Oblesklk
2nd Level Yellow Feather
- Joined
- Apr 18, 2001
- Messages
- 3,357
- Points
- 38
Hey all, I just wanted to say a few quick notes about this story, and what it is exactly. This is one of my first visits to the story section of the TMF, and my first posted story.
This story is an introduction to a comic book we are releasing in a month or two called The Ruthless. It is a tickling comic book, like all the comic books we publish. You can see a thread on the upcoming issue in the artwork section by going to http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=92819. It has some pictures of Stacia up there, although unfortunatley we don't have anything for Dr. Collins or Sam yet.
It's been awhile since I've written tickle fiction, but I hope you enjoy regardless.
The Ruthless: Issue One Prelude
Stacia cursed under her breath as her umbrella caught the limb overhead; tilting it ever so slightly, enough to pour a stream of cold water down her back. She was already in an irritable mood; her news story never aired on tonight’s broadcast, she was now late for her appointment, and this wind and rain had not let up in the city for three days solid. She was in desperate need for a vacation.
She held an ink stained and hastily scribbled upon piece of paper before her squinting eyes. The inclement weather made the note even more difficult to read than before. It stated simply “14500 West Park Ave” which was the cross street she had just spotted. Although the late afternoon sky was darkening quickly, she could tell she was in the right place.
She froze; a car sped along, splashing her waist deep in cold, dirty city water.
“You asshole!” she screamed. Pouting slightly, she looked down at her outfit, now splotched and ruined by another’s eagerness to get home before his favorite TV show started. Knowing she was helpless to solve the situation, she quickened her pace. A chill wind brushed hard against her body, chilling her drastically. She darted into an alley that she should have recognized by now. She had walked this very path several times before. But this area of town confused her, and the wind, rain, and darkness weren’t helping matters.
Ahead in the darkened alley, two shadowy figures listened to her footsteps. They listened to the click clack of her heels on the city sidewalks. At her arrival they pounced into action.
The first man held a large umbrella over Stacia’s head; the second took her coat and rushed her inside to the warm embrace of the building. The scent of vanilla overpowered her as she pushed past the door. It was the first step in putting her at ease.
“Welcome back, Miss Stacia. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm. The doctor will see you shortly.”
She was finally at the office of Dr. Collins, her psychologist.
Dr. Collins was not just any psychologist; she had considerable renown for researching topics deemed untouchable by mainstream scientists. She delved occasionally into the human mind and its interaction with the spiritual and the supernatural. She was a psychologist of almost absurd celebrity fame; in order to avoid public scrutiny, she was forced to take to back alleys to conduct her practice with her equally famous clientele.
Famous clientele like Stacia Walton. Stacia was a current member of the Channel Four news team, a former top 100 Sexiest Women Alive contender, according to Maxim Magazine, and one of the top 30th most searched female celebrities on the web, for three years running. She had one of the most famous faces in Bay City, and most definitely the most famous body. Her visits to a well-known psychologist were not public knowledge.
Stacia was escorted into what she called The Quiet Room. Dr. Collins was sitting patiently, as she always did, in a chair dead center in the middle of a room. Stacia always wondered what the psychological implications were for a doctor to want to be seated directly in the middle of her own area, but thought it would be rude to ask such questions during therapy.
Dr. Collins stopped scribbling on her notepad, and peered at Stacia above her eyeglasses. She stood up, carefully dusted herself a bit, and gave a warm smile as she calmly walked up to Stacia. Dr. Collins was a thin woman in her late 30s, blonde, beautiful, and could light up a room with her smile. She was born and raised in London, but left her country at an early age to study psychology in America. While her mental acuity was virtually unmatched, her physical attributes played no small role in her ability to rise to such celebrity status within her field. She always looked young for her age, and most age experts wouldn’t peg her a day older than 30. Dr. Collins seemed to possess an ancient wisdom that had eluded Stacia her entire adult life.
They shook hands, and Dr. Collins invited Stacia to lie down on the couch.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” Dr. Collins offered in a British accent that Stacia always adored, “I’m stepping out of the room for a minute to get a glass of water.”
Stacia nodded, but paced the room for a few minutes. Something about therapy in general made her anxious, and she rarely sat down for her sessions. She always tried. As soon as she dug into a really meaty topic that was sometimes difficult to explain in words, she had to walk to regain some semblance of eloquence in her explanations. This time was no different; she paced a bit while nervously nibbling at her fingernail.
As she walked by Dr. Collin’s chair, the lighting illuminated something on Dr. Collins’s chair. It was something she had written about Stacia in a prior session, but the writings didn’t make sense. It simply said, “Level three manifest” with the word manifest underlined twice.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Dr. Collins announced at the entryway.
