reztkl

[reztkl]

http://www.zentickling.com

Amy returns to Zen Tickling!

[reztkl]

Hey I forgot it’s Tickle Tuesday! Here’s a cute teasy gif 🥰 @reztkl has the most tickly fingers ever 🫠

[reztkl]

Yall thought I was playing when I said I was severely feather ticklish on my feet 🫠 @reztkl awakened this new hellish sensation in me

[reztkl]

What does CNC mean?

Consensual non-consent

[reztkl]

The Great @reztkl and Lux Tickle Session

So let me tell you about yesterday. Now that I’ve recovered and can think straight again, I’m going to elaborate on the tickle hell I have been through 🫠

It started off with the stocks. I had never been in stocks before but I knew my feet weren’t extremely ticklish, so I wasn’t too scared. As my toes got fastened in place, I got a liiiiiiiittle nervous, but knew I could handle it all the same. The anticipation was killer. I had done a foot mask the night before, could that have made them more sensitive? Well I got my answer shortly after. The second the first tool touched my foot, I jolted. I wasn’t prepared for how sensitive my feet were now that they were bound and immobile. I felt the tool go up and down my soles slowly, driving me crazy. I tried not to move but I couldn’t help it. Every time I felt whatever it was that was tickling me, I giggled uncontrollably and jerked around. I was super embarrassed when I realized that it was just a soft feather

Tool after tool was used on my poor sensitive feet, each worse than the last one. I think I officially lost my battle when the tickling claws were used on both feet at the same time. “Which one tickles more?” he asked. I wasn’t about to tell him because I knew he would focus on that one spot if I did. Little did I know he was asking because two different types of claws were being used. Tools that don’t usually tickle were torturous. I think the scalp scrubber was what did me in 🙃. After what seemed like an eternity (but in reality was probably about 10-15 minutes), the tickling ceased and I was given a short break before the real fun began.

The table was an experience I will never forget. It is so burned into my brain that I cannot get it out to save my life. I want to name it The Lee Breaker because that’s what its purpose was for me that evening.

I’ve never been that restrained in my life 🫠. Ribs exposed, arms stretched to reveal my defenseless armpits, and at the mercy of a truly sadistic tickler. He asked if I was ready, and the fun began. He started off light, tickling my legs to which I became a little bratty. “I’m just not going to laugh and give you the satisfaction” I said. That’s when I felt a jolt of electricity go through my body as he grabbed my hips and tickled hard. I erupted with laughs. I had lost that one pretty damn quick. Soon the tickling fingers creeped up my body to my ribs and sides, where I completely lost my battle. I thrashed hard against my restraints but it was no use. I was completely defenseless. And extremely ticklish. I remember my brain basically turned off and I started laughing super hard. And my “no stop please!” through erupting laughs did not deter his torment. Finally the tickling stopped and as I caught my breath, I realized what was inevitably next. The fingers slooooooowly moved down my arms toward the danger zone that is my armpits. I started jerking violently like I was on fire, saying “ no no no no no no not there” as the fingers closed in. Then they teased for a second and went elsewhere. This continued for a little bit until I let my guard down and as soon as I did, it was like someone attached jumper cables to me. As soon as my armpits were attacked I started screaming and jolting. Trying to find ways to get the torture to stop, from begging and pleading to trying to bite his hands. Nothing helped and I was a helpless mess. The torture continued for what seemed like hours, but I refused to safeword. But I did break. Hard. I didn’t stop screaming the whole rest of the time I was on the table. Reading through my Tumblr posts, he did every bratty or tickle baiting post I had put as of recent. I had dug my own grave 🫠. When he finally let up, I guesstimated it was about 40 minutes. He finally let me go and gave me a break. That break consisted of sitting on my ankles and tickling my feet that were hanging off the bed and then switching to tickling my back, ribs, and sides. I laughed and shrieked but he kept on going.

Next up was the table again, but face down. This part wasn’t so bad, not as bad as face up because my ribs weren’t as exposed. My back and sides and ribs took a lot, but I was sure I could hold out. That is, until the pursonic came out. He tickled my ears with it for a few seconds to which I screamed out my signature safeword “Oklahoma”. He was victorious, and he got it on film too 🫠. I was completely defeated. Another short break happened and then it was back on the table face down with nylons on.

