ElFewja
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This is another of my w.t.f.mate stories. I really don’t know what inspired this; just sort of ran with it. It’s about average length, longer than a lot of the other things I’ve posted because… well, the short ones are easier to edit. I like this story; I like what it does and how I present it. It’s not the most skillful of my pieces, since it’s an earlier one, but it’s one of my favorites. I especially liked doing it from more of a first person flash-back p.o.v., though this made it hard to include any actual tickling, but whatever. Anyway, enjoy.
As an aside, I took forever to post this because I had been planning this really bitching sequel - typically if I am planning a sequel and post a story, I end up scrapping the sequel, much like I did with the dancing for tickles short series I had started -involving a date between the dude that is the wer-tickler and Tracy, but… well, it doesn’t really work. I established this as a detective type dealyo, and the sequel would break from that as well as the writing style, so.. as much as I enjoyed the scenario I set up, I threw that idea into the scrap pile. It doesn’t work.
Night of the Wer-Tickler (Werwolf/F Feet)
As I have stated in many of these letters, in the case that any or all but one are lost, or in the case that they are read individually – I don’t know what else to call them, so letters will have to do – my name is Tracy, and I’m a Private Eye by trade. These note/letters serve as a sort of case-file for me; a personal recollection, for myself or close friends. It’s never been easy to work as a female P.I, especially in a small country town like this one. I hate rewriting this part every time, so I’ll move on.
This particular case I have labeled as The Wer-Tickler due to the subject’s tendencies mimicking that of a wer-wolf. Though he – or she, as I never discovered – does become or at least acts quite similar to a werewolf, the prefix wer (archaic wer meaning man) tickler fits much more appropriately.
At any rate, the contract was presented to me by the city counsel; unusual, in that most contracts are presented to me by individuals for personal reasons. The information that was provided to me was as follows: For the past year (as an aside, I find it strange that it took this long for the subject to become serious. I speculate it to do with the moon phases(this speculation comes long after the case was closed) and desire for the government to keep it quiet and resolve the issue by themselves) five young women – ages between nineteen and twenty five – had been assaulted. The method had always been the same; subjects were assaulted on cloudless nights, during the full moon. The subjects were heard to have been laughing hysterically, in some cases shouting and begging when found in time by their various relatives or neighbors. Each victim has lost their sense of reason and not regained it; one or two reportedly asked to be tickled. No two subjects had more in common than being discovered on their stomachs with no visible restraint, as well as without a scratch or mark to them. All victims were discovered fully clothed saved for their feet, which despite season, weather, or location, were all bare of any shoes or socks. Victim’s feet were discovered to be very wet with an unknown substance.
Of course, the client did not give me enough information to act upon. The known victims had nothing in common, save that they were young women. The culprit had never been spotted as far as my client was willing to inform me.
So I investigated further. The young women did not seem aware of me, nor did they answer my questions. At the time I found it eerie that they all asked if I had come to tickle them; in fact one went as far as begging me to. Intuition and common sense told me that tickling probably was the medium used, both by their questions and the laughter heard by the rescuers.
The families and neighbors were of no use, though they all told me that they had heard the hysterical laughter, which alerted them to something being out of place. Some investigated immediately; others ignored it for upwards of an hour, assuming it to be nothing of importance.
None of the sites where these events occurred had anything in common, either: a bedroom, a park, a living room, a back yard, and a field behind some houses. They weren’t even relatively close to one another, giving me no insight at the culprit’s range or area of origin.
Intuition told me to look further into the park, but this was perhaps two weeks after opening investigations. It was just a small park outside of a cul-de-sac, nothing more, and certainly nothing special. Maybe two or three people came by the entire time – approximately over the span of an hour – I was there. I asked them about the situation, but they all said they knew nothing. There was, however, a kid watching from outside a house across the street during the entirety of my stay.
Details aside, he said he saw what happened the other night. It took a while to get him to talk, and apparently his dad – an angry red faced man – called the police, suspecting me to be a pedophile, so I had to make myself scarce, fast. The info the kid gave me provided me with a strong enough basis to make a real case out of everything.
