The Beast under the Bed
1
Dr Amy Marshall locked her car and walked up the gravel path towards her new home on the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio. She had recently bought the old ex-farmhouse as her dream home in the countryside, just close enough to Columbus that she could easily commute in to her job at the University but far enough out into the countryside to be isolated from noise. The nearest neighbours were just about visible about 1 kilometre distant from the 1st floor guest bedroom window. Most of the land had already been sold off to the surrounding farms before she bought the place, leaving a manageable garden. She stopped just in front of her front door at the top of the porch steps and noted that the previous owner’s large cat flap would have to be removed at some point. She turned to look at the beautiful autumn sunset. She was very happy with her new house despite the work it needed, and had been quick to dismiss concerns from her friends and her Mother that she would be lonely there on her own. She thought about this for a while as the sun set then shook the thoughts from her head and turned to go inside for what would be her fist night in her new house alone.
Amy was, at 28, one of the most successful research scientists for her age in the Chemistry department and there was talk of a lectureship on the horizon. She had poured herself into her work and rather neglected her love life. She was not conventionally sexy, not in her style of dress or bearing at least. She was bookish and wore thick glasses and tended to wear her long curly slightly frizzy mousey blonde hair in a single braid down her back to keep it under control. She spent most of her time at work in a lab coat. She was medium tall at 5’7”, perhaps a little on the skinny side, not vastly well endowed in the chest department and easily overlooked by boys with ‘conventional’ tastes. However, although she didn’t know it herself, she was cute as a button in an awkward sort of way. She was particularly shy and self conscious about her feet which were large for her frame, size 10’s. She tended to wear comfortable but unflattering clumpy flat black shoes to draw as little attention to them as possible. She was painfully shy around her male colleagues on any subject other than work and tended to avoid eye contact at all costs. She didn’t worry too much about her love life, she just assumed that it would eventually take care of itself and was content to let it.
She entered the hallway where some of her still unpacked boxes had been stacked. It was Wednesday night and she had booked Thursday off work to unpack. She sighed as she thought of the long day she had to look forward to tomorrow. Not right now though, she was too tired. She unpacked just enough kitchenware to make herself some toast and tea and ate with the radio on in the kitchen. She then took the radio upstairs and ran herself a bath in the master bedroom en-suite. As the bath was running, she walked back into the bedroom for a moment, drew the curtains and undressed. She looked at the large high wooden bedstead and smiled as she sat down on it to take her shoes and socks off her tired over sensitive feet. She remembered how silly she used to be as a child when she and her friends used to tell stories about monsters under the bed when they had sleepovers, monsters that grabbed the bare feet of little girls and dragged them under the bed. Harmless stories one of their fathers had told them about tickle monsters under the bed waiting to tickle the feet of unsuspecting girls who didn’t go to sleep when it was bedtime. She remembered how they had all jumped in the bed giggling to get their feet away from the monsters, but then the next night when her friends were gone she had deliberately dangled her feet off the bed to tempt the monsters... Just for a moment... She had half believed it and her pulse had always raced when it came to jumping into bed, but she had always paused when she was alone, dangling her bare feet and wondering if there really were such things as tickle monsters. She laughed to herself, balled her socks up and threw them into the laundry hamper and went back into the bathroom. She stopped in the doorway for a moment and looked back at the bed. Did she hear something? No. “Don’t be silly Amy, of course not.” She said to herself. She closed the bathroom door and turned off the water. She dipped the toes of her right foot in and swished around to test the temperature. Amy’s feet, now free from their over-warm socks and shoes, were perfectly soft. For some reason she had always taken very good care of them and never walked barefoot outside, or even much at all. She certainly never went barefoot around other people if she could help t at all. It brought back too many school memories of the popular girls making fun of her. Amy’s feet were fleshy and her pale soft skin was blushed pink on the toe tips, heels and the balls of her feet, creamy white everywhere else. Her toes were perfectly even, big toes longest by a tiny fraction. Amy’s feet were also unbearably ticklish and sensitive. She knew this from stroking them herself alone in bed sometimes, but she didn’t truly know how ticklish they really were as she had never really had them touched except for once in a shoe shop, an oddly helpful assistant had held each foot while he tried new shoes on them. He shared what might have been a knowing look with Amy as she blushed bright red and struggled not to giggle out loud. She had quickly acquiesced and just bought the shoes and fled, her pulse racing just as it did when she was a little girl. She never went back there.
