Apologies for the delay in posting. Chapters will be much more frequent in future. Chapter One can be found here:-
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=131266
my thanks go to those kind enough to comment positively; once again all comments very welcome.
Chapter 2
Zoe experienced a very curious couple of days. She found that her concentration had deserted her completely, and her sub editors were becoming fed up with the uncharacteristic spelling mistakes and factual errors that littered her reports.
She was over the moon to have met Nikki; she was stunning, intelligent, confident, and exactly the kind of dominant personality Zoe adored. Despite this, she had very mixed feelings about their slightly whirlwind encounter, and it all came down to one word: tickling. The sensible half of her brain told her, quite logically, that she detested being tickled, that even the lightest touch on her feet sent her into spasms of giggles. Yet there was also a mischievous, daring side to her too, that almost screamed its desire to be held down, to have her shoes removed, and have that cute little brunette tickle her bare feet until she begged for mercy….
****
Danielle couldn’t identify the precise moment that she realised something was wrong. First she was asleep. Then she was awake. But at some point between the two, a wave of panic engulfed her. She knew she was not in her own bed. She couldn’t remember having gone to sleep. She couldn’t remember anything…
She raised her head. The room she was in was lit only by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was no natural light, it was impossible to tell if it was night or day. She was on a soft single bed that was affixed to the wall. She sat up, and noticed as her feet touched the floor that it was soft, the sort of matting one found when doing gymnastics. It then registered that she could feel this because she was barefoot. She was relieved to find that she was otherwise fully clothed, in her blue summer dress. Looking around, there was no sign of her shoes. She stood up, and stepped over to the door. It appeared to be locked, with no means of opening it. She came to the inescapable conclusion that she was in a cell.
A police cell? Surely not. This rubber carpeting, for one thing. Her bare feet, for another. Why couldn’t she remember?
Then she heard it.
Screaming.
Or was it?
Yes, it was. But it wasn’t screaming in pain. It was screaming with long, agonising laughter.
What on earth could be causing someone to make a noise like that, thought Danielle, and more to the point, what could it have to do with her?
The screeching laughter continued. It was impossible, in that room, to tell from how far away it came.
Danielle thought about banging on the door, shouting for help, demanding to be released. But something about that noise made her pause, deciding that alerting whoever it was to her consciousness might not be a great idea.
Danielle sat back down on the bed, and racked her brains to try and remember what had happened, with the screaming yells of laughter echoing in the background.
****
Two rooms away, her best friend Fi knew exactly what was happening.
Fi was naked. She was sitting on a bench with a straight back. Her arms were raised high above her head, her wrists tied together and to the bench back expertly. Her legs lay on the bench, but were pulled wide apart. The bench culminated in what appeared to be a set of stocks. Her ankles had been fastened into this contraption, with her bare feet sticking out of the other side, virtually immobile.
Two women faced her. One was the pretty pedicurist she had innocently admitted to her flat, the other a very attractive older woman with short dark hair. Both were casually dressed; the one called Heather in t-shirt, tracksuit trousers and bare feet, the other in jumper and jeans, her feet too were bare.
Tears ran down Fi’s face. Her heavy breasts heaved as she gasped air into her lungs, a sheen of sweat glistened on her pale skin.
“What a ridiculous fuss to make,” the older woman was saying. “Five minutes of rib tickling and you’re in this state.”
“Please” breathed Fi, “why am I here?”
“You are here” said the woman, approaching Fi and absently playing with her large, naked breasts, “because there are people who will pay an awful lot of money for a pretty girl like you.”
“What they won’t pay for, though,” interjected Heather, “is a girl who isn’t trained in how to behave.”
Very casually, Heather had taken Fi’s left big toe between her thumb and forefinger. She addressed Fi’s feet rather than her face, as she continued;
“Today, Fiona dear, will be a warning to you. It will be a mere hint of what you will receive in future, if you displease us.”
Heather spoke with such calmness, such composure. Fi would never have guessed that only a year ago, Heather had sat where she was now, as naked as Fi was now, about to receive the same treatment Fi was now.
“Please” said Fi. “I don’t know who you are or why I’m here, just let me go!”
“Let you go!” laughed Hilary, as though this were the height of nonsense. She continued to play with Fi’s breasts, weighing them, and lightly pinching her nipples. “Why on earth would I do that? It will save you a great deal of discomfort, my dear, if you accept quickly that your situation is an impossible one. It will benefit us all, dear, if you take well to your lessons. Be taken as slave by a rich woman, and your life may yet be a pampered one; and my commission shall be a large one.”
Slave? Fi’s brain could not compute what she was hearing. Surely this was some sort of dream?
