ElFewja
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When I first posted Zucchini* (F/F Feet) someone mentioned consumption of the whatever-it-is, and its effects. I guess this story explores that, though, it’s not at all the same drug; it can’t be, its effects are far too different. Besides, I really liked the idea of applying the gel like substance directly to the soles more than consuming it. Is this story particularly good? Not really, no; I relied upon the feelings being too intense to be described by the protagonist and the story suffers for it. The end is ok; not great, but it is something I wanted to try exploring more later. It’s sort of out of place, considering the rest of this is a year old, but well… when I looked at the after-the-fact explanation at the end, that basically said the same thing but just told the reader that blatantly… it didn’t work. It was awful. Just occurred to me that, well, she could still be part of a science experiment and therefore would need to be monitored so… it kind of worked out. Maybe I could use it as an excuse to explain why the sensations aren’t described in great detail, as watching someone sit and laugh with little to no provocation would tell you nothing but… that is kind of stretching it. And it clearly doesn’t account for her feelings being described throughout. Bleh.
Enjoy.
As an aside, I think I’ve said “I didn’t like this” to most of the last few stories I’ve posted. Hm. I’ll have to find something I really liked and finish that for next week.
Liquid Tickling ( */F Feet)
She approached him, on that street she didn’t know, outside of the protection of the sole street lamp, before the sun had risen, feeling her way blindly through the stifling night’s anticipation that choked the air; it was the sort of feeling night seems to take upon itself just before it’s death by sun’s rays. It looked as though he might be breaking into the place, but she didn’t care enough to wait.
“I need some more,” she proclaimed to him sternly.
He jumped back, startled. “How-“
“No time. I need some. Now”
“I don’t-“
“Get some!”
“Look, I-“
“Yeah, I don’t care Frank. Get some.”
He stood for a moment, looking into her crazed eyes; that look of desperation - need sparkling like an abysmal beacon out of the corners of her hazel eyes - was one he was too familiar with.
“At noon. Meet me at that bench.” He said, the darkness crisply bending it’s way somewhere behind her.
“Alright.”
Noon came then went like an indecisive child in a toy store, his eyes glazed over at the over-whelming possibility that exists in such a grand place.
It was some time after, like one twenty seven, thirty six seconds after the minute, and 45 milliseconds after that(13:27:36:45) when he finally exited that glass building which glittered so brilliantly, blinding more than one passerby, and more than likely responsible for a number of the accidents that plagued this street like an ex-girlfriend at the former couple’s collaborative place of employment. She saw him and rushed over, ignoring the designated meeting ground.
“Do you have it?” she nearly shouted in that strange, hushed and secretive way, drawing the suspicious eyes of those around them.
“Fool! Quiet.” He muttered. “Here.” From a pocket lining the inside of his over coat, the man whom she knew as Frank drew a clear plastic bottle half full with a misty, viscous fluid that was hardly larger than his palm.
“That’s it? That’s all?!”
“Hush. It was hard to get this much. Now-“
“Hand it over!”
“Just a minute. I give you this, and you forget that night last week. No cops. Deal?”
“Whatever! Just give it here!”
“Fine. Here.” As he raised his hand, she quickly grabbed at the bottle and, after taking it, stepped away while coveting her prize with greedy eyes. Then, she looked about suspiciously, suspecting any of the several people crowding their own personal space on that bleak street in desperate need of re-pavement to be against her. And then she ran off somewhere, her slippers biting at her blue jeans while fiercely slapping away at the cracked cement. He sighed with relief and returned inside of the glass building.
Later, when she at last had reached her apartment, she quickly sat down and gulped a mouthful of that strange substance for the second time, recognizing the familiar gloopy almost Jello like texture it had. Like before, it began with a peculiar tingling in her toes, and then as if covered in a fiery storm her feet began to itch violently, causing her to scream out pleasantly with laughter. It was an unfortunately pure and unstoppable tickling that she felt, and she was not sure she could endure the level at which it devastated her nerve endings. Her thick laughter came forth so hard it drew tears from her unwilling eyes, and she almost instantly felt her throat become a virulent red, her laughter taking on a raspy sound to it soon after the feelings began. At some point - well after her slippers had fallen away from her insanely wiggling feet - she fell to the floor, screaming and clawing at her soles, instinctively trying to dull the brutal sensations for even the slightest of seconds.
But it soon ended – far sooner than the night before – and this time the craving had set in instantly for that feeling she detested – that extremely unbearable feeling – but the craving was too strong, and it compelled her to decide to drink again.
This time, however, she placed her ankles through the back of a dining room chair and took a scarf, tightly wrapping it about the blue jeans that deigned try to hide her feet and their toe’s ruby red polish from her sight, so that those accursed feet of hers could not run off and carry her with them. They would remain put and writhe in pain against their will, and she would be unable to help them.