Amy enjoyed her bath in peace with soothing classical music on the radio. As she did so, the other side of the closed door, something stirred in the bedroom. A furry, fuzzy tentacle-like thing slowly snaked out from under Amy’s bed and sought out the laundry hamper. It was brown in colour, light brown fur around most of its surface but with a bright pink bald strip down the underside of its entire length. This bald surface was covered in little stiff pink appendages, like little nail-less pinkie fingertips. Its appearance was also marked with a curious smell, like warm oatmeal, slightly odd and stale but not unpleasant. The tentacle snaked inside the hamper and wrapped itself quietly around Amy’s balled up worn socks, still slightly warm and moist from stomping around the university all day, and it quickly and quietly retracted back under the bed. There was some sniffing and snuffling and a quiet noise which might have been a loving sigh. And then tentacle and smell were gone.
Amy emerged from the bathroom some time later and padded into the bedroom, put on her pale blue pyjamas and went to climb into bed. She sat down on the bed and paused for a moment. She closed her eyes, lifted her knees and pointed her toes at the floor and her soles backwards to face under the bed. She stayed there flexing her feet, curling and uncurling her toes for a few seconds, her soles wrinkling up and stretching out smooth again... and then she quickly pulled them up and under the covers. Tomorrow was Thursday and thoughts of the mammoth job of unpacking closed all other thoughts out of her head before she turned off the light and went almost instantly to sleep without bothering to set an alarm.
Amy woke up. She lay there awake and confused for a little while wondering where she was. For a moment she thought she was back in her old flat in Columbus. Then her thoughts began to clear and she remembered her new bedroom. She looked over at the digital alarm clock which read 4.02am and wondered why she had woken up in the middle of the night as tired as she was. Then she noticed the smell. Not an obtrusive or bad smell, just somewhere between milky oatmeal and friendly old dog. She lay there for a little while trying to fathom what this smell might be and then she thought she heard a noise, very faint, like the noise of someone slipping under the duvet into her bed. She held her breath and froze still... Had she imagined it? NO! She could distinctly hear movement in the bed from all sides and she could feel the duvet moving! She panicked but too late. All at once the subtle creeping movement became a lunge and in that split second her mind raced through possibilities like burglary and kidnapping and then she felt the fuzzy tentacles under the duvet wrap around her wrists and ankles. She wanted to scream but only whimpers came out and she felt herself jerked about 12 inches down the bed, her feet were now sticking out over empty space and her ankles were held gently but firmly together by a single tightly wound tentacle. Her wrists were gripped tight, arms pulled out to each side of the bed. She couldn’t move an inch. Everything stopped. There was only breathing; Amy’s frantic terrified heavy breathing and something else. Amy could hear breathing from the other end of the bed, heavy but slow, like a large animal. Then she felt it get closer, warm moist breath on the soles of her feet. She was convinced it was a dream by now, one of those sleep paralysis dreams where you can’t move, she had read a paper on it once. It was obviously a lucid dream about those tickle monsters she had been thinking about. “Silly girl... Freaked myself out!” she told herself uncertainly. There was a sniff from the foot of the bed and something that felt like whiskers brushed the soles of Amy’s feet. Her unbearably ticklish feet. She let out a squeak at this new level of dream lucidity, a squeak of fear... or was it a stifled giggle? Her heart was pounding with fear... Or was it excitement? Until she woke up there was nothing she could do about it either way. There was more snuffling from the foot of the bed, more feather light whisker strokes brushed Amy’s bare soles. She couldn’t keep them from wiggling and this time she did let out a definite giggle, just a little involuntary “MMHMHM!! Hehehe...” Then there was stillness again. Stillness and that warm breath still on her feet. She wondered what would happen next in this crazy but not altogether unpleasant dream; she was surprised at herself, at how excited she was to be in this predicament. She did not have long to wonder. She felt another fuzzy tentacle worming in between the big toe and second toe on her right foot. She involuntarily jerked but too slowly, the tentacle quickly wormed around the left big toe and held the two big toes tightly together, tickling the soft flesh between Amy’s toes as the fuzzy fur stroked past and wound tighter. She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, held her breath and squirmed with her whole body and just managed to make no sound until the tentacle stopped moving again less than a second later. She gasped in air and panted, every muscle tensed, and hidden in the darkness, a big grin of ticklishness was on her face. Then it started. What felt like a rubbery hand with distinct fingers began tickling up her left sole, starting at the heel and moving upwards. It was joined a millisecond later by another gently but insistently tickling up her right sole. Amy went into hysterics instantly. All pretence of holding in the laughter abandoned as she squealed and began a torrent of loud panicked giggling and bucking for all she was worth on the bed. The rubbery tickly fingers lingered in Amy’s arches for a while causing her fists to clench and unclench grasping at handfuls of duvet, bed and air. Amy’s eyes were beginning to become accustomed to the near dark now and she could just about make out a large dark form at the end of the bed if she craned her head up to see it. Over her own peals of gasping and giggling which she was powerless to stop, she thought she could hear a low mischievous sounding voice, like that of a furry cartoon critter making approving little noises to itself.
