SmileyTkls
2nd Level Orange Feather
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This is a new story I've worked on, with the setup to lay out the following parts, where more tickling and foot worship will ensue. Comments welcome!
The Election
Part One
In the small Midwestern city of Triple Rivers, the upcoming mayoral election was a close, hard fought race this year. The incumbent, Rick Granger, was beset by the closings of several key factories, as well as a rumored financial scandal, which had yet to be proven. His rival was a woman with prosecutorial experience, Leila Babcock, a sharp minded politico, who was utilizing every trick she knew to win this vote.
Even so, it was still going to be very tight, every vote would wind up counting mightily in the final totaling, and both candidates knew it. While Granger was putting out ‘fires’ to his public image, Babcock was trying to show how solid her life was, that she knew how to handle any problem that came up. Secretly, she feared that she would lose this contest, and possibly her infant political career. She put out word, through her party’s grapevine, that she’d reward anyone who could shore up enough support and votes to win her the mayor’s position.
One night, in her party’s offices, Babcock was working late on a new commercial to be aired a few weeks before election time. Leila Babcock was in her mid 40’s, around 5’ 5” tall, slightly stocky, but still firm and attractive, curly brown hair and small fashionable glasses. She often wore colorful business suits, showing off her still curvaceous legs, and modest heels. At this moment, she’d kicked off her shoes, and slipped off her jacket, in cream colored, shiny silk blouse and blue skirt, with tan stockings.
Leila made some notes on a mock-up of the proposed commercial, when the phone at her desk rang. She checked her watch, yawned a little, then picked up the receiver and oozed perkiness with a “Hello, Leila Babcock!” A deep male voice on the other end replied, “Just who I was hoping to catch. I’ve got some information that might help you…in your current endeavor, if you would be interested.” She paused, mind racing to try and identify who this caller was, and tried to buy some time by saying, “I’m always appreciative of assistance, but what exactly do you mean, Mister…?”
She heard a chuckle, and then “I’m certain that you’d prefer not to talk on the phone, so I’ve made arrangements to have you brought to a meeting to discuss my proposition.” Babcock was about to decline, since she knew nothing about this man, but then he added, “I’ve been talking to your County Party Representative, Martin Cauldwell, who should be calling you in a minute or two to confirm my legitimacy and sincerity.” Leila was a little surprised at this man’s preparations and thoroughness, and said, “If Martin calls to say it’s all right, I’ll be happy to meet with you.” “Good, be out front in 10 minutes, a limo will pick you up. Good evening, Ms. Babcock.” The phone clicked and buzzed, leaving Leila to stare at it for a second, then replace it on the phone.
Almost immediately, it rang, and the candidate answered, to hear, “Hey, Leila, it’s Marty. Listen, a man I’ve done business with before has responded to the call for help we put out and wants to meet you. He said he’s interested in seeing you in the mayor’s office and wants to make a deal.” “He just called, Marty,” Babcock responded, “and I’m supposed to see him tonight, in a few minutes, actually.” “Then I’d get moving, Leila, he’s the juice we’ve been praying for to lift us over the line in this race,” the party chairman urged. “Who is he, Marty? Anyone I’d know?” she asked as she shrugged on her jacket and slipped her shoes on. “I doubt it, he likes to stay in the background. Even I don’t know his real name, just goes by Mr. Masters, which suits his control of elections just right,” Cauldwell muttered. “Good luck, and if it goes right, you’ll be Ms. Mayor in a few weeks.”
Ms. Babcock hung up, checked her watch again, and hurried out the front door of the building, locking up after herself. Right on time, a long black limo pulled up to the curb, rear door opening, as if by magic. The driver leaned back and said, “Ms. Babcock, you’re expected. Please get inside.” She bit her lip a little, then entered the back seat and closed the door. Oddly, the tinted windows that prevented people from looking inside also prevented her from seeing where they were going. The driver had also closed the partition between them, so Leila was unable to keep track of where they went. She leaned back, crossing her legs and allowing her raised foot to dangle the shoe upon it, as she tried to imagine what awaited her.
After about half an hour, the limo slowed, then stopped, and the driver’s door opened and closed. Babcock heard some muffled chatter, then the rear left door opened, revealing the driver standing there. “If you’ll get out and follow the housekeeper inside, you’ll find your host waiting, Ms. Babcock,” he uttered formally, eyes straight ahead. She stepped out, where a small woman, around 30 Leila guessed, with red hair and lean frame in a maid’s uniform was standing. The housekeeper smiled slightly and said, “Please follow me this way, ma’am.” The redhead proceeded into a large house, with many trees around, and with no moon out that night, no way to tell where this place was located.
