* * * * * * * * * * * * * Here's part 2. Enjoy. Franz

I am indeed an experienced foot-man. In fact, I just returned from a business conference in the Southwest, where I spent two days in a hotel with a bunch of men and women discussing sales issues. One of the women, Leslie, is about forty-two, five-six, brunette, decent shape for her age, and she stayed in the room across from mine. At the conference, I spent much of the first day staring at her feet, since she wore tan stirrup pants, leather flats, and stockings. Her feet were in and out of her shoes the whole time. Sometimes she would pull a foot free and run it up the opposite leg, then wiggle her toes. She was driving me crazy without even knowing it.

A little later in the day, she pulled her left foot out of her shoe and tucked it under her right leg, so that I had a clear view of her nylon-covered sole, including her toes. I was in heaven. When she stretched, her whole foot strecthed as well. I wanted to give her a quick tickle, but couldn't. I think at some point she finally noticed me noticing her feet, and she started teasing me, touching her foot, wiggling her toes incessantly, kicking her shoes up under the table and sitting with her stocking feet up under the chair.

The first night, she was the only one heading for the pool, so I quickly changed and ran to join her. She looked halfway decent in a one-piece, and has very nice legs. I expressed "surprise" to run into her there. The rest of the place was deserted, so I thought maybe I'd have a chance to get closer to her feet without anyone else noticing. I swam around, but tried not to crowd her, only joked with her. After several minutes, she swam up to me, and as she did so, I set it up by going underwater a lot. When she pulled up to me, I told her she looked even nicer under the water than above it. She laughed and gave me a push, then she braced herself against the wall and kicked. I "accidentally" ran into her churning legs, and said "Hey, you're kicking me!" Then she did it again, laughing all the more. I got hold of her leg, and she didn't complain, so I gave her just a little tickle. She let out a yell, and giggled. Success! AND she was ticklish! She said, "Oh my God, you'll give me a heart attack doing that."

The next day at the meeting, she was in a business suit, black pumps, sheer black stockings. One of the first things she did after we started was slip her left foot free again and tuck it under her leg, giving me an even better view of hte bottom of her foot than the day before. A couple of times she almost caught me looking, and teased me some more by running her own fingernail along her sole, then wiggling and flexing. At the first break, mid-morning, everybody filed out of the room except her and me. She kept her shoe off, but threw ner left leg over her right, and bounced her leg up and down and wiggled her toes some more, letting them brush my leg. And today she had a surprise for me: she had painted her toenails a lovely pink. I made mention of it, and she placed her foot on my lap for examination. I took hold of her foot gently, turned it this way and that, then allowed my fingertips to lightly graze her sole. She gasped and smiled, letting me know it was having an effect but not taking her foot away. "Your skin is so soft," I remarked, running my hand over the top of her gorgeous foot.

"You're driving me crazy, you know that, don't you?" she said. "What do you mean?" I asked. "You're tickling me," she said, smiling. "What, just doing this?" I asked, doing it more. She was beginning to squirm just slightly, so I tickled the tops of her toes, and she gasped again, and pulled her foot away. "You're so wicked," she giggled. So I slipped a finger quickly over her sole, and she jumped.

Later, back in her room, it looked like things were happening. She sat on the bed, started slipping off one shoe, then stopped and asked, "If I take off my shoes, are you going to tickle my feet?"

"Only if I have the opportunity," I assured her. She took them off anyway, smiling. We made out a while, then started pulling on each other, here and there. She ended up on her stomach, and I stroked her legs, up and down her stockings. Then, when I couldn't resist any longer, I got a lock on her leg, and began tickling her stocking foot. She went absolutely wild! She laughed hysterically. I didn't keep it up for long, but it seemed to energize her. Later, after all the fireworks, she asked, "Well, what's next?" I told her, "I just HAVE to tickle your feet one more time." "Oh, no you don't!" she shrieked, but I dove under the sheets, and got hold of her ankles, and had my way with her bare feet.

