angry with me. She was simply being playful, and also seemed a little fascinated. In all of our years of playing together, I had always been the tickler. Kate seemed intrigued with the idea of reversing roles.
She asked me to lie down on our grandmother's bed. Once I was in position, she straddled my waist and raised my shirt. She also knelt on my hands so I wouldn't simply overpower her and pull away.
I was a little bit apprehensive about this process. Very few people had ever tickled me, and most of them weren't any good at it. As such, I didn't really know what this would feel like, and I had no idea what my reaction would be.
Kate sensed my nervousness and loved it. I tickled her countless times without showing any mercy, and now it was her turn. As I looked up at her, Kate wiggled her fingers over my stomach.
"Are you ready?" she asked with a huge grin on her face.
Before I could answer, Kate plunged her wiggling fingers into my stomach with a bread-kneading motion. I think tickling skills must be inherited, because Kate quickly located ticklish spots I didn’t know I had. Kate was having a wonderful time forcing involuntary laughter from me. She intensified her techniques while simultaneously teasing me.
"My goodness you’re ticklish,” Kate said in a playful voice. “Tickle tickle tickle!”
Kate punctuated her comments by digging in even harder. The tickling was driving me completely out of my mind, and a chorus of involuntary laughter was pouring from my mouth.
"I can see why you like to be the tickler," Kate said. "This really is fun. Let me make you laugh foot monster!”
Somehow, Kate managed to make the tickling even more intense, and she persisted for at least two minutes. I was actually struggling to breathe, and Kate decided to be merciful.
"Relax,” Kate said in a soothing voice. “I’m not ready to stop yet, but I’ll be a little more gentle.”
Almost immediately, Kate eased up, and the tickling became less torturous. Although I was still giggling, Kate could tell that I was more relaxed.
"That’s better," she said. "How does that feel?”
“HAHAHA… um… hee hee hee… it tickles… ha-ha,” I replied in a giggly voice.
"Good," Kate said with a sinister grin. "It’s supposed to.”
Over the next few minutes, Kate stroked, poked, and gently kneaded my stomach. Throughout the process, I didn’t stop giggling, and I could tell that Kate thoroughly enjoyed my reactions. However, she also appeared concerned about my breathing, and she didn’t want to overtax me.
"I can’t believe how ticklish you are,” Kate said in a gleeful voice. “I'm really having fun, but I should stop."
"Um… he-he-he-he-he... I'm okay... ha-ha-ha... you're not hurting me... he-he-he," I managed while giggling.
This was the first time anyone had ever tickled me like this, and I was actually having fun.
I really didn't want Kate to stop, and she picked up on that. She leaned over me so that our noses were almost touching and started giggling.
"Does someone like being tickled?" Kate asked in a silly voice.
I was too embarrassed to answer.
"Since you won’t answer me, I think I should continue,” Kate teased. “Tickle tickle tickle!”
Kate continued ticking my stomach while cooing at me. For the better part of five minutes she had me giggling like a child. Suddenly her attention shifted. The next thing I knew, my feet were in her lap and she was removing my socks.
“You’ve tickled my feet hundreds of times,” Kate explained. “I think I deserve the chance to tickle your feet once.”
Instead of tickling me, Kate spent a few minutes caressing my feet. Then she looked at me with a growing smile.
“Wow… you don’t have ugly guy feet,” Kate chuckled.
I looked at Kate with a shocked expression, and she quickly clarified that she didn’t have a foot fetish. However, her past several boyfriends had ugly feet (scraggly nails, ugly calluses, and so on). She was a little surprised to find my feet so well maintained.
Kate seemed slightly vengeful as she tickled my feet, and her first techniques were very aggressive. I squealed loudly and yanked my feet from her grasp.
“If you keep pulling away like that, you’ll never see my feet again,” she mockingly threatened. “Now get back here.”
Kate knew that was the leverage she needed, and I returned my feet to her lap. She immediately resumed her most intense techniques, and I could hardly sit still. As she had done with my stomach, Kate decided to use a gentler touch.
"Fine, you big ticklish baby,” Kate laughed. “I’ll keep things gentle. Does this still tickle?”
"He-he-he... yes… ha-ha-ha... you're tickling me... ha-ha-ha-ha-ha," I replied.
"Good," Kate said. " Cootchy cootchy coo!”
The tickling went on for at least ten minutes, and Kate’s techniques were relatively gentle.
Every so often she would intensify things when she wasn’t satisfied with my reactions.
While tickling me, Kate started talking about our childhood and all of the fun times we had together growing up. Eventually, she seemed to get lost in our conversation, and her tickling techniques took on an absent-minded quality. She was lazily dragging her fingernails all over my feet, just enough to tickle. Moments later, she stopped tickling me and put my socks back on.
“Come on,” Kate said. “We’ve still got at least three hours before everyone gets home. Let’s go open some presents.”
We made our way to the living room, giggling as we went. Both of us were in a silly mood, and opening presents on Christmas Eve was always fun.
For the better part of ten minutes, we exchanged gifts. Kate gave me some very nice clothes, a good selection of music, a new football, and a new basketball. I remember feeling a little awkward because Kate obviously spent more money than I did, but she assured me that it didn’t matter.
