« Back To Free Stories Archive
I grew up on my grandfather's farm in the Midwest (my dad was killed in the Korean conflict when I was six years old, and my grandparents raised me).
The summer of my 16th year, Grandad hired a local guy, who'd recently lost his job. to do labor-type work on our 800-acre farm. Bill Fowler was in his mid-30's, married, the father of three kids, and he needed some money coming in, so Grandad offered him a job on the farm until Bill could find a new job.
Bill worked for Grandad from early spring until nearly Thanksgiving that year, and I secretly got a big crush on him. Bill Fowler was a tall dude, 6-2, with a rangy, muscular build, dark thinning hair, blue eyes, and a perpetual five-o'clock shadow. He was real nice-looking, I thought, and the first time he took off his shirt to wash-up at the cattle watering tank, I gaped at his hairy muscular chest and arms and "fell in lust" with him on the spot. He looked kind of fierce, but in fact he was a very nice man--he enjoyed teasing me all the time.
He always wore the same thing when he came to work every day--a short-sleeved blue work shirt, gabardine work pants, white work socks, and those clunky work shoes/boots we used to call "clodhoppers". Bill worked hard and sweated a lot--and I discovered that he smelled just great to me when he was all hot and sweaty. I've had a real strong male foot fetish all my life, and I used to just drool looking at his clodhoppers, wondering endlessly what his big feet would look like if I could see them. Of course I also tried to imagine what Bill's big sweaty feet would smell like, too--and I constantly fantasized about being able to get his clodhoppers off to see, smell, and especially tickle his socked and bare feet.
As the weeks passed and summer arrived, Bill and I got to be good friends, and I finally began teasing him back. We horsed around a bit from time to time, but he was so much bigger and stronger than I was that he'd always win and pin me in no time. One hot July day when we were working in the implement shed, sharpening the hay mower blades, he was teasing me about not knowing what I was doing, and impulsively I dumped a tin cup of water on his head. He jumped up and grabbed me, pinning me against him, and he reached down and started tickling my ribs. I've always been real ticklish, especially on the ribs, and I immediately began howling with laughter. Bill thought it was great to have discovered my "weakness", and he just kept it up, his strong fingers digging into my side.
I tried desperately to escape his hold on me, but he was too strong--and so I just laughed uncontrollably and finally begged Bill to stop tickling me and let me go. He asked me if I was going to be a "good boy", and of course I promised him I would be--anything to stop him tickling me. So he turned me loose, and then he teased me about being ticklish like some girl. I was embarrassed--but determined to get Bill back, somehow.
Grandma used to bring us our midday meal in an old-fashioned tin lunch pail, with a half-gallon jar of iced tea or lemonade, and we'd hungrily devour her delicious fried chicken or whatever she'd prepared for us. And then Bill would go off by himself to the big barn to take a half-hour snooze before we went back to work. He'd never say anything to me about going with him when he'd go take his daily nap, and so I would just play with the dog and mess around until he'd return at one o'clock sharp to go back to work with me. Anyway, for the next couple days after the tickling episode happened I racked my brain for an idea how to pay Bill back for that--and then it occurred to me that possibly I could manage to ambush Bill as he was napping in the barn.
So on Friday of that week, when Bill disappeared into the barn after we'd eaten lunch to take his nap, I waited about 10-15 minutes and then quietly crept into the barn to find him, hopefully asleep. I couldn't find him anywhere in the barn, and I finally realized he must be up in the big hay loft.
Very quietly I climbed up the wooden ladder into the loft, and looking around I saw Bill--sound asleep a few feet away, lying stretched out on some bales of straw. He was lightly snoring, so I knew he really was out cold. What really stopped me in my tracks, though, was that he'd removed his clodhoppers, which were sitting nearby side-by-side, and unbuttoned his work shirt, which was spread wide open, exposing his hairy torso and upper stomach. His long arms were thrown back behind his head so that his armpits were wide open and exposed. He was in a perfect position to be tickled, in other words, and I decided to go for it. My heart began hammaring like mad, but I crept towards Bill's sleeping form, picking up some loose bailing twine as I advanced toward him. I was scared brainless that he'd awake and turn the tables on me, but I was determined to get him if I could. Moving as quietly as possible, I got beside Bill's outstretched arms, and praying he wouldn't wake up, I very carefully looped bailing twine several times around his wrists.