Yes, Scott, I am interested in this subject because of my recent experiences. I'm still not sure why I have put up with a situation in which I am essentialy the victim of torture, and yet I have found this treatment to be strangely fascinating. My first such experience came when I was buried in the sand at the Indiana Dunes by two male friends. We were all seventeen at the time. I was buried from my chin to my ankles. Once we realized I was actually physically unable to free myself, and they thought it was great fun to leave me in this predicament, I asked them to at least keep me from getting sunburnt. They set up a towel with sticks as a canopy over my head, then rubbed suntan lotion all over my bare feet. Their fingers sliding around on my oily feet gave me quite the shivers, and when I told them to quit, they understood how sensitive my tootsies were and began tickle-torturing them. I was completely hysterical. On and off for the next half an hour, they tickled my feet. Sometimes they even told me it was coming, and brandished their wiggling fingers over my feet, while I begged them not to. A couple of other teenage girls even came along to observe, and one of them asked the guys if she could take a turn! They said sure, and this girl I didn't even know ran her fingernails over my feet!

In college, I was nineteen and at a drunken frat party. At one point, quite drunk, I let myself get talked into performing a strip tease. I was in a bare-midriff sweater-top, tight jeans, sheer black hose, and open-toed pumps. I kicked off my heels, then started trying to pull my jeans off, but I was so drunk, and then I started losing my nerve. A couple of the guys sat me down on a couch and tried helping me, but then I just told them forget it, "you'll have to just settle for my feet." Unfortunately, they took this seriously, and started tickling my feet. I think every guy in the room took a turn tickling my stocking feet. It was horrifying, and still it was incredibly exciting, being the object of this attention. I have since learned that guys love tickling girls feet, or sometimes just looking at them.

I have used this to my advantage many times. I was told in school that the guy in charge of giving out parking spaces near the library building liked girls' feet, so I painted my toes bright red and went in with flip-flops, and when I walked out I had a priority sticker to park in the front lot. On outings to watch the baseball games at school, my roommates and I would attract guys by laying on our stomachs on our picnic blanket, with our shoes off and our bare feet kicking up and down. If I wiggled my toes at a guy, I could keep him completely captivated. It was also interesting how many guys would strike up conversations just so they could get in a little closer and try and give us a tickle !

I was 22, and at a black-tie affair with an older boyfriend, who was trying to attract the attention of one of the VP's of his company. The guy seemed to cozy up to the lady friends of all the employees that he did bother to talk to. I noticed him giving special attention to the wife of one guy. She had on backless heels, with very sheer skin-tone stockings, as if she had none on at all. It seemed she was practically barefoot, and her toenails were painted bright, bright red. I watched him hit the next table, and as he circled, he zerod in on another woman who sat dangling her high heel off her toes. He sa obviously scoping out all the women's feet. So as he cirlced our table, I made sure to have both feet out of my shoes ( I wore black stockings and my toes were purple-painted). I crossed my legs at the ankles so they were easily visible under my chair. Sure enough, he stopped by, and made a point of asking my boyfriend to introduce me. Later, when the guy was standing a few feet away in conversation, I stood up, slipped one foot free, then placed that knee on my chair, so that the bottom of my foot was clearly visible. I looked over my shoulder and smiled innocently. A minute later he was over asking me to dance. "Oh, don't put your shoes on for me," he insisted, "this isn't SO formal an occasion." So I danced in my stocking feet with him.

When my boyfriend asked me about this later, I filled him in on the secret. At a company barbecue that summer, I accomodated him by wearing scanty sandals that really didn't cover much of anything. I made a point of wiggling my toes and flapping my shoes about on my feet whenever I sat down. Later, playing volleyball, I walked up to the big cheese, kicked off my sandals, and asked him to keep an eye on them for me "so I can play barefooted." Of course he ate it up. Toward the end of the evening, I knelt backwards in a chair while we sat around in a group. The bottoms of my bare feet were basically on display. In time, the big guy came along, said hello again, and eventually I felt that familiar tickling sensation along my bare soles. I let out a small shriek, and he was delighted that I was sufficiently ticklish on my feet for his tastes. "Ticklish tootsies?" he asked. "Yes, very," I giggled.

I've recently awakened to a whole new area of sexuality. I'm blonde, five-six, petite. I take classes at community college. Recently in class, I noticed a guy who sits one aisle over and a seat ahead, looking back over his shoulder or under his arm on my side. The first day I noticed this, I figured he was looking at my legs, since I was wearing shorts. His gaze seemed aimed toward the floor. But after a couple of days of this, I decided to cool him off by wearing grungy jeans. He still stared, and it was a little creepy, since I figured I wasn't giving him anything to look at.

