ElFewja
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Ever see that scene in the first Star Wars (I refuse to acknowledge Ep’s 1, 2, and 3) where Leia gets nailed by that stun gun early on? I’m probably the only one but, I’ve always had this sort of fantasy where she was tickled after that. You know, just right there. That’s sort of what this is. It’s also the same sort of imagery I was going for – those big blue circles from the movie – but well… first person, and the character didn’t see it, so it’s not actually in the story. Oh well. Anyway, this is short and.. well, I didn’t focus as heavily on describing the tickling as I could have. I’ll attribute that to first person again (making excuses), since you’re not entirely aware of the exact details when being tickled, persay. Just the loose ones, really. Anyway, I hope you like this. I did.
Jewel-Heisting Jasmine’s Downfall (M/F Feet)
Shit, Jasmine hurriedly thought to herself as adrenaline coursed about her body while darting from a well lit street between two tall brick buildings into a dark alleyway on her left, I’ve never been this close to being caught. She wasn’t safe here, she knew, and continued to run awkwardly in those calf-high black leather boots with raised heels - cursing herself inwardly for trying to look fancy during a robbery - towards the light at the alley’s end. Hopefully they’ll give up soon, she continued to think, admittedly more about her situation rather than plan a way out of it. But right then, a strange sound came from behind her, causing her attention to falter long enough to trip over a skillfully hidden object on the ground of this dimly lit alleyway.
The fall surprised her more than harmed her, and she quickly began to push herself up but found her legs irresponsive. Fear of being overtaken by one of the police filled her as she pulled at her right leg in an attempt to use it despite its sudden lifelessness. A second of this struggle and she had already given up, favoring instead to drag herself to the side and hopefully hide; after all, she had worn all black - sweater sweat pants and her boots - for this job, and combined with her black hair, she may easily be overlooked. In case she was found, she hid the bag of stolen jewels behind a nearby trashcan by tossing them at it, a soft thud assuring her that they did in fact land where she intended them to.
Steps, slow and assured, or possibly cautious, approached from where she had entered. Careful not to move an inch, she looked over n that direction to catch sight of a tall, black figure outlined by a heavenly yet blinding glow from the yellow light of the street behind him. The steps were even and rhythmic; he knows I’m here and can’t fight back, she realized by this alone.
Soon, he stood in front of her, an oddly shaped pistol in hand as he examined her motionlessly. Backing against the wall, she glared, baring her teeth at his radiant too white smile gleaming through the shadow. There was, for a while, an awkward and tense silence that filled the air, until it was broken by his thick, ear grinding voice. “You chose a good place to run off to, Jewel Heisting Jasmine.” Such a corny name, she thought, cursing whoever had coined it for her, as she did every day she saw on of her thefts on the front page. Not wanting to give the cop – she could tell by the glint of gold on his chest – any sort of material to work with or use against her, she held her tongue, though growled lightly despite this. “Feisty one, eh? My favorite type.” A quick movement, then dazing pain in her left cheek; when awareness returned – though she was not sure when she had lost it – she found herself laying face down on the pavement, her cheek aflame. The bitch had hit her!
Distantly, she realized her left boot was missing; that her left foot was very bare, the air gently cooling the few beads of sweat on her now naked flesh. “What the fuck!?” she shouted at the cop with a mixture of anger that deftly hid the fear welling up inside of her as she tried to pull herself up once more. “Get the hell away from my feet!” That sound from earlier came again, louder than before; simultaneously, she felt her left arm go limp as she fell forward, landing on her chest again. “Shit… no way…” she spoke under her breath, the situation becoming very clear to her.
“Yup,” he simply said as her other boot cleared its foot while she watched helplessly, unable to do anything to stop him from baring her feet, “I managed to find one of these babies on the black market.”
“They’re illegal,” she responded, knowing she was screwed and would be abused by this sick cop.
“It was hard to get. Pity, that; they’re so useful.”
“Because it’s an inhumane way to kill people!”
“Right. Stuns and paralyzes muscles with a shot of electricity, people slowly suffocate, I know. But it has its uses, if you don’t aim at the chest or head. For example…” His speech was followed by a finger tracing its way around her immobile heel; surprised by its ability to still receive touch, she squealed loudly.
“Through giggles and squeals, she squeaked out, “Ah, shit! You’re one of those freaks!”
