This is my first attempt at writing something like this. Tell me what you think. 
House-sitting, Part 1
Chelsea was looking forward to the night ahead of her. She had agreed to look after the home of some regulars at the bar where she worked. They were both professors for the college, though she wasn’t sure what they were professors of. Worried for their dogs to be alone for too long, they had asked Chelsea to house sit. She readily agreed, remembering the last time they had asked her. What a relaxing weekend that had been! Now she was on a red-cushioned chaise, lying backwards with her feet crossed on the end of the furniture that would normally rest a head. It was an odd position for reading, but she was comfortable. She was ready for bed, wearing only a green tank-top with a pair of dark velvet pajama pants rolled up to the knees. Her relaxing day had begun with a pedicure, and she stared at her toes now. She had decided on a green paint so dark that it almost seemed black. The dark nail polish complemented her size 8 pale, soft feet. Ever since she had come to college, she had noticed men staring at her feet. Chelsea had never been very creeped out by it, though. She liked to find a busy part of the library where she could kick of her shoes and watch the passing men drool at her exposed soles and toes. Occasionally, she even decided to indulge one of them. Her red hair shook as she laughed, remembering how much of a scene she had made at the nail spa. She had tried to tell them she was too ticklish for the stone, but they had insisted. She hoped that nice man would be alright.
Chelsea was just about to close the book for the night when she thought she heard something. Cocking her head to the side, she listened intently for the sound to repeat itself. Hearing nothing, she shook her head at her own nervousness and started to get up. Suddenly there were three men in the room, all surrounding the chaise. Before she could think, her wrists had been bound to the legs of the couch with a bit of rope. A moment later, her ankles were similarly tied. After a quick study to make sure she couldn’t move, the men disappeared again. Chelsea’s thoughts whirled in her head. What was happening? Were these men here to hurt her? They returned 5 or 6 minutes later, and one wrote on a piece of paper. He brought it over and put it in front of Chelsea’s face. Where are the artifacts?
Chelsea could not believe this was happening. There were burglars in the house, and they believed her to possess information they needed! Chelsea shook her head saying, “I’m just house-sitting, I don’t know about any artifacts!”. The man looked at her for a second, and then wrote on his paper again. I don’t believe you. I will ask again in 2 minutes. Chelsea wondered what he was going to do for that two minutes and soon found out. He pulled a leather-covered ottoman over to the side of the couch where Chelsea’s feet were bound. Without a word, he sat down and removed his gloves. Chelsea didn’t even have time to consider his plans before he began tickling her bare feet. Chelsea inhaled sharply, and then began barking panicked laughs out admist shrieks of surprise. The man tickled her feet with his fingernails, wildly scratching at her soles. Chelsea lost herself in hysterical laughter. It seemed like the brutal tickling went on for hours, every inch of her sensitive feet being assaulted by the man. As suddenly as it began, Chelsea noticed that he had stopped and was standing in front of her again. He held up the paper again, and pointed to the first line. Where are the artifacts?
Chelsea began to cry, and pleaded with the men to not tickle her feet any longer. “I swear I don’t live here,” she said between anguished sobs, “I have a crappy apartment and you can have everything in it!” Instead of pointing to the second line, he took out his pen and wrote a second line. 5 minutes this time. It will be worse. Chelsea was on the verge of going mad. How could it be worse? The first time had been a million times worse than the pedicure this morning, and she had kicked that man square in the mouth. The thief-he must be a thief-teased her now, waggling his fingers above her exposed toes. All of a sudden, another of the men began tickling her arms. He quickly ran his spidery fingers down the length of her arms, to rest in each armpit. She was bucking like an enraged bronco now, screaming swears and laughter. The man at her feet renewed his relentless attack, this time focusing on the arches of her feet with a couple feathers he had produced. Chelsea thought she was going to pass out. The tickling was overloading her brain. Before long, the third man had joined in and took over tickling one of her underarms. With the other hand, he pulled Chelsea’s shirt up over her head. Now that she couldn’t see what the men were doing, it seemed like she was three times as ticklish. The man tickling her right armpit began lightly dancing his fingers on her exposed breasts, while the man on her left armpit began tickling her hips. She was being tickled on her feet, her hips and belly, her breasts, and both armpits all at once. At this point, Chelsea wasn’t even laughing anymore. Tears streamed down her face as she silently convulsed, trying to find the air to wail.
As before, all the torture suddenly ceased. As air rushed into her lungs, Chelsea realized she was exhausted from trying to free herself. “I can’t take much more of this!” she said to her captors. “Please! I don’t know what you are looking for!” The man at her feet wrote on his notepad for a moment, and then came to show her what it said. I’m after something new now. The men at her sides began anew, and her entire torso was again being relentlessly caressed and tickled. The man at her feet pulled his mask up to above his nose and sat down again by her dark green toes. Suddenly, the man was sucking on her toes. How long were they going to torture her? They said they were after something else now…was her body the new prize? The man at her feet was taking his time, running his tongue over each individual toe while simultaneously using the feathers to stroke her sensitive arches. The men at the other end of the chaise switched it up, one man focusing on both her underarms with spidery fingers moving faster than Chelsea imagined possible. The other alternated between digging his fingers into her ribs and softly running his fingertips over her sensitive breasts. These two men stopped their relentless tandem assault, though the maddening sensation of her toes in someone’s mouth when on a few more moments. The three masked men talked for a bit, and then two of them left through the front door. The man with his mask only half on spoke now. “They are tired, and decided this was a bust after all. I should tell you I saw the fridge, and the note left for you. There are still 3 days until the homeowners return.” Chelsea’s eyes went wide in horror and she shook her head, trying to ward off what the man must be implying. “I think I’m going to stay for a while,” he said, “I’ve got a few games in mind.”
