Justyna Helcyk ticklish ordeal mmm/f
That was commissioned from me. To spare you googling here is Justyna (she's a politician, therefore a public person so it's OK to post her image without consent, at least under Polish law):
The story is completely fictional and is written as a tribute to the beauty of Justyna Helcyk, Polish right wing activist.
Justyna entered the stage, running once again through her speech with her mind. She planned something unusual that day and was a bit afraid, although excited. But there was no time for fear. In a few moments she was shouting to the microphone about islam and leftist threat to Poland and to the whole Europe. Than it came the grand finale.
“But we had all sinned! We turned out from our true faith! Europe became pagan! We need some kind of expiation! To tell God we are sorry! To tell our home soil we are sorry! And I am going to feel this holy, Polish soil with my feet! Let the blood and pain of it be MY expiation! You choose yours!”. Shouting this she quickly reached down to remove her sandals and threw it away. Preparing to this she went to a pedicure, although she really hated how this forced her to laugh herself silly because it tickled so much. She liked to be strong, she wanted to be strong! She was a leader of a ONR Lower Silesian Brigade, not a silly, giggling girl! But she considered it the first “suffering” for the Cause. Now her feet were soft and pampered. She was tempted for a red and white nail polish but thought it would not go well with pious intentions. She tssked slightly feeling rough planks of the platform already grazing her soft soles. She walked away carefully, then noticed the direction of all male’s gazes and blushed slightly. Being a statuesque, beautiful “Valkyrian” blonde she was accustomed to male attention, but that was… embarrassing. Why were they all staring at her bare feet? She felt like she was flashing her tits or walking in a slutty outfit. “These are only FEET”, she tried to convince herself. “I am not showing them my tits or my butt like those whores walking half naked”. But that didn’t help. She wanted to get a strong reaction, but not THAT kind of.
Their spokesman, Wojtek, helped her out of the platform.
- Great speech! And a very…. brave movement!
She thanked him, but noticed that he also had troubles not to shift his gaze down and to keep his composure. And he did it quite well, except a huge bulge in his pants.
“Oh, great!” thought Justyna. “I cannot step down now! Maybe they get used to after a while!”
One of the guys gaping at her feet with sweaty hands, a beating heart and suddenly very tight pants was Artur. Everybody thought him to be a newbie radical ONR activist. And he was a radical activist, but leftist, going undercover to infiltrate “the fascists”. He cringed inside hearing all this “hate talk” but put on a good face and shouted whatever he was supposed to shout. With Justyna he had a love/hate relationship. He was totally fascinated with her beauty and totally repulsed by her beliefs. He imagined them in a hot romance, when in the height of the emotions he reveals himself to her and they both join the Revolution. Or, as he admitted sometimes dryly to himself, a good footjob would also do.
Now, despite his hormones detouring all the thoughts toward the lower parts of his body, his mind raced with implications. That could be used… somehow… but he has to know one thing - if she is ticklish.
Her action brought her the widespread attention. The “barefoot radical angel” became a meme and a viral all over the world. Some reactions were positive. “A bold move!” “An action to shook the world!”, some reserved “Right direction, but too strange way” or “You could do it less pompous”, some downright criticizing or hateful, calling her “a lunatic” a “religious madwoman” a “catholic whore” or “an exhibitionist pervert”. But as far as a marketing goes it was a great success. Everybody talked about ONR, about her, every journalist wanted to interview her and she was very, very busy spreading the Cause. The downside of it was the pain. She expected it, but now she had to stand it and it was tough. Her feet were sore, bruised, sometimes bleeding. A few times she cried from all the pain. She only hoped that her soles would toughen in time. It was early June and she planned to end her action after the national pilgrimage to Częstochowa, August 15th.
But every foot fetishist in the world went crazy. Her Facebook, Twitter and youtube channel were flooded with tributes, requests, begging, demands from horny guys (and some gals as well). To have any use of them she had to abandon the old ones and create new, known only for friends. Also some of the questions during interviews were foot oriented, rather than political or religious.
