Chapter Two can be found here:-
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=132811
I should note that this chapter (and most subsequent ones) contains scenes of f/f sexual contact, so if that isn't your thing, give this story a miss....
All comments/thoughts/suggestions very welcome as ever.
Chapter Three
Danielle was shaking. She sat on the small bed in the dank, grey room, and hugged her knees to her chest.
Ten minutes ago, she had experienced a moment of realisation, a moment of understanding that had felt like an icy stake being driven into her chest. The screaming had been going on for a long time, exactly how long it was impossible for Danielle to judge. Then, suddenly, the screamer had managed, at the very top of her voice, to find a moment of clear, intelligible speech.
“For God’s sake please stop it!” the yell was piercing, and filled Danielle’s cell as though the speaker were there with her.
The words left Danielle stunned. She knew that voice. She had never heard it at that volume, or in that tone, which seemed to convey a combination of agony, fear and….laughter? Danielle must be mistaken about the last, but whatever the emotion was, it was coming from Fi. Fi. Her best friend. Suddenly, everything was clear, her memory returned, full and complete, in an instant.
In her mind, she was suddenly back at their student flat, the two of them, sitting together on the sofa, looking down at their waiting bare feet as that cute girl offering the free pedicures prepared to caress them. Then everything went fuzzy.
What had happened? Where were they? What on earth could make a beauty therapy student want to kidnap them? Most importantly, what the hell were they doing to her friend that could make her scream like that…………and would they soon be doing the same to her?
****
Zoe pressed the buzzer. Her taxi had taken her to a newly built apartment building in a new, up-and-coming area of the city popular with young, single professionals. As she waited for an answer, Zoe felt absurdly like a nervous teenager, clutching a bottle of wine in her hand. What would she say?
“Hello?” the tinny, disembodied voice was unmistakeably Nikki’s.
“Er, hi! It’s Zoe.”
The door buzzed open, without Nikki replying. Zoe stepped inside, and took the lift to the fourth floor.
The door of the apartment was open, and Nikki stood waiting for her. With more than a flicker of surprise, she saw that Nikki wore only a towelling white dressing gown. Her brown hair was again untidy, but again she had applied the bright red lipstick that accentuated her full lips. Below the soft-looking dressing gown, Zoe saw tin, bony ankles, and pale, pink bare feet. As Nikki surveyed her with those huge, bottomless brown eyes, Zoe felt yet another somersault in her stomach.
“Come in, Zoe” said Nikki softly, a welcoming smile beginning to develop on her lips.
As the tall blonde walked pat her, Nikki considered that her decision to move up here might just have paid a very unexpected dividend.
“Er, nice apartment” said Zoe nervously, but truthfully, as she admired the wooden flooring and sparse, modern furnishings. She had been more than a little taken aback to find her host barely clothed, and was struggling to recover her equilibrium.
“Thank you. There’s a bottle of wine open on the side there, get yourself a glass, Zoe.”
Zoe was rather surprised to be ordered about like this, but she rather liked it, and she was sure that Nikki knew she liked it. She poured herself a generous measure of Rioja, and sat herself down in a wonderfully comfortable black leather armchair. Nikki sat perched on a matching sofa, feet tucked beneath her, wine glass in hand.
“Well Zoe” said Nikki. “Look at you. Bare tummy. Golden sandals. Toenails polished. I do declare you are being a provocative little minx.”
“No!” said Zoe. She was sure this hadn’t been her intention. But was it really an accident that her most ticklish spots were all exposed? Was she being deliberately, albeit subconsciously, provocative?
“Oh yes you are” smiled Nikki, “and later on, you will be punished for it.”
Zoe’s stomach flipped again, her mouth too dry to speak.
“But” said Nikki in a much lighter voice, “that’s for later. How’s your week been, sweetie, any interesting stories on the go?”
****
The three women in the torture room had discovered that Fi was particularly ticklish in the smooth grooves between her toes.
For Hilary, this information was stored dispassionately for future reference, as a potential means of punishment and subjugation. For Heather, this information was used to redouble her considerable efforts. A small white feather was now in her hand, exquisitely torturing the naked toes. For Fi, this meant pure agony. She had screamed, begged, pleaded, cried and begged some more, all to no avail.
Backwards and forwards, Heather dragged the light feather between Fi’s toes. Heather had developed a rhythm that pleased her greatly. She would begin by inserting the feather between two of the milky white toes. This would invariably elicit a pleading shout from the bound, naked student; usually along the lines of ‘No more, pleeeease!’ or ‘I’ve had enough!’
Heather would, of course, ignore her, and begin moving the feather back and forth between the toes. Fi would begin with a loud giggle, but as the merciless feather sawed back and forth, this would increase to a continuous wail of laughter. After a minute or so, Fi would scream herself hoarse, and begin gasping for breath. At this point, Heather would realise that Fi was just beginning to become slightly desensitised to the tickling. She would remove the feather, and leave it just long enough to let Fi hope, desperately, that the torture was at an end. Just when Fi allowed herself to believe, Heather would select another pair of the bare toes, slip the feather between them, and begin again.
Hilary watched the tickle torture with little outward emotion. Once or twice she glanced down at her own bare feet, small and slender and shockingly white against the black rubber floor. Of course, she couldn’t truly know what Fi was going through, because no-one had ever dared to tickle her feet. She had done this to enough girls in the past, though, to know precisely how dreadful an experience it was.