Stacia’s heart skipped a beat; she had not expected the doctor to be standing so close. She didn’t know if the doctor would approve of her reading the notes, so she continued walking along the room, pretending like she was studying the floor or something equally non-chalant.
The doctor stood, cold and unmoving, at the entrance to the room. Her spectacles reflected some of the outside lights, lending her eyes an eerie aspect. She said nothing for a moment, and Stacia feared she had done something terribly wrong.
But Dr. Collins’s heels clicked on the floor once again, and she proceeded to collect the notebook on her chair.
“We’re going to try something different tonight,” Dr. Collins began, “and I want you in something a bit more comfortable. Your clothes are near soaked.”
Stacia looked down, and nodded in agreement. Her outfit, once meticulously matched and accessorized, was now a pathetic, soggy shadow of its former self. Her feet were cold and wet, and hair lay in red, dripping curls around her face. She felt like a drowned rat, bereft of dignity or any sort of grace.
Before she could truly lament her appearance, two men appeared almost instantly at her side, gently escorting her out of the room.
****************
“This shower is amazing!” Stacia shouted over the sound of cascading warm water on her tired body.
“Yes, we totally gutted this building when we first moved in,” Dr. Collins exclaimed with a slightly raised voice, “It has almost entirely brand new electrical and plumbing systems inside.”
Stacia, done with her invigorating shower, exited the stall and began to towel off under the warm lights of the bathroom. She paused a moment, thoughtful. Her doctor stood patiently in the doorway to the bathroom, watching her dry off, “What did you mean ‘try something different’ tonight?”
Dr. Collins drew in a short breath, “Stacia, we’re at a crossroads with your therapy sessions. You’ve been coming to us for a few months now, and while we’ve made a considerable amount of effort in relieving you of your anxiety, I feel there’s a wall that must come down, if we’re to be successful in your long term mental stability.”
Stacia listened to her doctor, while rifling through piles of clothes that lay before her. The staff didn’t know what she wanted to wear that evening, nor her size, so they brought half a wardrobe into the bathroom. As the clothes ranged from the exotic, to the grotesquely designed, Stacia listened less and less to her doctor’s explanation of tonight’s therapy.
“…And so I think that the tickling…” Dr. Collins continued.
Stacia’s ears perked up, at the mention of that word. She shot her an intense look, and Dr. Collins suddenly had her full attention.
“…That is, I think this new method…might…” Dr. Collins stammered, unsure how to proceed with the look that Stacia was giving. It unnerved her.
Stacia, trying not to put her doctor at unease, fell back to relaxing, and finally found a set of clothes that truly suited her mood. She found a loosely fitting set of cotton pajamas, the kind she used to wear all the time on relaxing winter evenings in front of a fire.
Seeing her patient pick such a comfortable set of clothes made the good doctor smile.
“Anyway, I have high hopes for this new therapy. Come Stacia, there’s some paperwork I need you to fill out.”
Stacia quickly slipped on some cute pink socks and proceeded to follow Dr. Collins into a room she’d never seen before. It was a library, very well lit and occupied by every manner of psychological journal, research notes and books. Stacia was feeling even better about tonight’s therapy, especially when the huge roaring fire in the far side fireplace caught her eye. She felt at home, which she hadn’t felt in a vast number of years.
Dr. Collins handed her a pen, and motioned towards a tidy pile of papers on the desk. She barely glanced over them. These were boring papers with boring words. There was something about limitation of litigation, releases, health history, and some other stuff that she swore she filled out when she first arrived.
The doctor smiled as she carefully stacked the signed papers, and tucked them away in a folder, probably never to be seen again.
Stacia strolled around the glorious room, doing a short ballerina spin in the middle. She felt alive, vibrant, and full of pep for the first time in years. The outside weather had taken its toll on her good mood, but the shower and these clothes put her back on the right track again. Then something wondrous caught her eye.
She gasped, and ran over to a wooden set of stocks on the far wall, horribly out of place for such an elegant room. “What in the world is this doing here?”
Dr. Collins cleared her throat, “Ahem, that’s a set of –“
“They’re stocks, I know that,” Stacia interrupted, “but what are they doing here? I love these things.”
“You do?” Dr. Collins murmured, feigning surprise.
“Ya! Didn’t they used to use these on people back in the old days? Like, if you stole a pig, or cussed out the village priest or something?”
Dr. Collins laughed, “I suppose so, but tonight they will serve a different kind of purpose.”
