ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 16
A young woman walks casually down an empty sidewalk, the soles of her high-top sneakers clasping against the concrete below. A light daytime breeze tosses her dark walnut hair over her shoulders, revealing the soft features of her youthful face. Her intense chestnut eyebrows sit precariously atop a pair of wide-rimmed sunglasses, their tortoise shell frames complementing her sun kissed oak complexion. Hiding her soft doughy brown eyes, they sit nestled atop her finely shaped nose, all above her sumptuous candy apple lips, seductively pursed as though it were their default setting.
Her name is Haleigh Hekking, and as far as she’s concerned, is on her way to international stardom at this very moment.
The Twitch streamer and Instagram model has been making a name for herself these past five years or so, lighting up the web as she treks her way through the treasure-filled streets of Fortnite daily, nightly, and ever-so-rightly. Such juvenile tenderness she embodies behind the controller is all but augmented by her stark all-natural beauty, unimaginable given the gamer’s diet she claims to live on to her fans and followers. Given all this, it would seem inevitable that her inherent qualities alone could make her a dominant force on social media.
However, youthful ambition always gets the better of them, for in the back of her mind sits the insatiable drive of a woman to achieve beyond what others believe to be impossible. She dreams big: magazine covers, sponsorship deals, merchandise lines, the sky was always the limit to her. If only someone would give her that chance, she told herself, then it would all be a stone’s throw away.
Well, it appears it’s happened.
Several weeks prior, just as she was logging off for the night, Haleigh received an email from an entity known as Shanghai Media Group LLC. Her curiosity peaked, she follows the embedded link to their website, its layout pristine, its content filled to the brim with accolades: page after page dedicated to the fame and fortune of many young talent, discovered and nurtured into the stars they are today, seemingly all thanks to this company. Within moments of closing the page, her excitement overflowing, she dials the number given.
It is then, greeted by a soft female voice coming from her speaker phone, that she is provided greater detail regarding the company: that they are a multinational entertainment corporation representing aspiring talent across the globe, from college athletes to amateur musicians, Instagram influencers, budding comedians, and the like, all wishing to take their careers to the next level, and that her combination of professional modeling experience and girl-next-door persona prompted them to recruit her. If she were to align herself with the company, the woman dictates, then they would springboard her into markets all around the world including China, Brazil, Germany, South Africa, and many more. To Haleigh, this was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.
So, she accepts their offer.
She is told to hang tight, that they will run her decision along to their team and construct a business plan catered specifically to her. It is several weeks later that they contact her with the details: she is to report to a professional modeling shoot to record and craft a branding video for prospective clients, to be held that Sunday afternoon at a third story loft in the business district of the city.
The hot summer clings her clothes to her toned body as she questions her choice of a black t-shirt and deep blue denim jeans. As she turns a corner, tracing her way next to a ramshackle wooden fence, she walks not one hundred meters before she approaches the façade of an old building, the same address as the one listed on her phone.
She enters the enclosed doorway, left unlocked for her arrival, into the front entrance of this five-story complex. Based on its bare interior and eerie vacancy, it seems to be an old office building under renovation. Placing her sunglasses in the collar of her shirt, she proceeds to the back, approaching an indentation in the wall where the elevator sits. Pulling the cage doors open, she takes the shaky contraption to the third floor, opening up to a large space where three unknown individuals seem to be waiting for her.
“Miss Hekking!” a tall redheaded woman greets her, thrusting her hand outward to the young starlet. “It’s so nice to meet you!”
“It’s nice to meet you too!” she reciprocates, shaking the firm grip of the enthusiastic woman, an awkward silence soon follows.
“Oh I haven’t even introduced myself: my name is Rose, as you could have probably guessed!” she jokes, Haleigh giving an awkward laugh to be polite. Rose is a commanding presence, her forward personality a fine match for her statuesque physique, standing a full three inches above Haleigh despite being in flat boots. Her fiery red hair tied up in a ponytail, she is clad in a simple jacket and jeans, a large photographer’s camera hanging from a strap around her neck.
“Come, let me show you our humble abode!” Taking Haleigh by the hand, she leads her across the sparsely furnished space: a large carpet placed across its wooden floor, it houses a shoe-string photography setup consisting of a large video camera on its tripod surrounded by three large illuminating lights. A large chair is, it seems, is the focus of the shoot, as Haleigh’s attention is quickly diverted from it for the time being. To her left is a beautician’s chair and mirror stand, seated in which is another woman.
“This is Dana,” Rose introduces, directing Haleigh to a young African American girl not three years older than herself. “She will be doing your hair when the need arises, but I don’t really see that coming anytime soon.”
Taking her over to the right, she finds a large foldout table, its contents a pink tackle box and the elbows of another, more conspicuous woman, slouched over the screen of her phone.
“And this is Miki, who will make sure your make-up is perfect…for now,” she states casually, Haleigh noting the upturned face of a Japanese woman in her late thirties. “Well, shall we get started?
“Sure…umm, is there a place where I can get changed?” Haleigh asks, looking around the space for some changing area that is nowhere to be seen.
