Pete the Griphead
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- Feb 24, 2009
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OK folks, sorry for dragging my feet, and taking my sweet ass time on this sequel...i truly appreciate all of the positive feedback and encouragement, and loved seeing more than 2K hits come in for Part-1. At any rate, here's the second installment, as things begin to ramp up for our poor hapless reporter:
Adrienne was quickly panicking, as the groping hands continued to exploit the ticklish vulnerability of her sensitive bare skin. Her brow began to sweat and her make-up began to run, as her hair fell in increasingly unkempt strands around her face. She valiantly attempted to draw meaningful breaths of air, for fear of passing out from the assault, but her laughter and screams increased commensurately with the intensity of the tickling. Partly as a defense mechanism, but equally as a reflex of sorts, she began to kick her legs in an effort to shake herself free of her tormentors. One such tormentor just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and caught Adrienne’s flailing booted foot by the heel and toe of her leather Manolo B. The female worker now holding the reporter’s boot clad foot in her hand started twisting it, in an attempt at added restraint, and Adrienne looked on as a devious look came across the woman’s face. With scheming motives, the woman began pulling up the cuff of Adrienne’s pant leg, to gain access to the zipper that ran along the inside of the boot. Slowly but with purpose, the teasing factory employee began working the zipper ever so slowly southward, in an effort to gain access to the surely ticklish prize inside…
The tormentor kept up the suspense, and glared at Adrienne the whole time she went through the painstakingly slow process of debooting the image conscious reporter. Finally, when the zipper was released, the woman grabbed the slightly raised heel of the overpriced patent leather foot cocoon, and peeled it from Adrienne’s clutching, knee-high clad toes.
“Oh my, a size 10” taunted the woman now holding Adrienne’s empty boot, “what BIIIGG feet you have Mzzzzz Winters”!
Adrienne cringed, showing obvious outward signs of mortification, as one of her worst fears was realized. She’d long been a hater of her feet, always the one aspect of her otherwise totaly self-confident stance on her own body that she’d come to be wholly embarrassed by. They were big, no doubt, and she felt they represented the least feminine part of her body. Her toes were rather long-ish, her feet big, and her soles terribly wrinkly…all in all, not a ‘show off’ item, in her humble opinon.
Truth be told, at nearly 5 foot 10, she’d already become accustomed to being sensitive about her height. But even at her current thirty-something status, she worked hard to stay in shape; namely so that she looked good on camera. And it wasn’t like she was tough on the eyes, as even she had to admit. She’d been likened to fellow news correspondent Jodi Applegate, though Jodi was more than a dozen years her senior. Looks-wise however, she could see the resemblance easily enough. Point in fact, Adrienne knew she was a looker, she just didn’t exactly go around flaunting it.
All that being said, where her feet were concerned…well now that was a whole other matter entirely. She’d always taken great pains to hide them beneath concealing footwear; so, being violently debooted in front of this pawing band of burly women was totally humiliating. On top of that, they’d been on assignment for the better part of an hour, and while it wasn’t downright sweltering, the temperature was high enough to have caused her feet to no doubt become at least mildly sweaty. All in all, she was utterly embarrassed and deathly afraid that this woman would not be stopping with just her single boot.
“Oh my” mocked Adrienne’s assailant, as she drew the now empty boot up to her nose to take an exaggerative wiff, “not only are your big ol’ boats huge, but they reek as well”!
With that sentiment lingering, the woman reached down towards Adrienne’s still boot clad second foot, and began the exaggerative and staged process of removing the abashed reporter’s remaining leather footwear. Leaving Adrienne standing there to shift nervously from one slightly moist stocking foot to the other, the assailant tossed the expensive yet stuffy boots to the groping hands of her factory co-workers, all of who were quite anxious to get in on the taunting action. And while Marge, the ringleader elect, continued to work on her exposed sides and ribs, the boot bandit and one of her cronies each took a hold of one Adrienne’s ankles, and lifted her feet up off of the hot asphalt of the parking lot to their waiting ticklish fingers.
“Oh muh gawd, oh muh gawd, oh muuhhh gaaaawd” babbled the ticklish telecaster, as no less than three sets of hands went to work on her uber ticklish body, “puleees don’t tickle meeee”!
