For Alice, my baby, the love of my life —
I suppose I should introduce myself. What do I say? Do you want to know what I look like?
Well, I've always been quite fit – about five foot seven, a bit below average weight, mid-length red hair, blue eyes, rather small hips. Hard and slim, in other words.
My character?
I suppose I'm a typical suburbanite. I try to be reasonably prim and proper. I like to come across as an ordinary, trustworthy sort of person — at least, on the outside... Oh, and I like to dress as a woman. Feminine. I like fine, pretty underwear. I like to take care of my appearance. It pleases me.
And I'd better say it before we go any further. I'm Lesbian.
Yes, I've had affairs with boys. I know what happens. But Antoinette taught me what I really want.
So now you know.
The youngest of five daughters, I was born in the early sixties. My father died when I was very young, and my mother when I was only ten. So it was to be Sophie, my eldest sister, 17 years older than I, who took mother's place. I think she and I had always been closest – strange really, because of the disparity of age – but in any case, the other three disappeared into marriage soon after my mother died, and we lost touch. And as time went on, Sophie and I became closer and closer still. I was still exploring my identity: at sixteen, I'd lost my virginity to a boyfriend. But Sophie and I became more and more intimate, and by my eighteenth year we were lovers.
We used to play little games together; and the one that was to shape my future life the most, I think, was that she loved to tickle me. I was always the most ticklish of the family. Even Mother tickled me often, and so did all my elder sisters. But Sophie and I, we would tease one another for hours on end, knowing how it would all end – with her tickling me. Yes, in many ways I think Sophie made me what I am, and I know I modelled myself on her, even following her into beauty therapy as a career.
Life had been unkind enough to me already, and though I had little reason to hope for better, nothing could have prepared me for the terrible surprise that fate was yet to spring. It was my twenty-second birthday, and Sophie and I were planning a special weekend of celebration. I waited and waited for her to get home, and then the news reached me that she had been killed in a traffic accident. A poisoned chalice indeed; and at that age, I could only drink deep draughts of misery. Suddenly alone in the world, I sank into months of depression – blank despair, even attempting suicide.
It was Antoinette, the owner of the beauty salon where Sophie had worked, who took me under her wing, took me out of myself and reawakened my zest for living once again.
We got on well together, she and I, right from the start. Soon we were the best of friends – and closer by the day.
At this distance, I just remember a few little things about her: always she wore open-toed shoes or sandals, and always beige tights or stockings. Her feet were smaller than mine, and I thought them exceptionally beautiful. She herself was a superb pedicurist, but I was to discover that there was a strange, almost ungovernable passion underlying that particular expertise of hers...
But it was something rather less exotic that first awakened us to the similarity of our desires. You see, we often held one another by the waist, just being friendly. But one day – I don't know what had got into her [je ne sais quelle mouche l'a piquée], but she slid her fingers over my ribs and hips in such a way that I jumped and screamed. She certainly didn't fail to notice my surprising sensitivity; but she herself was sensitive enough to realize that my subsequent distress must have something to do with my relationship with my dear lost sister Sophie.
That evening, she invited me to supper with her, and in the course of it we talked a good deal. To cut a long story short, she revealed that she, too, had become my sister's lover, a few months before her death. We started talking about Sophie's passion for tickling; and so it was that I began to discover why my sister had begun to make a particular point of attacking my feet. Antoinette showed me her shoe collection, talking the whole time about how beautiful women's feet are, and how peculiarly fascinating certain types of shoes and sandals could be.
But then I fell into her arms, sobbing like a little girl, overcome by the pain of those raw and recent memories; and so it was that we spent the night together. In truth, I was too upset that night to be able now to recall exactly what happened between us; but I know that when I left the next morning, I was cured of all my depression, and quite assured that my feet in particular were acceptable, even by my new girlfriend's very exacting standards — and extremely sensitive, as I'm sure you can imagine.