“No need dear, I love you exactly the way you are!” she exclaims, laughing to herself much to the surprise of the young starlet.
“Oh okay,” Haleigh replies, curious as to what she has in mind.
“You see: we’re trying to brand you as that all-American girl-next-door type, very approachable, down-to-Earth and all,” she explains, waving her hands around as though directing traffic. “As, such, we’d really like to make this as relaxing as possible: no stress, no hassle, and what you’re wearing right now is just perfect for that!” Haleigh sighs a breath of relief, knowing this to be the exact type of video shoot she has always wanted.
“So, if you could just relax in this chair right here.”
Taking Haleigh’s hand, she directs her to the large recliner placed in the middle of the floor, its brown leather and plush cushioning barely making an indentation as she seats herself. “Perfect, now just lean back a little, get into position.” She leans back, the recliner hoisting her feet up off the floor on its leg rest, a prominent latch heard as it locks into its reclining position.
“Perfect, just like that,” she says, peering through the camera on her neck. As Haleigh looks over, she finds the video recorder’s red light is on, already recording. Strange, she thought, the video left on almost as though this were all part of it. “We’re ready to begin!”
“So what do you…HEY?! What do you think you’re doing?!” Haleigh yelps, feeling a set of hands grasp her wrists, holding them together as something wraps around them. Glancing upward, she realizes it’s indeed Dana, wrapping her wrists in what seems to be a set of leather cuffs, bound by a set of nylon rope extending from behind her. Before she can make another sound, she feels the same sensation down at her ankles, revealing Miki executing the same maneuver with her own set. The abruptness of it all had momentarily paralyzed the poor girl in shock, regaining herself only as the last buckle is synched on her right ankle.
“As I said, we want this to be as relaxing as possible,” Rose explains, hovering over the distressed young woman being bound at the moment. “In order to do so, we first need to make you comfortable, and we have special ways of making you extra comfortable my dear.”
Haleigh hears the two ladies behind her, giggling deviously under their breaths, making no effort to hide their pleasure. She pulls against her restraints, noting how they are both attached to each other underneath the lounger, ensuring neither her hands or feet are going anywhere far.
“Wha…what are you going to do?” Haleigh says nervously, pausing as though she didn’t truly want to hear the answer.
“We’re going to tickle you of course!” Rose states gleefully, indulging in the face of utter horror that befalls Haleigh at that very moment. To say she hated being tickled would have been beyond the definition of understated: the depth of loathing she feels for being on its receiving end has no bounds. However, unlike most people, it was her feet and feet alone that she was cursed with absurd ticklishness, almost as if all her nerve endings were concentrated over every square inch of their surface. Their hyper sensitive design even made putting on socks a hassle, even the thought of walking barefoot over grass, or having the waves wash through her toes on the beach, made her cautious.
Now it seems, that horrible feeling would be the focus from here on out.
She attempts to buck her way out of the contraption with no use: the sheer size of the recliner is too much to budge for her thin figure. Even if she did indeed possess the leverage, it would have been nullified, for Dana had pulled a small latch at the bottom of the chair, securing it into place.
“Now let’s begin by taking off these shoes, shall we?” Rose teases, a devious tone lining her voice. Approaching the top laces of Haleigh’s shoes, her fingers wriggle quite menacingly over the twitching appendages of her captive.
“Don’t touch my shoes!” Haleigh orders, not quite having a grasp on just how little leverage she possesses to give orders in her position, an obvious nervous swallow betraying her stern demeanor. “I’m…I…I’m…warning you!”
“What’s wrong sweetie?” Rose taunts, tracing the tips of her fingers across the white shoelaces. Slowly unlacing them, clumsily pulling and loosening them away, Rose gazes upward to see a most pathetic sight.
“Phphphphphehehehehehahaha!” Haleigh spurts, attempting to stifle her laughter. Even through the thick material of her sneakers, she can nonetheless feel Rose’s nails scraping across its smooth surface, piercing down to the tops of her manically ticklish feet, her resistance in vain. “No wait hehehehe! You…you can’t do this!”
“I’m sorry what did you say?” Rose asks with a tender tone, playfully cupping her right ear as though she were hard of hearing. “You mean…this?” With one swipe, having sufficiently loosened the laces on Haleigh’s left shoe, she yanks it off her foot, revealing the smooth surface of a neon white sock, underneath which Haleigh’s toes clench from the utter shock of such exposure.
“Now the other one dearie,” she dictates, beginning to unlace it with even greater enthusiasm than previous. She grasps the bottom of the heel, slightly tugging it only to find it much more stationary than the previous one.
“Mmmmmmmmmph! Nope!” Haleigh resists, clenching her toes against the inside of her shoe. This was one she is determined to keep for herself.
“Now that’s no fun,” the fiery redhead decrees, brushing the exposed side of Haleigh’s right ankle. An abrupt yelp escapes her, losing grip on her shoe long enough to have it flying off her foot. Now, toes clenching and curling underneath the thin surface of two flimsy little socks, her feet are rendered utterly helpless
“Oh, aren’t these socks cute!” Rose teases, gently guiding the tip of her finger to the soft fabric.
