My Ticklish, But Willing Mother-In-Law, Part 2
(Posted on Wednesday, October 31, 2001)
This story was submitted by kibdos@yahoo.ca.

To read the 1st part of this story, click My Ticklish, But Willing Mother-In-Law, Part 1.

Webmaster's note: We've received a report that the e-mail address above is bouncing.

Feel free to submit your comments about this story in our free foot fetish chat forum.
To do this, just click here for the story section topic to make your comments public.

Once more, this is a true story. Nothing has been added or exaggerated. In the first installment, I related how my tickling "affair" began with my mother-in-law, Gloria, and it grew in importance over the years. After my marriage to her daughter, we saw her quite regularly, and although I didn’t care for my wife’s brothers and I detested my father-in-law, my feelings for Gloria became warm.

Tickling was always a sexual thing for me and so, as far as that went, our relationship was a sexual affair, but it focused mostly on her feet. I loved my wife (our divorce, after 23 years of marriage, was devastating to me) and I had no desire to wander. But tickling women’s feet had always been a big part of my life and Em, who had incredibly sexy feet - yes, I know that sounds like fiction, but it was a fact - was taking time getting used to it.  (The story of that particular campaign can be told another time.) At any rate, I had this pleasant older woman who not only enjoyed my tickling – and liked me personally – but insisted on our "fun" staying strictly secret. That suited me too. It meant I could tickle her as much as possible and yet never worry about the secret of my foot fetishism getting out.

One reader criticized my previous story because Gloria wasn’t ticklish enough. Well, I set out to tell the truth without embroidery and I did. She was ticklish in that she loved it and allowed me to tickle her for as long as I wished, and in a world where a desire for a woman’s feet wasn’t openly accepted, that was good enough. I was hardly going to turn away from her because she wasn’t kicking and thrashing every time I attacked her soles. Besides, I found it erotic that she wanted it as much as I did.

In those days, I kept a coded record of the women I had tickled, but with Gloria, I stopped counting after the 56th time.  It became a regular part of our relationship. About half were barefoot tickles (my personal preference), half in nylons. Most were a very short duration: quick strokes in one room while people were somewhere else. But my favorite times were when I saw her alone on holidays or her days off. Then she would stretch out on a couch, her feet in my lap and I would gently tickle every inch, every curving line, tracing with my fingers every wrinkle on her soles. She would spread her toes and I would run my fingers between them. If she was more ticklish anywhere, it was there and she would giggle and bite her lip as I spread her toes with my left hand and tickled them with my right.  I found myself wondering how she would react if I used my tongue. I also wondered if I would ever get the nerve.

My chance came one summer morning. The memory of that day is very clear in my mind, although it was years ago. I was returning a large serving dish that my wife had borrowed. As I pulled into the driveway at the side of her house, I saw her talking to a neighbor. For some reason (I have tried to remember, but I cannot recall why), I wasn’t even thinking of tickling her.

I was just going to make the delivery and go. I handed the dish to her and turned back down the steps. She quickly said, "goodbye" to the neighbor and then, to me, said, "Why not go out the front way?"

As I was halfway down the steps and my car was well down the driveway, it didn’t make much sense, but I shrugged and followed her into the house. The logical route was through the kitchen to the hallway and then the front door. Instead, she walked to the left, through the dining room and into the living room. I dutifully followed. Again – and I have tried to recapture my state of mind – for some reason tickling was the furthest thing from my thoughts. She was wearing a short, sleeveless cotton housedress and was barefoot, but even this didn’t set bells ringing.

I walked across the living room to the front entrance when I realized that she wasn’t beside me anymore. From behind me, I heard her voice. "Well, are you going to tickle my feet?"

I turned. She was sitting on the couch, her left bare foot on the floor, the right provocatively raised toward me. She smiled.

I had heard her clearly, but I wanted to hear those words again. "Pardon me?" I asked politely.

Still smiling, her foot still raised, she said again, "Are you going to tickle my feet?"

I snapped out of my reverie. "You want your feet tickled?"

"You bet," she grinned flirtatiously.

I flirted back. "Well, if you want your feet tickled, baby, I’m your man!"

She laughed and I walked towards her. "But let’s have the ticklish one first," I said.

From the time our foot-tickling affair had started, I had discovered that her left foot was more ticklish than her right. Also, if I tickled that foot hard at the beginning, she reacted more strongly, laughing and pulling away. It never lasted longer than a minute, but it was a delicious minute and I always took advantage of it when I could. She dropped her right foot and teasingly raised her left.

I grabbed her ankle firmly with one hand and dug my fingers deep into her ticklish arch. She shrieked delightedly as I tickled her hard, pulling back her leg, but not succeeding in breaking my grip. After a while, she settled down giggling. As she relaxed, so did I. My fingers slowed and began tracing a light, gliding pattern over her sole.

"It’s strange, isn’t it?" she said.  "It always tickles at first … and then it just feels … good."

I sat on the couch next to her and she turned into her usual position with her feet on my lap. Both of my hands were busy running from her heels to the tips of her toes. I had been so close to her feet on so many occasions, but I never took them for granted. They were not what everyone would call ideal, but I found them to be very attractive. Her toes were short, almost chubby, curving beautifully from the large toe to the baby one. The ball of her foot was wide and in the middle was a small crevice that ran down deeply into her arches. I often traced lightly along that line.

