ElFewja
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Yech. I just want to be rid of this. I wrote it almost immediately after part 2; it’s mostly a short, transitionary piece. I kind of wanted to do foot cleaning, but now… well, I feel like I need to do it again, since etc.
Just posting and being done with it. Four will be better. Maybe.
To The Victor (P.3 Cleansing) (M/FF Feet)
For the days that followed their tickle-show, both Rena and Tira had been denied shoes, forced instead to bare their pretty feet to the soldiers about them during the day, tantalizing them and invoking more tickling events any single day than had previously occurred during their first week in the encampment. Because the ground was trodden upon heavily, and the rain had not ceased since that day, the terrain became a thick mucky substance that the two had to walk through barefoot; occasionally there would be a puddle, but for the most part they treaded through ankle deep mud that caked upon their feet during their chores; each night, after the two girls had finished their chores, they were thoroughly bound to the ground and forced to endure a thorough foot scrubbing; it tickled beyond Rena’s imagination, and she envisioned that the brush utilized had been chosen, nay crafted, entirely with the torture of her feet in mind.
Tonight they had managed to find sleep un-harassed, as there was an unexpected skirmish just before the moon rose above the nearby forest, bathing the land in just enough light for combat. Too soon, however, Rena found herself brutally yanked from her deep slumber by one of Tira’s blood curdling screams ringing out in the warm, damp air; the sound of rain slapping relentlessly against their tent could hardly be heard over her screams.
All at once Rena took in what she could of her surroundings, though they had little to offer; inches in front of her face, her right ear digging into the thick blanket laid onto the surprisingly dry ground beneath it, she saw the familiar eyes of her companion Tira; they were wider than seemed possible as shrill screams escaped her soft pink lips, which, betrayed by their owner’s succulent feet, gaped into a wide O to alert the surrounding world once again that the poor girls susceptible nerve endings were besieged, leaving her little more than a pool of giggles and cries for help. Her hair was a mess, though truthfully no more than Rena’s felt, and Tira’s nostrils flared as she snorted between guffaws. Tira howled wild laughter into Rena’s face, her hot breath condensing the air about her cheeks, so that they soon became damp; soon she begged Rena for assistance of any sort that would stop that relentless brush wielded so skillfully by their overly enthused benefactor, his face painted in such a terrifying manner with shadows cast by the lantern behind him. Tira should have known that the assistance she pleaded for would not come, but still Rena confirmed that she too was bound by attempting to move her hands, finding them tied behind her back by rope. Still Tira pleaded, begging Rena to tempt their benefactor with her own feet so that she might receive torture over herself. Not a chance in the world, Rena thought while wondering at the nature of the request; it was an odd proposal to offer, at any rate, not that there was much else she could do in her position.
Listening to Tira’s screams, Rena could not help but think of the suffering that would soon be forced upon her. She had soon learned that the brush that man wielded was devastating to her poor soles, tickling her into hysterics far beyond anything she had ever felt before, to the point that she dreaded the day’s end. It wasn’t the unpredictable nature of the scrub brush that tortured her, far from it in fact; the repetitive nature of those individual bristles, each of the ten thousand predictably moving in an unpredictable fashion, jumping from one strip of flesh to another in an instant, drew forth from her equally steady laughter that was unsteady in its delivery. For what felt like hours Rena listened to Tira as she writhed helplessly against the ground, her ankles shackled to the stake that held them in place just out of the corner of Rena’s eye. Though she knew it could not truly have been hours, the terrible anticipation of what was to come wracked against her mind, forcing her breathing to become ragged with fear as tiny glass beads of sweat fell, dampening the cloth beneath her.
Then, though Tira continued to giggle and breathe heavily, she buried her face into the material beneath them and her crazed screams subsided, alerting Rena that her turn had come. Instantaneously upon the realization, water felt as if it materialized over her bare feet and ankles, drenching them with welcomed warmth while calling her attention to them just in time to see her adversary raise that brush high into the air before bringing it down with a demonic grin; despite her focus laying almost entirely on that brush, she could feel Tira’s eyes biting at her; she caught a brief glance of the fire in those malice filled eyes a split second before the brush came down. As it landed upon her left foot, pinned tightly to the ground by the stake between her ankles, Rena too turned her face into the blanket, closing her eyes and biting her lower lip, hoping that those actions might stifle the feelings that would soon assail her being as the overwhelming scent of earth raged against her senses.