Hilary’s mind thought back to previous occupants of the bench where Fi was suffering. So many had passed though, so few lived long in the memory. There was Kylie, her first ever sale; a cleaner at her office in the city, bony and underfed, with long, sensitive bare feet. Sandra, a chubby hairdresser who had given her so many long hours of pleasure to avoid further feathering of her huge, fat breasts. Lucy, who aspired to be a model, such a stunning little blonde, with tiny pink bare feet, who had been her highest priced sale yet. Sally, the raven-haired student who had fought with such spirit, it had taken almost a month to finally break her, and a further month to properly punish her for her prolonged resistance. Lucy, the most recent, a thin, blonde Polish barmaid with incredibly ticklish armpits. Then, of course, there was Heather. Heather, the young beauty therapist who had innocently arrived one wet autumn day to give Hilary an at home treatment. Heather, whose slim, tanned bare feet were so gorgeous, and so exquisitely ticklish. Heather, whose long arms and legs wrapped round her so perfectly, whose tender lips and skilled tongue brought her so much joy. Heather would have earned her a fortune, but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. She had proven such an adept pupil, too, taking so much pleasure in inflicting upon others the same tickle torture that she so feared herself.
A piercing squeal from Fi brought Hilary back to the moment. Yes, this girl would be good, too. Her toes were remarkably ticklish. Red haired girls were always a sought-after commodity; perhaps because of how pink their creamy white skin turned under prolonged tickling. Fi’s feet had already gained a most pleasing tinge of pink.
Hilary looked at the naked student, the long hair, the full breasts glistening with sweat, the strong, toned legs, and thought that she would definitely undertake this ones training personally. Heather had done well with Lucy, and Hilary had happily ceded the instruction of the awkward, flat-chested, surly barmaid to her. This one, however, was very different, and Hilary decided that Fi would learn her new skills under her own, expert instruction.
“Stop” said Hilary eventually. Fi’s head sagged forward, her lungs gasping for breath that struggled to come. “Let me see her feet.”
Hilary stood up from her position by Fi’s breasts and moved around the stocks to her feet. Heather stood and allowed her Mistress to examine her handiwork.
Hilary closely examined Fi’s bare feet. She felt the soles, studied each naked toe in turn, and then proclaimed herself satisfied.
“Fiona” she said sharply, and Fi looked up quickly. Despite her debilitated state, she already knew that when Hilary spoke, she should listen. She knew what the consequences would be if she did not.
“Tomorrow, you will commence your training. You and your friend are to be trained as concubines. You will acquit yourself to the best of your ability. You will learn with eagerness and willing. You will learn to give the most fabulous service, the most phenomenal pleasure. If you do not, you will be tickled on your bare feet.”
The last sentence was uttered so softly, so calmly, that Fi could barely take in its full significance. That one line that, she knew, now defined her very existence. This woman, this cold, aloof, fearful woman, controlled her. She must submit.
“If you do not, you will be tickled on your bare feet.”
This was now the only rule that mattered in Fiona’s life.
****
“Enough small talk” said Nikki sharply, unexpectedly interrupting Zoe in the middle of a story from her student volleyball days.
Zoe stopped abruptly, surprised.
“Take off your shoes” said Nikki simply.
The two made eye contact, and it was clear to Zoe that this was neither request nor statement; it was an order.
Zoe bent forwards, and began to fiddle with the complicated fastenings on the golden sandals. She was nervous, and the buckles were tricky, so it took a while to get her left shoe off. She looked up, and saw that Nikki was staring at her wordlessly, but intently. Zoe bent down again, and removed the other shoe.
Zoe placed the shoes neatly to one side. She felt faintly silly, sitting there in her bare feet, awaiting instructions from the girl facing her.
“Come here” said Nikki.
Zoe stood up, and walked slowly across to face the little brunette.
Nikki stood, reached up on tiptoe, and grabbed a handful of Zoe’s golden blonde hair. Zoe felt herself pulled down into a kiss. Their lips met, softly brushing, then Nikki took Zoe’s bottom lip between her own, and pressed softly. Their mouths opened together, tongues reaching inward, each seeking the other urgently.
After an ecstatic minute, or hour, Zoe had no clue, she placed her arms around Nikki. The brunette already had both hands inside Zoe’s t-shirt, groping her large breasts none too gently. Zoe moved her hands forward, looking to remove the white towelling dressing gown, to access the delights of Nikki’s body.
“Oh no you don’t, blondie” said Nikki, puling clean away from the embrace.
“You will get nothing” she grinned, “nothing at all; until we have addressed the matter of your punishment.”
Nikki held out her small hand, and Zoe noticed the long fingernails. She took it, and allowed herself to be led from the room.
Nikki led her into the flat’s single bedroom. It was a large, airy room with wooden flooring and a long window overlooking the street far below.
All Zoe noticed was the bed.
It was a huge, King-sized double bed, into which the tiny Nikki must almost disappear when alone. It was covered by a sumptuously soft-looking white duvet, with at least half a dozen fat white pillows lying at its head.
Attached to each of the four corners of the bed were long, silk ties. Zoe’s stomach flipped yet again. She knew what they were for.
“Lie down” ordered Nikki softly.
Zoe looked at her, wondering briefly whether she ought to undress. Deciding against it, she climbed onto the bed, the sheets gloriously soft against her bare feet.
“Give me your wrist, blondie” said Nikki, moving to the head of the bed on Zoe’s right.
Not a hint of danger entered Zoe’s mind. She barely knew Nikki, yet she trusted her completely. She raised her arm towards the head of the bed.
“I’m going to tie you very lightly” smiled Nikki. “So you will be able to free yourself if you tug very hard. I wouldn’t suggest it though; I shall be very cross.” Grinning, she tied Zoe’s wrist above her head, the moved around the bed, and did the same to the other.
“Now, let’s secure those big bare feet too” she smiled.