He described the creature as a big dog; so he, or she, was hairy. It was night, but the park lights were lit, so he was able to see well enough. The kid said he watched them play for a while – he had no idea it was an attack – before the dog ran off, leaving his friend – the woman – behind. According to him, they had a great time – the woman was laughing the entire time – and they were playing some game with her feet. There was no one else around, and as I had learned with this incident, the victim was not discovered until morning by an unrelated mother of two.
Mostly, I deduced that she had been alone at the time of the attack, which seemed to occur after dark. A quick visit to this victim’s family turned up nothing again, but a friend of hers had mentioned her to be depressed prior to the event, possibly explaining why she had been by herself.
With no alternative after several weeks of investigations – there truly was no solid evidence on this matter – I decided to attempt to catch the monster first hand using the little information that I had acquired. Supposedly, if the kid and counsel were to be trusted, the creature tickled his subjects; the unknown substance had to be saliva, based on the scene the child described of the dog creature bent over the victim’s feet. It fit, if his face was as close as it sounded to be. The decision to go first hand came a day after the park incident, when I realized that that night the moon would be full, and as I previously discovered, each known event had occurred on a full moon. That morning, I slept in, anticipating that I would be spending most of the night awake. After the sun set, I traveled to a small woodland on the outskirts of another cul-de-sac, approximately at the center of the pentagon formed by previous attacks on a map, hoping that this spot would be close to the creature’s origin. All of the previous attacks had been secluded from intervention – or at least provided the victim some amount of privacy – so it was clear to me that my station must be in the woods; I was worried, I remember, because if this went wrong, the nearest house was half a mile from my location, too far to hear my cries for assistance. That point aside, despite the moon’s bright reflection of light, where I was happened to be relatively dark, and at the time I left, I failed to realize my black clothing and black hair would melt into the shadows of my surroundings. Even if someone heard, they would likely have a difficult time finding me.
Though, it wasn’t as simple as all that. Using excess rope from a previous matter, I set an abundance of trip chords, snares, and various assorted traps within a radius of my planned location in order to catch my predator. Foolishly, I did not carry a time piece with me, so although it felt to take an hour to set up my small encampment, it may have taken as little as half of that.
I was satisfied with the net of safety I had crafted, so I sat upon the ground and removed the black mules I wore, setting them in a bush that I had to lean to reach. Of course, I wasn’t confident that a helpless barefoot female would attract this beast’s presence, if he could sense me at all, so I had brought with me a tiny pocket sized jar of honey. Using a make up brush I seldom used to assist in investigations, I thoroughly coated the bottoms of my feet and toes, as well as the spaces in-between, with the sticky, sweet smelling substance, frequently and accidentally tickling myself, causing my foot to spasm when I did. Careful not to touch them to the ground, I rolled over onto my stomach and waited.
I remember – you always remember the strangest things – while I laid there patiently that I could feel the honey ooze down my feet due to their curvy nature. Some of the beads trickled quickly, and others oozed slowly, rising and falling over the wrinkles that the position formed on my soles; the over-all sensation tingled my sensory receptors in that cool night air, the sickly sweet smell wafting about my being the entire time. All I could really think about for those long minutes were my feet, and the large target that I had carefully painted onto them to lure my hunter to me, thinking fearfully of what would happen if I failed.
There was a howl, like a baying wolf’s, just before everything began. Suddenly, I saw glowing yellow eyes over top of a bush, and then a blur as something moved very quickly from in front of me. Before I knew it, something leapt onto my back with a great amount of finesse; I remember how scared I was then, realizing the thing had avoided all of my traps and was on me. That split second, when I realized everything, was the worst of the night, because I knew my fate was sealed but the punishment had not begun. The fur on its hands – or hand analogues – softly gave way to the flesh of my ankles. Then it began.
Words are… quite beyond the feeling I experienced. The beast was terrifyingly quick – more so than I could have ever expected – and just as strong. Even if I had gotten caught, I always thought before hand that I could fight the thing off, or at least roll over or something, but for the first minute no matter how hard I struggled amongst the foliage, nothing changed. Though I could wiggle the rest of my body slightly, my feet were pinned to the dirt while that thing lapped hungrily at their helpless honeyed soles.
