Bill
the Ticklish Farmhand
by Ultimate
Tickler
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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.
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