Unknowingly to her the Union of The Left - Artur’s home organization, constructed and action against her. He gathered a key data once when he met Justyna in the headquarters sitting with crossed legs. Walking by he dragged his finger against the bare sole. Justyna jumped and yelped.
- Stop that! - she yelled angrily.
- I am sorry! I just wanted to touch The Holy Foot of The Right Wing!
- It is too ticklish for that! - laughed Justyna mollified.
The action was going to take place during a funeral mass of one of the anti-communist resistance fighters, whose bones were recently found by IPN archeologists. The 19 year old girl, nicknamed “Gypsy” was a partisan nurse for the resistance in 1945 to 1947 when she was captured by UB (communist secret service), tortured, executed and buried in a mass grave.Now the body was dug out and given a proper, catholic burial.
ONR of course was present at the cathedral. Justyna, still barefooted, but in her best Sunday dress. A few leftist activists were among the crowd, two of them directly behind her. When the priest raised the Body of Christ everybody knelt. When the commotion ended and the priest was about to announce “Behold the Body of our Lord!” the leftists attacked - grabbing Justyna's ankles and furiously tickling her soles. Taken completely by surprise she shrieked in laughter and fell on the floor, laughing madly and buckling in a failed effort to escape the torture. Her soles were a bit toughened by then, but not THAT tough to resist the tickling. The priest froze and people started standing, buzzing and looking for the source of the disturbance. The tickling lasted a few seconds, then the activists ran away, pushing themselves among the stunned onlookers. One of her friends helped Justyna on her feet and led out the crying girl.
She felt terrible. She was forced, if involuntary, to disrupt a Holy Mass in its holiest moments. And she shown her weakness in public. Moreover, her action, which generally was seen as a noble one, was ridiculed. She felt furious, ashamed and deeply humiliated. And helpless about all this.
The Union filmed the whole thing and it too went viral. “A ticklish problem of a barefoot radical angel” got millions of hits on every social media. Much as Justyna feared, her action was ridiculed by that. Little consolation for her was that she immediately became one of the hottest female politicians on the globe, winning all Internet votes over that cuties as Duchess of Cambridge or Melania Trump. But Justyna decided to carry on and slowly the positive impact returned. After a few days she was again interviewed about her political beliefs and not about how often she was tickled by her classmates in a primary school of if her feet are her most ticklish spot. Slowly her credibility returned to the previous level. The Unionists were furious, especially that the attackers were soon captured and sentenced to several months in prison and big fines, despite their protests that it was a political demonstration and an act of free speech. In was decided that she must be rid off once for good. The decision was made by an extreme wing of the Union, a group of really hardcore radicals.
It took two weeks for them to conduct the plan. Artur helped to establish the possible way of kidnapping and in the given day he tricked her into meeting with “his friend” who was supposed to be a right wing radical who wanted to join ONR with his organization. Justyna fell to a trap. When she and Artur entered the backyard to the house the meeting was supposed to be they were attacked by six masked men. To make things believable and not to expose the mole, they hit Artur on his head, making him unconscious. Unfortunately for him and fortunately by the Union the hit was a bit too hard and Artur landed in a hospital with amnesia. Therefore the further investigation couldn’t verify the suspicion of him setting her up,because he was unable to confess anything, barely remembering even his name.
Meanwhile Justyna was bound, gagged, blindfolded, strapped to the stretcher and carried somewhere into the maze of underground tunnels that were built by Germans during the WWII when they converted Wrocław into Festung Breslau that lasted longer than Berlin.
Deep in the maze the captors prepared a hideout where they wanted to get rid of a troublesome enemy.
But first they made her, tied to an armchair, gagged and blindfolded, something else - a pedicure. Skilled hands carefully removed her calluses,such bravely earned. She clenched her teeth, trying to resist the urge to laugh, but being tied and blindfolded magnified the feeling to an unbearable level and soon she laughed heartily into the ballgag. Finally her feet were smooth. Then it came the babyoil massaged into a freshly scrubbed, pink skin.That part was even pleasant, but left Justyna totally clueless of her future fate. Why kidnap her to ease and pamper her sore feet? Then she was transferred and tied like a piece of ham to some plank. Still no word,just grunts from her unseen captors when they lifted her or fought her struggles. Then the blindfold and the gag came off. She saw six guys, now unmasked. She didn’t recognize anyone. In fact, she had met every single one of them, but then their faces were covered and throwing stones her wayduring clashes betweer left and fight extremists, when the Union tried to break ONR manifestations. She took a long breath to scold them and demand release, when the two nearest ones reached towards her feet and forty fingers start to scratch her defenseless soles.