Stacia’s heartbeat sped up, her eyes dilated, and time seemed to stand still, for just a moment. Just one moment. Afterwards, she listened quite intently.
“Here, step inside them,” Dr. Collins offered, “In fact, Sam here will help you inside. They’re quite comfortable, I assure you. In fact, we had them made especially for you! To your height specifications and everything.”
Stacia was left speechless. Sam, one of Dr. Collin’s staff, gently grabbed her elbow and guided her inside the simple contraption. It was actually quite comfortable. Stacia leaned back on the nice padding the pair of stocks provided. Her heart continued to race, as she had fantasized about being put in a set of stocks ever since she was very young.
But this was the first time. The first time since she’d felt helpless, just like he made her feel that first time.
Sam smiled at her, and gently placed each of her wrists into a set of soft, padded cuffs at her side. Although this was quite unorthodox, she hummed a merry tune and relished in the moment. The room was comfortable, she was dry, happy, and doing something she’d always wanted to do.
Sam grabbed her ankles, and placed them in the stocks. He then carefully closed the top section of the stocks down, trapping her ankles in the holes and separating her happy feet from the rest of her. She felt fairly restricted in this position; she couldn’t kick out because of the ankle stocks, nor could she move her arms because of her cuffed wrists. But she still felt in a natural state, which made her content.
She wondered how many others had undergone therapy like this.
Dr. Collins sat in a large, comfortable couch just a couple feet from Stacia. She slipped off her shoes and curled up with her pen and paper, ready to begin the therapy. “I hope you don’t mind if Sam stays with us for this session.”
“Not at all,” Stacia flashed him a smile, which he eagerly returned. She found him cute in an exotic way. She hadn’t noticed him when she first entered the room, but she sure noticed him now.
“He’s been on my staff for five years now, and is quite trustworthy. He’s helped me with similar cases dozens of times before, so you’ll be in good hands.”
Dr. Collins began to curl her toes on the couch as she took a more serious tone. Stacia noticed Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the doctor’s feet when she did this. Stacia held a trained eye for such things, having been the target of male lust for the better part of 15 years now. She said nothing, as she didn’t want to ruin the mood or embarrass this cute helper. She liked having him around, he seemed like a nice contrast to Dr. Collin’s sometimes biting manner.
“Now Stacia,” she began, “I mentioned before that we were hitting a wall with our therapy session. I’ve done thinking since our last meeting. And I found that the problem was not in you. It was with me.”
Stacia wasn’t following what her doctor was saying. She just felt warm and cozy in this room, and didn’t want to leave, even if she was being charged a fortune for the privilege of being here. Dr. Collins nodded, and Sam began to crouch down at Stacia’s feet.
Stacia’s heart beat like a jackrabbit. Faster and faster, louder and harder. She leaned slightly to the side to peer at Sam, unsure of what the helper’s intentions were. She let a scream of surprise out as she felt Sam pull at her small, pink, cotton socks. She couldn’t breathe; she tightened up as the second sock slowly peeled off her foot. She felt suffocated, crushed, and pinned down under some unseen hand.
And she loved it.
Her slender toes flexed a few times, trying to get accustomed to the open air. While the pink nail polish would have coordinated well with her pink socks, the socks were no longer in the picture.
Dr. Collins continued her speech, “I realized I wasn’t speaking your language. And I knew I had to learn your language before you’d really open up to me. You have undergone a terrible ordeal, and we really need you to open up about your experiences with him.”
Dr. Collins paused, knowing her technique would work well, but trying to empathize with the plight of her patient. She knew if she were in Stacia’s position right now, she would be reeling from fright. Her icy exterior would come crashing down in seconds if anyone got near her sensitive soles.
“I understand you’re traumatized, and I want to help you. I’m trying a new technique that is specific to you, dear.” Dr. Collins leaned over, and pulled a long, colorful peacock feather from underneath the couch, and handed it ceremoniously to Sam. He gladly accepted this wonderful gift.
Stacia couldn’t speak. Her throat was tightening up, and every fantasy she’d had for more than a decade were being realized right here, right now. She just never dreamed it would be in front of her doctor and very cute assistant. Her head rested back, as she pondered the ramifications of what was going on.
“Stacia, I understand that tickling is rooted deep within your psyche. There are some things associated with tickling that you are not telling me. So I’m going to have Sam help me out while we talk.”
Stacia nodded feebly. Her excitement precluded her from saying anything witty, snide, or nice. She just couldn’t say anything at all.
Sam looked down, doing something with the feather. Because of the stocks’ obstruction, Stacia couldn’t tell what he was doing.