“Don’t touch them!” Haleigh barks, knowing the extent of her vulnerability at this very moment.
“Hmm, I wonder what this say,” she playfully states, tracing her finger over the calligraphy printed on the bottom of Haleigh’s sole, reciting its contents in a painfully slow manner. “New Balance?”
“AAAAAAAAAHAHAHA DON’T!!” Haleigh yells, kicking her legs as much as she can despite her restraints. Rose continues, delicately gliding her nail across every line, over every loop, even the slightest of touch reducing her to wild cackles. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!! CAN’T YOU READ?!”
“Oh I’m sorry,” she apologizes in a most condescending voice, hovering all ten of her nails over her captive’s soles. “How about we do it this way?” She begins skittering her nails across the smooth surface, freshly manicured as they begin digging through the fabric ever so ravenously.
“AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! WAIT!! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!” a wail of frustration escapes her, her cascading laughter at full volume echoing through the room. Straining against her bonds, she’s even able to kick the legs of the chair off the floor, if only momentarily.
“That’s right girlie laugh!” she taunts. “Laugh for the world to hear!”
“PLEASE HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! THEY’RE SO TICKLISH!!” Haleigh begs, unwittingly falling deeper into their grasp, the influence of maddeningly tickling nails too much for her socked feet to bear.
“Oh yes they are,” Rose taunts, abruptly stopping much to Haleigh’s relief. However, such relief is short lived, as Rose gently pinches the top of her right sock, ever so carefully pulling it upward. “But they’ll be even more ticklish once we get these pesky little socks off.”
Inch by agonizing inch, she tugs the white socks off Haleigh’s feet. With every fiber of her being, despite her natural urges as her last line of defense is slowly stripped away, she dares not resist for fear of her predicament getting any worse. As they fly off her feet, enthusiastically tossed halfway across the room, her bare beautiful size seven feet, their tender flesh caressed by the cool air from her supple heels to her plump delectable toes.
“Look at these feet, so soft and smooth,” Rose admires, caressing their soft surface as Haleigh attempts to twitch away from her gentle touch. “It must have been at most three days ago since you last pedicure, huh young lady?”
Before the girl can answer, Rose begins tickling the poor girl in earnest, utilizing her deviously sharpened nails to their full potential.
“MAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOOO WAIT WAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT!!”
From the bottoms of her heels, all the way up to her tips of her toes, it appears no inch of Haleigh’s tender feet is left unscathed. Digging her nails into the thick leather, Haleigh tries to distance herself mentally from her torments, her body betraying her as her mind seems to slowly slip away.
WAITAHAHAHAHA!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!” she cries out, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks.
“Ah, you’re just too much fun, you know that?” Rose asserts, lifting her nails off the poor creature’s soles, leaving her gasping for breath.
Despite thrashing valiantly against her restraints, they leave not one mark or bruise, evidence of the expertise she is facing down at this very moment. The bottoms of her feet, now with the slightest tint of red, serve as the only evidence of a ruthless tickler having her way with them.
“Oh Haleigh, as much as I love tickling your beautiful bare feet, I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave the rest up to the experts.”
“Experts?!” she squealed, a crack at the end of that statement displaying her utter confusion. Experts at tickling? No way in all heavens there could be such a thing. Surely this was a psychological ploy to drive her further into insanity.
Oh, if that were only the truth.
“You didn’t think these ladies were here to do your hair and nails, did you? No, you see these two are professionally trained dominatrix specializing in the exquisite art of tickle torture. They’ve perfected their unique methods for years, so you’d best mind your p’s and q’s from here on out.”
She gazes upon the two women, approaching her front with devious intent, each one holding one of their hands menacingly behind their backs. Haleigh nervously bites her lip, trying to release the tension building up inside of her.
“Now Haleigh, the girls here have had a running argument as to which one has the most effective tickle tools, and I wonder if you can help them sort this out,” Rose says, standing in the corner of the room, a puppet master running this children’s horror show. Suddenly, the two pull out their hands, revealing two familiar implements: a hairdresser’s comb in Dana’s hand, and a mascara wand in Miki’s.
“I’m telling you, with this fine-toothed comb you can get all the toes on one foot at once!” says Dana, slowly running the tip of her finger over its teeth, the subtle sound sending shivers down Haleigh’s spine.
“That may be true, but with my mascara wand I can focus on the entire section between the toes, much more effective in my opinion,” says Miki, using her two fingers to demonstrate what will soon be Haleigh’s toes.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” a cue from Rose, prompting them to slowly begin moving towards the bound beauty. It is here that Haleigh reaches her breaking point (or what she truly believes it to be).
“NOOOHOHOHO WAIT!! I’M BEGGING YOU NO!! PLEASE!!” she attempts to sway them, unsuccessful as they grasp unto her feet, holding them still as they, with full force, direct their implements deep into her supple flesh.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! DAMMIIIIIIIIIIT!!” she screams in agony, the toes of her left foot being pried back by Dana’s iron grip, sawing the dastardly comb across all the stems right underneath the toe pads. In tandem is that of Miki, taking hold of the ball of Haleigh’s right foot, keeping it still as she scrapes the bristles of the mascara wand between her third and fourth toes.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEEEEEEEEEEASE!!” she cries out, thrashing whatever she can move to no avail.