She saw what’s coming and braced herself at the last instant. Shut her mouth tight, clenched her fists, thied to empty her mind and, in a futile attempt to cover her soles,curled her toes. Whoever these scum were she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. The moment of the impact told her it would be a losing battle. Her mouth, despite her efforts, started to twist into a wide grin. Her belly muscles started to spasm, forcing her lungs to provide air for a laugh, She wriggled in her bonds, wiggled her feet in an effort to escape the tickling, forced down the unwanted smile,stiffed the giggles. But the urge was too much, it was just a matter of finding a spot. And one of the guys did it - pried apart her toes and started scratching the delicate skin between two of them. Justyna couldn’t hold it any more, she burst with laughter. The blonde beauty trashed in her bonds and shouted at her captors demanding to stop the tickling, or else! But they didn’t seem to be afraid and kept scribbling their fingers all over her soles - the heels, the arches, insteps, under and between toes, forcing more and more waves of hysterical mirth out of her. She hated herself for that, but the threats and demands were soon replaced by pleas and begging. It changed nothing- the tickling continued.
Soon she felt dizzy. It was hard to catch a good breath, while tickled for so long. She tried to tell them she couldn’t breath, but they paid it no heed. She started to black out. Just before losing consciousness she heard “She is fainting!” and the dreadful answer “Keep up!”.
She was revived by a splash of water on her face and found herself transferred to a set of stocks with hands tied above her head and her feet trapped in the holes and additionally each toe tied by a small cord loop to keep her feet taut and completely immobile. The moment she became awake her captors started to tickle her again. They tried ribs and armpits but it was obvious she is only slightly ticklish there, so they produced four stiff feathers and returned to her feet. They were rewarded by a fresh guwaff of a hysterical laughter. Justyna was never tickled by feathers and they turned out to be deadly effective. She especially “liked” the sawing the delicate flesh between her spread toes. She started becoming desperate, but no matter how she laughed and begged they didn’t stop. They only didn’t let her pass out again, giving her the tiniest possible breaks to catch her breath.
After a painfully long time the tormentors dropped the feathers, but after just a moment respite they grabbed hair brushes instead to scratch Justyna defenseless soles. She couldn’t tell if tis tickled worse or not. All that mattered it was enough to force new waves of hysteria out of her. She was now crying with laughter and seldom spared any breath for more than desperate “Please!”. But the unmerciful tickling went on and on, so Justyna started really to worry how much truth is in the saying “tickled to death”.
Mr Pomianowski went to his cellar to get some pickles for dinner. His apartment house
was built over a maze of former Nazi tunnels back from WWII and the cellar was a part of it. It had its benefits - it was deep and cold, perfect for storing pickles and homemade jams but also resulted in strange sound phenomena. The old vent shafts carried sound for hundreds of meters and sometimes he heard conversations made in a cellar next block or more. Approaching his cellar door he again heard an unusual noise. Having a ticklish wife and two daughter who inherited her sensitivity he identified it at once - a breathless laughter of tickle tortured female. He felt a twitch in his crotch - he enjoyed tickling his “girls” and with his wife it often led to sex. The unknown female was really desperate. The sound was muffled but he could hear frantic begging and promises of various sexual services among the gales of forced mirth. “Someone gets her good!” he thought picking up the jars. He stayed a little longer, listening to the sounds of cruel tickle torture and imagining the unknown victim. In his mind flashed images of various beautiful women he would like to… tickle. Then a mischievous grin appeared on his face. He remembered that is wife is reclining barefoot on the sofa, wearing a cosmetic mask, which should make her totally defenseless against a few foot tickles. The collected the jars, put them in the bag, closed the door and headed home, unaware, that the tortured laughter rang for many more hours, before finally cease and never be heard again.
