My Brother, The Tickle Freak



When I was about 5 years old, my older brother discovered that I have extremely ticklish feet. He used to jump across our bedroom, when we were supposed to be going to sleep. He'd sit on my ankles, untuck the covers and sheets, and tickle torture my bare feet. Not particularly subtle, he would just assault both of my feet in their entirety. It was pretty routine, but I came to look forward to these sessions.

He quit doing it when I was abut 10 years old. And, when he was about 20, he moved out of the house. When I was 25, and had moved back home because my mother had a house with a small cottage in back, there was a night when my brother was visiting. He had been drinking and was passed out on the couch when I came home late, after partying myself. I didn't think I woke him as I passed through the house to go to my cottage out back. In my room, I had turned on the light, and was sitting there, smoking some pot, when I heard a knock on the door. It was my brother, fairly drunk. He asked if he could come in and smoke some pot with me, since the deadbeat never had any of his own. As we sat there, I noticed he was staring at my feet. I was completely dressed, and I was wearing black, nylon dress socks, along with my moccasin slippers. I didn't say anything, but each time I passed him the joint, I had to break his concentrated gaze on my feet.

When we finished the joint, I said that it was time for bed, and suggested that he go sleep it off. He asked if I remembered him tickling my feet when we were young, and I told him yes. The booze and the marijuana had taken their toll on his inhibitions. He wanted to know if I would let him tickle my feet. I know I had a shocked expression on my face, but I said yes, and moved to lie down on my bed. He knelt at the foot of the bed, and removed my slippers, slowly, rubbing the edge across my soles as he removed them, causing me to giggle and flex my toes. He told me that my feet had grown up to be quite sexy, with long toes, sculptured ankles, and well-formed arches. He also liked my see-through, black dress socks. He didn't mess around. He grabbed my left foot, and proceeded to slow-tickle my heel, my sole, my arch, and then the underneath of my toes. He had a firm grip, and I couldn't get away. All I could do was twist my ankle and wiggle and flex my toes. This caused him to get into my toes. He tickled across them, down them, and he even was able to rub between my toes through my socks, and make me laugh hysterically. He changed feet and did the same thing. Pretty soon, he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and was holding both my ankles, and gently stoking both feet, heel to toe, at the same time. I was roaring with laughter, and begged him to quit. He did, but not for long.

Then he peeled off my socks. Now the torture really began. He was tickling both my feet at once, but now he could get in between my toes, which he tickled like an expert. When I would try to flex my toes, to keep his finger from getting underneath them, his drunken strength was enough to push my toes back, and tickle the most sensitive part of my feet. Again, he paused. He relaxed his grip, and started to slowly massage my toes, one at a time. It didn't tickle, but it sure felt good. I could feel my dick grow, and I was moaning and catching my breath. Next thing, he pushes my feet back, and sits cross-legged on the bed, facing me. Before I could move or anything, he had both my ankles in that grip again. I felt something across the sole of my right foot, and it was his tongue. My God! I almost jumped through the ceiling. He was licking my sole, literally bathing my foot with his tongue, licking up my soles and back down, and then back up to my toes, where he lingered, licking each one after the other, from my little toe to my big toe and each one in between. I was screaming with laughter, and had by now lost all strength to fight him. He changed feet, and did the same thing. Tongue-bathing my sole, and licking my toes. I was laughing and convulsing from his exquisite tongue work.

By this time, my feet were soggy wet from his saliva. Again, he stopped, and I felt his hand go up my crotch and settle on my dick. We looked at each other, as he started to stroke it through my pants. He wanted to know if I thought it was sick, that he was stoking my boner, and I said that probably it was, but that he didn't have to stop. He unbuckled my pants, unzipped me, and pulled them off. My dick was sticking above the elastic of my bikini underwear. He took them off, too, exposing my hard, oozing dick. He spread my legs apart, and started to massage my balls, and then he grabbed my feet so that they were in his face, and he started sucking my toes, one after the other. It kind of tickled and kind of didn't, but I was moaning and giggling and begging him to stroke me harder to make me come. He did that. Then, just before I was ready to shoot, he stopped sucking my toes and stroking my dick and was staring. at me. I begged him not leave me like that, all hard and ready to come. He spread my legs, and moved up the bed where he could wrap his lips around my hard, veiny cock. Well, I came almost immediately.

I woke up the next morning, naked and on the top of the bed. We never talked about it again, but I noticed that whenever my brother were together, whether alone or with the rest of the family, I've caught him staring at my feet, especially if I'm wearing sandals without socks.