“So Missy tell us: which one tickles more?” whispers Rose softly in her ear.
“THEY’RE BOTH BULLSHIT!! STAHAHAHAPPP!!” she screams, hoping to secure just one moment of repose from what is an endless torrent of tickle torture inflicted upon her.
“Oh young lady, that potty mouth will get you nowhere in life,” Rose lectures, much to the utter chagrin of the ballistic brunette, struggling mightily against her bonds to free herself from such maddening torment. This seems to be it: Haleigh, that rising young star, taken and tickled against her will, never to be seen or heard from again.
“Okay ladies, I think she needs a breather,” Rose commands, the two backing away after only a few more grueling moments.
“Oh thank God,” Haleigh sighs, panting desperately to intake some oxygen before the inevitable next round. “Please…just stop…I’ve had it.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Rose says, a glimmer of hope entering Haleigh’s eye.
“I guess it’s time for the grand finale!” she exclaims. Walking over to the small tackle box, she carries over what appears to be a bottle of baby oil. As she pours it into her hands, leaning over Haleigh’s red-tinted soles, she smears it over them: across her heels, in between her toes, even the sides of her feet get a healthy coating of the viscous substance. The slippery surface is compounded by the heat of her friction-laced, lighting up her nerve endings to unspeakable levels of ticklishness.
“I just know you’ll love this!” Dana exclaims, pulling out a pair of large paddle brushes, handing one to Miki, commending her for such a dastardly tool at her disposal.
Haleigh grits her teeth, bracing herself for what will most likely be pure torture unimaginable to her. Clenching her toes, wrinkles building on the bottom of her feet, she is left with only futile protection from impending turmoil.
“Put her in the position!” Rose commands, prompting both ladies to place each foot, Dana to her right, Miki to her left, underneath their armpit, essentially putting both of her ankles in a headlock. As they prepare the brushes, slowly guiding them into the frantic soles of their victim, Haleigh’s tough resolve finally breaks down.
“No please! You can’t do this, please! I’ll do anything you want! Anything, just name it!” she begs frivolously, tears freefalling down her cheeks.
“All we want you to do is laugh,” says Rose, tenderly caressing her cheek before backing away. She can do nothing: there is nothing she could give that would relinquish her from this hellish ordeal. She cannot beg, or plead, or cry, or wish upon a falling star, she can do nothing but suffer under their ticklish touch, surgically precise, wielding her hapless feet endlessly against her. She can only watch through tear soaked pupils as the bristles descend deep into her soles, a vigorous scrubbing motion soon to follow.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” a piercing shriek echoes through the room, much to the absolute glee of her captors. Locked in an inescapable hold, with what little energy she has left, Haleigh rocks the heavy chair with Herculean might, unable to shake her bonds despite such efforts.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!! GET ME OUT OF HERE!!” she lambasts, the delicate façade of the internet starlet stripped away, revealing a desperate woman and her ticklish weakness. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOOO MOOOOOOORE!!!”
The brushes glide over her slippery soles with ease, digging deep into her padded heels, extracting every primal shriek and howl she has left in her strained gullet. Like a ravenous animal, as the hard bristles make their way underneath her tender toes, she snaps and bites, directing torrents of ticklish hate only to succumb to helpless whimpers. There is no use in clenching her toes: the devious balls atop each bristle scraping over the tip tops of her toes, forcing them open once again. Their technique is without parallel, not leaving one millimeter unscathed, even the sides of her feet getting as much attention.
“MERCYYYYYYYYYAHAHAHAHAHA!!” she cries before succumbing to silent laughter, her gasps for breath futile, usurped by the sudden jolt of electricity once they change positions again and again. She is done: her mind left in shambles, unable to process such sensory stimulation lasting well over half an hour from the moment the brushes came out. Slumping in the chair, not one sliver of hope left in her, she finally succumbs to it all, blacking out right before their eyes…
She awakens, lunging herself out of her bed, the sheets cascading down to her floor. She is in her bedroom, a wave of suspense believing it all to have been one terrible dream. However, upon glancing across the room, she spots a slip of paper taped to her mirror, the contents of which, written in hot pink, read as follows:
Dear Miss Hekking,
I do hope you enjoyed our little shoot as much as we did! Oh I know we were a bit hard on you, but you’re a big girl, you can take it! That’s the cost of showbiz, I’m afraid. In case you’re wondering: there is no Shanghai Media Group or whatever! We were hired by a wealthy client who requested their own personalized tickle video of their favorite little model!
Just in case you think about going to the police, keep this in mind: there’s no proof of this ever happening. Every message we sent has been wiped off your computer. Our phone number is untraceable, and that website you think you were on is long gone! What evidence do you have hmm? This handwritten note from your captor? Try showing this to the cops, fat chance they’ll believe you!
Oh, and just if we don’t already have you convinced: we were able to unlock your phone while you were unconscious and found some (ahem) risqué little photos you took of yourself. You wouldn’t want these going around to all your thousands of followers, now would you? I didn’t think so. Take care of yourself, and those pretty little feet of yours!