Zoe found a silk tie being fastened around each of her slim, naked ankles. When Nikki had finished, Zoe found herself spreadeagled on the bed, feeling very vulnerable indeed.
Nikki, still in her dressing gown, bounced onto the bed. She straddled Zoe, kneeling over her. She bent forwards, and again the two lost themselves in a long, satisfying kiss. Finally breaking away, Nikki’s expression became very stern.
“Now then” she began. “Blondie’s been a very naughty girl, haven’t you? Dressing like this when you barely know me?”
Both girls were grinning at each other.
“Time for your punishment. We will begin by addressing the issue of this ridiculous t-shirt. You need to learn, blondie, that I’m not impressed by you flashing your toned little tummy at me.”
Nikki placed all ten fingers lightly on Zoe’s flat, muscular midriff, and without warning violently dug them in, and began tickling.
“Oh no! Ohhnoo! Oh pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!”
Zoe yelped and stuggled wildly as Nikki’s strong, skilled fingers dug into her belly, poking, prodding and tickling.
All of a sudden, she stopped.
“Would you like me to stop, blondie?” she asked, a single finger lightly tracing a circle around Zoe’s belly button.
“Oh yes. Oh, please stop, I’m sorry, I can’t-“
Nikki bent down and kissed Zoe again, swallowing the pleas that were yet to be issued from her mouth.
“But you haven’t learned your lesson yet, sweetie” smiled Nikki, and she drilled her fingers back into Nikki’s bare tummy.
“Ahahahahahahahahahahahahaa!!!! Nooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!”
The breath was being driven from Zoe’s body, she could barely summon up enough to scream. Just when she thought she must pass out, Nikki stopped.
“Now then, blondie” she whispered. “I hope that taught you a lesson?”
“Yes Nikki” gasped Zoe breathlessly.
“Good. Now, I’m going to briefly untie your wrists. I wasn’t you to remove this silly t-shirt.”
Zoe felt the silk ties on her wrists being loosened. Her arms free, she pulled off the tight t-shirt, and flung it to the floor.”
“And your bra” said Nikki hoarsely, and Zoe was delighted to see that she was becoming flushed. For all her bossiness and her arrogance, thought Zoe happily, she fancies me, and she cannot wait to see my tits!
Zoe toyed with her bra clasp for as long as she reasonably could, making Nikki wait. Finally, she removed it, and tossed it onto the floor to join her t-shirt.
“Lie down again” ordered Nikki, her eyes lingering greedily on Zoe’s bare breasts. Once again, Zoe, found herself tied up.
“So, blondie,” she continued, “we’ve found out that your tummy’s ticklish; I wonder where else is?”
She gradually explored Zoe’s upper body with her skilled fingers. To her disappointment, she found that Zoe’s underarms were entirely oblivious to her tickling. She was happier to find that Zoe’s neck and face were ticklish, and her new girlfriend squeaked and giggled delightedly as Nikki nuzzled her with her mouth.
Lastly, she concentrated on the firm, perfectly round breasts. Several minutes of breast tickling yielded a persistent giggling, but not the shrieking Nikki had hoped for. Instead, she allowed Zoe a pause for pleasure, and began a slow process of kissing every inch of her naked breasts, licking softly at the bullet-hard nipples.
Zoe was gasping now, but not from tickling. God, this girl was good.
“Right then, blondie” whispered Nikki, her face an inch from Zoe’s. “I’m going to tickle your bare feet.”
Nikki climbed off the bed, but instead of moving towards Zoe’s feet, she went towards her wardrobe. From it she removed a large box, which she carried towards Zoe.
“Today, blondie, I’m going to tickle those big bare feet with my fingers. If, however, you are naughty in the future-” she smiled “-and I’m sure you will be – I will get my toy box out.”
She showed Zoe the contents of the box. Toothbrushes, electric and normal, combs, many hairbrushes, paintbrushes, dozens of feathers, combs, forks, pens and many other objects besides. Zoe’s eyes widened dramatically.
“I thought you might like them, blondie” smiled Zoe.
Nikki returned the box to the wardrobe, and then fetched a cushioned stool which she placed in front of Zoe’s size seven bare feet. Her tummy was ticklish, but her tits and underarms weren’t, thought Nikki to herself. Please let these lovely feet be ticklish.
In a few seconds, all doubt was dispelled. Barely had she touched Zoe’s feet, when the poor girl squealed. Running her fingernail up the long, soft, smooth sole, Nikki felt a warm glow of happiness. These bare feet were not merely ticklish; they were insanely, wildly, horribly ticklish.
On impulse, Nikki bent forward and kissed each big toe in turn, softly and lovingly.
And then she began to tickle.
For an hour, she tickled Zoe’s bare feet. She should have stopped sooner, but she simply couldn’t tear herself away from the wonderful naked soles, the cute little toes that jerked so convulsively against her touch.
She loved Zoe’s squealing laughter, knew that Zoe was loving and hating her attentions in equal measure, as she scrabbled her fingers over the bare feet for the hundredth time.
Finally, wordlessly, Nikki stopped tickling. She rose to see that Zoe was a sweaty mess, her blonde hair sticking to her forehead. Nikki already adored her.
Nikki removed the silk ties, feeing Zoe’s ankles, but not her wrists. She unzipped Zoe’s jeans, and pulled them off. Still without speaking, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of the cute little white lace panties, and pulled them down too.
“Good girl, blondie” said Nikki, removing her dressing gown, and climbing naked onto the bed, “good girl.”
Zoe, still giggling slightly from her tickling ordeal, groaned delightedly as she finally saw Nikki’s naked body, her tiny, pert little breasts, her flat tummy, her wonderful pink complexion, the unshaven shock of brown pubic hair.