So for this part, @poetryorprosesposts decided to join in. He’s not a ler per se, well, not on here. But he did a really good job for a first timer. I was not prepared for what was about to happen. “So…this tumblr post says “I’ll never safeword with feet tickles. And if I do, I will come on here with a video saying ‘I like to be tickled’. Well, we are going to make that happen”. I knew I was cooked. Claws, fingers, oil, pursonics, and I’m sure other tools were used on my feet as I screamed for dear life. I was so close to breaking, then it let up. I knew they had finally given up. Or so I thought. I felt the nylons rip, exposing my tender soles. What happened next turned my brain basically into TV static. As soon as I felt the grooming gloves, I convulsed and wanted desperately to crawl out of my own skin. I screamed so much I’m sure if anyone had heard me they would have thought I was being burned alive. After a while though, they finally gave up. But they moved to my upper body where I knew I would be done 🫠. It did not take long. As one person was ticking my sides and ribs relentlessly, the other snuck the pursonic under the table and touched it to the tip of my nose. I threw my head back so hard I broke from my restraint. I refused to put my head back down, so it was shoved down and secured to the table. Then I was hit with the foot tickle, pursonic in the ear, and pursonic on the nose triple combo. Finally, after about 5 seconds I screamed out my safeword again. As I was untied, after hours of tickling, I went limp on the table. The aftercare massages were amazing 🤤 I just laid there and moaned because it felt so good. When I got off the table, my hair was a mess, I had ripped up nylons hanging on me, and I was super dizzy and nauseous. I got in the bed and laid there for a little bit before giving a hug goodbye and going home.

I woke up this morning sore EVERYWHERE, and my voice gone from screaming bloody murder. But…it was so worth it 😈

[reztkl]

I don’t even need to be tied down to lose my mind, sometimes all it takes is someone holding your arms behind your back with one hand and tickling your back and sides with the other 🫠 not to mention someone lightly tickling your trapped feet at the same time 🙃 @reztkl @poetryorprosesposts

[reztkl]

@theminipotat , a ticklish damsel in distress

[reztkl]

😈

Not me waking up and immediately thinking of my session coming up on Saturday 🫠🫠

[reztkl]

You shouldn’t have such cute feet if you really wanted me to stop…

[reztkl]

It had been a long day.

Phoenix stepped into her home, slides clicking on hardwood, keys tossed into the dish by the door. She sighed deeply, rubbing her temples, blissfully unaware of the figure that had been following her since she left the café.

She kicked off her shoes, sliding her socked feet into her slippers, and stretched before changing and collapsing onto the bed. Her eyes fluttered shut as she drifted to sleep.

That’s when the sensations came.

Too soft to be real. Too deliberate to be a dream.

Barely conscious, she spotted a masked man at the foot of her bed, covers pulled up, exposing her socked feet. Before she could fully react, a strong hand covered her mouth and before she knew it, she was waking. Unable to move.

"Shh… Phoenix," the masked voice whispered. "You left the window open. You practically invited me. I’ve been watching you,” the Bandit said, slowly removing her sandal. “And you have very expressive feet.”

Phoenix’s eyes widened. She shook her head furiously, her muffled pleas turning into squeals the moment a finger dragged across her arch.

He didn’t stop. He wanted every twitch. Every giggle. Every delicious moment of torment. And he got it.

The Bandit crouched at the edge of the table, tilting his head slightly as if admiring a delicate work of art. He slowly ran a finger along the side of one foot, watching as she flinched instinctively.

“You usually take these off first thing when you get home,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Tonight… I think I’ll take my time.”

Phoenix glared at him, trying to stay composed. “W-What do you want from me?” she snapped, voice shaking but defiant.

“I want what you’ve been hiding all day. Tucked inside these shoes. Wrapped in those socks. Waiting to be… unwrapped.”

He slipped the first sandal off with slow precision, revealing a socked foot—soft, warm, slightly damp from hours of wear. Phoenix's toes curled reflexively, a sharp breath escaping her lips.

“No…” she whispered, already feeling a mix of panic and anticipation.

The second shoe dropped to the floor with a soft thud. He leaned in, admiring with exaggerated satisfaction.

He hooked a finger under one sock and began peeling it down, inch by inch. The cool air hit her arch, sending goosebumps up her leg. She clenched her fists.

“Please…” she muttered, suddenly unsure whether she was pleading for mercy or for him to get it over with.

“Please what, Phoenix?” he said, smiling behind the mask. “Be specific. Do you want me to stop?”

She bit her lip. She couldn’t answer. Not yet.

He tugged the sock free completely, exposing her bare sole—smooth, flushed, and trembling. He repeated the process with the second sock, even slower this time, dragging the moment out as long as he could.

Now both feet lay exposed before him, helpless and vulnerable. He traced a finger along the underside of her toes, eliciting the first involuntary squeak from her lips.

“There she is,” he whispered. “That’s the sound I came for.”

Phoenix’s eyes widened. “You’re insane!”

“No,” he said, wiggling his fingers. “I’m thorough.”

And with that, the first soft stroke dragged from her heel to her toes—deliberate, agonizing, and just the beginning.