Ignoring the pleas, her vicious attackers continued to tickle the poor hapless reporter on her bare sides, as well as the sweaty soles of her knee-high sock clad feet. The women stationed at her feet were holding their respective prizes, while slowly walking backwards a half step or so from one another with each passing minute. Eventually, they had Adrienne’s legs spread so wide that the fabric in the crotch of her dress slacks stretched to maximum limit, before finally beginning to tear ever so slightly at the seam as the stitching met its match. Before long, a rip several inches in length had formed from her crotch to her ass. With this rip in plain sight, the already disheveled reporter’s pink polka dotted white cotton panties now peaked out from the revealing crotch tear in her designer slacks.
If she were able to view her own inseam, or more to the point, if she wasn’t laughing her ass off distractedly, Adrienne would likely have sunk to even deeper depths of embarrassment knowing that the crotch of her polka’d panties had joined the ranks of the sweaty soles of her sock covered feet, and the cusp of her bra covered breasts, in her ever increasing state of undress. With heavy perspiration soaking the bottoms of her black knee-highs, the outline of her size 10 gargantuan feet could clearly be made out, with a damp footprint complete with five clammy toe prints obviously visible on each sock’s sole.
“Oh mother fucker, mother fucker, pleeeeeeese stop tickling me…and leave my poor feet alone” screamed Adrienne as she kicked and twitched her legs and feet in a desperate attempt to squirm away, “I’m going to piss in my fucking pants”!
“Wowweee, would ya look at that” observed one of the torturing women, “little miss goody 2-shoes is swearing like trailer park trash. Where’s your snoot and decorum now, Mzzzzz Winters”!
“Yeah, not so high and mighty any more, are we” added Marge, as she continued her attacks on the reporter’s ribs, while taking care to keep out of the flight path of Adrienne’s sweaty locks of light brown hair as they whipped from side to side. “Especially not with your big stinky feet airing out like dirty laundry, and your underwear hanging out. Hey Patty, Thelma, help me drag her sorry ass over to the chain link!”
Terrified by her current captors ominous intentions, but no less happy for the brief reprieve in the ticklish assault, Adrienne remained almost passive as the three women half carried/half drug her over to the chain link fence that surrounded the factory. Obviously intent on concealing their current activities, the women brought her through the main gate, and further in to the yard, circling around to the rear section of the site before settling on a large clearing behind several screening stacks of wooden pallets that had been piled high over time.
“This spot’ll do quite nicely” quipped ringleader Marge, as she helped her two partners in ticklish crime plant the hapless reporter, who was now a disheveled mess of her former self, up against the chain link fence.
“Should we tie her up first” asked Thelma, unsure how to get the weak-kneed journalist secured adequately for the additional tickle torture and humiliation that awaited her.
“Yeah, but we need something to bind her wrists with” replied Marge immediately. “Help me find something to tie her up with.”
The three women began glancing around, in a searching effort, before Patty concocted a dastardly plan in her mind. Allowing her gaze a wayward tilt, she let her eyes come to rest upon the dust-covered knee-highs that still clung to Adrienne’s oversized feet.
“Why don’t we just use her stinky ol’ socks” offered Patty nonchalantly, “I bet she’s just itching for a chance to let her big, stinky feet air out anyway.”
“What a wonderful idea, Patty” complimented Marge, impressed with the woman’s ingenuity “I’m so glad we brought you along for the fun. Now gal’s, go and fetch me her socks!”