That was commissioned from me. To spare you googling here is Justyna (she's a politician, therefore a public person so it's OK to post her image without consent, at least under Polish law):
The story is completely fictional and is written as a tribute to the beauty of Justyna Helcyk, Polish right wing activist.
Justyna entered the stage, running once again through her speech with her mind. She planned something unusual that day and was a bit afraid, although excited. But there was no time for fear. In a few moments she was shouting to the microphone about islam and leftist threat to Poland and to the whole Europe. Than it came the grand finale.
“But we had all sinned! We turned out from our true faith! Europe became pagan! We need some kind of expiation! To tell God we are sorry! To tell our home soil we are sorry! And I am going to feel this holy, Polish soil with my feet! Let the blood and pain of it be MY expiation! You choose yours!”. Shouting this she quickly reached down to remove her sandals and threw it away. Preparing to this she went to a pedicure, although she really hated how this forced her to laugh herself silly because it tickled so much. She liked to be strong, she wanted to be strong! She was a leader of a ONR Lower Silesian Brigade, not a silly, giggling girl! But she considered it the first “suffering” for the Cause. Now her feet were soft and pampered. She was tempted for a red and white nail polish but thought it would not go well with pious intentions. She tssked slightly feeling rough planks of the platform already grazing her soft soles. She walked away carefully, then noticed the direction of all male’s gazes and blushed slightly. Being a statuesque, beautiful “Valkyrian” blonde she was accustomed to male attention, but that was… embarrassing. Why were they all staring at her bare feet? She felt like she was flashing her tits or walking in a slutty outfit. “These are only FEET”, she tried to convince herself. “I am not showing them my tits or my butt like those whores walking half naked”. But that didn’t help. She wanted to get a strong reaction, but not THAT kind of.
Their spokesman, Wojtek, helped her out of the platform.
- Great speech! And a very…. brave movement!
She thanked him, but noticed that he also had troubles not to shift his gaze down and to keep his composure. And he did it quite well, except a huge bulge in his pants.
“Oh, great!” thought Justyna. “I cannot step down now! Maybe they get used to after a while!”
One of the guys gaping at her feet with sweaty hands, a beating heart and suddenly very tight pants was Artur. Everybody thought him to be a newbie radical ONR activist. And he was a radical activist, but leftist, going undercover to infiltrate “the fascists”. He cringed inside hearing all this “hate talk” but put on a good face and shouted whatever he was supposed to shout. With Justyna he had a love/hate relationship. He was totally fascinated with her beauty and totally repulsed by her beliefs. He imagined them in a hot romance, when in the height of the emotions he reveals himself to her and they both join the Revolution. Or, as he admitted sometimes dryly to himself, a good footjob would also do.
Now, despite his hormones detouring all the thoughts toward the lower parts of his body, his mind raced with implications. That could be used… somehow… but he has to know one thing - if she is ticklish.
Her action brought her the widespread attention. The “barefoot radical angel” became a meme and a viral all over the world. Some reactions were positive. “A bold move!” “An action to shook the world!”, some reserved “Right direction, but too strange way” or “You could do it less pompous”, some downright criticizing or hateful, calling her “a lunatic” a “religious madwoman” a “catholic whore” or “an exhibitionist pervert”. But as far as a marketing goes it was a great success. Everybody talked about ONR, about her, every journalist wanted to interview her and she was very, very busy spreading the Cause. The downside of it was the pain. She expected it, but now she had to stand it and it was tough. Her feet were sore, bruised, sometimes bleeding. A few times she cried from all the pain. She only hoped that her soles would toughen in time. It was early June and she planned to end her action after the national pilgrimage to Częstochowa, August 15th.
But every foot fetishist in the world went crazy. Her Facebook, Twitter and youtube channel were flooded with tributes, requests, begging, demands from horny guys (and some gals as well). To have any use of them she had to abandon the old ones and create new, known only for friends. Also some of the questions during interviews were foot oriented, rather than political or religious.
Unknowingly to her the Union of The Left - Artur’s home organization, constructed and action against her. He gathered a key data once when he met Justyna in the headquarters sitting with crossed legs. Walking by he dragged his finger against the bare sole. Justyna jumped and yelped.
