m/m_ticklee
Registered User
- Joined
- Dec 26, 2012
- Messages
- 26
- Points
- 3
Imagine coming home day and finding a letter in your mail box with an address and a key in it. You find the address on google maps - a nice, pristine house in the suburbs with a garage and driveway. You open the door with the key and find an immaculate, cozy interior. Right away you see a note on the table that says “downstairs.”
You find the door to the basement and flip on the lights, descending the wooden strairs to a cool, unfinished basement with cement floors. There in the middle of the basement you find me sitting in a recliner chair in my boxers. My mouth is covered in duct tape, my are wrists tied over my head and behind the chair, leaving my sides and underarms exposed. But your attention is immediately drawn to my big, soft, pink bare soles, sticking straight out in front of me and elevated a bit, presented directly in front of you. You feel a rush of excitement when you see them.
My ankles are tied to the foot rest of the recliner, which has a wooden crate underneath it so it doesn’t wobble any. My big toes are tied together with a rope that is tied to my ankle restraints, pulling my feet back so that only my other toes can move. My other eight toes are currently curled in nervous anticipation, wrinkling my soles. My face is a mixture of fear and excitement, and I start to squirm and struggle as you move towards me. You then see next to the recliner a side table. On that table lies a letter that reads:
“This boy has been out of line. He must be put in his place. We understand that you have the perfect ... skills to exploit his weakness. Make him sorry.”
Next to the letter is a feather, a hairbrush and a sonicare ...
You find the door to the basement and flip on the lights, descending the wooden strairs to a cool, unfinished basement with cement floors. There in the middle of the basement you find me sitting in a recliner chair in my boxers. My mouth is covered in duct tape, my are wrists tied over my head and behind the chair, leaving my sides and underarms exposed. But your attention is immediately drawn to my big, soft, pink bare soles, sticking straight out in front of me and elevated a bit, presented directly in front of you. You feel a rush of excitement when you see them.
My ankles are tied to the foot rest of the recliner, which has a wooden crate underneath it so it doesn’t wobble any. My big toes are tied together with a rope that is tied to my ankle restraints, pulling my feet back so that only my other toes can move. My other eight toes are currently curled in nervous anticipation, wrinkling my soles. My face is a mixture of fear and excitement, and I start to squirm and struggle as you move towards me. You then see next to the recliner a side table. On that table lies a letter that reads:
“This boy has been out of line. He must be put in his place. We understand that you have the perfect ... skills to exploit his weakness. Make him sorry.”
Next to the letter is a feather, a hairbrush and a sonicare ...