It began, and as always the world about her was ripped away, so that the only awareness Rena possessed was of herself, specifically of her own sensitive soles and the laughter that seemed to course freely from them, bursting forth from her mouth and slamming against the ground without regard for how much it damaged her throat as she was submerged into that awful bliss like state. This specific form of tickling she simply could not endure, and as such Rena fought her best to escape the grueling brush that rapidly and easily slid across her mud covered soles due to the warm, soapy water, beautifying them once again, she knew with each horrendous stroke that she was closer to the point when she would finally break. The thing almost hurt, but tickled far too much to do so, and seemingly eviscerated her from the inside out with very sharp blades in the forms of giggles. As the sensation really set in due to her benefactor’s obsession with getting each fleck of dirt from in-between her clenched toes, Rena felt her back arch as she cried out and began begging for mercy. Oh, that cruel man asked why, forcing her to scream out that it tickled, thus motivating him to invoke further wrath upon her poor toes. The sound of the brush scrapping against her sensitive flesh assaulted her when she managed to catch it over her own raucous laughter.
Finally, he seemed to have finished cleaning her left foot – and it did feel better to be rid of the caked mud, albeit at a terrible cost – allowing her but a second to catch her breath as his cold, bony hand grasped the top of her right foot, pulling it up and away from the ground so that she could not wiggle away from those terrible bristles. Before he could begin, she begged for an end; begged that he stop, promising to do anything to be spared even another second, but no response came until at last the bristles danced their haunting way across her right foots arch. Screaming, spasming out of control, Rena fought to free her delicate foot from his vice grip despite the knowledge that any minor escape would yield nothing save prolonging her torture. Still, she fought to free her foot, managing to do so while he scrubbed away ferociously at the heel. Unable to run very far, no more than a few inches, the best she could do was dig her unclean toes into the ground, forcing her arches to become that much more vulnerable as they now protruded into the air, eliciting an attack upon them. Quickly, she tried to tuck her feet under her ankles, clenching her toes and crunching her soles together to do so, but the brush came again with its promises of temporary cleanliness, striking unnecessarily across both sets of toes, forcing her to shriek wildly for several moments. The attacks continued, despite feeling – and seeing when she dared open her eyes and look in horror at her defenseless feet as they struggled in vain to escape the torture – that the dirt was gone. Foolish girl that she was, she knew that the way she responded would urge him to tickle her unnecessarily; inwardly, she considered herself to laugh far harder than Tira, thinking herself to be even more ticklish than her, at least when the brush was used.
Thankfully, it ended after a few more seconds of terrible toe tickling. Setting down the brush, she saw her benefactor’s shadow grow and then shrink as she turned just in time to see him sit upon her left ankle and Tira’s right. No, she thought; no more, not tonight! Tira voiced the same, howling to not be tickled and rapidly slapping those pretty feet of hers against the ground. Their benefactor warned her to stop, because if she made them dirty again…he never finished his sentence as Tira calmed herself immediately due to the threat. Rena felt fingers rest upon her sole, and heard Tira laugh and struggle violently while Rena shortly followed suit beyond her will; though they both fought greatly, Rena became enthralled by the strange lustful light that radiated from Tira’s eyes, as Rena realized Tira had not broken eye contact with her throughout their entire session that night. But her focus could not remain upon her friends vengeful stare for long, as the tickling very quickly devoured the entirety of her senses, draining what little energy she had until she could no longer fight back, but was forced to sit and feel the fullness of their benefactors tormenting touches upon her soles. They would be tired tomorrow, she knew, leading to their inability to fulfill their chores properly or on time as a result, and that would result in further tickle torture. But their feet would need to be cleaned before each session of tickle torture would ever truly commence, thought Rena as tears caused partially by the prolonged and continuous torture of her soles, though mostly at the thought of the day to come.