Nikki kissed her on her belly button, then moved lower. She buried her head between Zoe’s legs, and Zoe let out a moan of utter ecstasy as Nikki’s tongue began it’s long night’s work.
****
Fi sat on the bed in her cell, naked and shivering, although it was not cold. She had closely examined her bare feet. It was incredible, she thought. Not even the tiniest mark was on either foot. How could she have been put through such utter agony for so long, yet no visible sign remain? If she could look at her mind, it would be a different story. The scars of every single stroke of the feather, every single caress of Heather’s fingers, would be seared there for eternity.
“If you do not, you will be tickled on your bare feet.”
Tears streamed down Fi’s face. Yesterday, she was a student. A party girl who worried about breaking a nail, or which of the many lads who admired her she would go out with next.
Now, she had somehow fallen into the power of this, this, woman, and her sidekick. They had tortured her. The realisation was a profound one. So what if there were no marks? That devilish tickling of her bare feet had been cold, calculating torture. What was more, if she did not do whatever they might demand, they would torture her again.
“If you do not, you will be tickled on your bare feet.”
What was a concubine? She didn’t really know, thought it was the old name for a prostitute. They couldn’t make her do that. Could they? What could she do? If it came to a choice between that, and another two hours of that feather between her toes, she had no choice at all…..
Fi’s reverie was broken by the clanging of a door, and voices in the hallway.
Danielle.
In her own agony, she had completely forgotten that her friend shared her plight.
“Remove your dress” came a voice from outside Fi’s cell. It was Heather.
Silence.
“Remove your dress, or you will find out how sharp an electric shock my little toy here can give.”
A pause, and then Fi heard the unmistakeable shuffling of fabric as clothes were removed reluctantly. They had done the same to her, made her strip in the hall, left to wonder what on earth would happen next.
Now, she knew. She knew what would happen next. She knew what the next two hours held for her best friend.
She didn’t know if she could cope. Her own tickling had been bad enough. How would she cope, sitting here, naked and powerless, as they did exactly the same to her friend?
Five minutes passed in silence.
Fi sat with her head in her hands, knowing what was coming next.
Finally, from down the corridor, Danielle started to scream.
****
Yevpatoriya is a resort town on the Black Sea coast of Ukraine. It is 200 miles from the port of Odessa, and its sandy beaches and spectacular black rocky outcrops make it one of the most desirable addresses in the former Soviet state.
Driving for ten minutes north-west along the spectacular Crimean coastline brings one to a gated, secluded dacha. Built forty years ago as a holiday retreat for a former head of the KGB, it is a vast, palatial building on several levels. It covers forty acres, and lets onto both sandy beach and grassy parkland. The high levels of security and isolation ensure that virtually no-one is aware of who lives here. That is well, for the dacha is owned by Elena Foritskaya, and for most Ukrainians, ignorance of her is bliss.
Elena was born thirty years ago into a prominent Kiev family, her father a key member of the security services. After the breakup of the Soviet Union, and the death of her father, Elena, considered a great beauty, was married to Sergei Yurenko. Yurenko swiftly became one of the ‘new rich’ in post-Soviet Ukraine, where the distinction between businessman and criminal was blurred. Five years ago, in a gangland shootout, he was killed. Most of his rivals both celebrated his death, and courted his beautiful widow.
To their shock, she didn’t come cowering to them for shelter. Instead, she took on her husband’s business, and it flourished. She combined a brilliant mind with a cold, brutal ruthlessness that inspired awe and fear in those that met her. Many of her main rivals inexplicably capitulated to her, those that did not rapidly disappeared or met with unfortunate accidents.
Elena dealt in arms shipments, and was phenomenally successful. Now, at the age of thirty, she rarely sullied herself with work. Once or twice a year, she would broker a deal that would keep her in her lavish lifestyle, and that was all. Instead, she now enjoyed reaping the rich rewards that her success and reputation brought.
That particular bright, sunny Sunday morning, Elena awoke with a yawn as sunlight flooded into her palatial bedchamber. She stretched out a long, tanned leg, and aimed a kick at the girl still soundly asleep next to her.
The girl awoke with a frightened yelp.
“Breakfast” yawned Elena, aiming another hard kick at the girl’s bare bottom, and connecting with a sharp smack.
“Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am” she squeaked, leaping out of bed and scampering from the room.
Elena watched lazily as the little bare feet pattered on the wooden floor. Angelika had been a pleasing companion. As with all her girls, Angelika was desperately eager to please. She knew Elena’s reputation, knew what would happen if she did not please her.
Angelika came from Kharkiv in the north east of Ukraine. At 18, she had come to Kiev, and had become a waitress in one of Elena’s restaurants. Eating there one night, Elena had found herself very taken with the skinny, brittle frame of the strawberry blonde girl. Angelika had been swiftly promoted from waitress to one of her favourite bed partners.
Elena wondered idly what to do with Angelika as she waited for her breakfast. It was not the girl’s fault, of course. Elena had kept her up most of the night, enjoying her beautiful, pale body. It was merely Angelika’s misfortune that Elena had woken first, thus meaning she had failed to wake her owner in the required manner, with her tongue between her legs.
Elena decided that she would punish the girl herself, her hand beginning to rub herself as she anticipated Angelika’s tiny bare feet quivering in front of her, ready to be tickled.
She forced herself to snap out of her fantasy. Today was not a day for such pleasant imaginings; she had a meeting to prepare for. A meeting that she was honoured to have. A meeting, for once in her life, where she respected and feared the other party.
A meeting that, she hoped, would result in her being admitted to The Network.