Without having to be told twice, Patty and Thelma began moving in on their cornered opponent while Adrienne attempted one quick ill-fated attempt at escape. In a move any point guard would be proud of, she juked left before making a quick sudden dash to the right, but unfortunately not before Marge was able to reach out and wrap her meaty arms in a bear hug around the luckless woman’s waist. Lifting her off the ground in an almost effortless move, Marge held tight as her willing associates began to strip Adrienne’s sizeable ped’s of their last remaining coverage. Rolling up her right pant leg, Patty reached up above the lanky newswoman’s knee to grab a firm hold on the elastic that held Adrienne’s sock snuggly against her leg. Yanking firmly down, the brutish woman tugged the reporter’s sock down her leg, over her shin, and under her pinkish, wrinkled sole before stripping Adrienne’s right foot completely bare. The nylon-cotton fabric blend clung to the female reporter’s clammy skin, before peeling away to expose a moist, naked foot. The freshly stripped foot was firmly indented with deep sock marks, care of its recent incarceration in Adrienne’s now discarded Manolo-B foot prison. In a humbling and almost laughable gesture, Adrienne used her long toes in a last ditch effort to clutch at the sock, managing to grab a hold of the tip of the dangling knee-high between her big toe and second toe. Leaning over, Thelma gave the Adrienne’s foot a hard pinch to force the desperate correspondent’s toes to relinquish their grasp on the sock, before taking a moment to pluck a wild hair from the newswoman’s long second toe.
Equally interested in lending a helping hand, Thelma took a second moment to kindly follow suit, removing Adrienne’s tightly clinging left dress sock and leaving the now further embarrassed reporter standing there completely barefoot and even more self-conscious. In a valiant effort, but to no great avail, Adrienne did her absolute best to hide her now naked, sweaty, sock marked size-10’s from the prying, intimidating eyes of her impending captors. With her long toes curled over one another, Adrienne stood there utterly mortified at the violent foot raping that she’d just been forced to endure while her bared toes twitched nervously in anticipation.
In a hulking effort that didn’t even seem to cause her to break a sweat, Marge hoisted Adrienne backwards, the reporter’s bare wrinkled soles flailing, while forcing the woman’s back to come to rest firmly up against the chain link fence. Grabbing a hold of the reporter’s designer sweater and blouse-clad appendage, Marge pulled Adrienne’s right arm firmly outstretched while allowing Patty to use the slightly sweaty sock to tie the journalist’s first arm to the fence. Thelma followed in her co-workers footsteps, and bound Adrienne’s left arm equally high and outstretched to the fence. Each taking a step back to admire their handiwork, the three tormenters loomed at their tousled captive, taking in the sight of the once snotty reporter’s current appearance.
Adrienne’s chin had fallen forward, and come to rest just above her marginally displayed cleavage. Her once expensively groomed locks of light brown hair had become a tasseled, sweaty mess, falling in clumps across her face. Her make-up, though minimal, had begun to smear and streak, accentuating her sweat streaked face to an even greater degree. The v-neck hem of her designer sweater was stretched, and her blouse hung open nearly half way while exposing the pseudo-famous commentator’s entire silky pink bra. The top of Adrienne’s left aerola was in plain sight, and there was almost a nipplage sighting going on with her right breast. The tear in her crotch had apparently worsened during her rough handling, while she was being drug to this secret section of the yard, and the rip now extended almost all the way from Adrienne’s exposed white cotton ass to the tattered front zipper of her previously designer dress slacks, which now also hung open in humiliating fashion. And her oversized feet now lay bared, with the cuff of her left pant leg still rolled up to nearly her knee while the right pant leg had fallen over the top of Adrienne’s sock marked, bare right foot. Sensing her increased state of undress, Adrienne nervously shifted her nearly 120 and some odd pounds from side to side, while she attempted to hid her bare left foot by covering it with her right, and vice versa. The friction of this action caused her sweaty bare feet to perspire even more, and before long the audible slaps of bare skin on skin could be heard as her clammy soles slapped down on the top of each of her opposite naked feet.
“Let’s make our ticklish guest of honor a bit more comfy” offered Marge, while gesturing to Patty and Thelma to drag a small wooden pallet over for Adrienne to rest her now partly bared ass on. “Besides, if she has a seat, you guys will be able to have a bit more fun with her feet”!
Dragging it over, the three ladies hoisted Adrienne’s nearly limp frame a few inches off of the ground, before allowing her butt to come to rest on top of their makeshift seat. With Adrienne’s legs now dangling free, Marge moved in to attack the reporter’s upper body, while Patty and Thelma each took a sweaty, meaty sized 10 in their clutches and went to work once again. Sliding their fingers, they manipulated the sensitive skin on the bottoms of both of Adrienne’s sweaty and wrinkled boats, while using her own foot sweat against her to work their fingers effortlessly in between each and every one of the now hysterical journalists long and clutching toes.