Kiss Kiss Kiss!
Rose, Dana, and Miki!
The End
Her name is Haleigh Hekking, and as far as she’s concerned, is on her way to international stardom at this very moment.
The Twitch streamer and Instagram model has been making a name for herself these past five years or so, lighting up the web as she treks her way through the treasure-filled streets of Fortnite daily, nightly, and ever-so-rightly. Such juvenile tenderness she embodies behind the controller is all but augmented by her stark all-natural beauty, unimaginable given the gamer’s diet she claims to live on to her fans and followers. Given all this, it would seem inevitable that her inherent qualities alone could make her a dominant force on social media.
However, youthful ambition always gets the better of them, for in the back of her mind sits the insatiable drive of a woman to achieve beyond what others believe to be impossible. She dreams big: magazine covers, sponsorship deals, merchandise lines, the sky was always the limit to her. If only someone would give her that chance, she told herself, then it would all be a stone’s throw away.
Well, it appears it’s happened.
Several weeks prior, just as she was logging off for the night, Haleigh received an email from an entity known as Shanghai Media Group LLC. Her curiosity peaked, she follows the embedded link to their website, its layout pristine, its content filled to the brim with accolades: page after page dedicated to the fame and fortune of many young talent, discovered and nurtured into the stars they are today, seemingly all thanks to this company. Within moments of closing the page, her excitement overflowing, she dials the number given.
It is then, greeted by a soft female voice coming from her speaker phone, that she is provided greater detail regarding the company: that they are a multinational entertainment corporation representing aspiring talent across the globe, from college athletes to amateur musicians, Instagram influencers, budding comedians, and the like, all wishing to take their careers to the next level, and that her combination of professional modeling experience and girl-next-door persona prompted them to recruit her. If she were to align herself with the company, the woman dictates, then they would springboard her into markets all around the world including China, Brazil, Germany, South Africa, and many more. To Haleigh, this was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up.
So, she accepts their offer.
She is told to hang tight, that they will run her decision along to their team and construct a business plan catered specifically to her. It is several weeks later that they contact her with the details: she is to report to a professional modeling shoot to record and craft a branding video for prospective clients, to be held that Sunday afternoon at a third story loft in the business district of the city.
The hot summer clings her clothes to her toned body as she questions her choice of a black t-shirt and deep blue denim jeans. As she turns a corner, tracing her way next to a ramshackle wooden fence, she walks not one hundred meters before she approaches the façade of an old building, the same address as the one listed on her phone.
She enters the enclosed doorway, left unlocked for her arrival, into the front entrance of this five-story complex. Based on its bare interior and eerie vacancy, it seems to be an old office building under renovation. Placing her sunglasses in the collar of her shirt, she proceeds to the back, approaching an indentation in the wall where the elevator sits. Pulling the cage doors open, she takes the shaky contraption to the third floor, opening up to a large space where three unknown individuals seem to be waiting for her.
“Miss Hekking!” a tall redheaded woman greets her, thrusting her hand outward to the young starlet. “It’s so nice to meet you!”
“It’s nice to meet you too!” she reciprocates, shaking the firm grip of the enthusiastic woman, an awkward silence soon follows.
“Oh I haven’t even introduced myself: my name is Rose, as you could have probably guessed!” she jokes, Haleigh giving an awkward laugh to be polite. Rose is a commanding presence, her forward personality a fine match for her statuesque physique, standing a full three inches above Haleigh despite being in flat boots. Her fiery red hair tied up in a ponytail, she is clad in a simple jacket and jeans, a large photographer’s camera hanging from a strap around her neck.
“Come, let me show you our humble abode!” Taking Haleigh by the hand, she leads her across the sparsely furnished space: a large carpet placed across its wooden floor, it houses a shoe-string photography setup consisting of a large video camera on its tripod surrounded by three large illuminating lights. A large chair is, it seems, is the focus of the shoot, as Haleigh’s attention is quickly diverted from it for the time being. To her left is a beautician’s chair and mirror stand, seated in which is another woman.
“This is Dana,” Rose introduces, directing Haleigh to a young African American girl not three years older than herself. “She will be doing your hair when the need arises, but I don’t really see that coming anytime soon.”
Taking her over to the right, she finds a large foldout table, its contents a pink tackle box and the elbows of another, more conspicuous woman, slouched over the screen of her phone.
“And this is Miki, who will make sure your make-up is perfect…for now,” she states casually, Haleigh noting the upturned face of a Japanese woman in her late thirties. “Well, shall we get started?
“Sure…umm, is there a place where I can get changed?” Haleigh asks, looking around the space for some changing area that is nowhere to be seen.
“No need dear, I love you exactly the way you are!” she exclaims, laughing to herself much to the surprise of the young starlet.
“Oh okay,” Haleigh replies, curious as to what she has in mind.
“You see: we’re trying to brand you as that all-American girl-next-door type, very approachable, down-to-Earth and all,” she explains, waving her hands around as though directing traffic. “As, such, we’d really like to make this as relaxing as possible: no stress, no hassle, and what you’re wearing right now is just perfect for that!” Haleigh sighs a breath of relief, knowing this to be the exact type of video shoot she has always wanted.