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=132811
I should note that this chapter (and most subsequent ones) contains scenes of f/f sexual contact, so if that isn't your thing, give this story a miss....
All comments/thoughts/suggestions very welcome as ever.
Chapter Three
Danielle was shaking. She sat on the small bed in the dank, grey room, and hugged her knees to her chest.
Ten minutes ago, she had experienced a moment of realisation, a moment of understanding that had felt like an icy stake being driven into her chest. The screaming had been going on for a long time, exactly how long it was impossible for Danielle to judge. Then, suddenly, the screamer had managed, at the very top of her voice, to find a moment of clear, intelligible speech.
“For God’s sake please stop it!” the yell was piercing, and filled Danielle’s cell as though the speaker were there with her.
The words left Danielle stunned. She knew that voice. She had never heard it at that volume, or in that tone, which seemed to convey a combination of agony, fear and….laughter? Danielle must be mistaken about the last, but whatever the emotion was, it was coming from Fi. Fi. Her best friend. Suddenly, everything was clear, her memory returned, full and complete, in an instant.
In her mind, she was suddenly back at their student flat, the two of them, sitting together on the sofa, looking down at their waiting bare feet as that cute girl offering the free pedicures prepared to caress them. Then everything went fuzzy.
What had happened? Where were they? What on earth could make a beauty therapy student want to kidnap them? Most importantly, what the hell were they doing to her friend that could make her scream like that…………and would they soon be doing the same to her?
****
Zoe pressed the buzzer. Her taxi had taken her to a newly built apartment building in a new, up-and-coming area of the city popular with young, single professionals. As she waited for an answer, Zoe felt absurdly like a nervous teenager, clutching a bottle of wine in her hand. What would she say?
“Hello?” the tinny, disembodied voice was unmistakeably Nikki’s.
“Er, hi! It’s Zoe.”
The door buzzed open, without Nikki replying. Zoe stepped inside, and took the lift to the fourth floor.
The door of the apartment was open, and Nikki stood waiting for her. With more than a flicker of surprise, she saw that Nikki wore only a towelling white dressing gown. Her brown hair was again untidy, but again she had applied the bright red lipstick that accentuated her full lips. Below the soft-looking dressing gown, Zoe saw tin, bony ankles, and pale, pink bare feet. As Nikki surveyed her with those huge, bottomless brown eyes, Zoe felt yet another somersault in her stomach.
“Come in, Zoe” said Nikki softly, a welcoming smile beginning to develop on her lips.
As the tall blonde walked pat her, Nikki considered that her decision to move up here might just have paid a very unexpected dividend.
“Er, nice apartment” said Zoe nervously, but truthfully, as she admired the wooden flooring and sparse, modern furnishings. She had been more than a little taken aback to find her host barely clothed, and was struggling to recover her equilibrium.
“Thank you. There’s a bottle of wine open on the side there, get yourself a glass, Zoe.”
Zoe was rather surprised to be ordered about like this, but she rather liked it, and she was sure that Nikki knew she liked it. She poured herself a generous measure of Rioja, and sat herself down in a wonderfully comfortable black leather armchair. Nikki sat perched on a matching sofa, feet tucked beneath her, wine glass in hand.
“Well Zoe” said Nikki. “Look at you. Bare tummy. Golden sandals. Toenails polished. I do declare you are being a provocative little minx.”
“No!” said Zoe. She was sure this hadn’t been her intention. But was it really an accident that her most ticklish spots were all exposed? Was she being deliberately, albeit subconsciously, provocative?
“Oh yes you are” smiled Nikki, “and later on, you will be punished for it.”
Zoe’s stomach flipped again, her mouth too dry to speak.
“But” said Nikki in a much lighter voice, “that’s for later. How’s your week been, sweetie, any interesting stories on the go?”
****
The three women in the torture room had discovered that Fi was particularly ticklish in the smooth grooves between her toes.
For Hilary, this information was stored dispassionately for future reference, as a potential means of punishment and subjugation. For Heather, this information was used to redouble her considerable efforts. A small white feather was now in her hand, exquisitely torturing the naked toes. For Fi, this meant pure agony. She had screamed, begged, pleaded, cried and begged some more, all to no avail.
Backwards and forwards, Heather dragged the light feather between Fi’s toes. Heather had developed a rhythm that pleased her greatly. She would begin by inserting the feather between two of the milky white toes. This would invariably elicit a pleading shout from the bound, naked student; usually along the lines of ‘No more, pleeeease!’ or ‘I’ve had enough!’
Heather would, of course, ignore her, and begin moving the feather back and forth between the toes. Fi would begin with a loud giggle, but as the merciless feather sawed back and forth, this would increase to a continuous wail of laughter. After a minute or so, Fi would scream herself hoarse, and begin gasping for breath. At this point, Heather would realise that Fi was just beginning to become slightly desensitised to the tickling. She would remove the feather, and leave it just long enough to let Fi hope, desperately, that the torture was at an end. Just when Fi allowed herself to believe, Heather would select another pair of the bare toes, slip the feather between them, and begin again.
Hilary watched the tickle torture with little outward emotion. Once or twice she glanced down at her own bare feet, small and slender and shockingly white against the black rubber floor. Of course, she couldn’t truly know what Fi was going through, because no-one had ever dared to tickle her feet. She had done this to enough girls in the past, though, to know precisely how dreadful an experience it was.