With two extra scarves, she managed to bind her wrists to the arm rests of her chair. Maneuvering as best she could, she managed to grab at the bottle’s neck with her slightly yellowed teeth, exhaling a heavy breath, hot from the desire that welled inside of her abdomen; the air coursed about the bottle, forming steam at the sides as her nose and eyes were warmed as a result of her breath’s confinement. Everything now in place, she pulled her head back and downed all of the bottles contents, choking and sputtering as far too much liquid passed through the unguarded barrier that was her dry lips, easily ten times what she had just consumed and likely a hundred times what had been forced upon her the night before. At last, the contents were all but emptied, and she let the bottle slip away somewhere, falling with a thud and then a slight dripping sound; when she heard the latter, she looked down and felt her eyes burn with tears, noting that there had still been some contents within the bottle, but that they now pooled onto her hard wood floor.
It took far longer that time, but the sensations set in eventually, amplified ten or a hundred times against the bottoms of her feet, so much so that it coursed throughout her entirety, shaking her to the very core with intense sensations; still, she felt her feet receive the largest amount of punishment. No matter how much she wiggled her toes or flapped her soles, no matter how much she screamed for help from anyone, even a god she knew to be a myth, the sensations would not stop ravaging her body. She laughed wildly, until she was hoarse again, and even then, when laughter would no longer escape her bowels, she continued to smile and expel burning air as she struggled against her self made bondage, cursing herself inwardly for the punishment she had forced upon herself as tears sped away from her closed eyes, racing to catch up with their dismissed comrades on her sweat soaked shirt.
Then it ended and the craving set in once more, far stronger than before, so that her skin felt as if needles were pricking it all over, and an agonizing cold set in; it felt as though she walked on a thousand blazing knives, her feet were so alive with absolute pain. She hated that tickling sensation, and yet she desired it more than anything right then. Suddenly the door burst open and her room mate ran in, clumsily stumbling out of her flip flops as she entered.
“What the hell?! What happened?! I heard you screaming from outside!” her friend shouted at her as she felt her consciousness waver.
Her roommate ran forward, staring in bewilderment at her bound friend, who seemed to have fainted from exhaustion, and moved forward to untie her, accidentally stepping in the puddle as she did so. Laughter convulsed from her unwilling mouth as she fell to the floor, writhing and stomping the foot that had touched the liquid against the hardwood in an attempt to deaden the nerve endings that felt methodically stroked by ghost hands with fingers like that of a paintbrush, its bristles replaced with the most agonizing of feathers, invading and assaulting every centimeter of her foot where the liquid had touched it, radiating outward slowly until every bit of it was alive with that wildfire of sensation.
Such is what I saw through the camera I had placed within that woman’s coat a week before; not that she kept her word, anyway, threatening me with a call to the police should I not acquire another bottle for her. I did, however, convince my superiors that the drug could be sold off as an anti-depressant, specifically for women, and that the addictive nature of it would keep it on the shelves. Of course, this will all be omitted from the label - and so too will all those involved with the kidnappings be silenced - so that thousands of women will become hopelessly addicted. I wonder what would happen to them should I give their feet a sound licking while they are under the effects of Liquid Tickling (some idiot down the hall came up with the name; well, whatever, it’s accurate, and tickling’s therapeutic effects have already been thoroughly explored by doctors)? It sounds entertaining, to say the least. I’ll have to try it some time.
Enjoy.
As an aside, I think I’ve said “I didn’t like this” to most of the last few stories I’ve posted. Hm. I’ll have to find something I really liked and finish that for next week.
Liquid Tickling ( */F Feet)
She approached him, on that street she didn’t know, outside of the protection of the sole street lamp, before the sun had risen, feeling her way blindly through the stifling night’s anticipation that choked the air; it was the sort of feeling night seems to take upon itself just before it’s death by sun’s rays. It looked as though he might be breaking into the place, but she didn’t care enough to wait.
“I need some more,” she proclaimed to him sternly.
He jumped back, startled. “How-“
“No time. I need some. Now”
“I don’t-“
“Get some!”
“Look, I-“
“Yeah, I don’t care Frank. Get some.”
He stood for a moment, looking into her crazed eyes; that look of desperation - need sparkling like an abysmal beacon out of the corners of her hazel eyes - was one he was too familiar with.
“At noon. Meet me at that bench.” He said, the darkness crisply bending it’s way somewhere behind her.
“Alright.”
Noon came then went like an indecisive child in a toy store, his eyes glazed over at the over-whelming possibility that exists in such a grand place.
It was some time after, like one twenty seven, thirty six seconds after the minute, and 45 milliseconds after that(13:27:36:45) when he finally exited that glass building which glittered so brilliantly, blinding more than one passerby, and more than likely responsible for a number of the accidents that plagued this street like an ex-girlfriend at the former couple’s collaborative place of employment. She saw him and rushed over, ignoring the designated meeting ground.
“Do you have it?” she nearly shouted in that strange, hushed and secretive way, drawing the suspicious eyes of those around them.
“Fool! Quiet.” He muttered. “Here.” From a pocket lining the inside of his over coat, the man whom she knew as Frank drew a clear plastic bottle half full with a misty, viscous fluid that was hardly larger than his palm.
“That’s it? That’s all?!”
“Hush. It was hard to get this much. Now-“
“Hand it over!”
“Just a minute. I give you this, and you forget that night last week. No cops. Deal?”