“So let’s begin with that night, Stacia. I want you to tell me what happened.”
Stacia paused, knowing this conversation would lead them to the same ending that it had a dozen times before. She would get to thinking about it, then trail off, become distracted, and the two of them would end up talking about her overbearing mother or some other unrelated thing. She just wished that…
That thought was interrupted.
Stacia let out a shriek that shook Dr. Collins to the bone. The doctor stiffened a bit in her seat. Sam had begun to stroke the redhead’s milky white soles with half of the peacock feather the doctor had given him earlier. The feather had an immediate and visceral effect on Stacia. She clearly had very ticklish feet, and began to laugh earnestly.
There was no hesitation or tough act. Stacia’s feet were ticklish beyond measure, and she could not control the feeling.
Dr. Collins looked on, impressed. She knew Stacia had some deep seeded connection with tickling, but would never reveal anything about it. Stacia mentioned in passing when spending all night with him that first time, that she laughed all week long; which was a strange thing to say since he abducted, abused, and tortured her for days. At least, that’s what the papers said. Who knows what really happened that night. Dr. Collins knew that she needed to help Stacia out, even if the help had to be “pushed” slightly from one direction or another.
Stacia couldn’t concentrate. The constant, yet erratic fashion at which Sam was gently stroking her soles was maddening. Her feet had always been more sensitive than other girls her age, and even into her thirties that hadn’t changed. She turned into a giggling fourteen year old again instantly; the weight of the world somehow lifted with the stroke of an unassuming bird feather.
As soon as she tried to regain composure, Sam would slowly drag the feather to her other sole, with not a care in the world. He didn’t tickle like most of the other guys. Most other guys would grab her roughly around the midsection and attempt to give her the Heimlich maneuver or something crazy until she let out a pity laugh. They couldn’t tickle, because they didn’t have the touch.
Sam had the touch, and it drove her crazy.
He had the touch of someone with not a care in the world, someone that could do this all night long if he had to, no matter how insane it drove her.
Just like him.
Overwhelmed by the feather’s dance, Stacia left loose another wave of gut laughs. She tried to listen to her doctor, but the intense ticklings made concentration impossible.
“Stacia,” Dr. Collins repeated, “I need you to tell me what happened that night. How were you taken, and what did he do to you?”
Dr. Collins’s words were lost by Stacia’s frantic flailings in the stocks. Dr. Collins was impressed at how easy it was to control and manipulate such a powerful woman. The good doctor was pleased when Stacia first came to her. Stacia was well known the world over, and such a high profile client would inevitably lead to more book deals, grants, and publicity, once it was known that she had been “cured.” Stacia’s contagious sexiness was apparent to Dr. Collins when they first met. That sexiness was power, in highly concentrated form.
It could wrangle the wills of men, and bend to her will the very nature of reality.
So it was not without a sense of irony that Dr. Collins sat and patiently watched such power, such sexiness, come completely undone after some focused foot tickling.
The thought of being able to control such power was intoxicating. Dr. Collins paused again, and just let Sam work his magic. He was content to continue with the unusual task, and she was content watching her beautiful patient writhing with ticklish laughter.
And so, for a time, she said nothing at all.
Stacia’s mind was entering into a state of lustful frenzy. This intense tickling, the prospect of becoming completely helpless in front of someone whom she respected, as well as someone she thought was cute, was starting to take hold. She could feel that old yearning creep up the base of her spine and interrupt her bouts of laughter every few seconds. She would scream with laughter, pause, sigh or moan, then continue with yet another round of laughter. No matter how long Sam tickled, the feeling never softened. It tickled just as intensely as it did when he first started. The sensation switched from pleasurable to unbearable and back again in the blink of an eye.
She couldn’t stand it. And she craved it. She couldn’t tell them no.
Her eyes welled up with tears, and she tore feebly at her wrist restraints, knowing they would hold fast. Her feet became a blur of ticklish, frenetic motion as she tried to pull back. But there was no pulling back, no escape from Sam’s determination. He had one job to perform, and he performed it with no mercy, remorse, or second thoughts.
Dr. Collins was noticing her patient’s reactions, and suddenly the room felt very warm for her, too. It was dangerous to encase this much explosive sexual energy into one space, and Stacia was about to explode. Dr. Collins wanted that explosion. For some reason, she had a strong desire to watch it unfold before her very eyes.