“Indeed. Let’s play for a bit, until help arrives, shall we?” Like she had a decision in the matter, she thought cynically as she turned to see a sparse amount of light reflected in his eyes – those eyes flowing over from the brim with lust – which were entirely focused on her foot bottoms, those small, creamy and smooth pieces of fleshy life that were the objects of his deepest desire. He didn’t hesitate or hold back in the least.
With all ten of his fingers, he attacked the centers of her feet, and because of her inability to even flex a toe she had nothing else to do save laugh. Almost immediately in response, she bit her lip in an attempt to stifle her very responsive laughter, hoping to give the jerk no feedback. Instead, it seemed to further his feverous strikes at her feet, as if he was trying to break her, to turn her into a laughing and giggling wreck. Upon finding her toes – those unnecessarily ticklish specks of skin at the top of her sensitive soles – he succeeded; though she buried her head into her now immobilized shoulder, she continued to giggle and occasionally laugh quite audibly.
“So. Where are the jewels, Miss Thief? If you don’t tell me…”
“Over there!” she squealed loudly, finding herself embarrassed at her inability to handle even a little of something so childish. But it was horrible to not be able to struggle.
“Where is ‘over there’?” he asked. As he stroked the pads of her toes, she eeped, giggling in tune with the fingers chaotic dance beneath her toes, on that secret and highly sensitized dance floor that resided there, while thinking to herself that he was such a sick bastard.
“There! Stop, please! I’ll show you!”
“Tell me,” he said, returning to her defenseless toes.
“The trashcan! God, stop! Get away from my toes!”
“Aww, poor baby doesn’t like having her toes tickled, huh?” he chided, moving to her arches, scratching at them with quick runs of his fingers as she questioned to herself whether or not this tickled more. But despite his tone, he stopped. There was a minute or two where she breathed freely, still smiling against her will, while he moved off near the metal bin, finding her hoard almost instantly. A quick chat over a hand held radio – it sounded very typical; culprit captured, a location, requesting back up – and he returned to her.
“For being such a good girl-“
“Piss off! Get lost!”
“-I won’t tickle your toes anymore. But the nearest officer is still ten minutes from here, and your arches are just begging me to touch them-”
“Get away!”
“-So let’s just play until he gets here.”
Just after this her soles became alive with more unbearable sensations, those unseen sensory receptors wildly ablaze with sensation, forcing laughter from those feet that had been so rarely touched before. He tickled her for quite some time – far longer than the promised ten minutes, she thought – pushing her farther and farther into hysterics with his expert touches.
It very quickly transitioned far beyond playful to brutal; at first she screamed hotly at him to get away from her feet but before long it had degenerated into pleading for no more. She promised him at first a tiny amount of her fortune and then all of it should he allow her a break, but he continued to fiercely scratch at her feet as if unaware of her begging. After several long seconds she found herself struggling to breath and realized she had even begun to cry, though thankfully he was so obsessed with her foot bottoms that he didn’t notice how much his torture affected her. Never before had she considered herself so weak of will; sure, she had always known that, if pressure was applied she would eventually break, but never had she imagined that something as simple as touching her feet – not hurting them, just touching them – would bring her so close to the brink of sanity that she could see those sharp rocks jutting out of the ocean that threatened to consume her, beyond that cliff. Yet, despite that – despite how horrible his fingers were as they weaved patterns upon her feet – she found it almost as exhilarating as stealing; to be so close to the point of insanity, yet not quite there; to be under someone else’s control, to laugh when they want you to and to cry when they deem it appropriate was a feeling she never imagined would have been blissful, and yet it almost was. Whenever these thoughts cropped up, she beat them down and burned their remains, attempting not to give in to this foul mans wishes; if she started to enjoy it, to even fantasize how wonderful it would be to laugh for all eternity, then he won, and it may very well happen. That could be fun, but… no, she thought violently, biting her lip so hard that she felt blood trickle upon her tongue, that salty taste burning hotly as she dispersed these strange, foreign thoughts. Regardless of how she feared she might truly feel about her situation, she never once stopped begging him to leave her poor feet alone.
At long last, he stopped, returning those glorious pieces of impenetrable, thick leather onto her abused feet, protecting them once more. Handcuffs soon clasped onto her wrists.