It tickled, but it was something much more than that too, some completely indescribable feeling; erotic, even enjoyable, I guess, though I didn’t think that at the time. I didn’t think anything at the time; I couldn’t think anything, as those sensations had shut me out of my own mind. I had never known such sensations existed, that anything could tickle so much. That sufferable blackness of the forest’s canopy closed in on me all at once; I’m not even sure how to describe that void, that absolute emptiness and lack of light that the tree’s shadows created. It was like wearing a blind fold that I could not remove; worse, there was no strong smell for my senses to focus on. Without sight and smell, only two real senses remained; touch, and hearing. All I could feel was the thing lapping at my feet quickly, repeatedly, maddeningly; the rest of my body ceased to exist. All I heard was his tongue and pants, which brought the reality of the sensations further to me. I couldn’t escape into imagination whatsoever; there was nowhere for me to run mentally.
I know I struggled, though whether or not I willed it, I couldn’t tell. It was reactionary more than anything else. The area showed a large amount of struggle in the morning, when the sun finally rose; that is the only reason that I know I did struggle.
The thing licked and bit lightly everywhere, enjoying the feast I had so willingly laid out for him. The worst was the toes; the monster sucked on them for long periods of time, attacking them erratically with its tongue when they went into its mouth. That was easily the worst, or the best, depending on how you looked at it.
Really, I don’t remember all that much of the event in particular. Of course I remember laughing and screaming; being breathless, and struggling between laughs and giggles to catch any amount of air so that I could laugh harder still. There were tears streaming down my sweaty face, and I screamed loudly amidst my tortured laughs, crying for help, despite knowing that there was no one that could save me, until my thoughts drifted so far that I began to think that it wasn’t that nobody could save me as much as they refused to save me, choosing instead to savor in my sweet laughter and cries for assistance. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I begged, hell, pleaded harder than I ever did before, with as much feeling behind it as has ever existed in a tortured victim. I just wanted it to end; but the thing was mindless, it didn’t care that I wanted it to end. Or worse, it knew – I never considered that before logging this event – it might have known everything, but continued on without a care in the world. It never once let up or slowed; if anything, its pace increased throughout the ordeal.
It was torture, absolute and real torture; nothing other than the bare, delicate and sensitive bottoms of my feet mattered in this universe. This was not playful at all; there was nothing I could do to stop it, or to endure it in the slightest and it lasted for long hours. After some time I had lost the concept that anything else ever had or could ever happen to me; my senses were so far gone that I began to believe that being tickled was the only thing I would ever experience. The feeling – that loss of power, and being tickled mercilessly against my will – was entirely unbearable, something that you would fight with all of your being to stop, and yet somehow enjoyable. You can’t allow it to go on, but you just don’t want it to stop, either, because it feels so good, no matter what your mind or body tries to do to stop it. Hell, somewhere in me, I know I felt that I wanted to be entirely helpless; to be held down beyond my control, fighting with all my ability to free myself while laughing at my inability to stop the torture. After a while, I was glad it hadn’t stopped; that the thing had not stopped licking at my feet in that unbearable way that had to be bared for no other options remained.
After a while, I fell into a hallucination or a dream; Images of my feet, larger than the world, possessed my imagination. They did not move, they did not struggle, they were simply attacked at every inch by millions upon millions of tongues and wolves that dug at my flesh, with my body watching at a distance, unable to do anything but watch wide eyed as sensations were forced upon them, causing my body to laugh forever while staring at the bare soles that formed the entirety of my existence.
I can’t describe it the way it needs to be described. This was not some simple thing that happened over the course of a few minutes; this happened for long, very excruciatingly long hours. It was only 10 pm when I left my car, but it was dawn by the time the thing had left; I didn’t manage to return to my car until around 5 am. There just isn’t a real way to describe this; I could go on for pages, describing the patterns of its method, but it was all the same. I would just be repeating myself for pages and pages. There aren’t words other than it tickled the living crap out of me for a very long time. It really was torture beyond anything I have ever experienced. And yet, I know I orgasmed at least three times during the ordeal, shaking my being to the core while I moaned and laughed, begging for no more while secretly desiring that it never ended; it just felt so good to be out of control like that.