To my enormous relief, he didn't wake up, not even when I snugged the loops around his wrists and then tied the twine between his wrists around the middle of the loops, leaving him in effect handcuffed. Moving swiftly, I tied the end of the twine to the twine under his wrists that encircled the 80-pound bale of hay. I just about had him where I wanted him! Being as quiet as possible, I took more of the loose bailing twine and went down to Bill's feet, looping his socked ankles the same way I'd looped and bound his wrists. He just continued softly snoring as I finished tying his ankles down. I sat facing the soles of his socked feet to look at them closely. They looked enormous to me, and I picked up one of his boots to see if I could see the size of them on the inside. Very faintly, I read "11 1/2W"! I was getting more excited by the second, and on impulse I leaned down and sniffed at the sweat-stained bottoms of Bill's socks.
To my surprised delight, his foot odor smelled very ripe, much stronger than mine ever smelled. And just then Bill made a snorting sound and woke up. It took him a moment to realize his predicament, but when he did, he looked right at me and growled: "What the hell is going on?" He pulled against his bonds sort of frantically a second, and then he yelled at me: "What the hell are you doing, Danny?" Inward I was quaking, but outwardly I put on a brazen show of amused confidence.
"It's pretty obvious, isn't it, Bill?" I said. "I'm paying you back for tickling me the other day."
"Oh, shit!" he said, and he began pulling with real effort against the bonds again. To my intense relief, they held though, and I began breathing again. He stopped struggling, and then he began to plead with me not to tickle him. I still recall with crystal clarity what he said. "Oh, Danny, you're not going to tickle me, aren you? Don't do it--please don't! I know I went sort of overboard the other day, and I'm sorry about that. We're buddies, aren't we? I know we are. And you don't wanna tickle your buddy, Danny."
"Oh, yeah? Why shouldn't I? You've got it coming, and we both know that," I replied.
"Yeah, I know I shouldn't have tickled you the way I did, and I'm sorry, Danny. But I'll tell you a secret, OK? I'm a big, strong guy, but I just can't stand to be tickled. Honest, I can't. It makes me crazy if anyone tickles me. That's my secret weakness, too, Danny. You can get me back some other way. I won't even resist. But, please, Danny boy, don't tickle me, OK?"
I felt so excited my head was spinning. I rose to my feet and approached Bill's outstretched arms. He called out: "Danny?" I sat across his arms, facing him. "Danny, don't!" he yelled, near panic showing in his eyes. I reached down, spread his work shirt open wider, exposing Bill's hairy armpits. The tufts of his armpit hair were damp with sweat. I moved closer to him and placed my knees on either side of his head, holding it in a vise-like lock between my thighs.
He was staring up at me, an expression of dread and terror on his face. "Oh, my god, Danny! Don't!" he cried out sharply as I positioned each of my hands just above an exposed armpit. I began tickling Bill, gently stroking his upper sides just below his armpits. His whole body stiffened, his back arched reflexively, and then laughter began to boil out of him. He screamed my name once more, then he was lost in a world of ticklish agony. As my fingers moved into his pits, his laughter became more shrill and faster in a stacatto rhythm.
He roared with uncontrollable peels of helpless laughter, and his whole body jerked like a marionette gone crazy. I probably should have been moved to feel merciful by Bill's near-hysterical reaction to the tickling, but instead I felt excited and even sexually aroused by it. I kept up tickling Bill's sweaty armpits for maybe three or four more minutes, and his laughter grew into hysterical shrieks. I noticed that his nipples had changed into fat, round, hard knots showing through all the mat of dark hair on his chest, and it suddenly struck me, unlikely as it seemed, that although the tickling sensation was nearly unbearable to him, that on some level he was also finding it erotic.
That surprised and confused me, and I ceased tickling Bill's armpits. He gasped for air, and I got off of his arms and stood beside him watching him closely. I let him rest and cool down for a few minutes as I tried to decide whether to tickle him some more or not.
As his breathing became less ragged, he focused his eyes on me and shook his head. "Oh, geez, Danny, you were driving me nuts there," he gasped out. "Shit, I can't believe how ticklish I am."
"You sure are," I agreed.
"You sure got me back--but good," Bill said, and I realized he thought his pay-back was over. Surprisingly, he didn't seem angry with me.
"I'm not though with you yet, Bill," I told him. "Now I'm going to see how ticklish you are on your feet. Are your feet ticklish, too?"
Instant alarm showed on his face. "Danny--no!" he cried out. "Don't tickle my feet. God, I can't stand to be tickled on the feet! We've got to get back to work."
"Well, you're going to be, Bill," I said, and I went and sat facing the bottoms of his socked feet.