“So, if you could just relax in this chair right here.”
Taking Haleigh’s hand, she directs her to the large recliner placed in the middle of the floor, its brown leather and plush cushioning barely making an indentation as she seats herself. “Perfect, now just lean back a little, get into position.” She leans back, the recliner hoisting her feet up off the floor on its leg rest, a prominent latch heard as it locks into its reclining position.
“Perfect, just like that,” she says, peering through the camera on her neck. As Haleigh looks over, she finds the video recorder’s red light is on, already recording. Strange, she thought, the video left on almost as though this were all part of it. “We’re ready to begin!”
“So what do you…HEY?! What do you think you’re doing?!” Haleigh yelps, feeling a set of hands grasp her wrists, holding them together as something wraps around them. Glancing upward, she realizes it’s indeed Dana, wrapping her wrists in what seems to be a set of leather cuffs, bound by a set of nylon rope extending from behind her. Before she can make another sound, she feels the same sensation down at her ankles, revealing Miki executing the same maneuver with her own set. The abruptness of it all had momentarily paralyzed the poor girl in shock, regaining herself only as the last buckle is synched on her right ankle.
“As I said, we want this to be as relaxing as possible,” Rose explains, hovering over the distressed young woman being bound at the moment. “In order to do so, we first need to make you comfortable, and we have special ways of making you extra comfortable my dear.”
Haleigh hears the two ladies behind her, giggling deviously under their breaths, making no effort to hide their pleasure. She pulls against her restraints, noting how they are both attached to each other underneath the lounger, ensuring neither her hands or feet are going anywhere far.
“Wha…what are you going to do?” Haleigh says nervously, pausing as though she didn’t truly want to hear the answer.
“We’re going to tickle you of course!” Rose states gleefully, indulging in the face of utter horror that befalls Haleigh at that very moment. To say she hated being tickled would have been beyond the definition of understated: the depth of loathing she feels for being on its receiving end has no bounds. However, unlike most people, it was her feet and feet alone that she was cursed with absurd ticklishness, almost as if all her nerve endings were concentrated over every square inch of their surface. Their hyper sensitive design even made putting on socks a hassle, even the thought of walking barefoot over grass, or having the waves wash through her toes on the beach, made her cautious.
Now it seems, that horrible feeling would be the focus from here on out.
She attempts to buck her way out of the contraption with no use: the sheer size of the recliner is too much to budge for her thin figure. Even if she did indeed possess the leverage, it would have been nullified, for Dana had pulled a small latch at the bottom of the chair, securing it into place.
“Now let’s begin by taking off these shoes, shall we?” Rose teases, a devious tone lining her voice. Approaching the top laces of Haleigh’s shoes, her fingers wriggle quite menacingly over the twitching appendages of her captive.
“Don’t touch my shoes!” Haleigh orders, not quite having a grasp on just how little leverage she possesses to give orders in her position, an obvious nervous swallow betraying her stern demeanor. “I’m…I…I’m…warning you!”
“What’s wrong sweetie?” Rose taunts, tracing the tips of her fingers across the white shoelaces. Slowly unlacing them, clumsily pulling and loosening them away, Rose gazes upward to see a most pathetic sight.
“Phphphphphehehehehehahaha!” Haleigh spurts, attempting to stifle her laughter. Even through the thick material of her sneakers, she can nonetheless feel Rose’s nails scraping across its smooth surface, piercing down to the tops of her manically ticklish feet, her resistance in vain. “No wait hehehehe! You…you can’t do this!”
“I’m sorry what did you say?” Rose asks with a tender tone, playfully cupping her right ear as though she were hard of hearing. “You mean…this?” With one swipe, having sufficiently loosened the laces on Haleigh’s left shoe, she yanks it off her foot, revealing the smooth surface of a neon white sock, underneath which Haleigh’s toes clench from the utter shock of such exposure.
“Now the other one dearie,” she dictates, beginning to unlace it with even greater enthusiasm than previous. She grasps the bottom of the heel, slightly tugging it only to find it much more stationary than the previous one.
“Mmmmmmmmmph! Nope!” Haleigh resists, clenching her toes against the inside of her shoe. This was one she is determined to keep for herself.
“Now that’s no fun,” the fiery redhead decrees, brushing the exposed side of Haleigh’s right ankle. An abrupt yelp escapes her, losing grip on her shoe long enough to have it flying off her foot. Now, toes clenching and curling underneath the thin surface of two flimsy little socks, her feet are rendered utterly helpless
“Oh, aren’t these socks cute!” Rose teases, gently guiding the tip of her finger to the soft fabric.
“Don’t touch them!” Haleigh barks, knowing the extent of her vulnerability at this very moment.
“Hmm, I wonder what this say,” she playfully states, tracing her finger over the calligraphy printed on the bottom of Haleigh’s sole, reciting its contents in a painfully slow manner. “New Balance?”