- Stop that! - she yelled angrily.
- I am sorry! I just wanted to touch The Holy Foot of The Right Wing!
- It is too ticklish for that! - laughed Justyna mollified.
The action was going to take place during a funeral mass of one of the anti-communist resistance fighters, whose bones were recently found by IPN archeologists. The 19 year old girl, nicknamed “Gypsy” was a partisan nurse for the resistance in 1945 to 1947 when she was captured by UB (communist secret service), tortured, executed and buried in a mass grave.Now the body was dug out and given a proper, catholic burial.
ONR of course was present at the cathedral. Justyna, still barefooted, but in her best Sunday dress. A few leftist activists were among the crowd, two of them directly behind her. When the priest raised the Body of Christ everybody knelt. When the commotion ended and the priest was about to announce “Behold the Body of our Lord!” the leftists attacked - grabbing Justyna's ankles and furiously tickling her soles. Taken completely by surprise she shrieked in laughter and fell on the floor, laughing madly and buckling in a failed effort to escape the torture. Her soles were a bit toughened by then, but not THAT tough to resist the tickling. The priest froze and people started standing, buzzing and looking for the source of the disturbance. The tickling lasted a few seconds, then the activists ran away, pushing themselves among the stunned onlookers. One of her friends helped Justyna on her feet and led out the crying girl.
She felt terrible. She was forced, if involuntary, to disrupt a Holy Mass in its holiest moments. And she shown her weakness in public. Moreover, her action, which generally was seen as a noble one, was ridiculed. She felt furious, ashamed and deeply humiliated. And helpless about all this.
The Union filmed the whole thing and it too went viral. “A ticklish problem of a barefoot radical angel” got millions of hits on every social media. Much as Justyna feared, her action was ridiculed by that. Little consolation for her was that she immediately became one of the hottest female politicians on the globe, winning all Internet votes over that cuties as Duchess of Cambridge or Melania Trump. But Justyna decided to carry on and slowly the positive impact returned. After a few days she was again interviewed about her political beliefs and not about how often she was tickled by her classmates in a primary school of if her feet are her most ticklish spot. Slowly her credibility returned to the previous level. The Unionists were furious, especially that the attackers were soon captured and sentenced to several months in prison and big fines, despite their protests that it was a political demonstration and an act of free speech. In was decided that she must be rid off once for good. The decision was made by an extreme wing of the Union, a group of really hardcore radicals.
It took two weeks for them to conduct the plan. Artur helped to establish the possible way of kidnapping and in the given day he tricked her into meeting with “his friend” who was supposed to be a right wing radical who wanted to join ONR with his organization. Justyna fell to a trap. When she and Artur entered the backyard to the house the meeting was supposed to be they were attacked by six masked men. To make things believable and not to expose the mole, they hit Artur on his head, making him unconscious. Unfortunately for him and fortunately by the Union the hit was a bit too hard and Artur landed in a hospital with amnesia. Therefore the further investigation couldn’t verify the suspicion of him setting her up,because he was unable to confess anything, barely remembering even his name.
Meanwhile Justyna was bound, gagged, blindfolded, strapped to the stretcher and carried somewhere into the maze of underground tunnels that were built by Germans during the WWII when they converted Wrocław into Festung Breslau that lasted longer than Berlin.
Deep in the maze the captors prepared a hideout where they wanted to get rid of a troublesome enemy.
But first they made her, tied to an armchair, gagged and blindfolded, something else - a pedicure. Skilled hands carefully removed her calluses,such bravely earned. She clenched her teeth, trying to resist the urge to laugh, but being tied and blindfolded magnified the feeling to an unbearable level and soon she laughed heartily into the ballgag. Finally her feet were smooth. Then it came the babyoil massaged into a freshly scrubbed, pink skin.That part was even pleasant, but left Justyna totally clueless of her future fate. Why kidnap her to ease and pamper her sore feet? Then she was transferred and tied like a piece of ham to some plank. Still no word,just grunts from her unseen captors when they lifted her or fought her struggles. Then the blindfold and the gag came off. She saw six guys, now unmasked. She didn’t recognize anyone. In fact, she had met every single one of them, but then their faces were covered and throwing stones her wayduring clashes betweer left and fight extremists, when the Union tried to break ONR manifestations. She took a long breath to scold them and demand release, when the two nearest ones reached towards her feet and forty fingers start to scratch her defenseless soles.