Hilary’s mind thought back to previous occupants of the bench where Fi was suffering. So many had passed though, so few lived long in the memory. There was Kylie, her first ever sale; a cleaner at her office in the city, bony and underfed, with long, sensitive bare feet. Sandra, a chubby hairdresser who had given her so many long hours of pleasure to avoid further feathering of her huge, fat breasts. Lucy, who aspired to be a model, such a stunning little blonde, with tiny pink bare feet, who had been her highest priced sale yet. Sally, the raven-haired student who had fought with such spirit, it had taken almost a month to finally break her, and a further month to properly punish her for her prolonged resistance. Lucy, the most recent, a thin, blonde Polish barmaid with incredibly ticklish armpits. Then, of course, there was Heather. Heather, the young beauty therapist who had innocently arrived one wet autumn day to give Hilary an at home treatment. Heather, whose slim, tanned bare feet were so gorgeous, and so exquisitely ticklish. Heather, whose long arms and legs wrapped round her so perfectly, whose tender lips and skilled tongue brought her so much joy. Heather would have earned her a fortune, but she couldn’t bear the thought of losing her. She had proven such an adept pupil, too, taking so much pleasure in inflicting upon others the same tickle torture that she so feared herself.
A piercing squeal from Fi brought Hilary back to the moment. Yes, this girl would be good, too. Her toes were remarkably ticklish. Red haired girls were always a sought-after commodity; perhaps because of how pink their creamy white skin turned under prolonged tickling. Fi’s feet had already gained a most pleasing tinge of pink.
Hilary looked at the naked student, the long hair, the full breasts glistening with sweat, the strong, toned legs, and thought that she would definitely undertake this ones training personally. Heather had done well with Lucy, and Hilary had happily ceded the instruction of the awkward, flat-chested, surly barmaid to her. This one, however, was very different, and Hilary decided that Fi would learn her new skills under her own, expert instruction.
“Stop” said Hilary eventually. Fi’s head sagged forward, her lungs gasping for breath that struggled to come. “Let me see her feet.”
Hilary stood up from her position by Fi’s breasts and moved around the stocks to her feet. Heather stood and allowed her Mistress to examine her handiwork.
Hilary closely examined Fi’s bare feet. She felt the soles, studied each naked toe in turn, and then proclaimed herself satisfied.
“Fiona” she said sharply, and Fi looked up quickly. Despite her debilitated state, she already knew that when Hilary spoke, she should listen. She knew what the consequences would be if she did not.
“Tomorrow, you will commence your training. You and your friend are to be trained as concubines. You will acquit yourself to the best of your ability. You will learn with eagerness and willing. You will learn to give the most fabulous service, the most phenomenal pleasure. If you do not, you will be tickled on your bare feet.”
The last sentence was uttered so softly, so calmly, that Fi could barely take in its full significance. That one line that, she knew, now defined her very existence. This woman, this cold, aloof, fearful woman, controlled her. She must submit.
“If you do not, you will be tickled on your bare feet.”
This was now the only rule that mattered in Fiona’s life.
****
“Enough small talk” said Nikki sharply, unexpectedly interrupting Zoe in the middle of a story from her student volleyball days.
Zoe stopped abruptly, surprised.
“Take off your shoes” said Nikki simply.
The two made eye contact, and it was clear to Zoe that this was neither request nor statement; it was an order.
Zoe bent forwards, and began to fiddle with the complicated fastenings on the golden sandals. She was nervous, and the buckles were tricky, so it took a while to get her left shoe off. She looked up, and saw that Nikki was staring at her wordlessly, but intently. Zoe bent down again, and removed the other shoe.
Zoe placed the shoes neatly to one side. She felt faintly silly, sitting there in her bare feet, awaiting instructions from the girl facing her.
“Come here” said Nikki.
Zoe stood up, and walked slowly across to face the little brunette.
Nikki stood, reached up on tiptoe, and grabbed a handful of Zoe’s golden blonde hair. Zoe felt herself pulled down into a kiss. Their lips met, softly brushing, then Nikki took Zoe’s bottom lip between her own, and pressed softly. Their mouths opened together, tongues reaching inward, each seeking the other urgently.
After an ecstatic minute, or hour, Zoe had no clue, she placed her arms around Nikki. The brunette already had both hands inside Zoe’s t-shirt, groping her large breasts none too gently. Zoe moved her hands forward, looking to remove the white towelling dressing gown, to access the delights of Nikki’s body.
“Oh no you don’t, blondie” said Nikki, puling clean away from the embrace.
“You will get nothing” she grinned, “nothing at all; until we have addressed the matter of your punishment.”
Nikki held out her small hand, and Zoe noticed the long fingernails. She took it, and allowed herself to be led from the room.
Nikki led her into the flat’s single bedroom. It was a large, airy room with wooden flooring and a long window overlooking the street far below.
All Zoe noticed was the bed.
It was a huge, King-sized double bed, into which the tiny Nikki must almost disappear when alone. It was covered by a sumptuously soft-looking white duvet, with at least half a dozen fat white pillows lying at its head.
Attached to each of the four corners of the bed were long, silk ties. Zoe’s stomach flipped yet again. She knew what they were for.
“Lie down” ordered Nikki softly.
Zoe looked at her, wondering briefly whether she ought to undress. Deciding against it, she climbed onto the bed, the sheets gloriously soft against her bare feet.
“Give me your wrist, blondie” said Nikki, moving to the head of the bed on Zoe’s right.
Not a hint of danger entered Zoe’s mind. She barely knew Nikki, yet she trusted her completely. She raised her arm towards the head of the bed.
“I’m going to tie you very lightly” smiled Nikki. “So you will be able to free yourself if you tug very hard. I wouldn’t suggest it though; I shall be very cross.” Grinning, she tied Zoe’s wrist above her head, the moved around the bed, and did the same to the other.
“Now, let’s secure those big bare feet too” she smiled.
