Epilogue
It was boring work--if one could call this work--but not necessarily more unpleasant than flipping burgers or other menial jobs. It was inconvenient when she wanted to scratch an itch, but that was a minor irritant, compared to what Aunt Vivian had done to get her to agree to this.
Ropes bound her wrists behind her and around the wooden post, while more rope was wrapped around her upper body holding it to the post as well. She was sitting on a rough wooden bench, on which her mother had kindly placed a cushion. The simple white cotton sleeveless dress with the hem just above her knees, sewn by her mother, was not uncomfortable at all. It was low cut and showed off her lovely cleavage, which was her own idea. Her father had objected to that, but as usual had lost the argument.
She looked at her bare legs where the ankles disappeared in the wooden stocks and wiggled her toes a little, something she always did when visitors came in and saw her bare feet. Nobody was in the dungeon at the moment, but that didn't last long.
A minute later, her sister Karen came in with a family of four. Linda hoped her boredom looked like suffering; she did like to play the part correctly.
"And this is the dungeon," said Karen, "one of the most popular exhibits in the museum. As you can see, this wench is being punished." She gestured to Linda.
Linda looked at her sister with half open eyes. "Wench?"
The father looked lustily at the trapped girl in the museum, imagining her trying out the other "equipment" in the dungeon, then looked at his wife, wondering if he could talk her into something like this. The withering look she returned said clearly and silently, "Don t even think about it."
"Part of the punishment," continued Karen, "includes tickling the feet." She walked over to Linda, whose eyes grew wide in fear. The stocks were big enough that Linda couldn't see her bare feet at all, which made it worse because she didn't know exactly when it would happen.
Linda tensed as soon as Karen was in tickling range, and then screamed and giggled when she felt the fingers on her soles, watching her legs twitch in a futile effort to escape the tickling. Karen only kept it up a few seconds to demonstrate, and when she stopped, Linda relaxed and let her head drop.
The two kids, a boy and girl about seven years of age, giggled at seeing somebody get tickled, while the father, who loved feet, felt his pants tightening. He was about to ask Karen for another demonstration, but his wife nudged him painfully in the ribs. No, he wasn't going to see Linda get any more punishment, and he wasn't going to get any relief from his wife that night if he wasn't careful. Sometimes, life didn't seem fair at all.
The little girl asked, "What is she being punished for?"
That question caught Karen by surprise. If there were only adults in the room, she would have said it was for infidelity or other lewd conduct, but that wouldn t do with kids present. "She is guilty of...," said Karen, trying to think quickly, "of an indiscretion!"
The children's eyes grew wide at that news, and they looked at each other in amazement. Neither one thought to ask what an indiscretion was. At their age, the world was full of words they didn't understand, and this was just another. It had to be serious, however, for the poor girl to be punished so badly.
The wife grabbed her husband's arm, and nearly jerked him off his feet as she headed for the door. "Come on kids," she said.
As soon as they were gone, Linda said, "Who are you calling a wench, bitch?"
"Bitch?"
"Yeah, bitch!" Anything to relieve the boredom, thought Linda, no matter how inadvisable.
"Which one of us is tied up right now, wench?" Karen approached her menacingly, with her hands like claws aiming for her sister s feet.
"I am, only because I'm better at it...bitch. Hahahahahaha." Linda screamed and shrieked as she felt the light agonizing touch on her soles. After a minute, Karen stopped.
"You want more of this? Huh?"
What the hell, it was close to closing time anyway. "You re still a bitch....Ahhhhh. Hahahah. Eeeeee...."
The End.
It was boring work--if one could call this work--but not necessarily more unpleasant than flipping burgers or other menial jobs. It was inconvenient when she wanted to scratch an itch, but that was a minor irritant, compared to what Aunt Vivian had done to get her to agree to this.
Ropes bound her wrists behind her and around the wooden post, while more rope was wrapped around her upper body holding it to the post as well. She was sitting on a rough wooden bench, on which her mother had kindly placed a cushion. The simple white cotton sleeveless dress with the hem just above her knees, sewn by her mother, was not uncomfortable at all. It was low cut and showed off her lovely cleavage, which was her own idea. Her father had objected to that, but as usual had lost the argument.
She looked at her bare legs where the ankles disappeared in the wooden stocks and wiggled her toes a little, something she always did when visitors came in and saw her bare feet. Nobody was in the dungeon at the moment, but that didn't last long.
A minute later, her sister Karen came in with a family of four. Linda hoped her boredom looked like suffering; she did like to play the part correctly.
"And this is the dungeon," said Karen, "one of the most popular exhibits in the museum. As you can see, this wench is being punished." She gestured to Linda.
Linda looked at her sister with half open eyes. "Wench?"
The father looked lustily at the trapped girl in the museum, imagining her trying out the other "equipment" in the dungeon, then looked at his wife, wondering if he could talk her into something like this. The withering look she returned said clearly and silently, "Don t even think about it."
"Part of the punishment," continued Karen, "includes tickling the feet." She walked over to Linda, whose eyes grew wide in fear. The stocks were big enough that Linda couldn't see her bare feet at all, which made it worse because she didn't know exactly when it would happen.
Linda tensed as soon as Karen was in tickling range, and then screamed and giggled when she felt the fingers on her soles, watching her legs twitch in a futile effort to escape the tickling. Karen only kept it up a few seconds to demonstrate, and when she stopped, Linda relaxed and let her head drop.
The two kids, a boy and girl about seven years of age, giggled at seeing somebody get tickled, while the father, who loved feet, felt his pants tightening. He was about to ask Karen for another demonstration, but his wife nudged him painfully in the ribs. No, he wasn't going to see Linda get any more punishment, and he wasn't going to get any relief from his wife that night if he wasn't careful. Sometimes, life didn't seem fair at all.
The little girl asked, "What is she being punished for?"
That question caught Karen by surprise. If there were only adults in the room, she would have said it was for infidelity or other lewd conduct, but that wouldn t do with kids present. "She is guilty of...," said Karen, trying to think quickly, "of an indiscretion!"
The children's eyes grew wide at that news, and they looked at each other in amazement. Neither one thought to ask what an indiscretion was. At their age, the world was full of words they didn't understand, and this was just another. It had to be serious, however, for the poor girl to be punished so badly.
The wife grabbed her husband's arm, and nearly jerked him off his feet as she headed for the door. "Come on kids," she said.
As soon as they were gone, Linda said, "Who are you calling a wench, bitch?"
"Bitch?"
"Yeah, bitch!" Anything to relieve the boredom, thought Linda, no matter how inadvisable.
"Which one of us is tied up right now, wench?" Karen approached her menacingly, with her hands like claws aiming for her sister s feet.
"I am, only because I'm better at it...bitch. Hahahahahaha." Linda screamed and shrieked as she felt the light agonizing touch on her soles. After a minute, Karen stopped.
"You want more of this? Huh?"
What the hell, it was close to closing time anyway. "You re still a bitch....Ahhhhh. Hahahah. Eeeeee...."
The End.