“Coochie coochie coo” teased Thelma, as she drug her damagingly long nails over the exposed flesh of Adrienne’s left sole. “You’re in for it now madame reporter, we’re gonna tickle the living shit out of these big ol’ stinky feet of yours”!
Taking great pains to include each crevice, Patty matched her co-worker’s zeal while working over the creased flesh of Adrienne’s right sole. She marveled at how wrinkled the frantic woman’s naked foot bottoms became, each time Adrienne flexed her big feet impulsively as a result of the torture. Working hard to maintain a firm hold of the reporter’s slippery foot, Patty held fast as her victim’s bare foot waved, while taking in the almost pathetic sight of Adrienne’s toes spastically reacting to the torment of her every ticklish stroke.
“Leeehhhvv…muh…fuhcing…fehht…uhlown…puhleess” managed Adrienne, between drastically exaggerated intakes of oxygen, which was all she could do to keep from passing out.
Sensing they were wearing the ill-fated correspondent down, and enjoying the front row seat to Adrienne’s degradation, Marge decided to up her level of collaboration and launched a vicious assault on Adrienne’s sides and belly. Making a point to pull the hem of Adrienne’s sweater and shirt up and out of the way, to get at the exposed bare flesh of the reporter’s midriff, the ringleader extraordinaire plotted with dexterous maneuvering as she attacked Adrienne’s toned, tanned sides and abs. Quickly growing impatient of fighting with the cumbersome material of Adrienne’s upper body wardrobe, and always the innovator, Marge decided to make things easier on herself. Reaching up with all ten of her fleshy fingers, she grabbed a firm hold of the v-neck fabric of Adrienne’s cashmere sweater. It had already been stretched threadbare thin when she’d confiscated the luckless reporter’s wireless microphone earlier, so making short work of it she jerked firmly downward and completely shredded the front of Adrienne’s sweater. A variety of tugs, tears, and rips, care of the burly factory worker, quickly reduced the victim to her designer blouse, which stood even less chance of survival from Marge’s attacks. Repeating the action, Marge yanked on Adrienne’s blouse hard enough to send designer buttons flying in all directions. Pulling the tattered fabric over each of Adrienne’s shoulders, Marge left the disheveled newswoman’s breasts to swing free within the scantily clad confines of her revealing lingerie. And to make matters worse, all of the tugging and tearing had caused Adrienne’s left breast to pop free even further from the restraining cup of her pink bra, leaving the au natural 34-C mammary to swing wildly free. In rather unfortunate ‘insult to injury’ fashion, Adrienne’s now naked and uncovered left tit was exploiting a severely swollen nipple, which jutted like a No. 2 eraser from the center of the exposed woman’s 2-inch areola. In contrast, her right breast was offered a modicum of reticence, as it remained partially shielded behind the sheer flowered lace pattern of Adrienne’s right bra cup.
“So, tell me Mzzzzzz Winters” Marge began, exaggerating for effect, “are these sexy little titties of yours ticklish too”?
Meant solely as a rhetorical sentiment apparently, Marge began to lightly flick the exposed nipple of Adrienne’s left breast before waiting for a legitimate response to her query. Meanwhile the exposed and embarrassed reporter attempted to swing her breasts out of the reach of her attacker’s manipulative fingers, in a desperate attempt to avoid further disgrace. With Thelma working over the exposed and wrinkled flesh of her left foot’s sweaty sole, Patty going to town on the dancing toes of her naked right foot, and Marge now maliciously manipulating the engorged nipple of her bared left breast, Adrienne was fighting to draw in even the shortest of breaths for fear of succumbing to complete asphyxiation. But as the tingling sensations increased on her sweaty bare feet, and her swollen, naked nipple, Adrienne became subtly aware of her body’s increasingly heightened state of stimulation. And when she caught a slight peripheral glance of her male cameraman’s approach, as he was marched into the confines of the yard by no less than a dozen angry, groping women, she felt the tingles of stimulation kick in to mild overdrive. For a fleeting second, their eyes locked, and Adrienne couldn’t help but notice as Travis’ own eyes did a quick once over, taking in her current predicament (and no doubt her current state of undress). And damn it all if she didn’t sense a slight swelling in his jeans as he was pushed in her direction...