Zoe found a silk tie being fastened around each of her slim, naked ankles. When Nikki had finished, Zoe found herself spreadeagled on the bed, feeling very vulnerable indeed.
Nikki, still in her dressing gown, bounced onto the bed. She straddled Zoe, kneeling over her. She bent forwards, and again the two lost themselves in a long, satisfying kiss. Finally breaking away, Nikki’s expression became very stern.
“Now then” she began. “Blondie’s been a very naughty girl, haven’t you? Dressing like this when you barely know me?”
Both girls were grinning at each other.
“Time for your punishment. We will begin by addressing the issue of this ridiculous t-shirt. You need to learn, blondie, that I’m not impressed by you flashing your toned little tummy at me.”
Nikki placed all ten fingers lightly on Zoe’s flat, muscular midriff, and without warning violently dug them in, and began tickling.
“Oh no! Ohhnoo! Oh pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!”
Zoe yelped and stuggled wildly as Nikki’s strong, skilled fingers dug into her belly, poking, prodding and tickling.
All of a sudden, she stopped.
“Would you like me to stop, blondie?” she asked, a single finger lightly tracing a circle around Zoe’s belly button.
“Oh yes. Oh, please stop, I’m sorry, I can’t-“
Nikki bent down and kissed Zoe again, swallowing the pleas that were yet to be issued from her mouth.
“But you haven’t learned your lesson yet, sweetie” smiled Nikki, and she drilled her fingers back into Nikki’s bare tummy.
“Ahahahahahahahahahahahahaa!!!! Nooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!”
The breath was being driven from Zoe’s body, she could barely summon up enough to scream. Just when she thought she must pass out, Nikki stopped.
“Now then, blondie” she whispered. “I hope that taught you a lesson?”
“Yes Nikki” gasped Zoe breathlessly.
“Good. Now, I’m going to briefly untie your wrists. I wasn’t you to remove this silly t-shirt.”
Zoe felt the silk ties on her wrists being loosened. Her arms free, she pulled off the tight t-shirt, and flung it to the floor.”
“And your bra” said Nikki hoarsely, and Zoe was delighted to see that she was becoming flushed. For all her bossiness and her arrogance, thought Zoe happily, she fancies me, and she cannot wait to see my tits!
Zoe toyed with her bra clasp for as long as she reasonably could, making Nikki wait. Finally, she removed it, and tossed it onto the floor to join her t-shirt.
“Lie down again” ordered Nikki, her eyes lingering greedily on Zoe’s bare breasts. Once again, Zoe, found herself tied up.
“So, blondie,” she continued, “we’ve found out that your tummy’s ticklish; I wonder where else is?”
She gradually explored Zoe’s upper body with her skilled fingers. To her disappointment, she found that Zoe’s underarms were entirely oblivious to her tickling. She was happier to find that Zoe’s neck and face were ticklish, and her new girlfriend squeaked and giggled delightedly as Nikki nuzzled her with her mouth.
Lastly, she concentrated on the firm, perfectly round breasts. Several minutes of breast tickling yielded a persistent giggling, but not the shrieking Nikki had hoped for. Instead, she allowed Zoe a pause for pleasure, and began a slow process of kissing every inch of her naked breasts, licking softly at the bullet-hard nipples.
Zoe was gasping now, but not from tickling. God, this girl was good.
“Right then, blondie” whispered Nikki, her face an inch from Zoe’s. “I’m going to tickle your bare feet.”
Nikki climbed off the bed, but instead of moving towards Zoe’s feet, she went towards her wardrobe. From it she removed a large box, which she carried towards Zoe.
“Today, blondie, I’m going to tickle those big bare feet with my fingers. If, however, you are naughty in the future-” she smiled “-and I’m sure you will be – I will get my toy box out.”
She showed Zoe the contents of the box. Toothbrushes, electric and normal, combs, many hairbrushes, paintbrushes, dozens of feathers, combs, forks, pens and many other objects besides. Zoe’s eyes widened dramatically.
“I thought you might like them, blondie” smiled Zoe.
Nikki returned the box to the wardrobe, and then fetched a cushioned stool which she placed in front of Zoe’s size seven bare feet. Her tummy was ticklish, but her tits and underarms weren’t, thought Nikki to herself. Please let these lovely feet be ticklish.
In a few seconds, all doubt was dispelled. Barely had she touched Zoe’s feet, when the poor girl squealed. Running her fingernail up the long, soft, smooth sole, Nikki felt a warm glow of happiness. These bare feet were not merely ticklish; they were insanely, wildly, horribly ticklish.
On impulse, Nikki bent forward and kissed each big toe in turn, softly and lovingly.
And then she began to tickle.
For an hour, she tickled Zoe’s bare feet. She should have stopped sooner, but she simply couldn’t tear herself away from the wonderful naked soles, the cute little toes that jerked so convulsively against her touch.
She loved Zoe’s squealing laughter, knew that Zoe was loving and hating her attentions in equal measure, as she scrabbled her fingers over the bare feet for the hundredth time.
Finally, wordlessly, Nikki stopped tickling. She rose to see that Zoe was a sweaty mess, her blonde hair sticking to her forehead. Nikki already adored her.
Nikki removed the silk ties, feeing Zoe’s ankles, but not her wrists. She unzipped Zoe’s jeans, and pulled them off. Still without speaking, she hooked her fingers into the waistband of the cute little white lace panties, and pulled them down too.
“Good girl, blondie” said Nikki, removing her dressing gown, and climbing naked onto the bed, “good girl.”
Zoe, still giggling slightly from her tickling ordeal, groaned delightedly as she finally saw Nikki’s naked body, her tiny, pert little breasts, her flat tummy, her wonderful pink complexion, the unshaven shock of brown pubic hair.