Once inside, and a staircase upwards, Leila Babcock entered what she would call a small parlor, with two plush chairs, a fireplace, a small table with two glasses and a wine bottle on it, and several bookshelves in dark wood resided. The diminutive housekeeper ushered the politician to a seat, and stated, “Mr. Masters will be here shortly, ma’am.” With that she left the parlor, closing the door behind her.
Babcock sat there, etching the details of the room into her memory, when she heard a door open in a dark corner of the room she hadn’t noticed before. She started to rise, but the large figure waved its hand downward, to have her remain seated. Moving into the fire light, Leila was able to see his features, a large man about 6’ 3” tall, with dark brown hair, goatee, dark suit, red tie, probably in his 40’s, with a hefty build, like a former football player. He extended his hand and said, “Ms. Leila Babcock, I presume? I am, for your needs, Mr. Masters, at your service.” Babcock took his hand, warm and firmly grasping hers, and replied, “Thank you, Mr. Masters. I’m to understand that you want to be a…contributor to my campaign?”
The large man grinned, as he sat in the chair beside hers, and offered, “Yes, but not specifically in funding. More along the lines of securing the voters’ confidence on Election Day.” She shifted in her seat a bit, intrigued, but not wanting to incriminate herself, lest this be a trick. “I see. And how will you do this, sir?” Babcock carefully inquired. It again seemed to amuse this mysterious man, grinning as he said, “That’s not your concern, Ms. Babcock, and in case you wonder, no, it is not illegal. I simply have options that I can use to tilt favor towards you and your campaign.”
Leila pondered this statement, wanting to know more, but not wanting any knowledge that could come back to haunt her either. As she did so, Mr. Masters poured some of the wine into a glass, and handed it to her. Babcock received it, sniffing its bouquet, pleased with what she smelled, and sipped it generously. “What would be expected of me and my administration, should you be able to deliver on this promise, as well as prove that is was your doing, sir?” the smart woman asked, crossing her legs, bobbing her foot up and down.
Mr. Masters eyed this movement, then gazed into her eyes and answered, “I expect very little from the administration, and your position, Ms. Babcock. What I want is more…personal.” He paused, while Leila swallowed another mouthful of wine, cynically projecting his request in her mind. Sex, she thought. Not that she hadn’t done it before, or was totally opposed to it, but it was boring that these men wanted the same thing all the time.
As if reading her mind, Masters said, “No, not sex, my dear candidate. If you are successfully elected to the office of Mayor by a margin of 5% of the vote, you will at least once a week submit yourself to a session of tickling and foot worship by myself no less than one hour in length.” Leila sputtered a bit midway through another sip of wine, looking wide-eyed at this imposing man. “You… You can’t be serious! That’s outrageous!” Masters steepled his fingers together, and smirked. “Yes, it is outrageous, and yes, I am quite serious. That is the cost of your victory, for the length of your term in office.”
Babcock regained her composure, eying this strange man closely, judging his body language to confirm his intent and statements. “So, let me clarify this,” she started slowly, “if I win this election with your assistance, by a 5% margin, I will know that you have caused it to happen and will therefore submit to a…” She could barely believe she was saying it. “…tickling and foot worshiping from you for an hour every week?” Masters nodded in the affirmative, his eyes meeting hers intently as she spoke.
Leila set her now empty glass down and asked, “And if I refuse these terms, Mr. Masters?” He shrugged and replied, “Then you most likely can either win or lose, but by a much closer, and hotly debated, vote. I’ve projected your odds, even with your new commercial.” Masters produced a printout from his jacket pocket and handed the document with facts and charts to her. “How did…?” Babcock started to ask, but then mentally confirmed his results in her head and stopped. The facts were here, despite how he’d gotten the information. She’d only have a small chance at winning, if she could go through a voting dispute fiasco.
Masters rose from his chair, standing in front of the dazed candidate. “Do we have a bargain, Ms. Babcock?” Leila thought a moment more, about how ticklish she was, weighing it against her passion to be a political force. She stood, grasping this manipulative man’s hand and affirming, “It is a bargain, sir. But if it’s not by exactly 5%...” she trailed off, letting the implication stand in the air. “No worries, my dear, 5% it will be. I will be in contact in two weeks to make arrangements. I’ve also taken the liberty of scheduling bi-weekly pedicures for you with my housekeeper, Ms. Kincaide, who will administer them at either your office after hours, or at your home.”
Babcock nodded, the wheels of how to get around this already turning in her head. The door opened, revealing the just mentioned housekeeper, somehow knowing she was needed. “Good evening, Ms. Mayor, I’ll be…in touch,” Masters chuckled softly at his intended pun. Lelia walked out, politician’s mask of noncommittance in place, not daring to believe it was actually going to happen.
Back in the parlor, Masters smiled evilly at the empty wine glass, knowing what had been set in motion in the candidate’s mind, as well as body now. He moved out of the room, to begin the machinations that would win Leila Babcock her office, and him his newest tickle slave.
