
Tickle and falaka competition
It’s time for another tickling and *falaka* session. Bound with handcuffs on my wrists and a rope around my ankles, I have to endure the ordeal. He takes off my flip-flops and rubs oil onto the soles of my feet. Then, he tickles me using a brush, a feather, and his hands. He also tickles my sides and stomach—areas where I’m especially sensitive. Finally, I have to endure some of the most brutal blows to my soles imaginable. It’s a loud, painful smacking—pushed to the absolute limit. By the way, have you seen my new white French-tip pedicures?