Adrienne was quickly panicking, as the groping hands continued to exploit the ticklish vulnerability of her sensitive bare skin. Her brow began to sweat and her make-up began to run, as her hair fell in increasingly unkempt strands around her face. She valiantly attempted to draw meaningful breaths of air, for fear of passing out from the assault, but her laughter and screams increased commensurately with the intensity of the tickling. Partly as a defense mechanism, but equally as a reflex of sorts, she began to kick her legs in an effort to shake herself free of her tormentors. One such tormentor just happened to be in the right place at the right time, and caught Adrienne’s flailing booted foot by the heel and toe of her leather Manolo B. The female worker now holding the reporter’s boot clad foot in her hand started twisting it, in an attempt at added restraint, and Adrienne looked on as a devious look came across the woman’s face. With scheming motives, the woman began pulling up the cuff of Adrienne’s pant leg, to gain access to the zipper that ran along the inside of the boot. Slowly but with purpose, the teasing factory employee began working the zipper ever so slowly southward, in an effort to gain access to the surely ticklish prize inside…
The tormentor kept up the suspense, and glared at Adrienne the whole time she went through the painstakingly slow process of debooting the image conscious reporter. Finally, when the zipper was released, the woman grabbed the slightly raised heel of the overpriced patent leather foot cocoon, and peeled it from Adrienne’s clutching, knee-high clad toes.
“Oh my, a size 10” taunted the woman now holding Adrienne’s empty boot, “what BIIIGG feet you have Mzzzzz Winters”!
Adrienne cringed, showing obvious outward signs of mortification, as one of her worst fears was realized. She’d long been a hater of her feet, always the one aspect of her otherwise totaly self-confident stance on her own body that she’d come to be wholly embarrassed by. They were big, no doubt, and she felt they represented the least feminine part of her body. Her toes were rather long-ish, her feet big, and her soles terribly wrinkly…all in all, not a ‘show off’ item, in her humble opinon.
Truth be told, at nearly 5 foot 10, she’d already become accustomed to being sensitive about her height. But even at her current thirty-something status, she worked hard to stay in shape; namely so that she looked good on camera. And it wasn’t like she was tough on the eyes, as even she had to admit. She’d been likened to fellow news correspondent Jodi Applegate, though Jodi was more than a dozen years her senior. Looks-wise however, she could see the resemblance easily enough. Point in fact, Adrienne knew she was a looker, she just didn’t exactly go around flaunting it.
All that being said, where her feet were concerned…well now that was a whole other matter entirely. She’d always taken great pains to hide them beneath concealing footwear; so, being violently debooted in front of this pawing band of burly women was totally humiliating. On top of that, they’d been on assignment for the better part of an hour, and while it wasn’t downright sweltering, the temperature was high enough to have caused her feet to no doubt become at least mildly sweaty. All in all, she was utterly embarrassed and deathly afraid that this woman would not be stopping with just her single boot.
“Oh my” mocked Adrienne’s assailant, as she drew the now empty boot up to her nose to take an exaggerative wiff, “not only are your big ol’ boats huge, but they reek as well”!
With that sentiment lingering, the woman reached down towards Adrienne’s still boot clad second foot, and began the exaggerative and staged process of removing the abashed reporter’s remaining leather footwear. Leaving Adrienne standing there to shift nervously from one slightly moist stocking foot to the other, the assailant tossed the expensive yet stuffy boots to the groping hands of her factory co-workers, all of who were quite anxious to get in on the taunting action. And while Marge, the ringleader elect, continued to work on her exposed sides and ribs, the boot bandit and one of her cronies each took a hold of one Adrienne’s ankles, and lifted her feet up off of the hot asphalt of the parking lot to their waiting ticklish fingers.
“Oh muh gawd, oh muh gawd, oh muuhhh gaaaawd” babbled the ticklish telecaster, as no less than three sets of hands went to work on her uber ticklish body, “puleees don’t tickle meeee”!
