Woodland Spirits (M?/F Feet)

This is a procrastination story. Most of mine are. Usually, I’ll need/want to be doing something, and do something else instead in order to avoid whatever it is I’m trying to do. I think this was a piece I wrote early last summer (so 09) while attempting to work on other tickling fiction (there are a ton I’ve been putting off for years) and listening to the song Jack in the Green (Coyote Run not Jethro Tull: They’re similar enough, but I don’t know the Jethro Tull version. Only know of it because I just saw it on youtube). So I very quickly wrote a story about Jack in the Green as a tickler. The song, which can be found here[URL]. Coyote Run is a local band that does stuff at our local renfaires and such. They’re alright. Not great, but not bad. Anyway, since this is a procrastination story, the emphasis is more on playing with the writing. I don’t really like this one, but it has some interesting bits. Enjoy.


Woodland Spirits (M?/F Feet)

All the villagers knew of the mischievous spirits of the woodlands, and though most avoid the forest when possible, there are times when treading through it are necessary. That is the sort of justification Jane, a hungry, unmarried peasant girl, made for entering that foggy morning while searching for some fruit to store for winter.

It was never fatal, and rarely did any real harm befall the victims. More than anything it was a cumbersome annoyance that must be bared, and preferably avoided. The mischief that the spirits caused was never the same twice, or at least, if what was told could be taken as truth, there was no recorded occurrence of two acts that were the same. Beth, last month, had wandered the same path in circles for at least an hour, while a year ago Susan was assaulted by a flock of either pixies, sprites, or faeries; it was never discerned which.

For an hour Jane had skirted along the outer area of the woods, not far enough in to have evoked anger from the over flowing magic that pricked her skin like the cold of a winter’s night. It was thick enough that one could almost taste the magical properties of the trees if their mouth remained open too long. However, the outer tree’s apples were not imbued with as much of the forest’s magic as the ones that grew deeper inside, which tasted so much sweeter. Deciding that little could go wrong, Jane walked for the better part of an hour, until at last she discovered an open meadow filled with the music of life, deep within the woods, at the center of which resided a glorious apple tree where apples grew that were slightly smaller than her head. A handful of those would last her all winter, and perhaps longer, she thought as she strode across the field hungrily.

After climbing the tree ten feet or so, she began picking apples, dropping them gently onto the ground, into or near enough to the basket she had brought with her. Thoughts of how many she would really be able to carry home briefly danced across her mind, all but forgotten the moment she climbed the tree, as she picked as many as she could, as fast as she could, hoping to avoid any entanglements with the entities of the forest.

Perhaps a minute after she climbed, after she had dropped several apples to the ground, the ground lurched with a sickening pulse, and she tumbled forward, head first. After the fall, her first thought was that she had fallen onto a patch of exceptionally soft grass, since her landing had been so light, but she soon realized that the tree had engulfed her almost entirely, pinning and trapping her arms to her sides; her ankles and feet had remained outside, through the top of the tree, but she could not even wiggle them due to the tightness of the hole that had shut around her ankles and the fact that the tops of her feet rested against the bark of the tree’s mouth, or the start of the hole or whatever it was.

Though none had ever been reported dead, she began to worry that she may be the first. Immediately she was comforted by the fact that she heard someone whistling outside of her tree prison “Oh help, dear stranger!” she cried out, “I have fallen into this tree and am unable to escape! If you would be so kind as to assist, I would greatly appreciate it!” No answer was returned to her.

Well, no verbal answer; however, she felt her flip flops slide off, leaving her soles bare to the outside world; inside of her bark prison cell she heard the wind blow lightly, and felt a leaf dance merrily upon her sole, tickling the ball of her immobile foot lightly. With a light giggle, she turned as much as she could to look upwards through a second hole, which allowed her to see a green skinned gremlin, wearing what appeared to be leaves and other types of foliage for clothing; his hair was a mess of leaves, and a disgustingly rancid yet sweet smell met her nostrils as she gazed at this woodland spirit that held her flip flops captive as he cackled madly while hopping up and down, dancing from right leg to left. He leaned forward out of her sight, and she knew what would become of her feet that had so easily been made susceptible.

It did not start lightly; the thing had grown long nails and used them expertly, weaving maddeningly intricate yet gentle patterns upon her treasured and delicate feet. Once again, those helpless things at the end of her legs served no other purpose but to make her laugh lightly as she struggled against the bark in vain, unable to so much as wiggle her pinky toe due to how they lay against the bark. Down both of her arches at the same time two of the creature’s nails galloped, as she giggled in unison with each hoof that trotted further onto the foreign soil of her flesh. It scratched at her arches, and she squealed pleasantly, half enjoying and half hating the situation that had befallen her.

The heel tickles did not last long as the creature soon discovered those ten tiny, helpless extensions of her feet: the golden fruit at the end of the tunnel, her most sensitive spots. For long minutes the nails scratched at any given individual toe, causing her to laugh harder and still harder. The light sensations were pleasantly unbearable, she thought as she giggled before squealing – it had discovered that sweet spot just beneath her toes, at the base of her foot – but it was made largely unbearable – or perhaps all the more deliciously enjoyable – by the fact that she could not struggle in the least. That loss of control, that inability to struggle even the littlest was entirely exhilarating, and she soon hoped that he would discover still more ticklish areas of her feet so that she could cry out with a hitherto unknown fervor.

Thunder rang out loudly, as if it beat upon a magnificent golden bell within the sky. A terrified yelp reached her ears, and the sensations on her delirious foot bottoms stopped. From out of the trees base, she suddenly fell onto a soft, overgrown spot of grass, next to where her flip flops now lay. Unsure of whether or not she truly wished to don them, she pondered for a moment, finally making a decision upon hearing another crack of thunder in the distance. Forgetting herself, she left the apples that she had risked her well being to acquire as she donned the flimsy pieces of leather and quickly left the forest.

Over the years that would follow, she chose to commit several minor misdemeanors, so that she could experience that sensation once more. Addictive as she found the stocks, it was never quite the same as that first time, when her virgin feet had truly been tickled. At long last, quite unsatisfied with what sparse tickling she could find for her soles, she strode into the woods once more, her feet quite bare. As she carefully stepped to avoid any sort of rock or twig, she could have sworn the grass moved in such a way that it stroked her soles lightly, imagining that the grass, enchanted by one thing or another, tickled between her toes on purpose. Finally, deep within the woods, she chose a small thicket of grass, laying upon her stomach within it, hoping that the mischievous woodland spirits would choose to take advantage of her bare soles as several vines slithered toward her from various directions, binding her very immobile.