It took me a couple of weeks to realize, he wasn't staring at my legs, but at my feet! Even when I wore clothes that covered my legs, he stared whenever I wore revealing shoes! I'm barefoot most of the time at home, and in class or at the library, I typically wiggle out of my shoes. In nice weather, most of my shoes are flip-flops, sandals, or thongs anyway. If I wear clogs or gym shoes, they're off the second I'm sitting down, and I never wear socks.

After this realization, I started teasing him. It's especially easy in clogs, with which I can hide my feet almost entirely, then slip them out, get his attention, then stick them back in. Once in a while, the girl in front of me, Tina, always in skirt and heels, slips her feet free. This really gets him going. If she starts wiggling her nylon-covered toes, he shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

Two weeks ago, Tina and I were studying on the library lawn, on a blanket. Naturally, we were shoeless. Her high heels and my Scholls sandals sat side by side on the grass. The guy, Brad, spotted us. Tina and I had been discussing his obsession with our feet. Tina sat with her legs crossed in front of her. I laid on my belly, with my knees bent, so that Brad had a clear view of the bottoms of my bare feet. He stood there talking about utter nonsense for maybe fifteen minutes, anything to prolong his view of our tootsies. We both kept wiggling our toes and flexing our feet, driving him craaaaazy. Even as he finally walked away, he kept looking back at us. Tina even lifted a leg to wiggle her toes good-bye.

Last week, I was sitting in the back of the library, my flip-flops off to the side, with one leg tucked underneath my butt. Brad snuck up from the side and just as I spotted him, he ran an index finger over my bare sole. I practically leapt out of my chair (my tootsies are terribly ticklish). He made smalltalk, mentioned he liked the color of my toenail polish, and asked me out. I told him I'd have to think about it.

I told all this to a male friend, Joey, and he thought it was a riot. I told him it was a little weird, having someone like my bare feet. He kidded me about it, and he told me he thought I had very nice feet. This made me feel embarrassed, and I tucked my feet up under my legs as i sat on the floor of his apartment. He reached down from the couch and grabbed my ankles, holding my legs in his lap. "You have very, very pretty feet," he told me, laughing, as he played with my bare toes. I began kicking and complaining because, as I mentioned, my feet are very sensitive to the touch. But he hung on, and began tickling the bottoms of my feet, driving me into hysterics. Now whenever we get together, he feels obligated to tickle my feet.

In answer to your query, YES, I am barefoot ninety-nine percent of the time. At home, at friends' houses, wherever I am, i am shoeless. At work, I only wear my shoes when somebody else is around who might expect me to be formal. At formal gatherings, once I'm seated, the shoes are off. If nobody objects, I will even dance only in my stockings.

Since my early teens, I've understood the allure of pretty feet on males. I've used my feet to my advantage many, many times. Several men, since I was thirteen, have asked to look at, take pictures of, hold, kiss, or tickle my feet. Four years ago, when I was 20, my feet appeared in a pedicure ad for a local spa, and last year, they were featured in a local cable TV commercial for a shoe store. You could only see me from the shins down, walking barefoot through fake grass, wiggling my painted toes at all the nice-looking shoes. A man in the park last summer gave me twenty dollars so he could take five pictures of my bare feet.

I keep my tootsies in perfect condition. They're a size six, perfectly soft and smooth, toenails always painted, and usually on display. For getting attention with them, my best tricks are: 1. naturally, dangling a high heel off my toes, 2. in nylons, slipping my feet in and out of my shoe, whether sitting or standing; stocking feet and painted toenails are a potent combination; 3. laying on my belly on a picnic blanket, knees bent up, so that my bare feet are visible from every angle. While toes and insteps are an eye-catcher, I've noticed that some men will go to great lengths to catch a glimpse of a bare SOLE.