Actually, at the end of it, when the thing had finally allowed me rest, I couldn’t move for a very long time. I fell asleep or passed out, or maybe just drifted out of the realm of consciousness, day dreaming about some distant place; I don’t remember exactly. However long I was out was irrelevant; the creature whimpered, bringing me back to reality. Turning my head took so much more energy than I had available, but I managed to catch sight of it caught in one of my traps, struggling and whimpering lightly. For some reason, I found the strength to rise and free it; yes, I let it go, the very thing I had stalked for weeks, and put myself through an incredible amount of torture to find! At the time I didn’t understand what drove me to release it; looking back now, I feel like I wanted others to experience what it offered to me.
The case was dismissed; the counsel seemed to lose interest. I never heard of it again, nor did I attempt to investigate further. Whether or not the thing is still out there is beyond me, but somewhere deeply I know I hope that it does still live.
Oh, I did not lose my sanity; as far as I know, or as anyone knows, I’m the only one, but I know that that should not be possible. There were effects; I can never look at my feet without remembering those sensations; I always become a little horny when I even think of my feet anymore. It’s worse when I’m standing idly, or just sitting, kicking one back and forth out of boredom; those are the times my attention are drawn to them, and there is nothing to distract me. I still kind of feel the sensations every now and then; I remember almost exactly how it felt, to the point that I giggle lightly in public, thinking back to that time. It’s why I carefully hide my feet these days; I fear that if I ever catch sight of my bare feet I will melt into an erotic puddle of laughter and giggles. Secretly, I do in the shower, frequently masturbating while I stare at my toes, painted various colors depending on my mood. Despite how awful the experience was – enjoyably awful – I still kind of want to experience it again. Really, it’s the sort of thing you – everyone – needs to experience at least once in their lifetime. That loss of control, that forced laughter, the pumping adrenaline as the terror sets in…it’s all incredibly exhilarating. At night, in the darkness while I’m drifting between the sleeping and waking worlds, the cravings become their worst as I hope against hope that the creature – or any body or thing – will come and treat me like that once again. It goes beyond wanting; I do believe that it is now so deep of a craving to be defined as a need.
Ah, I’ve rambled for quite a while now. Truly, everything I’ve attempted to mention – and believe me, I have done a very terrible job at it – was at the very least a thousand times more than the words I’ve written.
As I end this, I realize that I truly do need to experience this level of torture at least once more, so after I finish this paragraph, I shall once again travel to those woods and lay barefoot beneath the full moon, at the same spot where I lost my shoes. The case never ended officially, but is no longer under investigation. Here is hoping that the case has not yet ended; not until after tonight, at least.
As an aside, I took forever to post this because I had been planning this really bitching sequel - typically if I am planning a sequel and post a story, I end up scrapping the sequel, much like I did with the dancing for tickles short series I had started -involving a date between the dude that is the wer-tickler and Tracy, but… well, it doesn’t really work. I established this as a detective type dealyo, and the sequel would break from that as well as the writing style, so.. as much as I enjoyed the scenario I set up, I threw that idea into the scrap pile. It doesn’t work.
Night of the Wer-Tickler (Werwolf/F Feet)
As I have stated in many of these letters, in the case that any or all but one are lost, or in the case that they are read individually – I don’t know what else to call them, so letters will have to do – my name is Tracy, and I’m a Private Eye by trade. These note/letters serve as a sort of case-file for me; a personal recollection, for myself or close friends. It’s never been easy to work as a female P.I, especially in a small country town like this one. I hate rewriting this part every time, so I’ll move on.
This particular case I have labeled as The Wer-Tickler due to the subject’s tendencies mimicking that of a wer-wolf. Though he – or she, as I never discovered – does become or at least acts quite similar to a werewolf, the prefix wer (archaic wer meaning man) tickler fits much more appropriately.
At any rate, the contract was presented to me by the city counsel; unusual, in that most contracts are presented to me by individuals for personal reasons. The information that was provided to me was as follows: For the past year (as an aside, I find it strange that it took this long for the subject to become serious. I speculate it to do with the moon phases(this speculation comes long after the case was closed) and desire for the government to keep it quiet and resolve the issue by themselves) five young women – ages between nineteen and twenty five – had been assaulted. The method had always been the same; subjects were assaulted on cloudless nights, during the full moon. The subjects were heard to have been laughing hysterically, in some cases shouting and begging when found in time by their various relatives or neighbors. Each victim has lost their sense of reason and not regained it; one or two reportedly asked to be tickled. No two subjects had more in common than being discovered on their stomachs with no visible restraint, as well as without a scratch or mark to them. All victims were discovered fully clothed saved for their feet, which despite season, weather, or location, were all bare of any shoes or socks. Victim’s feet were discovered to be very wet with an unknown substance.