So she didn’t pull Sam back, even though she knew that Stacia was starting to…
Stacia’s eyes rolled up in the back of her head. Her fists clenched up tightly, and her nipples stood as erect as they’ve ever been inside her pajama top. She would randomly clutch at the pajama top with her clenched fists, which had sporadically revealed her breasts from time to time. She knew it, but didn’t care. She knew the good doctor must have noticed them, as had Sam. There was no way to mask how much pleasure this was really giving her.
She couldn’t even muster human language. She couldn’t beg for him to stop, she couldn’t beg for him to continue. She was at the brink, and she knew she couldn’t stop her body’s inevitable reaction to this realized fantasy.
That’s when Sam kicked it into overdrive. He began to slowly and methodically run the feather through Stacia’s toes. She sent her into a new world of hysterical laughter as she thrashed and bucked against the stocks.
The toe tickling was something she could not bear. Her frantic laughs suddenly stopped for a brief moment. Her toes curled, a loud moan escaped her lips as she quickly forgot there were others in the room. She groaned with frustration as the wrist cuffs prevented her from finishing herself off with the stimuli in the background. She craved release, just as she craved the unbearable foot tickling to continue.
Her body bucked a few times as it seemed she didn’t need any clitoral stimulation. The toe tickling has driven her to the edge, and she paused, fearful for just a split second of how much she’d lose control if it continued to …
She stopped, then let out a moan laced with helpless giggles. Wave after wave of pleasure pulsed her in brain, and she instinctually thrust her hips in response to the feeling. Smiles faded into euphoric gasps for air. She rhythmically grinded in the stocks, allowing the orgasm to course through her entire body. The overwhelming sensation overpowered every outside stimuli for just a brief moment.
Then the waves of pleasure subsided, and her feet were left even more ticklish than before. Remembering where she was, Stacia let out a scream of ticklish agony as Sam was using two feathers on her soles now, and her climax had left her even more susceptible to the doctor’s techniques than before. This centerfold, this glamour girl, writhed in agony as her tender feet twitched back and forth, unable to escape the insidious touch of the feathers.
Sam had begun to have doubts about his role in this therapy. Dr. Collins had stopped saying anything for about two minutes, and this gorgeous redhead was sitting in front of him, totally paralyzed by her own ticklishness. He felt strange bringing such uninvited torment into this woman’s life.
But then, he noticed her toes curled, and she had the most powerful orgasm he’d ever witnessed another woman have. The prospect blew his mind, and he could do nothing except continue tickling, else the situation would truly become awkward. But he looked at her shapely feet and ankles, her beautifully manicured nails, and began to truly enjoy the fantasy they were creating for this goddess.
“Stacia, I can see this is having a strong effect on you,” Dr. Collins started, “I would like you to tell me what happened on that night. You’ve started to tell me in prior sessions, but then you’d just trail off. What did he do?”
Dr. Collins was starting to feel the effects of Stacia’s euphoria rub off on her. Sam was intently performing his duties, as he usually did. Dr. Collins was glad for this, because had he looked back, even for a second, he would see his boss slowly rubbing one nylon clad foot longingly against her other leg. He would see his boss’s eyes slowly stare down this redheaded goddess in her throne, and he would see how captivated she was by Stacia’s laughter. She was glad he couldn’t see any of these things.
She licked her lips twice, and was going to repeat her question to Stacia, when Stacia let out a howl into the room. Dr. Collins sat back, closed her eyes, and simply listened as Stacia experienced her second earth shattering orgasm.
Stacia could no longer see or hear anything in the room. All she could experience was the methodical foot tickling as it continued for what seemed like hours. The sensation was maddening, she could not resist the effects it had on her. She didn’t realize her feet were this sensitive, and could do nothing except laugh, and try to get them to stop.
Then that wave began to swell…
Her eyes rolled back, her hips began to pulse with the rhythm of her laughter, and her head shook violently as she could not stand the tickling any longer. The sheer break of her will caused her to expel any demons she had constrained inside. There were no sounds left to make. She thrust upward, threw her head back, and howled as the waves of pleasure controlled her every desire to live, to breathe, to be. The howl of laughter become a howl of primal sensory overload. Her torturous laughs manifested into euphoria, her twitching feet became puppets through which her true nature could surface. She realized her doctor would not stop this torment, that she was destined to experience both the heaven and hell of laughter and ticklish fervor that beckoned her home. She continued to howl, as the gales of laughter could not be held back any further.
Stacia’s laughs echoed through the room, taking on an entirely new dimension of desperation and uncontrollable mirth. She had laughed probably more than any other human could endure, yet she spiraled into further fits of laughter that worsened by the minute. The more she laughed, the more it turned her on. The more she was turned on, the more ticklish she became. It was an unending cycle of torment that she wished never ended.