“It’s a good thing nobody will ever believe you about this,” he told her. “We should do it again sometime. I can arrange for you to have your own private cell, where we can play all day. Maybe then I can tie you up proper and tickle the rest of you, you naughty girl.”
Exhausted and out of breath though she was, she still found it in her to tell him to piss off. Responding with hearty laughter, he looked down at her ankles once more, causing a shiver to run up her back. But the promised second officer arrived right then, freeing her from that awful man’s lustful looks.
Jewel-Heisting Jasmine’s Downfall (M/F Feet)
Shit, Jasmine hurriedly thought to herself as adrenaline coursed about her body while darting from a well lit street between two tall brick buildings into a dark alleyway on her left, I’ve never been this close to being caught. She wasn’t safe here, she knew, and continued to run awkwardly in those calf-high black leather boots with raised heels - cursing herself inwardly for trying to look fancy during a robbery - towards the light at the alley’s end. Hopefully they’ll give up soon, she continued to think, admittedly more about her situation rather than plan a way out of it. But right then, a strange sound came from behind her, causing her attention to falter long enough to trip over a skillfully hidden object on the ground of this dimly lit alleyway.
The fall surprised her more than harmed her, and she quickly began to push herself up but found her legs irresponsive. Fear of being overtaken by one of the police filled her as she pulled at her right leg in an attempt to use it despite its sudden lifelessness. A second of this struggle and she had already given up, favoring instead to drag herself to the side and hopefully hide; after all, she had worn all black - sweater sweat pants and her boots - for this job, and combined with her black hair, she may easily be overlooked. In case she was found, she hid the bag of stolen jewels behind a nearby trashcan by tossing them at it, a soft thud assuring her that they did in fact land where she intended them to.
Steps, slow and assured, or possibly cautious, approached from where she had entered. Careful not to move an inch, she looked over n that direction to catch sight of a tall, black figure outlined by a heavenly yet blinding glow from the yellow light of the street behind him. The steps were even and rhythmic; he knows I’m here and can’t fight back, she realized by this alone.
Soon, he stood in front of her, an oddly shaped pistol in hand as he examined her motionlessly. Backing against the wall, she glared, baring her teeth at his radiant too white smile gleaming through the shadow. There was, for a while, an awkward and tense silence that filled the air, until it was broken by his thick, ear grinding voice. “You chose a good place to run off to, Jewel Heisting Jasmine.” Such a corny name, she thought, cursing whoever had coined it for her, as she did every day she saw on of her thefts on the front page. Not wanting to give the cop – she could tell by the glint of gold on his chest – any sort of material to work with or use against her, she held her tongue, though growled lightly despite this. “Feisty one, eh? My favorite type.” A quick movement, then dazing pain in her left cheek; when awareness returned – though she was not sure when she had lost it – she found herself laying face down on the pavement, her cheek aflame. The bitch had hit her!
Distantly, she realized her left boot was missing; that her left foot was very bare, the air gently cooling the few beads of sweat on her now naked flesh. “What the fuck!?” she shouted at the cop with a mixture of anger that deftly hid the fear welling up inside of her as she tried to pull herself up once more. “Get the hell away from my feet!” That sound from earlier came again, louder than before; simultaneously, she felt her left arm go limp as she fell forward, landing on her chest again. “Shit… no way…” she spoke under her breath, the situation becoming very clear to her.
“Yup,” he simply said as her other boot cleared its foot while she watched helplessly, unable to do anything to stop him from baring her feet, “I managed to find one of these babies on the black market.”
“They’re illegal,” she responded, knowing she was screwed and would be abused by this sick cop.
“It was hard to get. Pity, that; they’re so useful.”
“Because it’s an inhumane way to kill people!”
“Right. Stuns and paralyzes muscles with a shot of electricity, people slowly suffocate, I know. But it has its uses, if you don’t aim at the chest or head. For example…” His speech was followed by a finger tracing its way around her immobile heel; surprised by its ability to still receive touch, she squealed loudly.
“Through giggles and squeals, she squeaked out, “Ah, shit! You’re one of those freaks!”
“Indeed. Let’s play for a bit, until help arrives, shall we?” Like she had a decision in the matter, she thought cynically as she turned to see a sparse amount of light reflected in his eyes – those eyes flowing over from the brim with lust – which were entirely focused on her foot bottoms, those small, creamy and smooth pieces of fleshy life that were the objects of his deepest desire. He didn’t hesitate or hold back in the least.