That thought was driven from her mind by the electric jolt she felt, and a scream sounded unbidden from her lips. Heather had just run a long fingernail down the length of her bare left foot.
“You will now see what happens to girls who complain, who ask questions, who do not study hard.” Hilary’s fondling of Fi’s breasts continued. If she was honest, as much as she loved Heather, Hilary wished she could exchange her own girl’s small, pert chest for soft, full breasts like these.
“Heather will now tickle your bare feet for the next two hours. After which time, we will ask your sleepy friend to join us. I would like you to consider this experience as a warning. If you wish not to experience it again, simply do as you are told.”
Fi could not speak, could not think of any response. Two hours? Bare feet? It made no sense. Yet the feel of this woman’s caressing hands on her bare breasts were real enough.
Heather knelt down in front of the defenceless, creamy white bare feet presented for punishment. Heather’s own naked feet jutted out behind her. She was always made uncomfortably aware that she must tickle hard and without mercy, or her own feet would be presented for Hilary’s ministrations.
Heather placed her index fingers at the bottom of Fi’s bare feet, and gently ran them up her soles.
Fi screamed.
****
Zoe spent most of Saturday afternoon preparing for her evening at Nikki’s. She really couldn’t decide what to wear, and was finding herself unusually stressed at the prospect.
She poured herself a large glass of cold white wine and took a large gulp. She told herself she was being ridiculous, and to calm down. She was a strong, young, intelligent woman, after all, and if she wasn’t comfortable with anything, she would just walk out.
But then came the second wave, the insidious feelings that began in her stomach rather than her mind. She could not imagine walking out on Nikki. She had only met her the other day, only spent a few hours in her company, yet something about the younger girl made her tummy quiver with excitement.
She decided that a casual look would be best, not wanting to look as though she had tried too hard. Soon she had assembled her outfit. Matching white lace bra and pants. A tight white cut-off t-shirt that would expose her flat stomach, and blue jeans that should hint at long, slim legs without seeming too obvious about it. All that was needed now were the shoes. Zoe loved shoes, and every month bought far more pairs than her journalistic income could afford. Today’s decision, however, seemed more important than usual, and she decided to put it off for a while.
She showered, lightly brushed her hair, and on impulse decided to apply some nail polish on her toes. She painted each nail a bright, shiny scarlet and smiled. As she did so, she knew exactly which shoes to go for, and from the back of her wardrobe drew out a pair of golden high-heeled sandals, which strapped in a complicated manner around her bare feet, and showcased them to perfection.
Pouring another glass of wine, Zoe rang herself a taxi.
****
Fi was screaming.
Heather had quickly become a very adept tickler, and in twenty minutes of hell for her red-haired victim, she had identified the most ticklish points on her soles.
Fi’s mind was blank. She could no longer think about being captured, being naked, or even the taunting enjoyment of her torturers. All she could think about, all she could feel, were the merciless fingers that scrabbled endlessly over her bare feet.
“She’s most ticklish just above the heel” said Heather loudly, above the heaving sobs of her victim. “Just…here.”
Her fingers rested on Fi’s feet, at the bottom of the instep, on the top of the pink heel. She dug them in, four fingers on each foot, ruthlessly tickling the tied girl.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggghhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Heather relished the screams, knew that the louder they were, the more pleased Hilary would be, and therefore the less likely she was to be taking Fi’s place.
“Stop a minute” said Hilary softly. Heather obeyed reluctantly.
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod” panted Fi, her breath coming unwillingly in huge gasps. She was barely aware that the torture of her creamy white bare feet had paused.
“Now my dear,” began Hilary quietly, running a finger through Fi’s bright red hair. “How did that feel?”
“Please no more” said Fi simply, her voice a rasping gasp. “Please no more.”
“Poor darling girl” said Hilary, who took up a cloth and wiped Fi’s forehead, the girl was sweating profusely.
Hilary studied the sweating, begging girl that lay naked before her. How wonderful it would be to keep her. How wonderful to have her in that huge bed on one side of her, sweet Heather on the other. It might be possible, depending on how profitable the other one proved to be.
Hilary leaned close to Fi, her lips brushing her ear as she whispered; “Heather has already discovered the most ticklish spots on your feet. Now, she’s going to find the most ticklish places on those pink toes of yours.”
“No!” shrieked Fi instinctively. Some dark corner of her brain had briefly allowed I a tiny glimmer of hope that her torture had ended. “No! Please! I’ll do anything! Anything!”
“I know you will”, smiled Hilary. “Heather, you may begin.”
Heather’s fingers began to gently, scientifically, explore Fi’s big toe, and the naked student began to scream once more.