It was her true nature, and it showed for just a fleeting moment of time. She was sex, drama, and emotion personified in that brief moment.
And in the echoes of eternal laughter, she heard that familiar voice calling her.
“Stacia, what did he do? Who is he?”
Stacia, overcome by her body’s responses to the unending sole tickling, began to twitch into a series of high pitched giggles. Despite her dolphin imitations, the good doctor persisted.
“Stacia, who is he?”
Stacia’s eyes opened wide. She leaned forward, damp and sweating from the evening’s activities. She stared into Dr. Collins’s deep, blue eyes.
Stacia screamed, “He is Ruthless!”
Sam stopped, a shiver ran up his spine. There was something not quite right in Stacia’s voice. She slumped back, breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath. Between her cooing, incoherent babbling, and frequent titters, Sam distinctly heard her murmur…
“And he can’t wait to meet you…”
At this point in the story, Stacia begins to reveal some of her experience with this mysterious villain called The Ruthless. That's where Issue One of the comic book will come into play.
This story is an introduction to a comic book we are releasing in a month or two called The Ruthless. It is a tickling comic book, like all the comic books we publish. You can see a thread on the upcoming issue in the artwork section by going to http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=92819. It has some pictures of Stacia up there, although unfortunatley we don't have anything for Dr. Collins or Sam yet.
It's been awhile since I've written tickle fiction, but I hope you enjoy regardless.
The Ruthless: Issue One Prelude
Stacia cursed under her breath as her umbrella caught the limb overhead; tilting it ever so slightly, enough to pour a stream of cold water down her back. She was already in an irritable mood; her news story never aired on tonight’s broadcast, she was now late for her appointment, and this wind and rain had not let up in the city for three days solid. She was in desperate need for a vacation.
She held an ink stained and hastily scribbled upon piece of paper before her squinting eyes. The inclement weather made the note even more difficult to read than before. It stated simply “14500 West Park Ave” which was the cross street she had just spotted. Although the late afternoon sky was darkening quickly, she could tell she was in the right place.
She froze; a car sped along, splashing her waist deep in cold, dirty city water.
“You asshole!” she screamed. Pouting slightly, she looked down at her outfit, now splotched and ruined by another’s eagerness to get home before his favorite TV show started. Knowing she was helpless to solve the situation, she quickened her pace. A chill wind brushed hard against her body, chilling her drastically. She darted into an alley that she should have recognized by now. She had walked this very path several times before. But this area of town confused her, and the wind, rain, and darkness weren’t helping matters.
Ahead in the darkened alley, two shadowy figures listened to her footsteps. They listened to the click clack of her heels on the city sidewalks. At her arrival they pounced into action.
The first man held a large umbrella over Stacia’s head; the second took her coat and rushed her inside to the warm embrace of the building. The scent of vanilla overpowered her as she pushed past the door. It was the first step in putting her at ease.
“Welcome back, Miss Stacia. Let’s get you inside where it’s warm. The doctor will see you shortly.”
She was finally at the office of Dr. Collins, her psychologist.
Dr. Collins was not just any psychologist; she had considerable renown for researching topics deemed untouchable by mainstream scientists. She delved occasionally into the human mind and its interaction with the spiritual and the supernatural. She was a psychologist of almost absurd celebrity fame; in order to avoid public scrutiny, she was forced to take to back alleys to conduct her practice with her equally famous clientele.
Famous clientele like Stacia Walton. Stacia was a current member of the Channel Four news team, a former top 100 Sexiest Women Alive contender, according to Maxim Magazine, and one of the top 30th most searched female celebrities on the web, for three years running. She had one of the most famous faces in Bay City, and most definitely the most famous body. Her visits to a well-known psychologist were not public knowledge.
Stacia was escorted into what she called The Quiet Room. Dr. Collins was sitting patiently, as she always did, in a chair dead center in the middle of a room. Stacia always wondered what the psychological implications were for a doctor to want to be seated directly in the middle of her own area, but thought it would be rude to ask such questions during therapy.
Dr. Collins stopped scribbling on her notepad, and peered at Stacia above her eyeglasses. She stood up, carefully dusted herself a bit, and gave a warm smile as she calmly walked up to Stacia. Dr. Collins was a thin woman in her late 30s, blonde, beautiful, and could light up a room with her smile. She was born and raised in London, but left her country at an early age to study psychology in America. While her mental acuity was virtually unmatched, her physical attributes played no small role in her ability to rise to such celebrity status within her field. She always looked young for her age, and most age experts wouldn’t peg her a day older than 30. Dr. Collins seemed to possess an ancient wisdom that had eluded Stacia her entire adult life.