“AAAAAAAAAHAHAHA DON’T!!” Haleigh yells, kicking her legs as much as she can despite her restraints. Rose continues, delicately gliding her nail across every line, over every loop, even the slightest of touch reducing her to wild cackles. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA!! CAN’T YOU READ?!”
“Oh I’m sorry,” she apologizes in a most condescending voice, hovering all ten of her nails over her captive’s soles. “How about we do it this way?” She begins skittering her nails across the smooth surface, freshly manicured as they begin digging through the fabric ever so ravenously.
“AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! WAIT!! NOOOOOOOOOOO!!” a wail of frustration escapes her, her cascading laughter at full volume echoing through the room. Straining against her bonds, she’s even able to kick the legs of the chair off the floor, if only momentarily.
“That’s right girlie laugh!” she taunts. “Laugh for the world to hear!”
“PLEASE HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! THEY’RE SO TICKLISH!!” Haleigh begs, unwittingly falling deeper into their grasp, the influence of maddeningly tickling nails too much for her socked feet to bear.
“Oh yes they are,” Rose taunts, abruptly stopping much to Haleigh’s relief. However, such relief is short lived, as Rose gently pinches the top of her right sock, ever so carefully pulling it upward. “But they’ll be even more ticklish once we get these pesky little socks off.”
Inch by agonizing inch, she tugs the white socks off Haleigh’s feet. With every fiber of her being, despite her natural urges as her last line of defense is slowly stripped away, she dares not resist for fear of her predicament getting any worse. As they fly off her feet, enthusiastically tossed halfway across the room, her bare beautiful size seven feet, their tender flesh caressed by the cool air from her supple heels to her plump delectable toes.
“Look at these feet, so soft and smooth,” Rose admires, caressing their soft surface as Haleigh attempts to twitch away from her gentle touch. “It must have been at most three days ago since you last pedicure, huh young lady?”
Before the girl can answer, Rose begins tickling the poor girl in earnest, utilizing her deviously sharpened nails to their full potential.
“MAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOOO WAIT WAAAAAAAAAAAAAIT!!”
From the bottoms of her heels, all the way up to her tips of her toes, it appears no inch of Haleigh’s tender feet is left unscathed. Digging her nails into the thick leather, Haleigh tries to distance herself mentally from her torments, her body betraying her as her mind seems to slowly slip away.
WAITAHAHAHAHA!! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!” she cries out, tears beginning to stream down her cheeks.
“Ah, you’re just too much fun, you know that?” Rose asserts, lifting her nails off the poor creature’s soles, leaving her gasping for breath.
Despite thrashing valiantly against her restraints, they leave not one mark or bruise, evidence of the expertise she is facing down at this very moment. The bottoms of her feet, now with the slightest tint of red, serve as the only evidence of a ruthless tickler having her way with them.
“Oh Haleigh, as much as I love tickling your beautiful bare feet, I’m afraid I’m going to have to leave the rest up to the experts.”
“Experts?!” she squealed, a crack at the end of that statement displaying her utter confusion. Experts at tickling? No way in all heavens there could be such a thing. Surely this was a psychological ploy to drive her further into insanity.
Oh, if that were only the truth.
“You didn’t think these ladies were here to do your hair and nails, did you? No, you see these two are professionally trained dominatrix specializing in the exquisite art of tickle torture. They’ve perfected their unique methods for years, so you’d best mind your p’s and q’s from here on out.”
She gazes upon the two women, approaching her front with devious intent, each one holding one of their hands menacingly behind their backs. Haleigh nervously bites her lip, trying to release the tension building up inside of her.
“Now Haleigh, the girls here have had a running argument as to which one has the most effective tickle tools, and I wonder if you can help them sort this out,” Rose says, standing in the corner of the room, a puppet master running this children’s horror show. Suddenly, the two pull out their hands, revealing two familiar implements: a hairdresser’s comb in Dana’s hand, and a mascara wand in Miki’s.
“I’m telling you, with this fine-toothed comb you can get all the toes on one foot at once!” says Dana, slowly running the tip of her finger over its teeth, the subtle sound sending shivers down Haleigh’s spine.
“That may be true, but with my mascara wand I can focus on the entire section between the toes, much more effective in my opinion,” says Miki, using her two fingers to demonstrate what will soon be Haleigh’s toes.
“Well, there’s only one way to find out,” a cue from Rose, prompting them to slowly begin moving towards the bound beauty. It is here that Haleigh reaches her breaking point (or what she truly believes it to be).
“NOOOHOHOHO WAIT!! I’M BEGGING YOU NO!! PLEASE!!” she attempts to sway them, unsuccessful as they grasp unto her feet, holding them still as they, with full force, direct their implements deep into her supple flesh.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! DAMMIIIIIIIIIIT!!” she screams in agony, the toes of her left foot being pried back by Dana’s iron grip, sawing the dastardly comb across all the stems right underneath the toe pads. In tandem is that of Miki, taking hold of the ball of Haleigh’s right foot, keeping it still as she scrapes the bristles of the mascara wand between her third and fourth toes.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! PLEEEEEEEEEEASE!!” she cries out, thrashing whatever she can move to no avail.
“So Missy tell us: which one tickles more?” whispers Rose softly in her ear.