When I've really wanted to melt a guy, i'll slip off a shoe, and complain that my feet hurt. Invariably they'll offer a foot rub. "Thanks," I tell them, "but my feet are just too ticklish for that." That idea drives a man crazy. In college, in exchange for some much-needed NON-SEXUAL favors, I let a friend torture my bare feet with a feather for twenty minutes. It was only on condition that he not use his fingertips. The feather drove me CRAZY, but it's not the same hysterical torture resulting from fingers on my feet. On those several occasions I've had my feet tickled against my will, and those few occasions I've consented to it for a price or encouraged it to get a guy, I've found myself close to fatal hysterics. My feet truly are too ticklish, probably because I keep them so soft.

When I was sixteen, I was at the library with a cute guy I really liked, and it was sort of our first date (real exciting, huh?), and once we were sitting in some stalls in the back, I slipped my bare foot out of my flat, and hooked my pink-tipped toes on his chair. He eventually got up the courage to lightly drag a pencil eraser over the tops of my toes. I giggled at him, because it tickled, but I didn't pull it back. Then he dragged it across the top of my foot, to my ankle, then down my instep. It was driving me crazy, but my muffled giggling just egged him on. That, and the fact that I wasn't pulling away. Finally I had my foot in his lap, and he was smart enough not to outright tickle me, but he let his fingertips dance around my bare sole, driving me WILD. "Oh, GOD, that tickles," I admitted. He loved it, and he was mine.

Steve P.,

Yes, I am VERY interested in this subject. Unfortunately, or fortunately, my boyfriend and I have been tickle-torturing each other for months now. I'm rather petite, and very ticklish all over. He's taken advantage of this for a long time. Sometimes he would look me in the eye when we were alone, and simply announce, "I am now going to tickle you, and there's nothing you can do about it." And then he would. He tickles me under the arms, down my sides, on my tummy, and usually my feet. Once he rolled me up in a rug, then tortured my bare feet with a feather. This didn't send me into hysterics, but it was a really intense, torturous feeling, especially ewhen he drew it between my toes. Another time he let three buddies of his tickle me to bits. And another time he held me down from behind while his two young nieces tickled my soles.

There's especially something about my feet that drives him to tickle me. They are a size five, and I keep them looking very nice, and my toenails are always painted anything from light pink to deep purple. When he sees me barefoot, he just has to tickle them. At formal occasions, the sight of my stocking foot slipping out of a high heel drives him wild. It's always fun to tease him with my feet when we're out with other people, cuz he can't do anything about it. At a picnic last week, there was a volleyball game going on, and I said I just had to get in it, so I pulled off my sandals and handed them to him, and played barefoot. After wards, he didn't want to give me my shoes back. He loves to see me walk around in bare feet in public.

Last summer, he lost a bet with me regarding the basketball playoffs. He agreed to be handcuffed to a chair, but that really didn't give me much to work with. He also agreed to be blindfolded. So while he was blinded, I came up from behind and belted his chest to the back of the chair. Then I quickly slipped a strip of packing tape around his shin and the chair leg. WHile he struggled against the tape, I was able to slip a piece of clothesline around his shin, and secure it. Then I struggled to lower him onto his back. He wasn't about o let me secure his other leg, but once he was on his back, I was able to sit on his leg, sort of pinning it to the chair, and I taped that one too. Then I tied it down.

I pushed up the legs of his sweats, and rolled off his socks. "I want to see how ticklish your tootsies are," I warned him. My fingernails on his bare soles got his attention, but not as much as I'd wanted. I actually got more of a rise out of him attacking the tops and insteps. So I got out a bottle of baby oil, and rubbed it all over his feet, then used only the lightest possible touch on his feet. He fought it, but finally he burst out laughing. Once I'd broken him, I casually had my way tickling him.

It took me months, but I finally convinced him to let me tie him up again, only on the condition I not tickle him. Of course I agreed to it, and of course I lied, and this time, tied to the bed with his arms over his head, I tickled his underams and his ribs, and I had him CRYING for mercy. THen I attacked his feet. Unfortunately, I was out of baby oil, but I had the next best thing: nylon knee-highs. I slipped a pair over his bare feet, and showed him how much more ticklish your feet are in nylons.

The only other time I've had the opportunity to tickle him was at the beach, when my girlfriend and I buried him in the sand. After we'd piled enough wet sand on top of him, we dug out his feet, dripped suntan lotion all over them, and we each took a foot. His hysterical laughing attracted the attention of a couple of teenage girls, and we invited them to take a turn tickling him.