End Part One
The Election
Part One
In the small Midwestern city of Triple Rivers, the upcoming mayoral election was a close, hard fought race this year. The incumbent, Rick Granger, was beset by the closings of several key factories, as well as a rumored financial scandal, which had yet to be proven. His rival was a woman with prosecutorial experience, Leila Babcock, a sharp minded politico, who was utilizing every trick she knew to win this vote.
Even so, it was still going to be very tight, every vote would wind up counting mightily in the final totaling, and both candidates knew it. While Granger was putting out ‘fires’ to his public image, Babcock was trying to show how solid her life was, that she knew how to handle any problem that came up. Secretly, she feared that she would lose this contest, and possibly her infant political career. She put out word, through her party’s grapevine, that she’d reward anyone who could shore up enough support and votes to win her the mayor’s position.
One night, in her party’s offices, Babcock was working late on a new commercial to be aired a few weeks before election time. Leila Babcock was in her mid 40’s, around 5’ 5” tall, slightly stocky, but still firm and attractive, curly brown hair and small fashionable glasses. She often wore colorful business suits, showing off her still curvaceous legs, and modest heels. At this moment, she’d kicked off her shoes, and slipped off her jacket, in cream colored, shiny silk blouse and blue skirt, with tan stockings.
Leila made some notes on a mock-up of the proposed commercial, when the phone at her desk rang. She checked her watch, yawned a little, then picked up the receiver and oozed perkiness with a “Hello, Leila Babcock!” A deep male voice on the other end replied, “Just who I was hoping to catch. I’ve got some information that might help you…in your current endeavor, if you would be interested.” She paused, mind racing to try and identify who this caller was, and tried to buy some time by saying, “I’m always appreciative of assistance, but what exactly do you mean, Mister…?”
She heard a chuckle, and then “I’m certain that you’d prefer not to talk on the phone, so I’ve made arrangements to have you brought to a meeting to discuss my proposition.” Babcock was about to decline, since she knew nothing about this man, but then he added, “I’ve been talking to your County Party Representative, Martin Cauldwell, who should be calling you in a minute or two to confirm my legitimacy and sincerity.” Leila was a little surprised at this man’s preparations and thoroughness, and said, “If Martin calls to say it’s all right, I’ll be happy to meet with you.” “Good, be out front in 10 minutes, a limo will pick you up. Good evening, Ms. Babcock.” The phone clicked and buzzed, leaving Leila to stare at it for a second, then replace it on the phone.
Almost immediately, it rang, and the candidate answered, to hear, “Hey, Leila, it’s Marty. Listen, a man I’ve done business with before has responded to the call for help we put out and wants to meet you. He said he’s interested in seeing you in the mayor’s office and wants to make a deal.” “He just called, Marty,” Babcock responded, “and I’m supposed to see him tonight, in a few minutes, actually.” “Then I’d get moving, Leila, he’s the juice we’ve been praying for to lift us over the line in this race,” the party chairman urged. “Who is he, Marty? Anyone I’d know?” she asked as she shrugged on her jacket and slipped her shoes on. “I doubt it, he likes to stay in the background. Even I don’t know his real name, just goes by Mr. Masters, which suits his control of elections just right,” Cauldwell muttered. “Good luck, and if it goes right, you’ll be Ms. Mayor in a few weeks.”
Ms. Babcock hung up, checked her watch again, and hurried out the front door of the building, locking up after herself. Right on time, a long black limo pulled up to the curb, rear door opening, as if by magic. The driver leaned back and said, “Ms. Babcock, you’re expected. Please get inside.” She bit her lip a little, then entered the back seat and closed the door. Oddly, the tinted windows that prevented people from looking inside also prevented her from seeing where they were going. The driver had also closed the partition between them, so Leila was unable to keep track of where they went. She leaned back, crossing her legs and allowing her raised foot to dangle the shoe upon it, as she tried to imagine what awaited her.
After about half an hour, the limo slowed, then stopped, and the driver’s door opened and closed. Babcock heard some muffled chatter, then the rear left door opened, revealing the driver standing there. “If you’ll get out and follow the housekeeper inside, you’ll find your host waiting, Ms. Babcock,” he uttered formally, eyes straight ahead. She stepped out, where a small woman, around 30 Leila guessed, with red hair and lean frame in a maid’s uniform was standing. The housekeeper smiled slightly and said, “Please follow me this way, ma’am.” The redhead proceeded into a large house, with many trees around, and with no moon out that night, no way to tell where this place was located.
Once inside, and a staircase upwards, Leila Babcock entered what she would call a small parlor, with two plush chairs, a fireplace, a small table with two glasses and a wine bottle on it, and several bookshelves in dark wood resided. The diminutive housekeeper ushered the politician to a seat, and stated, “Mr. Masters will be here shortly, ma’am.” With that she left the parlor, closing the door behind her.