With all ten of his fingers, he attacked the centers of her feet, and because of her inability to even flex a toe she had nothing else to do save laugh. Almost immediately in response, she bit her lip in an attempt to stifle her very responsive laughter, hoping to give the jerk no feedback. Instead, it seemed to further his feverous strikes at her feet, as if he was trying to break her, to turn her into a laughing and giggling wreck. Upon finding her toes – those unnecessarily ticklish specks of skin at the top of her sensitive soles – he succeeded; though she buried her head into her now immobilized shoulder, she continued to giggle and occasionally laugh quite audibly.
“So. Where are the jewels, Miss Thief? If you don’t tell me…”
“Over there!” she squealed loudly, finding herself embarrassed at her inability to handle even a little of something so childish. But it was horrible to not be able to struggle.
“Where is ‘over there’?” he asked. As he stroked the pads of her toes, she eeped, giggling in tune with the fingers chaotic dance beneath her toes, on that secret and highly sensitized dance floor that resided there, while thinking to herself that he was such a sick bastard.
“There! Stop, please! I’ll show you!”
“Tell me,” he said, returning to her defenseless toes.
“The trashcan! God, stop! Get away from my toes!”
“Aww, poor baby doesn’t like having her toes tickled, huh?” he chided, moving to her arches, scratching at them with quick runs of his fingers as she questioned to herself whether or not this tickled more. But despite his tone, he stopped. There was a minute or two where she breathed freely, still smiling against her will, while he moved off near the metal bin, finding her hoard almost instantly. A quick chat over a hand held radio – it sounded very typical; culprit captured, a location, requesting back up – and he returned to her.
“For being such a good girl-“
“Piss off! Get lost!”
“-I won’t tickle your toes anymore. But the nearest officer is still ten minutes from here, and your arches are just begging me to touch them-”
“Get away!”
“-So let’s just play until he gets here.”
Just after this her soles became alive with more unbearable sensations, those unseen sensory receptors wildly ablaze with sensation, forcing laughter from those feet that had been so rarely touched before. He tickled her for quite some time – far longer than the promised ten minutes, she thought – pushing her farther and farther into hysterics with his expert touches.
It very quickly transitioned far beyond playful to brutal; at first she screamed hotly at him to get away from her feet but before long it had degenerated into pleading for no more. She promised him at first a tiny amount of her fortune and then all of it should he allow her a break, but he continued to fiercely scratch at her feet as if unaware of her begging. After several long seconds she found herself struggling to breath and realized she had even begun to cry, though thankfully he was so obsessed with her foot bottoms that he didn’t notice how much his torture affected her. Never before had she considered herself so weak of will; sure, she had always known that, if pressure was applied she would eventually break, but never had she imagined that something as simple as touching her feet – not hurting them, just touching them – would bring her so close to the brink of sanity that she could see those sharp rocks jutting out of the ocean that threatened to consume her, beyond that cliff. Yet, despite that – despite how horrible his fingers were as they weaved patterns upon her feet – she found it almost as exhilarating as stealing; to be so close to the point of insanity, yet not quite there; to be under someone else’s control, to laugh when they want you to and to cry when they deem it appropriate was a feeling she never imagined would have been blissful, and yet it almost was. Whenever these thoughts cropped up, she beat them down and burned their remains, attempting not to give in to this foul mans wishes; if she started to enjoy it, to even fantasize how wonderful it would be to laugh for all eternity, then he won, and it may very well happen. That could be fun, but… no, she thought violently, biting her lip so hard that she felt blood trickle upon her tongue, that salty taste burning hotly as she dispersed these strange, foreign thoughts. Regardless of how she feared she might truly feel about her situation, she never once stopped begging him to leave her poor feet alone.
At long last, he stopped, returning those glorious pieces of impenetrable, thick leather onto her abused feet, protecting them once more. Handcuffs soon clasped onto her wrists.
“It’s a good thing nobody will ever believe you about this,” he told her. “We should do it again sometime. I can arrange for you to have your own private cell, where we can play all day. Maybe then I can tie you up proper and tickle the rest of you, you naughty girl.”
Exhausted and out of breath though she was, she still found it in her to tell him to piss off. Responding with hearty laughter, he looked down at her ankles once more, causing a shiver to run up her back. But the promised second officer arrived right then, freeing her from that awful man’s lustful looks.
