Mntickle20’s Foot And Tickling Blog!

If it worked, wonderful. If not, plausible deniability. Did I say don’t wear socks? No I’m pretty sure I said don’t get lost. A joke. You must have misheard.

There was no need for denials. Five minutes later and there he was, barefoot, the headphones still hanging around his neck. Jesus Christ. The image of him suited smartly with his gorgeous feet bare took your breath away.

‘Mitchell. Come in, make yourself comfortable.’ You said, closing the door and shutting the blinds. ‘You can prop your feet on the desk if you like.’ Still not convinced it was real; maybe he was just a very obedient little intern.

You sat in your chair as the lad laid his gorgeous soles on your desk, ankles crossed in front of you.

Your mouth gaped. No objections, no hesitation, no doubts. Just plain obedience.

Was it real? Truly? He’d do anything?

‘Slap yourself.’ The lad whacked himself across the face. You gasped.

’Masturbate.’ A hand instantly slid into his waistband and started fondling.

‘Stop!’ And the hand retracted.

Good god. This wasn’t some desperate-to-please little slut of an intern, this was mind control. Real, actual hypnosis. If what your friend said was true - and it seemed pretty damn true so far - the next two hours he would obey every command and have no memory of the events. You owed your friend a drink, or maybe a yacht.

‘Are you ticklish, Mitchell?’

‘Very, Mr Clark.’

Your boner practically made a boing sound as it inflated.

‘Come lie here and put your feet in my lap.’

The man obeyed.

You started running your fingers up and down his silky soft soles, and they were as sensitive as they looked. His desperate laughter was genuine; you gave no instruction to laugh. Or beg. You shivered with arousal.

‘PLEAHSE, Mr Clark! Stohohohop! AhHahaHhhHA! No!’

‘Do you hate being tickled?’

‘Yes, Mr Clark, it’s too much, I’m too fucking ticklish!’ The lad screamed. ‘God, not the toohohoes!’

You stifled an aroused moan at the lad’s glorious pathetic begging. His real desperation.