Babcock sat there, etching the details of the room into her memory, when she heard a door open in a dark corner of the room she hadn’t noticed before. She started to rise, but the large figure waved its hand downward, to have her remain seated. Moving into the fire light, Leila was able to see his features, a large man about 6’ 3” tall, with dark brown hair, goatee, dark suit, red tie, probably in his 40’s, with a hefty build, like a former football player. He extended his hand and said, “Ms. Leila Babcock, I presume? I am, for your needs, Mr. Masters, at your service.” Babcock took his hand, warm and firmly grasping hers, and replied, “Thank you, Mr. Masters. I’m to understand that you want to be a…contributor to my campaign?”
The large man grinned, as he sat in the chair beside hers, and offered, “Yes, but not specifically in funding. More along the lines of securing the voters’ confidence on Election Day.” She shifted in her seat a bit, intrigued, but not wanting to incriminate herself, lest this be a trick. “I see. And how will you do this, sir?” Babcock carefully inquired. It again seemed to amuse this mysterious man, grinning as he said, “That’s not your concern, Ms. Babcock, and in case you wonder, no, it is not illegal. I simply have options that I can use to tilt favor towards you and your campaign.”
Leila pondered this statement, wanting to know more, but not wanting any knowledge that could come back to haunt her either. As she did so, Mr. Masters poured some of the wine into a glass, and handed it to her. Babcock received it, sniffing its bouquet, pleased with what she smelled, and sipped it generously. “What would be expected of me and my administration, should you be able to deliver on this promise, as well as prove that is was your doing, sir?” the smart woman asked, crossing her legs, bobbing her foot up and down.
Mr. Masters eyed this movement, then gazed into her eyes and answered, “I expect very little from the administration, and your position, Ms. Babcock. What I want is more…personal.” He paused, while Leila swallowed another mouthful of wine, cynically projecting his request in her mind. Sex, she thought. Not that she hadn’t done it before, or was totally opposed to it, but it was boring that these men wanted the same thing all the time.
As if reading her mind, Masters said, “No, not sex, my dear candidate. If you are successfully elected to the office of Mayor by a margin of 5% of the vote, you will at least once a week submit yourself to a session of tickling and foot worship by myself no less than one hour in length.” Leila sputtered a bit midway through another sip of wine, looking wide-eyed at this imposing man. “You… You can’t be serious! That’s outrageous!” Masters steepled his fingers together, and smirked. “Yes, it is outrageous, and yes, I am quite serious. That is the cost of your victory, for the length of your term in office.”
Babcock regained her composure, eying this strange man closely, judging his body language to confirm his intent and statements. “So, let me clarify this,” she started slowly, “if I win this election with your assistance, by a 5% margin, I will know that you have caused it to happen and will therefore submit to a…” She could barely believe she was saying it. “…tickling and foot worshiping from you for an hour every week?” Masters nodded in the affirmative, his eyes meeting hers intently as she spoke.
Leila set her now empty glass down and asked, “And if I refuse these terms, Mr. Masters?” He shrugged and replied, “Then you most likely can either win or lose, but by a much closer, and hotly debated, vote. I’ve projected your odds, even with your new commercial.” Masters produced a printout from his jacket pocket and handed the document with facts and charts to her. “How did…?” Babcock started to ask, but then mentally confirmed his results in her head and stopped. The facts were here, despite how he’d gotten the information. She’d only have a small chance at winning, if she could go through a voting dispute fiasco.
Masters rose from his chair, standing in front of the dazed candidate. “Do we have a bargain, Ms. Babcock?” Leila thought a moment more, about how ticklish she was, weighing it against her passion to be a political force. She stood, grasping this manipulative man’s hand and affirming, “It is a bargain, sir. But if it’s not by exactly 5%...” she trailed off, letting the implication stand in the air. “No worries, my dear, 5% it will be. I will be in contact in two weeks to make arrangements. I’ve also taken the liberty of scheduling bi-weekly pedicures for you with my housekeeper, Ms. Kincaide, who will administer them at either your office after hours, or at your home.”
Babcock nodded, the wheels of how to get around this already turning in her head. The door opened, revealing the just mentioned housekeeper, somehow knowing she was needed. “Good evening, Ms. Mayor, I’ll be…in touch,” Masters chuckled softly at his intended pun. Lelia walked out, politician’s mask of noncommittance in place, not daring to believe it was actually going to happen.
Back in the parlor, Masters smiled evilly at the empty wine glass, knowing what had been set in motion in the candidate’s mind, as well as body now. He moved out of the room, to begin the machinations that would win Leila Babcock her office, and him his newest tickle slave.
End Part One
