As Marge departed, we could have heard the proverbial pin drop.

Angela then asked me for permission for one final treatment on our boy.
"Earlier you tickled his smooth arm pits and his yummy tummy- but what about
his dogs? Let's torture his feet."

Danny went bonkers at the sound of the word feet! Angela had struck a raw
nerve- for she knew from Danny's family that he couldn't stand having his feet touched
by anyone- not even a doctor. And this young bitch was going to tickle his feet?
I had to hold Danny down twice as forcefully to prevent him from going berserk
as Angela mercilessly and cruelly attacked his left foot with her long fingernails. She had
sharpened them especially for this occasion. The little witch began by bending each toe as
far backward as each would go- and then (despite Danny's cries) a tad further- exposing
every ounce of flesh for her fingers' consumption. She them proceeded to dig her nails
deeply into the tender meat beneath the big toe of the same foot with long, slow strides.
Then she picked up the speed of her tickle-torture. Danny went ape, his arms flailing in
all directions. But his feet were trapped and locked in from the tip of each piggy to the
very heel. Angela saw to that with velcro restrainers. Then, one by one, each of the
remaining delicate toes met its individual doom as her girl nails devoured each little
piggy: This little piggy went to market; this little piggy stayed home; this little piggy had
roast beef; this little piggy had none; this little piggy was a bad little piggy and he cried
al the way home. At the word home, she suddenly switched gears, grasping and squeezing
his stomach muscles until he begged for mercy. But there was no mercy. After
painstakingly working on the soft tissue between each toe, she finished off the toes on
the left foot by bending back the baby-toe pinky until I thought it would snap. Then,
placing it in her mouth, she bit down so hard that teeth marks were visible.
"Now for the arch!" she drooled.

The reaction was instantaneous.

"No- please not the arch! Nobody can ever touch my arch! I'll go insane," Danny
bellowed.
"Yes- you probably will," she replied. "But it will turn me on!"
Danny spazzed out!

The vindictive lass took long, slow strokes on the arch's soft meat that never
toughens because it never touches the floor or ground. As with the toes, she mixed them
up with fast and furious strokes. I thought the boy would pass out.
Have you ever watched- up close- the tickling of anyone's arches- especially of
an individual who can't stand to have his feet touched by anyone? It is a maddening
event for the ticklee but a celestial experience for the tickler. As Angela slowly and
brutally scraped the bottom of Danny's especially tender arches with her cruel, spiny
finger tips, I actually witnessed each and every muscle of the arch crying out in agony as
spasm after spasm followed her sharp finger nails wherever they intruded. No sooner did
one muscle get a chance to relax when another muscle was attacked. Every muscle in his
arch revealed its utter frailty to her cruel touch. Her deeply-invasive nails led to a
cumulative seizure that drove the tormented lad up one side of the art room wall- and
down the other side. Every square inch of ultra-soft tissue rebelled. It was as if each
individual cell took turns shuddering, tremoring, and contracting. And, when the sadistic
girl suddenly converted slow motion into rapid motion, the cells individually and
collectively rippled and twinged violently. Angela found both pleasure and amusement at
the boy's horrendous reaction. For her, the event lasted for a short ten minutes but, for
him, the experience lasted an eternity. Throughout the morbid tickling of his rebellious
arches, Danny did more than cry; he wept and wailed in a high-pitched shrill that was
nothing less than chilling and macabre. The last time I had heard that pitiful cry was in
the movie Orca when a mother whale sorely grieved for her baby as it was hoisted on the
boat's lift to die.

For the boy victim, the tickle-torture of the toes and arch was a Freddy Krueger
Nightmare fantasy become real- except that the claws tormenting his besieged feet were
not Freddy's but rather Angela's. She had definitely done this before. She had certainly
practiced this on someone before. Her brothers? Her baby sitting charges? Undeniably,
she knew what she was doing. Like Danny's uncanny gift for surreptitiously dropping
panties in the cafeteria, she was goooood!

Next to exposing his bald buttocks- the foot mugging was perhaps the worst
thing any girl could do to any beleaguered boy. And, she knew it!
Danny was relieved when Angela announced that she was finished- but she soon
qualified her statement:
"I am finished with the left foot. Now it's time for the right foot. That's what I
love most about feet- there are two of them."

I won't even begin to describe Angela's torturous offensive against the horrified
lad's right foot. But even then the spiteful girl wasn't finished. She practiced on Danny
what she had often practiced on her siblings- she went for the knees and squeezed each of
them, with both hands, until Danny went into a full frenzy bordering on absolute
madness. She knew the pressure points at the knees, and she penetrated them with full
force.

The adolescent bully had been bullied well beyond his limits- and by a furious
adolescent girl who had made him pay dearly for lifting her skirt, exposing her panties,
and furtively dropping her panties in public. But she still wasn't finished.

You can only begin to imagine the strategic positioning of Danny's white-pink-
red ass as Angela tickle-tortured his feet. It was comparable to its status during the
disciplinarian's earlier tickle-torture of helpless arm pits and vulnerable tummy. His
flexible cheeks bounced up and down- at times, so high in the air that his ass crack
opened wider than ever before and his sensational anus winked widely at its female
tormenter. Throughout the agonizing foot torture, Danny's bouncing buttocks literally
begged the animated co-ed to have another shot at his rump.