One delightful day, we had spent half an hour finding out exactly where on her feet she was the most ticklish, a game she seemed to enjoy as much as I did. Between her toes came first and then the middle of her arch, especially if I used a fingernail rather than a fingertip. I was gently exploring all these places when my left hand drifted off her sole to the top of her foot and sideways towards her ankle. Without thinking, I kept gently tickling past her ankle to her calf.

She shrieked and practically jumped to the ceiling. I looked at her startled, but I didn’t stop tickling and she didn’t ask me to stop. She just gritted her teeth, giggled, her upper body writhing as she tried to control herself. "My gosh, that’s ticklish … that’s so ticklish" I stopped and she straightened her leg. She looked at me. "Do it again," she urged.

Using both of my hands and starting at her ankles, my fingers slowly glided up the backs of her legs to her knees. The look of delight on her face was incredible.  "Oh … Oh … that’s so ticklish! It’s so ticklish!"

She was biting her lip and fighting to keep her legs steady, fighting not to pull away. "My God, she loves this," I thought. "All this time," I said to her, "I’ve been tickling your lovely feet. I never knew that you liked it anywhere else." I paused. "Where else are you ticklish?"

Her face stiffened. "Not under my arms," she said quickly. I instinctively understood. It wasn’t that she was incredibly ticklish and wanted to protect herself. She was afraid that, once there, I might make a move for her breasts. I knew that, if I did, it would be the end of everything.

I smiled reassuringly. "That’s okay. Your feet and legs feel good, though, don’t they?" My hands went back to her soles.

"Wonderful," she replied settling back. "It’s so good of you to do this."

"That’s all right," I replied. And then I added words I had never said to her. "I do it because I love you."

She looked up. It was a son-in-law’s love and she knew it. There was no panic in her eyes. "That’s nice," she said seriously. "That’s really nice. I love you too."

To lighten the moment, I held up her right foot close and said, "Of course, I love your feet, too."

She laughed. Without thinking, I lightly kissed her toes. It was the most natural thing in the world to do. My left hand supported her ankle in a gentle cradle; her bare foot was just a few inches from my mouth; her toes were closer than I had ever seen them. I saw how carefully she trimmed her nails and how pink her skin was. There were some lines and natural wrinkles, but no callouses. I could smell the soap from her morning shower. But when I tasted the slight saltiness of her skin on my lips, I realized what I had done. I glanced towards her.

Her brown eyes were wide were wide with surprise. I waited. There was a long pause and then she smiled and said quietly, "Now that feels good, too." And she gently pushed her toes against my mouth.

Starting at the small toe and carefully, slowly working my way across, I kissed each one, each time making the kiss last just a little longer. Then I put a firm kiss on the ball of her foot and ran my lips slowly and deeply into her arch. Putting her right foot down, I picked up the left.

"This one, too?" I asked

She smiled, less certainly than before. "Sure," she said.

I started kissing the toes of her left foot, this time her big one down to the smallest. But I could feel her hesitation, her doubt. As I kissed the wide ball of her foot and began to go down to her arch, I glanced up at her. She was watching me, half pleased, half cautious. It was clear to me that this was new to her, but it may have been even clearer to her that this was something sexual for me. There was doubt in her eyes.

"Something wrong?" I asked. "Don’t you like it?"

"I’ve never had anyone do this before."

I put her foot back on my lap and straightened up. "But I’m the only one who tickles your feet, aren’t I?"

"Yes," she said hesitantly. She had told me that several times before and, in an odd way, she seemed to enjoy the fact that I was the only one who tickled her.

"Well ..." I kissed her toes again. "This is just a different kind of tickling, isn’t it?" I lifted her foot and kissed her lightly on her arch. "Does it feel good?"

"Yes, it’s different."

"Well, like the tickling, this is something we have." I kissed the top of her toes. Taking a risk, I let the tip of my tongue caress the soft skin above her short nails. I wanted desperately to take her big toe into my mouth and suck on it, to run my tongue openly between her toes where I knew she was so ticklish. But I hesitated. I didn’t want to scare her. I looked up at her directly. "This is just between you and me,” I said softly. "This is what we share." Then I put her foot down. "If you want, I won’t do it again, and I’m sorry if I offended you."

She looked carefully at me for a moment. Then, like the time that defined our relationship, she seemed to make up her mind. She lifted her left foot toward my mouth and smiled. "Do it again."

"This time," I thought, "I am going to go for it." I started kissing her harder, more quickly, moving across her toes, then down into her deep arch and further down to her heels. Then I took the biggest risk of our relationship. Watching her eyes carefully, I ran my tongue strongly from her heel up the middle of her foot to her toes. Her eyes closed, her mouth opened and her head went back. I did it once more and then thrust my hungry tongue between her toes. Her eyes opened and she watched me, a half-smile on her lips.

"I have to tell you," I said, "that you taste great." And then I put her big toe fully into my mouth. She giggled and started to pull her foot away, but I was gripping her ankle. My erection was thrusting against my jeans. With my mouth full of her toe, I added a muffled, "Just great."

She slid back into a more comfortable position on the couch and said nothing as I picked up her other foot. For a while, the only sound in the room was the wet slurping of my tongue between her toes. I knew that, the next time, she would accept my tongue without question.

As I left that day, we stood in the hall for a moment. I bent to kiss her, but instead of brushing her cheek as usual, I kissed her lightly on the lips, pausing there just a bit longer than she might have expected. "Just between us," I said.