As she opened her presents from me, Kate noticed the disproportionate amount of foot products I’d bought for her. She looked at me and started laughing.
“Should I be expecting a few foot massages during the holidays?” Kate asked sarcastically.
“That’s the idea,” I replied.
Kate didn’t require any convincing. She extended her feet, playfully wiggled her toes, and handed me the pile of foot massage supplies I had given her. I wanted to start by soaking Kate’s feet, but my grandmother had expensive wood floors, and I couldn’t afford any spills or mishaps. Since we had the house to ourselves, I decided to use the kitchen sink.
I filled the sink with warm water and a generous amount of the richly lathering foot soap I gave Kate for Christmas. She laughed as I picked her up, set her down on the counter, and placed her feet in the sink.
“The last spa I went to didn’t go to this much trouble,” Kate laughed as she wiggled her toes in the water. “What exactly do you have in mind?”
“I was planning to wash your feet and give you a nice long foot massage while we hang out,” I replied.
“You always wash my feet,” Kate said with a smile. “Do they stink?”
“Not at all… I just like washing your feet,” I explained. “There’s something about holding your bare feet in the water and caressing them with lather… it’s fun.”
Kate reached down and patted me on the head.
“You really are strange but you’re also very sweet and I love being pampered,” she laughed. “Knock yourself out.”
Both of us laughed as I worked Kate’s feet into a luxurious lather that began to fill the sink. She was enjoying the process and repeatedly flexed and wiggled her feet, causing soapsuds to squirt from between her toes.
The site of Kate’s beautifully painted toenails peeking out from beneath the soapsuds was nothing short of irresistible. I applied additional lather to Kate’s feet and started massaging her toes.
“That feels so good,” Kate said in a relaxed voice. “You just keep getting better at this.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” I replied. “Kelly is coming tomorrow, and I want to make sure my techniques are solid.”
“Trust me, she’ll love this,” Kate said while flexing her feet.
For those of you who didn’t see my previous story, Kelly was Kate’s best friend. Kate introduced me to her after our weekend at the Belmont Hotel. Kelly and I had become very good friends, which worked out well for me.
For starters, Kelly was very flirtatious and affectionate, so I was able to manage plenty of hugs, kisses, and snuggling. Additionally, she loved having attention paid to her feet (massages were her favorite, but she also let me kiss and tickle her feet). Kate briefed Kelly about my foot fetish history before we met, so foot-play was part of our relationship from the day we met.
A few days before Christmas, Kelly told me that she had annoying relatives coming to her house after lunch on Christmas Day. She desperately wanted an excuse to leave her parents’ house before these dreaded houseguests arrived. I invited her to join Kate and me at our grandmother’s house, and she accepted.
“Just one question foot monster,” Kate giggled as she splashed her feet in the sink. “Grandmother’s house is going to be a zoo tomorrow. How are you going to find the privacy you need for having foot-fun with Kelly?”
“I’ve got a plan,” I replied in an exaggerated, sinister voice.
“I won’t even ask,” Kate replied while laughing and burying her face in her hands.
For more than twenty minutes, I continued washing Kate’s feet, employing a nice array of massage techniques. She would have been content to let me wash her feet for another hour, but the sink was rapidly filling with soapsuds, and I was afraid it would overflow.
I carefully emptied the sink and proceeded to rinse Kate’s feet. This took a few minutes because they were covered in profuse quantities of richly foaming lather. When I was finished, I brought Kate’s feet to my nose and inhaled deeply.
“Absolutely wonderful,” I said in a silly voice. “They smell like flowers.”
Kate found my actions quite funny and doubled over laughing. Moments later, I carried her to the living room, propped her feet up with pillows and helped her get comfortable on the couch. Then I raced to the kitchen and came back with a serving tray full of sodas and snacks. Kate helped herself and urged me to begin the foot massage.
I grabbed the richest of the foot lotions and went to work on Kate’s arches, using her favorite massage techniques. Before long, I could see Kate becoming drowsily relaxed, and she also became noticeably less talkative. During the next forty-five minutes, she fell asleep at least four times. My instincts told me this would be a good time to stop for the evening.
Kate was completely limp and looked as if she’d received surgical sedation. Instead of attempting to wake her, I carried her to the bed in the guest room and tucked her in. Throughout the process, she never woke up.
With Kate tucked into bed for the evening, I decided to put away all of my foot massage supplies and clean the living room and kitchen. It took me fifteen minutes to put everything away and wash the sink. I also burned some heavily scented Christmas candles to cover up the scent of massage products that was wafting through the room. Satisfied that any evidence of my foot fetish activities with Kate had been erased, I went to bed in the other spare bedroom.
Christmas morning arrived, and Kate and I awoke before anyone else. We met in the hallway outside of the bathroom after I showered. Kate looked at me for a moment and started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
“It always amazes me,” Kate giggled. “Whenever you give me one of those marathon foot massages, my feet still feel wonderful the following morning.”
Kate gave me a hug and stepped into the bathroom. I continued on my way to the living room. Kate joined me about twenty minutes later, and we organized all of the presents under the Christmas tree.