They shook hands, and Dr. Collins invited Stacia to lie down on the couch.
“Please make yourself comfortable,” Dr. Collins offered in a British accent that Stacia always adored, “I’m stepping out of the room for a minute to get a glass of water.”
Stacia nodded, but paced the room for a few minutes. Something about therapy in general made her anxious, and she rarely sat down for her sessions. She always tried. As soon as she dug into a really meaty topic that was sometimes difficult to explain in words, she had to walk to regain some semblance of eloquence in her explanations. This time was no different; she paced a bit while nervously nibbling at her fingernail.
As she walked by Dr. Collin’s chair, the lighting illuminated something on Dr. Collins’s chair. It was something she had written about Stacia in a prior session, but the writings didn’t make sense. It simply said, “Level three manifest” with the word manifest underlined twice.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Dr. Collins announced at the entryway.
Stacia’s heart skipped a beat; she had not expected the doctor to be standing so close. She didn’t know if the doctor would approve of her reading the notes, so she continued walking along the room, pretending like she was studying the floor or something equally non-chalant.
The doctor stood, cold and unmoving, at the entrance to the room. Her spectacles reflected some of the outside lights, lending her eyes an eerie aspect. She said nothing for a moment, and Stacia feared she had done something terribly wrong.
But Dr. Collins’s heels clicked on the floor once again, and she proceeded to collect the notebook on her chair.
“We’re going to try something different tonight,” Dr. Collins began, “and I want you in something a bit more comfortable. Your clothes are near soaked.”
Stacia looked down, and nodded in agreement. Her outfit, once meticulously matched and accessorized, was now a pathetic, soggy shadow of its former self. Her feet were cold and wet, and hair lay in red, dripping curls around her face. She felt like a drowned rat, bereft of dignity or any sort of grace.
Before she could truly lament her appearance, two men appeared almost instantly at her side, gently escorting her out of the room.
****************
“This shower is amazing!” Stacia shouted over the sound of cascading warm water on her tired body.
“Yes, we totally gutted this building when we first moved in,” Dr. Collins exclaimed with a slightly raised voice, “It has almost entirely brand new electrical and plumbing systems inside.”
Stacia, done with her invigorating shower, exited the stall and began to towel off under the warm lights of the bathroom. She paused a moment, thoughtful. Her doctor stood patiently in the doorway to the bathroom, watching her dry off, “What did you mean ‘try something different’ tonight?”
Dr. Collins drew in a short breath, “Stacia, we’re at a crossroads with your therapy sessions. You’ve been coming to us for a few months now, and while we’ve made a considerable amount of effort in relieving you of your anxiety, I feel there’s a wall that must come down, if we’re to be successful in your long term mental stability.”
Stacia listened to her doctor, while rifling through piles of clothes that lay before her. The staff didn’t know what she wanted to wear that evening, nor her size, so they brought half a wardrobe into the bathroom. As the clothes ranged from the exotic, to the grotesquely designed, Stacia listened less and less to her doctor’s explanation of tonight’s therapy.
“…And so I think that the tickling…” Dr. Collins continued.
Stacia’s ears perked up, at the mention of that word. She shot her an intense look, and Dr. Collins suddenly had her full attention.
“…That is, I think this new method…might…” Dr. Collins stammered, unsure how to proceed with the look that Stacia was giving. It unnerved her.
Stacia, trying not to put her doctor at unease, fell back to relaxing, and finally found a set of clothes that truly suited her mood. She found a loosely fitting set of cotton pajamas, the kind she used to wear all the time on relaxing winter evenings in front of a fire.
Seeing her patient pick such a comfortable set of clothes made the good doctor smile.
“Anyway, I have high hopes for this new therapy. Come Stacia, there’s some paperwork I need you to fill out.”
Stacia quickly slipped on some cute pink socks and proceeded to follow Dr. Collins into a room she’d never seen before. It was a library, very well lit and occupied by every manner of psychological journal, research notes and books. Stacia was feeling even better about tonight’s therapy, especially when the huge roaring fire in the far side fireplace caught her eye. She felt at home, which she hadn’t felt in a vast number of years.
Dr. Collins handed her a pen, and motioned towards a tidy pile of papers on the desk. She barely glanced over them. These were boring papers with boring words. There was something about limitation of litigation, releases, health history, and some other stuff that she swore she filled out when she first arrived.
The doctor smiled as she carefully stacked the signed papers, and tucked them away in a folder, probably never to be seen again.