And so, it was most understandable that Angela would want to spank him again-
this time across her knee and by hand rather than by hairbrush. I allowed her to do so but
only for a half-dozen spanks. I love pink and crimson-red buttocks- but not purple ones.
What she really wanted was to feel his stiff and petulant peter rubbing against her legs
and to get another bird's-eye view of his once-arrogant balls and anal muscle. She was
wildly infatuated with his yawning asshole. She wanted to continue paddling his cute
little behind indefinitely but I told her it was over. She gave his helpless balls one last
squeeze- the worst one ever- and he howled loudly from the excruciating pain.
Captivated by his agony, she still wanted more- more embarrassment for him and
more pleasure for herself. She bent over, squeezed the center of his left buttock to form a
heightened bulge in his curvy rump, and engulfed the raised flesh with her mouth.
Relieved that the spanking had ceased- and resigned to another slobbering kiss from her
mouth- Danny relaxed. But not for long. This "kiss" would be different.

Once her lips, mouth and tongue had indulged in boy flesh to their full
satisfaction, they defaulted to her teeth. Danny and I both bellowed a resounding NO- but
it was too late. A healthy portion of his left cheek writhed in unbearable pain as her
ravenous teeth seemed to plunge deeply into his soft pubescent flesh. She moaned
pleasurably with a spine-tingling aura of conquest, like a starving lion successfully
plunging its fangs into a helpless prey. This was Eve, sinking her teeth deeply into the
forbidden fruit of the tree- more accurately, sinking her teeth into Adam's precious apple.
But Adam was nowhere to be found; it was Danny's apple that was ripe to her taste. I
interfered no further for fear that I would anger her into clenched jaws that would rip his
plump cheek from his body and into her mouth and stomach. I feared she'd eat him alive.

As it turned out, she did no more damage to his flavorsome buttocks than most
cats do to most chipmunks; her teeth had played with the raised flesh rather than
devoured it. Granted there were teeth marks- and granted that she appeared as bloated as
from a full meal. Nevertheless, these edible buns would heal in due time- to be eaten
again.

I felt obligated to address Angela:
"I must confess, young lady, that there was a moment in time in which I, as
disciplinarian of this school, was seriously tempted to switch sides at half-time, that is, to
put you over my knee, to lift your skirt, and to drop your panties- after a healthy wedgie,
of course. I would have truly enjoyed that. And, for Danny to have watched that would
have been the equivalent of eternal bliss. Take me now, Lord! But, at least for today,
Danny not you are the soup du jour.

However, trust me, Angela. Someday I will find a reason; somehow I will find a
way; somehow I will even get parental permission to paddle your sweet little ass until it
falls from your hips.

Immediately thereafter, we shall discover how you likes a wooden cork stuffed up
the gaping crevice in your ass- mercilessly penetrating your anal muscle, nose-diving
deeply into your anxiously-awaiting rectal cavern, and traveling forcefully in the
direction of your belly button. Perhaps we will ram the cork-stopper so forcibly up your
vindictive ass that it will, indeed, not stop until it kisses your navel. I suspect that Danny
will be more than pleased to assist. On that day, the new battle cry will be:
Yummy yummy for MY tummy tummy!
Yummy yummy for DANNY'S tummy tummy!
And, then it happened!!! An adolescent miracle!!!
Danny, still hosting a perpetual hard-on which had been frustrated by years of no
ejaculatory action, screamed with both fear and joy:
"I'M GOING TO SQUIRT! LET ME UP! I'M GOING TO SQUIRT! I NEED
TO GO TO THE BATHROOM! PLEASE!"
Was this a trick?

Angela made the decision. She not only let him up; she helped him up. She had
never actually seen an adolescent squirt. She had fantasized about hundreds but only in
her dreams.
Danny bolted from her lap and stood tall- taller than he had ever stood. And, so
did his exceptional prick! He started to leave for the bathroom but then stopped short.
Facing Angela directly, he stammered: "It's too late!"

I observed that Danny was still hard as a rock, his firm tool pointed at a ninety-
degree angle, straight at Angela. Moments earlier, his hard-on had been at full staff but
apparently Angela's hand-spanks, nut-squeeze, tickle-torture, and flesh-probing mouth
had lost him a full forty-five degrees.
Nonetheless, he continued to pop a stiffie!

The tip of his penile head was dripping profusely, having already drenched the
small bits of curly blonde hair adorning his privates. The thin stream of blond pubic hair
leading from the base of his stiff penis to his belly button- itself still red from tickle-
torture- was laced with adolescent cream. His crop of pubic hair wasn't sufficient to be
called a bush- as most girls had learned from another boy who shared a locker with
Danny- but it certainly went beyond the peach fuzz coating on his balls.

Angela's once-dry lips were now salivating. Her voracious, pubescent eyes
widened as they feasted on the teen's appealing crotch of rounded balls, scant but lovely
pubic hair, and stiff pecker- still aimed directly at her twat.

Spontaneously, her hand reached through her skirt for her own crotch and,
fiercely grabbing her genitalia, she bent over with a stifled but audible cry that began
with dreamy sighs and developed into intense moans and groans of delight. She then
reached under her skirt and partially dropped her panties in order to masturbate and to
wipe, from her drenched pussy, the flow of juices that just kept on coming. She had no
inhibitions whatsoever about celebrating this event.

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