Ignoring the pleas, her vicious attackers continued to tickle the poor hapless reporter on her bare sides, as well as the sweaty soles of her knee-high sock clad feet. The women stationed at her feet were holding their respective prizes, while slowly walking backwards a half step or so from one another with each passing minute. Eventually, they had Adrienne’s legs spread so wide that the fabric in the crotch of her dress slacks stretched to maximum limit, before finally beginning to tear ever so slightly at the seam as the stitching met its match. Before long, a rip several inches in length had formed from her crotch to her ass. With this rip in plain sight, the already disheveled reporter’s pink polka dotted white cotton panties now peaked out from the revealing crotch tear in her designer slacks.
If she were able to view her own inseam, or more to the point, if she wasn’t laughing her ass off distractedly, Adrienne would likely have sunk to even deeper depths of embarrassment knowing that the crotch of her polka’d panties had joined the ranks of the sweaty soles of her sock covered feet, and the cusp of her bra covered breasts, in her ever increasing state of undress. With heavy perspiration soaking the bottoms of her black knee-highs, the outline of her size 10 gargantuan feet could clearly be made out, with a damp footprint complete with five clammy toe prints obviously visible on each sock’s sole.
“Oh mother fucker, mother fucker, pleeeeeeese stop tickling me…and leave my poor feet alone” screamed Adrienne as she kicked and twitched her legs and feet in a desperate attempt to squirm away, “I’m going to piss in my fucking pants”!
“Wowweee, would ya look at that” observed one of the torturing women, “little miss goody 2-shoes is swearing like trailer park trash. Where’s your snoot and decorum now, Mzzzzz Winters”!
“Yeah, not so high and mighty any more, are we” added Marge, as she continued her attacks on the reporter’s ribs, while taking care to keep out of the flight path of Adrienne’s sweaty locks of light brown hair as they whipped from side to side. “Especially not with your big stinky feet airing out like dirty laundry, and your underwear hanging out. Hey Patty, Thelma, help me drag her sorry ass over to the chain link!”
Terrified by her current captors ominous intentions, but no less happy for the brief reprieve in the ticklish assault, Adrienne remained almost passive as the three women half carried/half drug her over to the chain link fence that surrounded the factory. Obviously intent on concealing their current activities, the women brought her through the main gate, and further in to the yard, circling around to the rear section of the site before settling on a large clearing behind several screening stacks of wooden pallets that had been piled high over time.
“This spot’ll do quite nicely” quipped ringleader Marge, as she helped her two partners in ticklish crime plant the hapless reporter, who was now a disheveled mess of her former self, up against the chain link fence.
“Should we tie her up first” asked Thelma, unsure how to get the weak-kneed journalist secured adequately for the additional tickle torture and humiliation that awaited her.
“Yeah, but we need something to bind her wrists with” replied Marge immediately. “Help me find something to tie her up with.”
The three women began glancing around, in a searching effort, before Patty concocted a dastardly plan in her mind. Allowing her gaze a wayward tilt, she let her eyes come to rest upon the dust-covered knee-highs that still clung to Adrienne’s oversized feet.
“Why don’t we just use her stinky ol’ socks” offered Patty nonchalantly, “I bet she’s just itching for a chance to let her big, stinky feet air out anyway.”
“What a wonderful idea, Patty” complimented Marge, impressed with the woman’s ingenuity “I’m so glad we brought you along for the fun. Now gal’s, go and fetch me her socks!”
Without having to be told twice, Patty and Thelma began moving in on their cornered opponent while Adrienne attempted one quick ill-fated attempt at escape. In a move any point guard would be proud of, she juked left before making a quick sudden dash to the right, but unfortunately not before Marge was able to reach out and wrap her meaty arms in a bear hug around the luckless woman’s waist. Lifting her off the ground in an almost effortless move, Marge held tight as her willing associates began to strip Adrienne’s sizeable ped’s of their last remaining coverage. Rolling up her right pant leg, Patty reached up above the lanky newswoman’s knee to grab a firm hold on the elastic that held Adrienne’s sock snuggly against her leg. Yanking firmly down, the brutish woman tugged the reporter’s sock down her leg, over her shin, and under her pinkish, wrinkled sole before stripping Adrienne’s right foot completely bare. The nylon-cotton fabric blend clung to the female reporter’s clammy skin, before peeling away to expose a moist, naked foot. The freshly stripped foot was firmly indented with deep sock marks, care of its recent incarceration in Adrienne’s now discarded Manolo-B foot prison. In a humbling and almost laughable gesture, Adrienne used her long toes in a last ditch effort to clutch at the sock, managing to grab a hold of the tip of the dangling knee-high between her big toe and second toe. Leaning over, Thelma gave the Adrienne’s foot a hard pinch to force the desperate correspondent’s toes to relinquish their grasp on the sock, before taking a moment to pluck a wild hair from the newswoman’s long second toe.