House-sitting, Part 1
Chelsea was looking forward to the night ahead of her. She had agreed to look after the home of some regulars at the bar where she worked. They were both professors for the college, though she wasn’t sure what they were professors of. Worried for their dogs to be alone for too long, they had asked Chelsea to house sit. She readily agreed, remembering the last time they had asked her. What a relaxing weekend that had been! Now she was on a red-cushioned chaise, lying backwards with her feet crossed on the end of the furniture that would normally rest a head. It was an odd position for reading, but she was comfortable. She was ready for bed, wearing only a green tank-top with a pair of dark velvet pajama pants rolled up to the knees. Her relaxing day had begun with a pedicure, and she stared at her toes now. She had decided on a green paint so dark that it almost seemed black. The dark nail polish complemented her size 8 pale, soft feet. Ever since she had come to college, she had noticed men staring at her feet. Chelsea had never been very creeped out by it, though. She liked to find a busy part of the library where she could kick of her shoes and watch the passing men drool at her exposed soles and toes. Occasionally, she even decided to indulge one of them. Her red hair shook as she laughed, remembering how much of a scene she had made at the nail spa. She had tried to tell them she was too ticklish for the stone, but they had insisted. She hoped that nice man would be alright.
Chelsea was just about to close the book for the night when she thought she heard something. Cocking her head to the side, she listened intently for the sound to repeat itself. Hearing nothing, she shook her head at her own nervousness and started to get up. Suddenly there were three men in the room, all surrounding the chaise. Before she could think, her wrists had been bound to the legs of the couch with a bit of rope. A moment later, her ankles were similarly tied. After a quick study to make sure she couldn’t move, the men disappeared again. Chelsea’s thoughts whirled in her head. What was happening? Were these men here to hurt her? They returned 5 or 6 minutes later, and one wrote on a piece of paper. He brought it over and put it in front of Chelsea’s face. Where are the artifacts?
Chelsea could not believe this was happening. There were burglars in the house, and they believed her to possess information they needed! Chelsea shook her head saying, “I’m just house-sitting, I don’t know about any artifacts!”. The man looked at her for a second, and then wrote on his paper again. I don’t believe you. I will ask again in 2 minutes. Chelsea wondered what he was going to do for that two minutes and soon found out. He pulled a leather-covered ottoman over to the side of the couch where Chelsea’s feet were bound. Without a word, he sat down and removed his gloves. Chelsea didn’t even have time to consider his plans before he began tickling her bare feet. Chelsea inhaled sharply, and then began barking panicked laughs out admist shrieks of surprise. The man tickled her feet with his fingernails, wildly scratching at her soles. Chelsea lost herself in hysterical laughter. It seemed like the brutal tickling went on for hours, every inch of her sensitive feet being assaulted by the man. As suddenly as it began, Chelsea noticed that he had stopped and was standing in front of her again. He held up the paper again, and pointed to the first line. Where are the artifacts?
Chelsea began to cry, and pleaded with the men to not tickle her feet any longer. “I swear I don’t live here,” she said between anguished sobs, “I have a crappy apartment and you can have everything in it!” Instead of pointing to the second line, he took out his pen and wrote a second line. 5 minutes this time. It will be worse. Chelsea was on the verge of going mad. How could it be worse? The first time had been a million times worse than the pedicure this morning, and she had kicked that man square in the mouth. The thief-he must be a thief-teased her now, waggling his fingers above her exposed toes. All of a sudden, another of the men began tickling her arms. He quickly ran his spidery fingers down the length of her arms, to rest in each armpit. She was bucking like an enraged bronco now, screaming swears and laughter. The man at her feet renewed his relentless attack, this time focusing on the arches of her feet with a couple feathers he had produced. Chelsea thought she was going to pass out. The tickling was overloading her brain. Before long, the third man had joined in and took over tickling one of her underarms. With the other hand, he pulled Chelsea’s shirt up over her head. Now that she couldn’t see what the men were doing, it seemed like she was three times as ticklish. The man tickling her right armpit began lightly dancing his fingers on her exposed breasts, while the man on her left armpit began tickling her hips. She was being tickled on her feet, her hips and belly, her breasts, and both armpits all at once. At this point, Chelsea wasn’t even laughing anymore. Tears streamed down her face as she silently convulsed, trying to find the air to wail.
As before, all the torture suddenly ceased. As air rushed into her lungs, Chelsea realized she was exhausted from trying to free herself. “I can’t take much more of this!” she said to her captors. “Please! I don’t know what you are looking for!” The man at her feet wrote on his notepad for a moment, and then came to show her what it said. I’m after something new now. The men at her sides began anew, and her entire torso was again being relentlessly caressed and tickled. The man at her feet pulled his mask up to above his nose and sat down again by her dark green toes. Suddenly, the man was sucking on her toes. How long were they going to torture her? They said they were after something else now…was her body the new prize? The man at her feet was taking his time, running his tongue over each individual toe while simultaneously using the feathers to stroke her sensitive arches. The men at the other end of the chaise switched it up, one man focusing on both her underarms with spidery fingers moving faster than Chelsea imagined possible. The other alternated between digging his fingers into her ribs and softly running his fingertips over her sensitive breasts. These two men stopped their relentless tandem assault, though the maddening sensation of her toes in someone’s mouth when on a few more moments. The three masked men talked for a bit, and then two of them left through the front door. The man with his mask only half on spoke now. “They are tired, and decided this was a bust after all. I should tell you I saw the fridge, and the note left for you. There are still 3 days until the homeowners return.” Chelsea’s eyes went wide in horror and she shook her head, trying to ward off what the man must be implying. “I think I’m going to stay for a while,” he said, “I’ve got a few games in mind.”