Of course, the client did not give me enough information to act upon. The known victims had nothing in common, save that they were young women. The culprit had never been spotted as far as my client was willing to inform me.
So I investigated further. The young women did not seem aware of me, nor did they answer my questions. At the time I found it eerie that they all asked if I had come to tickle them; in fact one went as far as begging me to. Intuition and common sense told me that tickling probably was the medium used, both by their questions and the laughter heard by the rescuers.
The families and neighbors were of no use, though they all told me that they had heard the hysterical laughter, which alerted them to something being out of place. Some investigated immediately; others ignored it for upwards of an hour, assuming it to be nothing of importance.
None of the sites where these events occurred had anything in common, either: a bedroom, a park, a living room, a back yard, and a field behind some houses. They weren’t even relatively close to one another, giving me no insight at the culprit’s range or area of origin.
Intuition told me to look further into the park, but this was perhaps two weeks after opening investigations. It was just a small park outside of a cul-de-sac, nothing more, and certainly nothing special. Maybe two or three people came by the entire time – approximately over the span of an hour – I was there. I asked them about the situation, but they all said they knew nothing. There was, however, a kid watching from outside a house across the street during the entirety of my stay.
Details aside, he said he saw what happened the other night. It took a while to get him to talk, and apparently his dad – an angry red faced man – called the police, suspecting me to be a pedophile, so I had to make myself scarce, fast. The info the kid gave me provided me with a strong enough basis to make a real case out of everything.
He described the creature as a big dog; so he, or she, was hairy. It was night, but the park lights were lit, so he was able to see well enough. The kid said he watched them play for a while – he had no idea it was an attack – before the dog ran off, leaving his friend – the woman – behind. According to him, they had a great time – the woman was laughing the entire time – and they were playing some game with her feet. There was no one else around, and as I had learned with this incident, the victim was not discovered until morning by an unrelated mother of two.
Mostly, I deduced that she had been alone at the time of the attack, which seemed to occur after dark. A quick visit to this victim’s family turned up nothing again, but a friend of hers had mentioned her to be depressed prior to the event, possibly explaining why she had been by herself.
With no alternative after several weeks of investigations – there truly was no solid evidence on this matter – I decided to attempt to catch the monster first hand using the little information that I had acquired. Supposedly, if the kid and counsel were to be trusted, the creature tickled his subjects; the unknown substance had to be saliva, based on the scene the child described of the dog creature bent over the victim’s feet. It fit, if his face was as close as it sounded to be. The decision to go first hand came a day after the park incident, when I realized that that night the moon would be full, and as I previously discovered, each known event had occurred on a full moon. That morning, I slept in, anticipating that I would be spending most of the night awake. After the sun set, I traveled to a small woodland on the outskirts of another cul-de-sac, approximately at the center of the pentagon formed by previous attacks on a map, hoping that this spot would be close to the creature’s origin. All of the previous attacks had been secluded from intervention – or at least provided the victim some amount of privacy – so it was clear to me that my station must be in the woods; I was worried, I remember, because if this went wrong, the nearest house was half a mile from my location, too far to hear my cries for assistance. That point aside, despite the moon’s bright reflection of light, where I was happened to be relatively dark, and at the time I left, I failed to realize my black clothing and black hair would melt into the shadows of my surroundings. Even if someone heard, they would likely have a difficult time finding me.
Though, it wasn’t as simple as all that. Using excess rope from a previous matter, I set an abundance of trip chords, snares, and various assorted traps within a radius of my planned location in order to catch my predator. Foolishly, I did not carry a time piece with me, so although it felt to take an hour to set up my small encampment, it may have taken as little as half of that.
I was satisfied with the net of safety I had crafted, so I sat upon the ground and removed the black mules I wore, setting them in a bush that I had to lean to reach. Of course, I wasn’t confident that a helpless barefoot female would attract this beast’s presence, if he could sense me at all, so I had brought with me a tiny pocket sized jar of honey. Using a make up brush I seldom used to assist in investigations, I thoroughly coated the bottoms of my feet and toes, as well as the spaces in-between, with the sticky, sweet smelling substance, frequently and accidentally tickling myself, causing my foot to spasm when I did. Careful not to touch them to the ground, I rolled over onto my stomach and waited.
