Arthur Tickles My Feet! (My Sir’s New Torment Technique): A BDSM Explicit Erotica Story

I’d been really stressed about a midterm, but it ended up going really well. I was pretty sure I had aced it. When I got home, Arthur could see how excited I was, and he evidently decided to keep me excited. He tried something new, something we’d never done before. I had no idea just how ticklish I was, and it wasn’t long before I was begging him to stop tickling my soles and my toes! Of course, a big part of me didn’t want him to stop at all… Who could have imagined his fingertips could do that to me? Who could have imagined something as innocent as tickling would make me feel submissive and desperate all at once?

Warning: This ebook contains very explicit descriptions of sexual activity and includes tickling, BDSM, domination and submission and more. Only mature adults who won’t find that offensive should read this story.

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Then his hand darted out, and he did something that he had never done before. It wasn’t all that strange for him to do something new—he was constantly experimenting with ways to thrill me, ways to excite me, and ways to dominate me—but his fingertips suddenly moved over the sole of my foot, and I giggled uncontrollably. He laughed and held onto my ankle and moved to the other foot. It was such a weird and wriggly sensation, and the giggles coming out of my mouth were so damn natural. It felt like I was being dominated, like he was taking charge as he always would, but it was also such a pure and innocent thing.
He did it lightly at first, but, before long, he reached down and held my toes between his thumb and forefinger and moved his fingertips even more intensely over the sole of my foot, making me shriek and break down in loud laughter. As an involuntary response, my hands came up off the bed.
He immediately met my gaze and said, “Hands back on the bed.”
I was still laughing—and his fingers were still moving—as I obeyed. Just at the point where I thought I’d get used to the way that his fingertips fluttered over the sole of my foot, he grabbed my other foot. He held tightly to the toes, scritching and scratching along the underside, and I realized for the first time in my life just how ticklish I actually was. I laughed and writhed, and I disobeyed him about ten times in a row by lifting my hands up off the bed. I corrected myself quickly enough each time that he either didn’t notice or decided it was an acceptable attempt, unworthy of punishment.
Finally, he pulled his hands away. “I’m tired of having to hold you. You keep your foot in place.”
I giggled. “I don’t know if I can, Sir!”
He smiled. “Well, I’d love an excuse to punish you for not obeying.”
I felt a new thrill run through me. Punishments were always fun—at least, these kinds of punishments. I took a deep breath, and I said, “Yes, Sir.”
And then his fingers went crazy.