Her vision blurred as the Bandit slid a fingernail under each toe, one by one, dragging gently, repeatedly, like he was reading her reactions in Braille.

To be continued...

[reztkl]

This is what true desperation looks like

[reztkl]

It had been a long day.

Phoenix stepped into her home, slides clicking on hardwood, keys tossed into the dish by the door. She sighed deeply, rubbing her temples, blissfully unaware of the figure that had been following her since she left the café.

She kicked off her shoes, sliding her socked feet into her slippers, and stretched before changing and collapsing onto the bed. Her eyes fluttered shut as she drifted to sleep.

That’s when the sensations came.

Too soft to be real. Too deliberate to be a dream.

Barely conscious, she spotted a masked man at the foot of her bed, covers pulled up, exposing her socked feet. Before she could fully react, a strong hand covered her mouth and before she knew it, she was waking. Unable to move.

"Shh… Phoenix," the masked voice whispered. "You left the window open. You practically invited me. I’ve been watching you,” the Bandit said, slowly removing her sandal. “And you have very expressive feet.”

Phoenix’s eyes widened. She shook her head furiously, her muffled pleas turning into squeals the moment a finger dragged across her arch.

He didn’t stop. He wanted every twitch. Every giggle. Every delicious moment of torment. And he got it.

The Bandit crouched at the edge of the table, tilting his head slightly as if admiring a delicate work of art. He slowly ran a finger along the side of one foot, watching as she flinched instinctively.

“You usually take these off first thing when you get home,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Tonight… I think I’ll take my time.”

Phoenix glared at him, trying to stay composed. “W-What do you want from me?” she snapped, voice shaking but defiant.

“I want what you’ve been hiding all day. Tucked inside these shoes. Wrapped in those socks. Waiting to be… unwrapped.”

He slipped the first sandal off with slow precision, revealing a socked foot—soft, warm, slightly damp from hours of wear. Phoenix's toes curled reflexively, a sharp breath escaping her lips.

“No…” she whispered, already feeling a mix of panic and anticipation.

The second shoe dropped to the floor with a soft thud. He leaned in, admiring with exaggerated satisfaction.

He hooked a finger under one sock and began peeling it down, inch by inch. The cool air hit her arch, sending goosebumps up her leg. She clenched her fists.

“Please…” she muttered, suddenly unsure whether she was pleading for mercy or for him to get it over with.

“Please what, Phoenix?” he said, smiling behind the mask. “Be specific. Do you want me to stop?”

She bit her lip. She couldn’t answer. Not yet.

He tugged the sock free completely, exposing her bare sole—smooth, flushed, and trembling. He repeated the process with the second sock, even slower this time, dragging the moment out as long as he could.

Now both feet lay exposed before him, helpless and vulnerable. He traced a finger along the underside of her toes, eliciting the first involuntary squeak from her lips.

“There she is,” he whispered. “That’s the sound I came for.”

Phoenix’s eyes widened. “You’re insane!”

“No,” he said, wiggling his fingers. “I’m thorough.”

And with that, the first soft stroke dragged from her heel to her toes—deliberate, agonizing, and just the beginning.

Her vision blurred as the Bandit slid a fingernail under each toe, one by one, dragging gently, repeatedly, like he was reading her reactions in Braille.

To be continued...

[reztkl]

Isn’t there something extra humiliating about the idea of someone having full access to the bottoms of your feet in particular??

Like literally one of the most covered up parts of your body… not only in shoes but also usually socks, and on top of that your soles are meant to be stood on, hidden by the floor itself on the very most underside of your body!

So maybe that’s why it feels extra powerless when someone’s got you compromised enough that the bottoms of your feet are accessible?? Naturally any sort of prone position is already such a vulnerable one, and to have your soles visible at all you kind of have to be in some sort disadvantaged position! Nothing you can do to protect or cover them, to stop the assailant from looking at or touching them as much as they want??? That’s even more embarrassing isn’t it, not even being able to protect one of your most private places from being on display. So invasive having your bare feet at someone else’s mercy, played with and prodded outside of your control. IT’S ALL SO EXTRA POWERLESS AND EMBARRASSINGGGG 😩😩.

Anyway that’s what’s on my mind today 😆🫣 hope you’re having a good day!! LOL 😇🙃

[reztkl]

(OC) Horribly ticklish Amethyst knew what she was signing up for when she met with me. To have her soft, pretty feet locked, stocked, and "tortured" to use her words. She was even nice enough to compliment my toe ties. Maybe I'll consider her pleas for mercy. Although, probably not.

[reztkl]

(OC) Pretty feet weren’t made just to be admired—they deserve to be lickled and nibbled until they're squirming