“Yes. Oooh yes! Is good tickly. Is very good tickly. Mmhmm. Yesyesyesyes. Pretty feets for tickly time, ooooh yes!”
“HEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEAAAAHAHAHAAAAEEEEHEHE EEE!!!!” was about all Amy could manage with ten rubbery fingers softly tormenting her buttery soft arches.
“HEEEHEEHEHEE... WHO ARE...?!!.... AAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAHEEEE... WHAT THE?!!... HEEEHEHEHEEEEE!!!”
She tried to form the questions but her mind was reeling from the ticklish sensations being tenderly administered to her helpless bare feet. She would have had no idea what to ask even if she could have caught a breath. That was when the fingers abruptly leapt up to tickle her toes. This caused a new wave of panic and struggling from Amy. The tactics had changed too. The fingers did not now maintain continuous contact with Amy’s toes, instead they darted and jabbed and relaxed allowing Amy’s own movement to tickle her toes on the rubbery gentle fingers. Amy was in mental overload now and there was a building warmth between her legs. She wondered how long it would be before she passed out or woke up, whichever one it would be.
“Mmmmm... Mmhmm, mmhmm, yesyesyes. Pretty feets for tickly time. Pretty feets get fun tickles. Tickly toesies, Tickly toesies, Tickly toesies, yes yes yes.”
The beast seemed to sing a little tune to the last part, a humorous little tickle mantra. Amy could also now hear that it spoke with a lisp. She felt its breath close in on her arches as it appeared to nuzzle its whiskery face into her soles as it tickled her toes. The little song was the last thing Amy heard before she thrust her ass down into the bed, arched her back and convulsed squealing into her first orgasm in months, and promptly passed out.
TBC
1
Dr Amy Marshall locked her car and walked up the gravel path towards her new home on the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio. She had recently bought the old ex-farmhouse as her dream home in the countryside, just close enough to Columbus that she could easily commute in to her job at the University but far enough out into the countryside to be isolated from noise. The nearest neighbours were just about visible about 1 kilometre distant from the 1st floor guest bedroom window. Most of the land had already been sold off to the surrounding farms before she bought the place, leaving a manageable garden. She stopped just in front of her front door at the top of the porch steps and noted that the previous owner’s large cat flap would have to be removed at some point. She turned to look at the beautiful autumn sunset. She was very happy with her new house despite the work it needed, and had been quick to dismiss concerns from her friends and her Mother that she would be lonely there on her own. She thought about this for a while as the sun set then shook the thoughts from her head and turned to go inside for what would be her fist night in her new house alone.
Amy was, at 28, one of the most successful research scientists for her age in the Chemistry department and there was talk of a lectureship on the horizon. She had poured herself into her work and rather neglected her love life. She was not conventionally sexy, not in her style of dress or bearing at least. She was bookish and wore thick glasses and tended to wear her long curly slightly frizzy mousey blonde hair in a single braid down her back to keep it under control. She spent most of her time at work in a lab coat. She was medium tall at 5’7”, perhaps a little on the skinny side, not vastly well endowed in the chest department and easily overlooked by boys with ‘conventional’ tastes. However, although she didn’t know it herself, she was cute as a button in an awkward sort of way. She was particularly shy and self conscious about her feet which were large for her frame, size 10’s. She tended to wear comfortable but unflattering clumpy flat black shoes to draw as little attention to them as possible. She was painfully shy around her male colleagues on any subject other than work and tended to avoid eye contact at all costs. She didn’t worry too much about her love life, she just assumed that it would eventually take care of itself and was content to let it.