"No, Danny! Please don't tickle me anymore--not on my feet!" Bill begged. Wanting his socks off, I reached out and began pulling his right sock off. When I made contact with his ankle, Bill's feet both jerked sharply. "No! Don't take my socks off!" he pleaded, but within a few seconds both his socks were off. The soles of his long, wide feet were just gorgeous to me--pinkish in color, except shading into a slightly yellowish color on the heels and balls of them.
His toes were fairly long and thick and curved a bit. But it was his soft-looking arches that really blew me away. They were crisscrossed with those crinkles that always did particularly bewitch me on a man's feet. Bill's big, soft, masculine feet were incredibly sexy to me, and I knew that I was definitely going to tickle them. I just had to.
I looked up at Bill's face, and he was looking straight back at me. "Okay, I know you're going to tickle my feet whether I want it or not," he said to me, "but I'm not going to laugh and put on a big show for you."
"Sure you will, Bill--you can't help it," I said, closing on his soles with both hands. "No!" Bill cried out, and then my fingers began wiggling and stroking his arches.
For a few seconds, Bill tried to defy me, and he began making a growling sound. Undaunted, I increased the speed and pressure of my fingers dancing on his arches, and he suddenly exploded in loud, shrill laughter again. Again, his whole body jerked and squirmed, and his feet wiggled convulsively as they sought escape from the torturous tickling of my fingers. His laughter became even louder and more shrill as my fingers attacked the balls of his feet and the base of his long toes, and Bill again descended into tickle hell, shrieking out uncontrollable peels of harsh laughter.
At one point, when his laughter rose an octave and increased in rhythm, I suddenly had an incredible orgasm and shot a big wad in my undershorts. Until the shuddery, exquisite feeling of that began to subside, my tickling of Bill's feet became desultory, but the laughter continued to boil out of him. I'd never known until I tickle tortured Bill that anyone could be so intensely sensitive to tickling. I kept tickling Bill's feet for several more minutes, and his laughter was becoming almost soundless. But I could see his Adam's apple vibrating in his throat, and I knew he was laughing hysterically and totally beyond control now. I began to worry that I was maybe taking him too far. I stopped tickle-torturing his twitching feet and went to sit across his thighs, and as I switched positions his mindless laughter just continued unabated.
As I lowered my weight on him, I discovered that Bill had a huge hard-on. I could feel it. I moved further back on his thighs to leave his cock free of the pressure of my weight. I leaned forward, placing my hands on his sides just below the ribcage, and then I began digging into him. Bill raised his head up and looked at me, emitting a fresh shriek of loud laughter, and he was off again, howling uncontrollably. I scrabbled my fingers up and down his sides, poking and wiggling them into his sensitive flesh, and his legs went tense so that he actually lifted me up an inch or two. I couldn't bring myself to stop, and I just kept tickling Bill's sides and ribs.
The volume and shrillness of his laughter rose an octive, and then suddenly he managed to find the breath to scream at me: "I'm gonna cum!" And then he exploded in an orgasmic convulsion of shudders and jerks that surprised me again by the sheer power and intensity of it. I stopped tickling Bill then and got up off of him, and he just went totally limp, his breathing ragged and hard. I pulled out my pock knife and cut his bonds, freeing him. There were very red marks on his wrists and ankles from the strong pressure of the twine, and that sort of scared me. So I chafed and massaged his wrists and then his ankles, trying to reduce the redness.
Bill just remained still, his eyes closed, recovering from the extreme experience he'd just been put through. Because his eyes stayed closed and he didn't say anything, I got really scared that perhaps I'd really hurt him. I sat down on the straw bale beside him and asked him: "Bill, are you all right? Are you okay?" His eyes opened immediately, and he looked up at me.
"I'm okay," he answered me, and he sat up. "Whew! What was that?" he asked. "I can't believe you made me cum by tickling me. I've never done that before."
I felt truly sickened by what I'd put him through, and I was so afraid he'd be really permanently pissed at me. So I apologized to Bill, as sincerely and humbly as I could. And I asked him if he hated me now. He turned and looked at me in silence for a moment. Then he told me that he wasn't pissed at me and he didn't hate me. He said I'd taken his pay-back a lot farther that he had suspected I would, but he admitted that he'd asked for it by tickling the hell out of me a couple days earlier.
Then he asked me straight out if I had cummed, too. He added that he thought maybe I had when I was tickling his feet. I told him that, yes, I did. He was right. Then he laughed and teased me that he guessed we both had "sticky drawers" then, and he said we needed to clean ourselves up and get back to work. I was happy that Bill seemed to hold no grudge again me for what I'd done to him, but it did amaze me. I told him so.
He just grimaced and told me he'd get me back, with interest--so I'd better watch my back. Now that threat began to worry me.