And so I spent a delightful few years with Antoinette. Despite what I might have expected of a fifty-year-old, she was full of sexual imagination, and always ready to disport herself with partners of either sex. We had some lovely gentle sessions with other women, but she was an incurable dominatrix, always looking for newly perverse ways to excite me, until one day she tied me into a treatment chair – as she had done several times before, after the "CLOSED" sign had been put up – and brought two men in to lick my feet, and all over my body, until it turned into a complete orgy...
Three years later, I left Antoinette's salon for the south-west, searching for a calmer, more independent, more orderly life. It was a sorrow parting from her, but she had given me some delicious memories; and if I had inherited a delight in tickling from Sophie, she had certainly accentuated my predilection for pretty shoes... and for feet... and stockings...
For many months, I led a normal life, deliberately confining myself to normal women's interests; but under the surface, I burned more and more to find someone who would share my secret desires.
And then, not two years later, I had the good fortune to be chosen to succeed my former boss as manager of the salon where I was working. Not long after – at the beginning of '93 – I was told we were to have a trainee, a girl by the name of Alice.
O Alice – what were you like back then, when I first set eyes on you?
Not yet twenty, you were wearing a pleated black skirt, a frilly white blouse, grey tights, black low-heeled shoes. You were petite, little over five foot, light as a feather, a bit of breast — I thought you were sixteen. And your eyes were so beautifully shy! With your headband, I thought you were an innocent little doll. But what a lovely firm, round little bottom! I couldn't take my eyes off you, when you came to ask if you could do your work experience in my salon.
Really, I can't remember much of our first conversation. And why? This lovely young thing couldn't stop slipping her shoes on and off, on and off, all the time as we talked. I, who was so absurdly conscious of doing the same thing myself, had found someone who, in all innocence, was even worse than I.
Alice had little family left: like me, she had been left to herself very young, and had at once embarked upon a beautician's career – with shining honours at every step. She was born at the beginning of '73, but her life (as in my case, it had not been over-kind to her) had left her exceptionally mature, despite her very naive and girlish demeanour.
Her taste in dress was always simple, always very correct; but with her physique, she could not help looking a baby-doll. Rarely did she wear high heels – more usually they were flat pumps or sandals.
I should say, however, that during her period with us I had her wear medical sandals which I purloined from another employee who took the same size. It delighted me to see her wear them, she who was not accustomed to them, and I have to add that nowadays she wears nothing else.
One thing happened during our first week which at the time I found extremely arousing, although in fact it did not bode well for the future. On the first Saturday evening, we were tidying the salon after a busy week, preparing for the week to come. Alice was up on some rather high steps, and I was handing her towels to put up on the shelf, when Chantal came up to her and tickled her armpits as she was reaching up. Alice screamed and dropped the towels. It was obvious that she had not appreciated this little attack.
Still, after a fortnight together, she had shown herself to be hard-working, sensible, sweet and attentive to the customers. On a professional level, she had impressed me, and that made me still more interested in her. And she was truly innocent: she blushed so easily; she was docile and submissive, but yet with a subtle rebellious streak which only added to her charm; and I could not take my eyes off her lovely little feet!
They were so fine, so slender, her nails like those of a young girl, no hard skin, high arches, scarcely any wrinkles, and her toes in a graceful curve like mine — and even more ticklish, as I was soon to discover.
In short, I was wanting her more and more. Everything about her attracted me and fanned my desire, and then there was her little, sharp laugh...
On her last Friday, she asked if she could have the afternoon to write up her report. I gave her my desk to work at it. What was she wearing? Flesh-coloured tights, a skirt and blouse, a nicely-tailored jacket which she had put over the back of the chair, and little black velvet low-heeled shoes. I went to look in on her from time to time, and spent a fair amount of time, while she was preoccupied, marvelling at her little feet, whose loveliness was having such an effect on me by this time that I could not help moaning. I don't think she noticed.