She entered the hallway where some of her still unpacked boxes had been stacked. It was Wednesday night and she had booked Thursday off work to unpack. She sighed as she thought of the long day she had to look forward to tomorrow. Not right now though, she was too tired. She unpacked just enough kitchenware to make herself some toast and tea and ate with the radio on in the kitchen. She then took the radio upstairs and ran herself a bath in the master bedroom en-suite. As the bath was running, she walked back into the bedroom for a moment, drew the curtains and undressed. She looked at the large high wooden bedstead and smiled as she sat down on it to take her shoes and socks off her tired over sensitive feet. She remembered how silly she used to be as a child when she and her friends used to tell stories about monsters under the bed when they had sleepovers, monsters that grabbed the bare feet of little girls and dragged them under the bed. Harmless stories one of their fathers had told them about tickle monsters under the bed waiting to tickle the feet of unsuspecting girls who didn’t go to sleep when it was bedtime. She remembered how they had all jumped in the bed giggling to get their feet away from the monsters, but then the next night when her friends were gone she had deliberately dangled her feet off the bed to tempt the monsters... Just for a moment... She had half believed it and her pulse had always raced when it came to jumping into bed, but she had always paused when she was alone, dangling her bare feet and wondering if there really were such things as tickle monsters. She laughed to herself, balled her socks up and threw them into the laundry hamper and went back into the bathroom. She stopped in the doorway for a moment and looked back at the bed. Did she hear something? No. “Don’t be silly Amy, of course not.” She said to herself. She closed the bathroom door and turned off the water. She dipped the toes of her right foot in and swished around to test the temperature. Amy’s feet, now free from their over-warm socks and shoes, were perfectly soft. For some reason she had always taken very good care of them and never walked barefoot outside, or even much at all. She certainly never went barefoot around other people if she could help t at all. It brought back too many school memories of the popular girls making fun of her. Amy’s feet were fleshy and her pale soft skin was blushed pink on the toe tips, heels and the balls of her feet, creamy white everywhere else. Her toes were perfectly even, big toes longest by a tiny fraction. Amy’s feet were also unbearably ticklish and sensitive. She knew this from stroking them herself alone in bed sometimes, but she didn’t truly know how ticklish they really were as she had never really had them touched except for once in a shoe shop, an oddly helpful assistant had held each foot while he tried new shoes on them. He shared what might have been a knowing look with Amy as she blushed bright red and struggled not to giggle out loud. She had quickly acquiesced and just bought the shoes and fled, her pulse racing just as it did when she was a little girl. She never went back there.
Amy enjoyed her bath in peace with soothing classical music on the radio. As she did so, the other side of the closed door, something stirred in the bedroom. A furry, fuzzy tentacle-like thing slowly snaked out from under Amy’s bed and sought out the laundry hamper. It was brown in colour, light brown fur around most of its surface but with a bright pink bald strip down the underside of its entire length. This bald surface was covered in little stiff pink appendages, like little nail-less pinkie fingertips. Its appearance was also marked with a curious smell, like warm oatmeal, slightly odd and stale but not unpleasant. The tentacle snaked inside the hamper and wrapped itself quietly around Amy’s balled up worn socks, still slightly warm and moist from stomping around the university all day, and it quickly and quietly retracted back under the bed. There was some sniffing and snuffling and a quiet noise which might have been a loving sigh. And then tentacle and smell were gone.
Amy emerged from the bathroom some time later and padded into the bedroom, put on her pale blue pyjamas and went to climb into bed. She sat down on the bed and paused for a moment. She closed her eyes, lifted her knees and pointed her toes at the floor and her soles backwards to face under the bed. She stayed there flexing her feet, curling and uncurling her toes for a few seconds, her soles wrinkling up and stretching out smooth again... and then she quickly pulled them up and under the covers. Tomorrow was Thursday and thoughts of the mammoth job of unpacking closed all other thoughts out of her head before she turned off the light and went almost instantly to sleep without bothering to set an alarm.