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=131266
my thanks go to those kind enough to comment positively; once again all comments very welcome.
Chapter 2
Zoe experienced a very curious couple of days. She found that her concentration had deserted her completely, and her sub editors were becoming fed up with the uncharacteristic spelling mistakes and factual errors that littered her reports.
She was over the moon to have met Nikki; she was stunning, intelligent, confident, and exactly the kind of dominant personality Zoe adored. Despite this, she had very mixed feelings about their slightly whirlwind encounter, and it all came down to one word: tickling. The sensible half of her brain told her, quite logically, that she detested being tickled, that even the lightest touch on her feet sent her into spasms of giggles. Yet there was also a mischievous, daring side to her too, that almost screamed its desire to be held down, to have her shoes removed, and have that cute little brunette tickle her bare feet until she begged for mercy….
****
Danielle couldn’t identify the precise moment that she realised something was wrong. First she was asleep. Then she was awake. But at some point between the two, a wave of panic engulfed her. She knew she was not in her own bed. She couldn’t remember having gone to sleep. She couldn’t remember anything…
She raised her head. The room she was in was lit only by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was no natural light, it was impossible to tell if it was night or day. She was on a soft single bed that was affixed to the wall. She sat up, and noticed as her feet touched the floor that it was soft, the sort of matting one found when doing gymnastics. It then registered that she could feel this because she was barefoot. She was relieved to find that she was otherwise fully clothed, in her blue summer dress. Looking around, there was no sign of her shoes. She stood up, and stepped over to the door. It appeared to be locked, with no means of opening it. She came to the inescapable conclusion that she was in a cell.
A police cell? Surely not. This rubber carpeting, for one thing. Her bare feet, for another. Why couldn’t she remember?
Then she heard it.
Screaming.
Or was it?
Yes, it was. But it wasn’t screaming in pain. It was screaming with long, agonising laughter.
What on earth could be causing someone to make a noise like that, thought Danielle, and more to the point, what could it have to do with her?
The screeching laughter continued. It was impossible, in that room, to tell from how far away it came.
Danielle thought about banging on the door, shouting for help, demanding to be released. But something about that noise made her pause, deciding that alerting whoever it was to her consciousness might not be a great idea.
Danielle sat back down on the bed, and racked her brains to try and remember what had happened, with the screaming yells of laughter echoing in the background.
****
Two rooms away, her best friend Fi knew exactly what was happening.
Fi was naked. She was sitting on a bench with a straight back. Her arms were raised high above her head, her wrists tied together and to the bench back expertly. Her legs lay on the bench, but were pulled wide apart. The bench culminated in what appeared to be a set of stocks. Her ankles had been fastened into this contraption, with her bare feet sticking out of the other side, virtually immobile.
Two women faced her. One was the pretty pedicurist she had innocently admitted to her flat, the other a very attractive older woman with short dark hair. Both were casually dressed; the one called Heather in t-shirt, tracksuit trousers and bare feet, the other in jumper and jeans, her feet too were bare.
Tears ran down Fi’s face. Her heavy breasts heaved as she gasped air into her lungs, a sheen of sweat glistened on her pale skin.
“What a ridiculous fuss to make,” the older woman was saying. “Five minutes of rib tickling and you’re in this state.”
“Please” breathed Fi, “why am I here?”
“You are here” said the woman, approaching Fi and absently playing with her large, naked breasts, “because there are people who will pay an awful lot of money for a pretty girl like you.”
“What they won’t pay for, though,” interjected Heather, “is a girl who isn’t trained in how to behave.”
Very casually, Heather had taken Fi’s left big toe between her thumb and forefinger. She addressed Fi’s feet rather than her face, as she continued;
“Today, Fiona dear, will be a warning to you. It will be a mere hint of what you will receive in future, if you displease us.”
Heather spoke with such calmness, such composure. Fi would never have guessed that only a year ago, Heather had sat where she was now, as naked as Fi was now, about to receive the same treatment Fi was now.
“Please” said Fi. “I don’t know who you are or why I’m here, just let me go!”
“Let you go!” laughed Hilary, as though this were the height of nonsense. She continued to play with Fi’s breasts, weighing them, and lightly pinching her nipples. “Why on earth would I do that? It will save you a great deal of discomfort, my dear, if you accept quickly that your situation is an impossible one. It will benefit us all, dear, if you take well to your lessons. Be taken as slave by a rich woman, and your life may yet be a pampered one; and my commission shall be a large one.”
Slave? Fi’s brain could not compute what she was hearing. Surely this was some sort of dream?