At length I closed up the shop and, once we were alone together, I went in and joined her in my office. She was working on the computer, and I sat down at my desk to tally up the week's takings — or at least to make an attempt at it, for I just couldn't take my eyes off her feet. I watched her slip her shoes on and off, on and off, so naturally... and the swishing of her tights just made me tremble.
I began to feel the force of my conflicting feelings: I couldn't forget that scene the previous Saturday when Chantal had exposed Alice's unusual ticklishness; on the one hand, her very negative reaction; on the other, her natural, innocent – but oh! so provocative – play with her bare feet.
I was going mad. I had to do something, I just had to. Besides, I had nothing to lose, that was for sure. It was time for action, and heaven help me! So, still sitting at my desk, my imagination tormented by increasingly sly fantasies, I slipped off my shoes and swished my stockinged feet on the carpet – which in my state, aroused a kind of visceral excitement that I felt high in my abdomen.
Still preoccupied with her report, my little Alice didn't react at all. So I got up and knelt behind her chair. I was on the threshold, at once so excited that I'm sure I was wet, and terrified at her reaction if she found me there. I trembled, afraid that she would hear my heart racing out of control. I had only to reach out and touch her feet...
I don't know how long I stayed there like that; but then she slipped both her shoes off, and put her bare feet on either side of the central column of the chair, her toes resting on the ground. In that position, under the fine, taut material of her tights, the curve of her soles, with their little hollows, was deliciously sensual.
I leant forwards, drawn to them, holding out my hands to those forbidden fruits, almost touching them before I checked myself: my cunning prompted me instead to take her shoes. Swiftly I spirited them away. They were my prizes, and I caressed them as if it were her very feet that I was stroking.
Alice gave me a start when she began to move her feet, doubtless seeking to slip her shoes back on. Her toes were exploring the floor where her shoes ought to have been. And in a second, more by instinct than by calculation, I dropped those shoes behind me and put my hands on the floor where they had been, right under her feet, which I then took hold of gently while they were still suspended in the air. She let out a little cry of surprise and jumped, almost falling over backwards, and in a moment of confusion the chair span round a half-turn so that she was facing me.
We looked quizzically at one another. She was scarlet, blushing as if she were guilty – very much as I was. After she had spun round, her feet had come to rest on my knees, and after a few moments in a kind of stupor, I came to my senses and, as if by instinct, my hands gently closed around her slender ankles. Shuddering once more, her eyes downcast as if in fear, she tried to draw them away, but my grasp was firm and I held her feet flat on my thighs. Still neither of us spoke; her expression now was one of astonishment blended with disquiet, but in my hands I felt her relax a little. Without letting her go, my fingers began to caress her ankles, and then, when I felt that she was not trying to pull them away, the tops of her feet. Our eyes met once more, hers registering nothing but astonishment; and having recovered my sang-froid, I answered her with the tenderest smile that I could muster.
And then at once I broke the silence: still holding her gaze, I began to make my confession, pleading in mitigation that I had noticed her exhibitionistic habits (that made her blush even more!) and that if I had a weakness for pretty feet, hers had completely dazzled me.
As I spoke, my hands were gently massaging and caressing her feet with the greatest tenderness. I was carefully watching her reactions. I had noticed certain little shudders and movements which told me how extremely sensitive she was. I could see that she was both intrigued and a little anxious, but I felt no more resistance in her legs. She was beginning to surrender to me...
Without letting her go, and still prattling, I continued my delicate touches, resisting the more extreme impulses that kept nagging me. I had certainly piqued her curiosity: she seemed more and more interested, even fascinated, by what I was telling her. Sometimes she looked down at my hands on her feet, her fears gradually giving way to the strange sensations that she was discovering down there...
And so I began to tell her about my life, much as I have outlined it above. Her innocence was touching – she did nothing to hide her reactions as I made my revelations: sorrow at learning that I had lost both my parents (her own father had died, and she had lost contact with her mother); slight shock to hear that I discovered my Lesbianism in my sister's bed; fascination at my account of our tickling sessions. For over an hour she didn't say a word, and by the end I still wasn't sure what she was really thinking. I could see little signs of interest and curiosity, but I knew there was something deeper, something that so affected me that I had stopped playing with her feet. They were still planted on my thighs, my hands just resting on top.