Nikki kissed her on her belly button, then moved lower. She buried her head between Zoe’s legs, and Zoe let out a moan of utter ecstasy as Nikki’s tongue began it’s long night’s work.
****
Fi sat on the bed in her cell, naked and shivering, although it was not cold. She had closely examined her bare feet. It was incredible, she thought. Not even the tiniest mark was on either foot. How could she have been put through such utter agony for so long, yet no visible sign remain? If she could look at her mind, it would be a different story. The scars of every single stroke of the feather, every single caress of Heather’s fingers, would be seared there for eternity.
“If you do not, you will be tickled on your bare feet.”
Tears streamed down Fi’s face. Yesterday, she was a student. A party girl who worried about breaking a nail, or which of the many lads who admired her she would go out with next.
Now, she had somehow fallen into the power of this, this, woman, and her sidekick. They had tortured her. The realisation was a profound one. So what if there were no marks? That devilish tickling of her bare feet had been cold, calculating torture. What was more, if she did not do whatever they might demand, they would torture her again.
“If you do not, you will be tickled on your bare feet.”
What was a concubine? She didn’t really know, thought it was the old name for a prostitute. They couldn’t make her do that. Could they? What could she do? If it came to a choice between that, and another two hours of that feather between her toes, she had no choice at all…..
Fi’s reverie was broken by the clanging of a door, and voices in the hallway.
Danielle.
In her own agony, she had completely forgotten that her friend shared her plight.
“Remove your dress” came a voice from outside Fi’s cell. It was Heather.
Silence.
“Remove your dress, or you will find out how sharp an electric shock my little toy here can give.”
A pause, and then Fi heard the unmistakeable shuffling of fabric as clothes were removed reluctantly. They had done the same to her, made her strip in the hall, left to wonder what on earth would happen next.
Now, she knew. She knew what would happen next. She knew what the next two hours held for her best friend.
She didn’t know if she could cope. Her own tickling had been bad enough. How would she cope, sitting here, naked and powerless, as they did exactly the same to her friend?
Five minutes passed in silence.
Fi sat with her head in her hands, knowing what was coming next.
Finally, from down the corridor, Danielle started to scream.
****
Yevpatoriya is a resort town on the Black Sea coast of Ukraine. It is 200 miles from the port of Odessa, and its sandy beaches and spectacular black rocky outcrops make it one of the most desirable addresses in the former Soviet state.
Driving for ten minutes north-west along the spectacular Crimean coastline brings one to a gated, secluded dacha. Built forty years ago as a holiday retreat for a former head of the KGB, it is a vast, palatial building on several levels. It covers forty acres, and lets onto both sandy beach and grassy parkland. The high levels of security and isolation ensure that virtually no-one is aware of who lives here. That is well, for the dacha is owned by Elena Foritskaya, and for most Ukrainians, ignorance of her is bliss.
Elena was born thirty years ago into a prominent Kiev family, her father a key member of the security services. After the breakup of the Soviet Union, and the death of her father, Elena, considered a great beauty, was married to Sergei Yurenko. Yurenko swiftly became one of the ‘new rich’ in post-Soviet Ukraine, where the distinction between businessman and criminal was blurred. Five years ago, in a gangland shootout, he was killed. Most of his rivals both celebrated his death, and courted his beautiful widow.
To their shock, she didn’t come cowering to them for shelter. Instead, she took on her husband’s business, and it flourished. She combined a brilliant mind with a cold, brutal ruthlessness that inspired awe and fear in those that met her. Many of her main rivals inexplicably capitulated to her, those that did not rapidly disappeared or met with unfortunate accidents.
Elena dealt in arms shipments, and was phenomenally successful. Now, at the age of thirty, she rarely sullied herself with work. Once or twice a year, she would broker a deal that would keep her in her lavish lifestyle, and that was all. Instead, she now enjoyed reaping the rich rewards that her success and reputation brought.
That particular bright, sunny Sunday morning, Elena awoke with a yawn as sunlight flooded into her palatial bedchamber. She stretched out a long, tanned leg, and aimed a kick at the girl still soundly asleep next to her.
The girl awoke with a frightened yelp.
“Breakfast” yawned Elena, aiming another hard kick at the girl’s bare bottom, and connecting with a sharp smack.
“Yes ma’am, sorry ma’am” she squeaked, leaping out of bed and scampering from the room.
Elena watched lazily as the little bare feet pattered on the wooden floor. Angelika had been a pleasing companion. As with all her girls, Angelika was desperately eager to please. She knew Elena’s reputation, knew what would happen if she did not please her.
Angelika came from Kharkiv in the north east of Ukraine. At 18, she had come to Kiev, and had become a waitress in one of Elena’s restaurants. Eating there one night, Elena had found herself very taken with the skinny, brittle frame of the strawberry blonde girl. Angelika had been swiftly promoted from waitress to one of her favourite bed partners.
Elena wondered idly what to do with Angelika as she waited for her breakfast. It was not the girl’s fault, of course. Elena had kept her up most of the night, enjoying her beautiful, pale body. It was merely Angelika’s misfortune that Elena had woken first, thus meaning she had failed to wake her owner in the required manner, with her tongue between her legs.
Elena decided that she would punish the girl herself, her hand beginning to rub herself as she anticipated Angelika’s tiny bare feet quivering in front of her, ready to be tickled.
She forced herself to snap out of her fantasy. Today was not a day for such pleasant imaginings; she had a meeting to prepare for. A meeting that she was honoured to have. A meeting, for once in her life, where she respected and feared the other party.
A meeting that, she hoped, would result in her being admitted to The Network.