“Whatever! Just give it here!”
“Fine. Here.” As he raised his hand, she quickly grabbed at the bottle and, after taking it, stepped away while coveting her prize with greedy eyes. Then, she looked about suspiciously, suspecting any of the several people crowding their own personal space on that bleak street in desperate need of re-pavement to be against her. And then she ran off somewhere, her slippers biting at her blue jeans while fiercely slapping away at the cracked cement. He sighed with relief and returned inside of the glass building.
Later, when she at last had reached her apartment, she quickly sat down and gulped a mouthful of that strange substance for the second time, recognizing the familiar gloopy almost Jello like texture it had. Like before, it began with a peculiar tingling in her toes, and then as if covered in a fiery storm her feet began to itch violently, causing her to scream out pleasantly with laughter. It was an unfortunately pure and unstoppable tickling that she felt, and she was not sure she could endure the level at which it devastated her nerve endings. Her thick laughter came forth so hard it drew tears from her unwilling eyes, and she almost instantly felt her throat become a virulent red, her laughter taking on a raspy sound to it soon after the feelings began. At some point - well after her slippers had fallen away from her insanely wiggling feet - she fell to the floor, screaming and clawing at her soles, instinctively trying to dull the brutal sensations for even the slightest of seconds.
But it soon ended – far sooner than the night before – and this time the craving had set in instantly for that feeling she detested – that extremely unbearable feeling – but the craving was too strong, and it compelled her to decide to drink again.
This time, however, she placed her ankles through the back of a dining room chair and took a scarf, tightly wrapping it about the blue jeans that deigned try to hide her feet and their toe’s ruby red polish from her sight, so that those accursed feet of hers could not run off and carry her with them. They would remain put and writhe in pain against their will, and she would be unable to help them.
With two extra scarves, she managed to bind her wrists to the arm rests of her chair. Maneuvering as best she could, she managed to grab at the bottle’s neck with her slightly yellowed teeth, exhaling a heavy breath, hot from the desire that welled inside of her abdomen; the air coursed about the bottle, forming steam at the sides as her nose and eyes were warmed as a result of her breath’s confinement. Everything now in place, she pulled her head back and downed all of the bottles contents, choking and sputtering as far too much liquid passed through the unguarded barrier that was her dry lips, easily ten times what she had just consumed and likely a hundred times what had been forced upon her the night before. At last, the contents were all but emptied, and she let the bottle slip away somewhere, falling with a thud and then a slight dripping sound; when she heard the latter, she looked down and felt her eyes burn with tears, noting that there had still been some contents within the bottle, but that they now pooled onto her hard wood floor.
It took far longer that time, but the sensations set in eventually, amplified ten or a hundred times against the bottoms of her feet, so much so that it coursed throughout her entirety, shaking her to the very core with intense sensations; still, she felt her feet receive the largest amount of punishment. No matter how much she wiggled her toes or flapped her soles, no matter how much she screamed for help from anyone, even a god she knew to be a myth, the sensations would not stop ravaging her body. She laughed wildly, until she was hoarse again, and even then, when laughter would no longer escape her bowels, she continued to smile and expel burning air as she struggled against her self made bondage, cursing herself inwardly for the punishment she had forced upon herself as tears sped away from her closed eyes, racing to catch up with their dismissed comrades on her sweat soaked shirt.
Then it ended and the craving set in once more, far stronger than before, so that her skin felt as if needles were pricking it all over, and an agonizing cold set in; it felt as though she walked on a thousand blazing knives, her feet were so alive with absolute pain. She hated that tickling sensation, and yet she desired it more than anything right then. Suddenly the door burst open and her room mate ran in, clumsily stumbling out of her flip flops as she entered.
“What the hell?! What happened?! I heard you screaming from outside!” her friend shouted at her as she felt her consciousness waver.
Her roommate ran forward, staring in bewilderment at her bound friend, who seemed to have fainted from exhaustion, and moved forward to untie her, accidentally stepping in the puddle as she did so. Laughter convulsed from her unwilling mouth as she fell to the floor, writhing and stomping the foot that had touched the liquid against the hardwood in an attempt to deaden the nerve endings that felt methodically stroked by ghost hands with fingers like that of a paintbrush, its bristles replaced with the most agonizing of feathers, invading and assaulting every centimeter of her foot where the liquid had touched it, radiating outward slowly until every bit of it was alive with that wildfire of sensation.
Such is what I saw through the camera I had placed within that woman’s coat a week before; not that she kept her word, anyway, threatening me with a call to the police should I not acquire another bottle for her. I did, however, convince my superiors that the drug could be sold off as an anti-depressant, specifically for women, and that the addictive nature of it would keep it on the shelves. Of course, this will all be omitted from the label - and so too will all those involved with the kidnappings be silenced - so that thousands of women will become hopelessly addicted. I wonder what would happen to them should I give their feet a sound licking while they are under the effects of Liquid Tickling (some idiot down the hall came up with the name; well, whatever, it’s accurate, and tickling’s therapeutic effects have already been thoroughly explored by doctors)? It sounds entertaining, to say the least. I’ll have to try it some time.
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