Equally interested in lending a helping hand, Thelma took a second moment to kindly follow suit, removing Adrienne’s tightly clinging left dress sock and leaving the now further embarrassed reporter standing there completely barefoot and even more self-conscious. In a valiant effort, but to no great avail, Adrienne did her absolute best to hide her now naked, sweaty, sock marked size-10’s from the prying, intimidating eyes of her impending captors. With her long toes curled over one another, Adrienne stood there utterly mortified at the violent foot raping that she’d just been forced to endure while her bared toes twitched nervously in anticipation.
In a hulking effort that didn’t even seem to cause her to break a sweat, Marge hoisted Adrienne backwards, the reporter’s bare wrinkled soles flailing, while forcing the woman’s back to come to rest firmly up against the chain link fence. Grabbing a hold of the reporter’s designer sweater and blouse-clad appendage, Marge pulled Adrienne’s right arm firmly outstretched while allowing Patty to use the slightly sweaty sock to tie the journalist’s first arm to the fence. Thelma followed in her co-workers footsteps, and bound Adrienne’s left arm equally high and outstretched to the fence. Each taking a step back to admire their handiwork, the three tormenters loomed at their tousled captive, taking in the sight of the once snotty reporter’s current appearance.
Adrienne’s chin had fallen forward, and come to rest just above her marginally displayed cleavage. Her once expensively groomed locks of light brown hair had become a tasseled, sweaty mess, falling in clumps across her face. Her make-up, though minimal, had begun to smear and streak, accentuating her sweat streaked face to an even greater degree. The v-neck hem of her designer sweater was stretched, and her blouse hung open nearly half way while exposing the pseudo-famous commentator’s entire silky pink bra. The top of Adrienne’s left aerola was in plain sight, and there was almost a nipplage sighting going on with her right breast. The tear in her crotch had apparently worsened during her rough handling, while she was being drug to this secret section of the yard, and the rip now extended almost all the way from Adrienne’s exposed white cotton ass to the tattered front zipper of her previously designer dress slacks, which now also hung open in humiliating fashion. And her oversized feet now lay bared, with the cuff of her left pant leg still rolled up to nearly her knee while the right pant leg had fallen over the top of Adrienne’s sock marked, bare right foot. Sensing her increased state of undress, Adrienne nervously shifted her nearly 120 and some odd pounds from side to side, while she attempted to hid her bare left foot by covering it with her right, and vice versa. The friction of this action caused her sweaty bare feet to perspire even more, and before long the audible slaps of bare skin on skin could be heard as her clammy soles slapped down on the top of each of her opposite naked feet.
“Let’s make our ticklish guest of honor a bit more comfy” offered Marge, while gesturing to Patty and Thelma to drag a small wooden pallet over for Adrienne to rest her now partly bared ass on. “Besides, if she has a seat, you guys will be able to have a bit more fun with her feet”!
Dragging it over, the three ladies hoisted Adrienne’s nearly limp frame a few inches off of the ground, before allowing her butt to come to rest on top of their makeshift seat. With Adrienne’s legs now dangling free, Marge moved in to attack the reporter’s upper body, while Patty and Thelma each took a sweaty, meaty sized 10 in their clutches and went to work once again. Sliding their fingers, they manipulated the sensitive skin on the bottoms of both of Adrienne’s sweaty and wrinkled boats, while using her own foot sweat against her to work their fingers effortlessly in between each and every one of the now hysterical journalists long and clutching toes.