“THEY’RE BOTH BULLSHIT!! STAHAHAHAPPP!!” she screams, hoping to secure just one moment of repose from what is an endless torrent of tickle torture inflicted upon her.
“Oh young lady, that potty mouth will get you nowhere in life,” Rose lectures, much to the utter chagrin of the ballistic brunette, struggling mightily against her bonds to free herself from such maddening torment. This seems to be it: Haleigh, that rising young star, taken and tickled against her will, never to be seen or heard from again.
“Okay ladies, I think she needs a breather,” Rose commands, the two backing away after only a few more grueling moments.
“Oh thank God,” Haleigh sighs, panting desperately to intake some oxygen before the inevitable next round. “Please…just stop…I’ve had it.”
“Yeah, you’re right,” Rose says, a glimmer of hope entering Haleigh’s eye.
“I guess it’s time for the grand finale!” she exclaims. Walking over to the small tackle box, she carries over what appears to be a bottle of baby oil. As she pours it into her hands, leaning over Haleigh’s red-tinted soles, she smears it over them: across her heels, in between her toes, even the sides of her feet get a healthy coating of the viscous substance. The slippery surface is compounded by the heat of her friction-laced, lighting up her nerve endings to unspeakable levels of ticklishness.
“I just know you’ll love this!” Dana exclaims, pulling out a pair of large paddle brushes, handing one to Miki, commending her for such a dastardly tool at her disposal.
Haleigh grits her teeth, bracing herself for what will most likely be pure torture unimaginable to her. Clenching her toes, wrinkles building on the bottom of her feet, she is left with only futile protection from impending turmoil.
“Put her in the position!” Rose commands, prompting both ladies to place each foot, Dana to her right, Miki to her left, underneath their armpit, essentially putting both of her ankles in a headlock. As they prepare the brushes, slowly guiding them into the frantic soles of their victim, Haleigh’s tough resolve finally breaks down.
“No please! You can’t do this, please! I’ll do anything you want! Anything, just name it!” she begs frivolously, tears freefalling down her cheeks.
“All we want you to do is laugh,” says Rose, tenderly caressing her cheek before backing away. She can do nothing: there is nothing she could give that would relinquish her from this hellish ordeal. She cannot beg, or plead, or cry, or wish upon a falling star, she can do nothing but suffer under their ticklish touch, surgically precise, wielding her hapless feet endlessly against her. She can only watch through tear soaked pupils as the bristles descend deep into her soles, a vigorous scrubbing motion soon to follow.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” a piercing shriek echoes through the room, much to the absolute glee of her captors. Locked in an inescapable hold, with what little energy she has left, Haleigh rocks the heavy chair with Herculean might, unable to shake her bonds despite such efforts.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!! GET ME OUT OF HERE!!” she lambasts, the delicate façade of the internet starlet stripped away, revealing a desperate woman and her ticklish weakness. “AAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA!! NOOOOO MOOOOOOORE!!!”
The brushes glide over her slippery soles with ease, digging deep into her padded heels, extracting every primal shriek and howl she has left in her strained gullet. Like a ravenous animal, as the hard bristles make their way underneath her tender toes, she snaps and bites, directing torrents of ticklish hate only to succumb to helpless whimpers. There is no use in clenching her toes: the devious balls atop each bristle scraping over the tip tops of her toes, forcing them open once again. Their technique is without parallel, not leaving one millimeter unscathed, even the sides of her feet getting as much attention.
“MERCYYYYYYYYYAHAHAHAHAHA!!” she cries before succumbing to silent laughter, her gasps for breath futile, usurped by the sudden jolt of electricity once they change positions again and again. She is done: her mind left in shambles, unable to process such sensory stimulation lasting well over half an hour from the moment the brushes came out. Slumping in the chair, not one sliver of hope left in her, she finally succumbs to it all, blacking out right before their eyes…
She awakens, lunging herself out of her bed, the sheets cascading down to her floor. She is in her bedroom, a wave of suspense believing it all to have been one terrible dream. However, upon glancing across the room, she spots a slip of paper taped to her mirror, the contents of which, written in hot pink, read as follows:
Dear Miss Hekking,
I do hope you enjoyed our little shoot as much as we did! Oh I know we were a bit hard on you, but you’re a big girl, you can take it! That’s the cost of showbiz, I’m afraid. In case you’re wondering: there is no Shanghai Media Group or whatever! We were hired by a wealthy client who requested their own personalized tickle video of their favorite little model!
Just in case you think about going to the police, keep this in mind: there’s no proof of this ever happening. Every message we sent has been wiped off your computer. Our phone number is untraceable, and that website you think you were on is long gone! What evidence do you have hmm? This handwritten note from your captor? Try showing this to the cops, fat chance they’ll believe you!
Oh, and just if we don’t already have you convinced: we were able to unlock your phone while you were unconscious and found some (ahem) risqué little photos you took of yourself. You wouldn’t want these going around to all your thousands of followers, now would you? I didn’t think so. Take care of yourself, and those pretty little feet of yours!
Kiss Kiss Kiss!
Rose, Dana, and Miki!
The End
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