So we just stayed like that, smiling, looking into one another's eyes, minutes passing in a kind of religious silence. And then, to my surprise, it was she who broke our silence: "I think I understand what you have been telling me... I've not had the experience of being tickled as you have, but when you touch my feet it does something to me... In fact it feels amazingly nice... But is that what it's like to be tickled?" — she said it timidly, in a subdued voice, but those were more or less her exact words. I am sure you will be able to imagine what joy her words detonated in me. I had to think carefully: I couldn't just leave matters as they stood. And then I saw a way forward.
Still attentive, extremely gently I put her shoes back on and stood. She stood with me, and I took her in my arms. "Thank you, Alice!" There we stood, face to face, our eyes not leaving one another, just smiling; but I had to react quickly if I were to keep up the momentum. So I invited her to come home to dinner. I had no alternative, but of course I hoped with all my heart that that dinner would be the start of a deeper intimacy, just as my first dinner with Antoinette had been; and naturally I hoped that it would be a lasting intimacy. Don't they say that life is full of new beginnings? Well, to my delight, she accepted and so we set off for my apartment. The die was cast: befall what may!
We chatted of this and that all the way to my apartment. I could tell that we were kindred spirits. In the kitchen, we were quite informal, we just threw a meal together [nous avons fait cuisine papillon].
And then, afterwards, we lounged on the rug in the sitting-room — I'd set the lighting low and put on a little classical music to give a cozy atmosphere. Comfortable silences alternated with idle chatter; but gradually our talk began to touch on our more intimate, private lives. We started exchanging little confidences; and gradually we came round once more to the subject of tickling, of feet, of my passionate predilection...
It was already very late. We'd had a few glasses of wine by that time, and there we were, just stretched out on the cushions. And we couldn't take our eyes off one another. Something was happening between us... Long after, Alice confessed that then, and for that matter, earlier at the salon, she was becoming more and more bewitched, and that was why what followed seemed so natural...
Our fingers touched, timidly at first; then I took her hands in mine. Of course, we had slipped our shoes off earlier, and now, after containing myself for so long, my feet began to search out Alice's. To my surprise, she didn't move her feet away, not for a moment; and so, gradually, our foot-play became more and more methodical...
There was the soft swishing of nylon as our feet rubbed one another, but I was still rather apprehensive about tickling her, afraid of what her reaction might be; so I was careful to keep my feet over hers, so that my toenails wouldn't excite her delicate soles. However, this left me in a deliciously difficult situation, because every time we moved it was her toenails titillating my soles, and I couldn't help but react.
Of course she began to notice my shivers, my little moans, and soon enough she must have realized what she was doing to provoke them; and soon enough, the little minx was deliberately wiggling her toes against the soles of my feet. Once I realized that she was teasing and goading me, I began to attack her in turn. Being more experienced, I soon had the advantage, and so began to discover just how delightfully – and exceptionally – sensitive she was.
I suppose it was the warmth, and a bit of alcohol, but Alice became so totally aroused that she committed a little strategic error, which was to put the seal on the complicity which had been born between us during the course of the evening. After one of my attacks – I had captured her legs between my own and given her a proper underarm tickle – she got up on to her knees to break out of my grip. While I was still sprawled on the floor, she threw herself face-down on my legs in order to tickle my feet directly. Momentarily surprised, I felt her little fingernails scampering over my soles, which made me squirm wildly.
Unfortunately for her, however, this position placed her own darling little feet, which I had been so lusting after these past two weeks, within my reach. Her own over-aggressive and uncoordinated tickles didn't have too much effect on me, and once I could master my reactions I got a good hold of her feet. As soon as she realized what had happened, she stopped her attack.