“Coochie coochie coo” teased Thelma, as she drug her damagingly long nails over the exposed flesh of Adrienne’s left sole. “You’re in for it now madame reporter, we’re gonna tickle the living shit out of these big ol’ stinky feet of yours”!
Taking great pains to include each crevice, Patty matched her co-worker’s zeal while working over the creased flesh of Adrienne’s right sole. She marveled at how wrinkled the frantic woman’s naked foot bottoms became, each time Adrienne flexed her big feet impulsively as a result of the torture. Working hard to maintain a firm hold of the reporter’s slippery foot, Patty held fast as her victim’s bare foot waved, while taking in the almost pathetic sight of Adrienne’s toes spastically reacting to the torment of her every ticklish stroke.
“Leeehhhvv…muh…fuhcing…fehht…uhlown…puhleess” managed Adrienne, between drastically exaggerated intakes of oxygen, which was all she could do to keep from passing out.
Sensing they were wearing the ill-fated correspondent down, and enjoying the front row seat to Adrienne’s degradation, Marge decided to up her level of collaboration and launched a vicious assault on Adrienne’s sides and belly. Making a point to pull the hem of Adrienne’s sweater and shirt up and out of the way, to get at the exposed bare flesh of the reporter’s midriff, the ringleader extraordinaire plotted with dexterous maneuvering as she attacked Adrienne’s toned, tanned sides and abs. Quickly growing impatient of fighting with the cumbersome material of Adrienne’s upper body wardrobe, and always the innovator, Marge decided to make things easier on herself. Reaching up with all ten of her fleshy fingers, she grabbed a firm hold of the v-neck fabric of Adrienne’s cashmere sweater. It had already been stretched threadbare thin when she’d confiscated the luckless reporter’s wireless microphone earlier, so making short work of it she jerked firmly downward and completely shredded the front of Adrienne’s sweater. A variety of tugs, tears, and rips, care of the burly factory worker, quickly reduced the victim to her designer blouse, which stood even less chance of survival from Marge’s attacks. Repeating the action, Marge yanked on Adrienne’s blouse hard enough to send designer buttons flying in all directions. Pulling the tattered fabric over each of Adrienne’s shoulders, Marge left the disheveled newswoman’s breasts to swing free within the scantily clad confines of her revealing lingerie. And to make matters worse, all of the tugging and tearing had caused Adrienne’s left breast to pop free even further from the restraining cup of her pink bra, leaving the au natural 34-C mammary to swing wildly free. In rather unfortunate ‘insult to injury’ fashion, Adrienne’s now naked and uncovered left tit was exploiting a severely swollen nipple, which jutted like a No. 2 eraser from the center of the exposed woman’s 2-inch areola. In contrast, her right breast was offered a modicum of reticence, as it remained partially shielded behind the sheer flowered lace pattern of Adrienne’s right bra cup.
“So, tell me Mzzzzzz Winters” Marge began, exaggerating for effect, “are these sexy little titties of yours ticklish too”?
Meant solely as a rhetorical sentiment apparently, Marge began to lightly flick the exposed nipple of Adrienne’s left breast before waiting for a legitimate response to her query. Meanwhile the exposed and embarrassed reporter attempted to swing her breasts out of the reach of her attacker’s manipulative fingers, in a desperate attempt to avoid further disgrace. With Thelma working over the exposed and wrinkled flesh of her left foot’s sweaty sole, Patty going to town on the dancing toes of her naked right foot, and Marge now maliciously manipulating the engorged nipple of her bared left breast, Adrienne was fighting to draw in even the shortest of breaths for fear of succumbing to complete asphyxiation. But as the tingling sensations increased on her sweaty bare feet, and her swollen, naked nipple, Adrienne became subtly aware of her body’s increasingly heightened state of stimulation. And when she caught a slight peripheral glance of her male cameraman’s approach, as he was marched into the confines of the yard by no less than a dozen angry, groping women, she felt the tingles of stimulation kick in to mild overdrive. For a fleeting second, their eyes locked, and Adrienne couldn’t help but notice as Travis’ own eyes did a quick once over, taking in her current predicament (and no doubt her current state of undress). And damn it all if she didn’t sense a slight swelling in his jeans as he was pushed in her direction...