I remember – you always remember the strangest things – while I laid there patiently that I could feel the honey ooze down my feet due to their curvy nature. Some of the beads trickled quickly, and others oozed slowly, rising and falling over the wrinkles that the position formed on my soles; the over-all sensation tingled my sensory receptors in that cool night air, the sickly sweet smell wafting about my being the entire time. All I could really think about for those long minutes were my feet, and the large target that I had carefully painted onto them to lure my hunter to me, thinking fearfully of what would happen if I failed.
There was a howl, like a baying wolf’s, just before everything began. Suddenly, I saw glowing yellow eyes over top of a bush, and then a blur as something moved very quickly from in front of me. Before I knew it, something leapt onto my back with a great amount of finesse; I remember how scared I was then, realizing the thing had avoided all of my traps and was on me. That split second, when I realized everything, was the worst of the night, because I knew my fate was sealed but the punishment had not begun. The fur on its hands – or hand analogues – softly gave way to the flesh of my ankles. Then it began.
Words are… quite beyond the feeling I experienced. The beast was terrifyingly quick – more so than I could have ever expected – and just as strong. Even if I had gotten caught, I always thought before hand that I could fight the thing off, or at least roll over or something, but for the first minute no matter how hard I struggled amongst the foliage, nothing changed. Though I could wiggle the rest of my body slightly, my feet were pinned to the dirt while that thing lapped hungrily at their helpless honeyed soles.
It tickled, but it was something much more than that too, some completely indescribable feeling; erotic, even enjoyable, I guess, though I didn’t think that at the time. I didn’t think anything at the time; I couldn’t think anything, as those sensations had shut me out of my own mind. I had never known such sensations existed, that anything could tickle so much. That sufferable blackness of the forest’s canopy closed in on me all at once; I’m not even sure how to describe that void, that absolute emptiness and lack of light that the tree’s shadows created. It was like wearing a blind fold that I could not remove; worse, there was no strong smell for my senses to focus on. Without sight and smell, only two real senses remained; touch, and hearing. All I could feel was the thing lapping at my feet quickly, repeatedly, maddeningly; the rest of my body ceased to exist. All I heard was his tongue and pants, which brought the reality of the sensations further to me. I couldn’t escape into imagination whatsoever; there was nowhere for me to run mentally.
I know I struggled, though whether or not I willed it, I couldn’t tell. It was reactionary more than anything else. The area showed a large amount of struggle in the morning, when the sun finally rose; that is the only reason that I know I did struggle.
The thing licked and bit lightly everywhere, enjoying the feast I had so willingly laid out for him. The worst was the toes; the monster sucked on them for long periods of time, attacking them erratically with its tongue when they went into its mouth. That was easily the worst, or the best, depending on how you looked at it.
Really, I don’t remember all that much of the event in particular. Of course I remember laughing and screaming; being breathless, and struggling between laughs and giggles to catch any amount of air so that I could laugh harder still. There were tears streaming down my sweaty face, and I screamed loudly amidst my tortured laughs, crying for help, despite knowing that there was no one that could save me, until my thoughts drifted so far that I began to think that it wasn’t that nobody could save me as much as they refused to save me, choosing instead to savor in my sweet laughter and cries for assistance. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I know I begged, hell, pleaded harder than I ever did before, with as much feeling behind it as has ever existed in a tortured victim. I just wanted it to end; but the thing was mindless, it didn’t care that I wanted it to end. Or worse, it knew – I never considered that before logging this event – it might have known everything, but continued on without a care in the world. It never once let up or slowed; if anything, its pace increased throughout the ordeal.