That thought was driven from her mind by the electric jolt she felt, and a scream sounded unbidden from her lips. Heather had just run a long fingernail down the length of her bare left foot.
“You will now see what happens to girls who complain, who ask questions, who do not study hard.” Hilary’s fondling of Fi’s breasts continued. If she was honest, as much as she loved Heather, Hilary wished she could exchange her own girl’s small, pert chest for soft, full breasts like these.
“Heather will now tickle your bare feet for the next two hours. After which time, we will ask your sleepy friend to join us. I would like you to consider this experience as a warning. If you wish not to experience it again, simply do as you are told.”
Fi could not speak, could not think of any response. Two hours? Bare feet? It made no sense. Yet the feel of this woman’s caressing hands on her bare breasts were real enough.
Heather knelt down in front of the defenceless, creamy white bare feet presented for punishment. Heather’s own naked feet jutted out behind her. She was always made uncomfortably aware that she must tickle hard and without mercy, or her own feet would be presented for Hilary’s ministrations.
Heather placed her index fingers at the bottom of Fi’s bare feet, and gently ran them up her soles.
Fi screamed.
****
Zoe spent most of Saturday afternoon preparing for her evening at Nikki’s. She really couldn’t decide what to wear, and was finding herself unusually stressed at the prospect.
She poured herself a large glass of cold white wine and took a large gulp. She told herself she was being ridiculous, and to calm down. She was a strong, young, intelligent woman, after all, and if she wasn’t comfortable with anything, she would just walk out.
But then came the second wave, the insidious feelings that began in her stomach rather than her mind. She could not imagine walking out on Nikki. She had only met her the other day, only spent a few hours in her company, yet something about the younger girl made her tummy quiver with excitement.
She decided that a casual look would be best, not wanting to look as though she had tried too hard. Soon she had assembled her outfit. Matching white lace bra and pants. A tight white cut-off t-shirt that would expose her flat stomach, and blue jeans that should hint at long, slim legs without seeming too obvious about it. All that was needed now were the shoes. Zoe loved shoes, and every month bought far more pairs than her journalistic income could afford. Today’s decision, however, seemed more important than usual, and she decided to put it off for a while.
She showered, lightly brushed her hair, and on impulse decided to apply some nail polish on her toes. She painted each nail a bright, shiny scarlet and smiled. As she did so, she knew exactly which shoes to go for, and from the back of her wardrobe drew out a pair of golden high-heeled sandals, which strapped in a complicated manner around her bare feet, and showcased them to perfection.
Pouring another glass of wine, Zoe rang herself a taxi.
****
Fi was screaming.
Heather had quickly become a very adept tickler, and in twenty minutes of hell for her red-haired victim, she had identified the most ticklish points on her soles.
Fi’s mind was blank. She could no longer think about being captured, being naked, or even the taunting enjoyment of her torturers. All she could think about, all she could feel, were the merciless fingers that scrabbled endlessly over her bare feet.
“She’s most ticklish just above the heel” said Heather loudly, above the heaving sobs of her victim. “Just…here.”
Her fingers rested on Fi’s feet, at the bottom of the instep, on the top of the pink heel. She dug them in, four fingers on each foot, ruthlessly tickling the tied girl.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaggggggghhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Heather relished the screams, knew that the louder they were, the more pleased Hilary would be, and therefore the less likely she was to be taking Fi’s place.
“Stop a minute” said Hilary softly. Heather obeyed reluctantly.
“Ohmygodohmygodohmygod” panted Fi, her breath coming unwillingly in huge gasps. She was barely aware that the torture of her creamy white bare feet had paused.
“Now my dear,” began Hilary quietly, running a finger through Fi’s bright red hair. “How did that feel?”
“Please no more” said Fi simply, her voice a rasping gasp. “Please no more.”
“Poor darling girl” said Hilary, who took up a cloth and wiped Fi’s forehead, the girl was sweating profusely.
Hilary studied the sweating, begging girl that lay naked before her. How wonderful it would be to keep her. How wonderful to have her in that huge bed on one side of her, sweet Heather on the other. It might be possible, depending on how profitable the other one proved to be.
Hilary leaned close to Fi, her lips brushing her ear as she whispered; “Heather has already discovered the most ticklish spots on your feet. Now, she’s going to find the most ticklish places on those pink toes of yours.”
“No!” shrieked Fi instinctively. Some dark corner of her brain had briefly allowed I a tiny glimmer of hope that her torture had ended. “No! Please! I’ll do anything! Anything!”
“I know you will”, smiled Hilary. “Heather, you may begin.”
Heather’s fingers began to gently, scientifically, explore Fi’s big toe, and the naked student began to scream once more.