Just posting and being done with it. Four will be better. Maybe.
To The Victor (P.3 Cleansing) (M/FF Feet)
For the days that followed their tickle-show, both Rena and Tira had been denied shoes, forced instead to bare their pretty feet to the soldiers about them during the day, tantalizing them and invoking more tickling events any single day than had previously occurred during their first week in the encampment. Because the ground was trodden upon heavily, and the rain had not ceased since that day, the terrain became a thick mucky substance that the two had to walk through barefoot; occasionally there would be a puddle, but for the most part they treaded through ankle deep mud that caked upon their feet during their chores; each night, after the two girls had finished their chores, they were thoroughly bound to the ground and forced to endure a thorough foot scrubbing; it tickled beyond Rena’s imagination, and she envisioned that the brush utilized had been chosen, nay crafted, entirely with the torture of her feet in mind.
Tonight they had managed to find sleep un-harassed, as there was an unexpected skirmish just before the moon rose above the nearby forest, bathing the land in just enough light for combat. Too soon, however, Rena found herself brutally yanked from her deep slumber by one of Tira’s blood curdling screams ringing out in the warm, damp air; the sound of rain slapping relentlessly against their tent could hardly be heard over her screams.
All at once Rena took in what she could of her surroundings, though they had little to offer; inches in front of her face, her right ear digging into the thick blanket laid onto the surprisingly dry ground beneath it, she saw the familiar eyes of her companion Tira; they were wider than seemed possible as shrill screams escaped her soft pink lips, which, betrayed by their owner’s succulent feet, gaped into a wide O to alert the surrounding world once again that the poor girls susceptible nerve endings were besieged, leaving her little more than a pool of giggles and cries for help. Her hair was a mess, though truthfully no more than Rena’s felt, and Tira’s nostrils flared as she snorted between guffaws. Tira howled wild laughter into Rena’s face, her hot breath condensing the air about her cheeks, so that they soon became damp; soon she begged Rena for assistance of any sort that would stop that relentless brush wielded so skillfully by their overly enthused benefactor, his face painted in such a terrifying manner with shadows cast by the lantern behind him. Tira should have known that the assistance she pleaded for would not come, but still Rena confirmed that she too was bound by attempting to move her hands, finding them tied behind her back by rope. Still Tira pleaded, begging Rena to tempt their benefactor with her own feet so that she might receive torture over herself. Not a chance in the world, Rena thought while wondering at the nature of the request; it was an odd proposal to offer, at any rate, not that there was much else she could do in her position.
Listening to Tira’s screams, Rena could not help but think of the suffering that would soon be forced upon her. She had soon learned that the brush that man wielded was devastating to her poor soles, tickling her into hysterics far beyond anything she had ever felt before, to the point that she dreaded the day’s end. It wasn’t the unpredictable nature of the scrub brush that tortured her, far from it in fact; the repetitive nature of those individual bristles, each of the ten thousand predictably moving in an unpredictable fashion, jumping from one strip of flesh to another in an instant, drew forth from her equally steady laughter that was unsteady in its delivery. For what felt like hours Rena listened to Tira as she writhed helplessly against the ground, her ankles shackled to the stake that held them in place just out of the corner of Rena’s eye. Though she knew it could not truly have been hours, the terrible anticipation of what was to come wracked against her mind, forcing her breathing to become ragged with fear as tiny glass beads of sweat fell, dampening the cloth beneath her.
Then, though Tira continued to giggle and breathe heavily, she buried her face into the material beneath them and her crazed screams subsided, alerting Rena that her turn had come. Instantaneously upon the realization, water felt as if it materialized over her bare feet and ankles, drenching them with welcomed warmth while calling her attention to them just in time to see her adversary raise that brush high into the air before bringing it down with a demonic grin; despite her focus laying almost entirely on that brush, she could feel Tira’s eyes biting at her; she caught a brief glance of the fire in those malice filled eyes a split second before the brush came down. As it landed upon her left foot, pinned tightly to the ground by the stake between her ankles, Rena too turned her face into the blanket, closing her eyes and biting her lower lip, hoping that those actions might stifle the feelings that would soon assail her being as the overwhelming scent of earth raged against her senses.