Amy woke up. She lay there awake and confused for a little while wondering where she was. For a moment she thought she was back in her old flat in Columbus. Then her thoughts began to clear and she remembered her new bedroom. She looked over at the digital alarm clock which read 4.02am and wondered why she had woken up in the middle of the night as tired as she was. Then she noticed the smell. Not an obtrusive or bad smell, just somewhere between milky oatmeal and friendly old dog. She lay there for a little while trying to fathom what this smell might be and then she thought she heard a noise, very faint, like the noise of someone slipping under the duvet into her bed. She held her breath and froze still... Had she imagined it? NO! She could distinctly hear movement in the bed from all sides and she could feel the duvet moving! She panicked but too late. All at once the subtle creeping movement became a lunge and in that split second her mind raced through possibilities like burglary and kidnapping and then she felt the fuzzy tentacles under the duvet wrap around her wrists and ankles. She wanted to scream but only whimpers came out and she felt herself jerked about 12 inches down the bed, her feet were now sticking out over empty space and her ankles were held gently but firmly together by a single tightly wound tentacle. Her wrists were gripped tight, arms pulled out to each side of the bed. She couldn’t move an inch. Everything stopped. There was only breathing; Amy’s frantic terrified heavy breathing and something else. Amy could hear breathing from the other end of the bed, heavy but slow, like a large animal. Then she felt it get closer, warm moist breath on the soles of her feet. She was convinced it was a dream by now, one of those sleep paralysis dreams where you can’t move, she had read a paper on it once. It was obviously a lucid dream about those tickle monsters she had been thinking about. “Silly girl... Freaked myself out!” she told herself uncertainly. There was a sniff from the foot of the bed and something that felt like whiskers brushed the soles of Amy’s feet. Her unbearably ticklish feet. She let out a squeak at this new level of dream lucidity, a squeak of fear... or was it a stifled giggle? Her heart was pounding with fear... Or was it excitement? Until she woke up there was nothing she could do about it either way. There was more snuffling from the foot of the bed, more feather light whisker strokes brushed Amy’s bare soles. She couldn’t keep them from wiggling and this time she did let out a definite giggle, just a little involuntary “MMHMHM!! Hehehe...” Then there was stillness again. Stillness and that warm breath still on her feet. She wondered what would happen next in this crazy but not altogether unpleasant dream; she was surprised at herself, at how excited she was to be in this predicament. She did not have long to wonder. She felt another fuzzy tentacle worming in between the big toe and second toe on her right foot. She involuntarily jerked but too slowly, the tentacle quickly wormed around the left big toe and held the two big toes tightly together, tickling the soft flesh between Amy’s toes as the fuzzy fur stroked past and wound tighter. She gritted her teeth, closed her eyes, held her breath and squirmed with her whole body and just managed to make no sound until the tentacle stopped moving again less than a second later. She gasped in air and panted, every muscle tensed, and hidden in the darkness, a big grin of ticklishness was on her face. Then it started. What felt like a rubbery hand with distinct fingers began tickling up her left sole, starting at the heel and moving upwards. It was joined a millisecond later by another gently but insistently tickling up her right sole. Amy went into hysterics instantly. All pretence of holding in the laughter abandoned as she squealed and began a torrent of loud panicked giggling and bucking for all she was worth on the bed. The rubbery tickly fingers lingered in Amy’s arches for a while causing her fists to clench and unclench grasping at handfuls of duvet, bed and air. Amy’s eyes were beginning to become accustomed to the near dark now and she could just about make out a large dark form at the end of the bed if she craned her head up to see it. Over her own peals of gasping and giggling which she was powerless to stop, she thought she could hear a low mischievous sounding voice, like that of a furry cartoon critter making approving little noises to itself.
“Yes. Oooh yes! Is good tickly. Is very good tickly. Mmhmm. Yesyesyesyes. Pretty feets for tickly time, ooooh yes!”
“HEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEAAAAHAHAHAAAAEEEEHEHE EEE!!!!” was about all Amy could manage with ten rubbery fingers softly tormenting her buttery soft arches.
“HEEEHEEHEHEE... WHO ARE...?!!.... AAAAAHAHAHAHAAAAHEEEE... WHAT THE?!!... HEEEHEHEHEEEEE!!!”
She tried to form the questions but her mind was reeling from the ticklish sensations being tenderly administered to her helpless bare feet. She would have had no idea what to ask even if she could have caught a breath. That was when the fingers abruptly leapt up to tickle her toes. This caused a new wave of panic and struggling from Amy. The tactics had changed too. The fingers did not now maintain continuous contact with Amy’s toes, instead they darted and jabbed and relaxed allowing Amy’s own movement to tickle her toes on the rubbery gentle fingers. Amy was in mental overload now and there was a building warmth between her legs. She wondered how long it would be before she passed out or woke up, whichever one it would be.
“Mmmmm... Mmhmm, mmhmm, yesyesyes. Pretty feets for tickly time. Pretty feets get fun tickles. Tickly toesies, Tickly toesies, Tickly toesies, yes yes yes.”
The beast seemed to sing a little tune to the last part, a humorous little tickle mantra. Amy could also now hear that it spoke with a lisp. She felt its breath close in on her arches as it appeared to nuzzle its whiskery face into her soles as it tickled her toes. The little song was the last thing Amy heard before she thrust her ass down into the bed, arched her back and convulsed squealing into her first orgasm in months, and promptly passed out.
TBC