She saw what’s coming and braced herself at the last instant. Shut her mouth tight, clenched her fists, thied to empty her mind and, in a futile attempt to cover her soles,curled her toes. Whoever these scum were she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. The moment of the impact told her it would be a losing battle. Her mouth, despite her efforts, started to twist into a wide grin. Her belly muscles started to spasm, forcing her lungs to provide air for a laugh, She wriggled in her bonds, wiggled her feet in an effort to escape the tickling, forced down the unwanted smile,stiffed the giggles. But the urge was too much, it was just a matter of finding a spot. And one of the guys did it - pried apart her toes and started scratching the delicate skin between two of them. Justyna couldn’t hold it any more, she burst with laughter. The blonde beauty trashed in her bonds and shouted at her captors demanding to stop the tickling, or else! But they didn’t seem to be afraid and kept scribbling their fingers all over her soles - the heels, the arches, insteps, under and between toes, forcing more and more waves of hysterical mirth out of her. She hated herself for that, but the threats and demands were soon replaced by pleas and begging. It changed nothing- the tickling continued.
Soon she felt dizzy. It was hard to catch a good breath, while tickled for so long. She tried to tell them she couldn’t breath, but they paid it no heed. She started to black out. Just before losing consciousness she heard “She is fainting!” and the dreadful answer “Keep up!”.
She was revived by a splash of water on her face and found herself transferred to a set of stocks with hands tied above her head and her feet trapped in the holes and additionally each toe tied by a small cord loop to keep her feet taut and completely immobile. The moment she became awake her captors started to tickle her again. They tried ribs and armpits but it was obvious she is only slightly ticklish there, so they produced four stiff feathers and returned to her feet. They were rewarded by a fresh guwaff of a hysterical laughter. Justyna was never tickled by feathers and they turned out to be deadly effective. She especially “liked” the sawing the delicate flesh between her spread toes. She started becoming desperate, but no matter how she laughed and begged they didn’t stop. They only didn’t let her pass out again, giving her the tiniest possible breaks to catch her breath.
After a painfully long time the tormentors dropped the feathers, but after just a moment respite they grabbed hair brushes instead to scratch Justyna defenseless soles. She couldn’t tell if tis tickled worse or not. All that mattered it was enough to force new waves of hysteria out of her. She was now crying with laughter and seldom spared any breath for more than desperate “Please!”. But the unmerciful tickling went on and on, so Justyna started really to worry how much truth is in the saying “tickled to death”.
Mr Pomianowski went to his cellar to get some pickles for dinner. His apartment house
was built over a maze of former Nazi tunnels back from WWII and the cellar was a part of it. It had its benefits - it was deep and cold, perfect for storing pickles and homemade jams but also resulted in strange sound phenomena. The old vent shafts carried sound for hundreds of meters and sometimes he heard conversations made in a cellar next block or more. Approaching his cellar door he again heard an unusual noise. Having a ticklish wife and two daughter who inherited her sensitivity he identified it at once - a breathless laughter of tickle tortured female. He felt a twitch in his crotch - he enjoyed tickling his “girls” and with his wife it often led to sex. The unknown female was really desperate. The sound was muffled but he could hear frantic begging and promises of various sexual services among the gales of forced mirth. “Someone gets her good!” he thought picking up the jars. He stayed a little longer, listening to the sounds of cruel tickle torture and imagining the unknown victim. In his mind flashed images of various beautiful women he would like to… tickle. Then a mischievous grin appeared on his face. He remembered that is wife is reclining barefoot on the sofa, wearing a cosmetic mask, which should make her totally defenseless against a few foot tickles. The collected the jars, put them in the bag, closed the door and headed home, unaware, that the tortured laughter rang for many more hours, before finally cease and never be heard again.