It was torture, absolute and real torture; nothing other than the bare, delicate and sensitive bottoms of my feet mattered in this universe. This was not playful at all; there was nothing I could do to stop it, or to endure it in the slightest and it lasted for long hours. After some time I had lost the concept that anything else ever had or could ever happen to me; my senses were so far gone that I began to believe that being tickled was the only thing I would ever experience. The feeling – that loss of power, and being tickled mercilessly against my will – was entirely unbearable, something that you would fight with all of your being to stop, and yet somehow enjoyable. You can’t allow it to go on, but you just don’t want it to stop, either, because it feels so good, no matter what your mind or body tries to do to stop it. Hell, somewhere in me, I know I felt that I wanted to be entirely helpless; to be held down beyond my control, fighting with all my ability to free myself while laughing at my inability to stop the torture. After a while, I was glad it hadn’t stopped; that the thing had not stopped licking at my feet in that unbearable way that had to be bared for no other options remained.
After a while, I fell into a hallucination or a dream; Images of my feet, larger than the world, possessed my imagination. They did not move, they did not struggle, they were simply attacked at every inch by millions upon millions of tongues and wolves that dug at my flesh, with my body watching at a distance, unable to do anything but watch wide eyed as sensations were forced upon them, causing my body to laugh forever while staring at the bare soles that formed the entirety of my existence.
I can’t describe it the way it needs to be described. This was not some simple thing that happened over the course of a few minutes; this happened for long, very excruciatingly long hours. It was only 10 pm when I left my car, but it was dawn by the time the thing had left; I didn’t manage to return to my car until around 5 am. There just isn’t a real way to describe this; I could go on for pages, describing the patterns of its method, but it was all the same. I would just be repeating myself for pages and pages. There aren’t words other than it tickled the living crap out of me for a very long time. It really was torture beyond anything I have ever experienced. And yet, I know I orgasmed at least three times during the ordeal, shaking my being to the core while I moaned and laughed, begging for no more while secretly desiring that it never ended; it just felt so good to be out of control like that.
Actually, at the end of it, when the thing had finally allowed me rest, I couldn’t move for a very long time. I fell asleep or passed out, or maybe just drifted out of the realm of consciousness, day dreaming about some distant place; I don’t remember exactly. However long I was out was irrelevant; the creature whimpered, bringing me back to reality. Turning my head took so much more energy than I had available, but I managed to catch sight of it caught in one of my traps, struggling and whimpering lightly. For some reason, I found the strength to rise and free it; yes, I let it go, the very thing I had stalked for weeks, and put myself through an incredible amount of torture to find! At the time I didn’t understand what drove me to release it; looking back now, I feel like I wanted others to experience what it offered to me.
The case was dismissed; the counsel seemed to lose interest. I never heard of it again, nor did I attempt to investigate further. Whether or not the thing is still out there is beyond me, but somewhere deeply I know I hope that it does still live.
Oh, I did not lose my sanity; as far as I know, or as anyone knows, I’m the only one, but I know that that should not be possible. There were effects; I can never look at my feet without remembering those sensations; I always become a little horny when I even think of my feet anymore. It’s worse when I’m standing idly, or just sitting, kicking one back and forth out of boredom; those are the times my attention are drawn to them, and there is nothing to distract me. I still kind of feel the sensations every now and then; I remember almost exactly how it felt, to the point that I giggle lightly in public, thinking back to that time. It’s why I carefully hide my feet these days; I fear that if I ever catch sight of my bare feet I will melt into an erotic puddle of laughter and giggles. Secretly, I do in the shower, frequently masturbating while I stare at my toes, painted various colors depending on my mood. Despite how awful the experience was – enjoyably awful – I still kind of want to experience it again. Really, it’s the sort of thing you – everyone – needs to experience at least once in their lifetime. That loss of control, that forced laughter, the pumping adrenaline as the terror sets in…it’s all incredibly exhilarating. At night, in the darkness while I’m drifting between the sleeping and waking worlds, the cravings become their worst as I hope against hope that the creature – or any body or thing – will come and treat me like that once again. It goes beyond wanting; I do believe that it is now so deep of a craving to be defined as a need.
Ah, I’ve rambled for quite a while now. Truly, everything I’ve attempted to mention – and believe me, I have done a very terrible job at it – was at the very least a thousand times more than the words I’ve written.
As I end this, I realize that I truly do need to experience this level of torture at least once more, so after I finish this paragraph, I shall once again travel to those woods and lay barefoot beneath the full moon, at the same spot where I lost my shoes. The case never ended officially, but is no longer under investigation. Here is hoping that the case has not yet ended; not until after tonight, at least.