"A fatal mistake, my darling!" I said with a mocking smile, watching her dawning realization of the hopelessness of her situation. I had no difficulty in turning her over, meanwhile scrabbling at one of her feet to prevent her getting her balance. Being too inexperienced to get a proper grip, she soon found herself face-down, flat on the floor, with me sitting astride her thighs, my own squeezing them tight together.
She let out little squeals and tried to wriggle out of it, helplessly kicking back and forth, her feet sweetly outstretched. I seized one of her ankles and drawing it to me, I contemplated this foot that I'd never held so close before. I was in heaven. To relax her, I began to caress it, and soon she brought her other foot alongside, so I caressed them both together... Little by little, I began to use a little more pressure. She began to jerk her feet away, and her toes became more agitated, but she kept bringing them back to my hands for more. And so I continued my naughty touching without using too much force. I felt her occasionally shuddering and squirming between my thighs, sometimes letting out little moans or gurgles, occasionally stroking my own feet with her fingertips... We passed the night like that, in tender collusion, exchanging caresses and little delicate tickles, until the first light of dawn came into the sky...
The Saturday was extremely busy: we just exchanged complicit glances and secretive smiles. But what would happen that evening? Alice's work placement was at an end and she would be leaving — that thought alone filled me with anxiety and sorrow. At length, it was closing-time, and Nicole and Chantal left in a hurry, leaving us alone together once more. Alice was getting her things together, but it was clear that she was drawing the process out as long as she could. And then at last we were together in my office, just as we had been the previous evening. We just looked at one another in silence, and then without a word we were in one another's arms, our lips touching, relaxing into a long, languorous kiss, our fingers intertwined. What was it that had come over us, swift as a thunderbolt? Yet despite everything, after a sleepless night and a hard day, we were both overcome with fatigue; and so we parted with a simple "Au revoir", and Alice's promise that she would keep in touch...
A week passed, Saturday night came round again, and I was shutting up the salon; for the whole week I could think of nothing but her... There I was, writing up the week's takings, and I kept looking at the telephone. I was troubled, upset – I couldn't control my thoughts... I was just about to leave when the telephone began to ring. The answering-machine clicked on: I watched the little flashing light as it gave its announcement, heard the little beep... but then, nothing... seconds passed... silence... and then, a timid, thin voice: "Hello? It's Alice..." Leaping to the 'phone, my heart trying to jump out of my chest, I wept like a child, such was my joy at hearing her voice. She was keeping her promise. She would come to the office, knowing that everyone else would be gone for the week-end.
I don't remember how long I waited, but it seemed an eternity. I was mad with expectation, like a little girl at Christmas. I stood by the door, watching for her, until at length I saw her park and get out of her car. She had a little packet in her hand. Within moments, we were cloistered together in my office, behind locked doors, and already we were in one another's arms, our lips kissing ravenously, as if we had been rooted to the spot for an entire week. We didn't say anything, we just kissed, smiled, caressed — long minutes passed. And then, with a mischievous smile whose reason I couldn't yet fathom, she handed me her little parcel. I began to open it, and discovered inside a beautiful pair of glossy black open-toed sandals. I slipped them on and took a few steps. I was very touched — and they looked really sexy.
We began to chat about the events of the past week; our mood lightened, and I decided to take her to a nice little restaurant I knew, one with a cozy atmosphere. We had been chatting of this and that, but once we were at table we became a little more unruly and our feet started playing their games. With impressive dexterity, Alice managed to flip off one of my sandals with her feet; we were playing surreptitious games like a pair of naughty children. And then, that night, we went back to my place and passed another night together, with not much sleeping and a good deal of messing about...