It began, and as always the world about her was ripped away, so that the only awareness Rena possessed was of herself, specifically of her own sensitive soles and the laughter that seemed to course freely from them, bursting forth from her mouth and slamming against the ground without regard for how much it damaged her throat as she was submerged into that awful bliss like state. This specific form of tickling she simply could not endure, and as such Rena fought her best to escape the grueling brush that rapidly and easily slid across her mud covered soles due to the warm, soapy water, beautifying them once again, she knew with each horrendous stroke that she was closer to the point when she would finally break. The thing almost hurt, but tickled far too much to do so, and seemingly eviscerated her from the inside out with very sharp blades in the forms of giggles. As the sensation really set in due to her benefactor’s obsession with getting each fleck of dirt from in-between her clenched toes, Rena felt her back arch as she cried out and began begging for mercy. Oh, that cruel man asked why, forcing her to scream out that it tickled, thus motivating him to invoke further wrath upon her poor toes. The sound of the brush scrapping against her sensitive flesh assaulted her when she managed to catch it over her own raucous laughter.
Finally, he seemed to have finished cleaning her left foot – and it did feel better to be rid of the caked mud, albeit at a terrible cost – allowing her but a second to catch her breath as his cold, bony hand grasped the top of her right foot, pulling it up and away from the ground so that she could not wiggle away from those terrible bristles. Before he could begin, she begged for an end; begged that he stop, promising to do anything to be spared even another second, but no response came until at last the bristles danced their haunting way across her right foots arch. Screaming, spasming out of control, Rena fought to free her delicate foot from his vice grip despite the knowledge that any minor escape would yield nothing save prolonging her torture. Still, she fought to free her foot, managing to do so while he scrubbed away ferociously at the heel. Unable to run very far, no more than a few inches, the best she could do was dig her unclean toes into the ground, forcing her arches to become that much more vulnerable as they now protruded into the air, eliciting an attack upon them. Quickly, she tried to tuck her feet under her ankles, clenching her toes and crunching her soles together to do so, but the brush came again with its promises of temporary cleanliness, striking unnecessarily across both sets of toes, forcing her to shriek wildly for several moments. The attacks continued, despite feeling – and seeing when she dared open her eyes and look in horror at her defenseless feet as they struggled in vain to escape the torture – that the dirt was gone. Foolish girl that she was, she knew that the way she responded would urge him to tickle her unnecessarily; inwardly, she considered herself to laugh far harder than Tira, thinking herself to be even more ticklish than her, at least when the brush was used.
Thankfully, it ended after a few more seconds of terrible toe tickling. Setting down the brush, she saw her benefactor’s shadow grow and then shrink as she turned just in time to see him sit upon her left ankle and Tira’s right. No, she thought; no more, not tonight! Tira voiced the same, howling to not be tickled and rapidly slapping those pretty feet of hers against the ground. Their benefactor warned her to stop, because if she made them dirty again…he never finished his sentence as Tira calmed herself immediately due to the threat. Rena felt fingers rest upon her sole, and heard Tira laugh and struggle violently while Rena shortly followed suit beyond her will; though they both fought greatly, Rena became enthralled by the strange lustful light that radiated from Tira’s eyes, as Rena realized Tira had not broken eye contact with her throughout their entire session that night. But her focus could not remain upon her friends vengeful stare for long, as the tickling very quickly devoured the entirety of her senses, draining what little energy she had until she could no longer fight back, but was forced to sit and feel the fullness of their benefactors tormenting touches upon her soles. They would be tired tomorrow, she knew, leading to their inability to fulfill their chores properly or on time as a result, and that would result in further tickle torture. But their feet would need to be cleaned before each session of tickle torture would ever truly commence, thought Rena as tears caused partially by the prolonged and continuous torture of her soles, though mostly at the thought of the day to come.