And so we became creatures of habit, meeting up almost every Saturday evening, spending nights indulging in our unusual delights... Our tickling games became more and more intense, and my little doll became extremely gentle and skilled, far from those first rough tickles... I'm not sure quite how it happened, but at some stage our complicit passion took a new twist, adding a more exotic colour to our games: bondage. Perhaps it was about six weeks since we'd started, and I remember that that night we went again to that little restaurant. For fun, we had both donned similar outfits: hair down, grey tailored suits with salmon-pink blouses, fine lingerie, old-fashioned black stockings, and black glossy shoes...
We were given the same table as the first time, and hardly had we seated ourselves than our games began underneath the table, our shoes quickly cast off in order to intensify the sensual pleasure of our games. Carefully, after the apéritif I think it was, I managed to drag Alice's shoes over to my side so that she couldn't get at them. Smiling at her discomfiture, I reminded her how she herself had removed my shoes on our first visit there. In an undertone, she begged me to return them, but the only answer I gave her was with my toes – going rather far, getting ever more intense. So, resigned to my little game, she started doing the same to me, very agile with her toes, working her way higher and higher, until she was almost up to my knees. I did nothing to stop her now...
Goading her, I dared her to go up above my knee, and after a few little contortions she did so. I was moving my hand slowly down to reach her foot, but as soon as she saw the look on my face she must have realized that I'd set a trap for her, and I only managed to brush my fingers against her before the little minx jerked her foot briskly away. Stifling our laughter, we exchanged conspiratorial glances... But she would lose nothing by waiting.
For dessert, we ordered coupes glacées, and when they were served, I told her to close her eyes. When she had done so, I arranged a pair of handcuffs around the foot of her glass. When she opened her eyes, she seemed very surprised, but gave me a knowing smile; definitely our secret understanding was developing beyond my wildest dreams. At last I gave her back her shoes, and we went out to the car...
I started the engine, but before moving off I asked her to turn and put her hands behind her back, so that I could put on her handcuffs. She pretended to be in a huff then, as I pushed her back into her seat and put on her seat-belt. I left her in that uncomfortable position and drove out to an isolated farm-track. It amused me to see her so uneasy: I hadn't seen that slightly anxious look since our first hours together, and her childish sulking made me smile. I undid her seat-belt, opened her jacket and unpicked her blouse, opening it to reveal her lovely flat belly...
Despite her continual grumbling, I began to move my fingertips over her silky skin, just the very very tips, lightly: she went rigid at once, let out a little gurgle, and began to twist about like a worm... I continued to torment her delicately, my hands occasionally wandering to her ribs, her armpits or her lower belly, right down to the hem of her suspender-belt.
Her breasts proclaimed how much she was enjoying my attentions. I decided to fold back the satin of her bra, thus making her breasts jut out all the more, and freeing those lovely little points, hard and prominent amid their little brown areolae. And so for the first time my fingers dallied on the skin of her wonderful breasts, and her gurglings became sensual groans... And so we began to explore one another more intimately, more sensually... Thus it came about that my idée fixe became reality: I had met a soul-sister, and that night was our first night of love, more sensual than before. It was strange that those games of constraint actually opened the door to love.
Since then, we've played our games in various dimly-lit restaurants. I think it is the fear of creating a disturbance that makes the situation so exciting; but we are always careful to be very gentle, for fear that too intense a tickle might cause a catastrophic wayward movement...
Another place we love to play together is the beauty salon – sometimes in the office, sometimes in one of the treatment rooms. In the office, we like to remember our first time, but also to take advantage of one another under the desk, or tied to a chair. But in the treatment rooms, our games become more of a torture-session, with one of us tied to a table or a treatment chair, shivering in the confident expectation of gentle, persistent, infinitely delectable torment.
More obviously. we play these games at my place and hers – on a bed, the floor, a chair or armchair; but always we like to wear nice clothes, or pretty lingerie – nakedness is so crude. We love to set one another little tests, or play betting games — you can think up all sorts of games which become even more fun when they offer the opportunity for tickles.
Well, that's all we wish to reveal of our rather unusual intimacy. I don't know if our story comes across as particularly romantic; but it isn't always easy to express in words our strongest emotions, our most intense memories...