Stacia strolled around the glorious room, doing a short ballerina spin in the middle. She felt alive, vibrant, and full of pep for the first time in years. The outside weather had taken its toll on her good mood, but the shower and these clothes put her back on the right track again. Then something wondrous caught her eye.
She gasped, and ran over to a wooden set of stocks on the far wall, horribly out of place for such an elegant room. “What in the world is this doing here?”
Dr. Collins cleared her throat, “Ahem, that’s a set of –“
“They’re stocks, I know that,” Stacia interrupted, “but what are they doing here? I love these things.”
“You do?” Dr. Collins murmured, feigning surprise.
“Ya! Didn’t they used to use these on people back in the old days? Like, if you stole a pig, or cussed out the village priest or something?”
Dr. Collins laughed, “I suppose so, but tonight they will serve a different kind of purpose.”
Stacia’s heartbeat sped up, her eyes dilated, and time seemed to stand still, for just a moment. Just one moment. Afterwards, she listened quite intently.
“Here, step inside them,” Dr. Collins offered, “In fact, Sam here will help you inside. They’re quite comfortable, I assure you. In fact, we had them made especially for you! To your height specifications and everything.”
Stacia was left speechless. Sam, one of Dr. Collin’s staff, gently grabbed her elbow and guided her inside the simple contraption. It was actually quite comfortable. Stacia leaned back on the nice padding the pair of stocks provided. Her heart continued to race, as she had fantasized about being put in a set of stocks ever since she was very young.
But this was the first time. The first time since she’d felt helpless, just like he made her feel that first time.
Sam smiled at her, and gently placed each of her wrists into a set of soft, padded cuffs at her side. Although this was quite unorthodox, she hummed a merry tune and relished in the moment. The room was comfortable, she was dry, happy, and doing something she’d always wanted to do.
Sam grabbed her ankles, and placed them in the stocks. He then carefully closed the top section of the stocks down, trapping her ankles in the holes and separating her happy feet from the rest of her. She felt fairly restricted in this position; she couldn’t kick out because of the ankle stocks, nor could she move her arms because of her cuffed wrists. But she still felt in a natural state, which made her content.
She wondered how many others had undergone therapy like this.
Dr. Collins sat in a large, comfortable couch just a couple feet from Stacia. She slipped off her shoes and curled up with her pen and paper, ready to begin the therapy. “I hope you don’t mind if Sam stays with us for this session.”
“Not at all,” Stacia flashed him a smile, which he eagerly returned. She found him cute in an exotic way. She hadn’t noticed him when she first entered the room, but she sure noticed him now.
“He’s been on my staff for five years now, and is quite trustworthy. He’s helped me with similar cases dozens of times before, so you’ll be in good hands.”
Dr. Collins began to curl her toes on the couch as she took a more serious tone. Stacia noticed Sam couldn’t take his eyes off the doctor’s feet when she did this. Stacia held a trained eye for such things, having been the target of male lust for the better part of 15 years now. She said nothing, as she didn’t want to ruin the mood or embarrass this cute helper. She liked having him around, he seemed like a nice contrast to Dr. Collin’s sometimes biting manner.
“Now Stacia,” she began, “I mentioned before that we were hitting a wall with our therapy session. I’ve done thinking since our last meeting. And I found that the problem was not in you. It was with me.”
Stacia wasn’t following what her doctor was saying. She just felt warm and cozy in this room, and didn’t want to leave, even if she was being charged a fortune for the privilege of being here. Dr. Collins nodded, and Sam began to crouch down at Stacia’s feet.
Stacia’s heart beat like a jackrabbit. Faster and faster, louder and harder. She leaned slightly to the side to peer at Sam, unsure of what the helper’s intentions were. She let a scream of surprise out as she felt Sam pull at her small, pink, cotton socks. She couldn’t breathe; she tightened up as the second sock slowly peeled off her foot. She felt suffocated, crushed, and pinned down under some unseen hand.
And she loved it.
Her slender toes flexed a few times, trying to get accustomed to the open air. While the pink nail polish would have coordinated well with her pink socks, the socks were no longer in the picture.
Dr. Collins continued her speech, “I realized I wasn’t speaking your language. And I knew I had to learn your language before you’d really open up to me. You have undergone a terrible ordeal, and we really need you to open up about your experiences with him.”
Dr. Collins paused, knowing her technique would work well, but trying to empathize with the plight of her patient. She knew if she were in Stacia’s position right now, she would be reeling from fright. Her icy exterior would come crashing down in seconds if anyone got near her sensitive soles.
“I understand you’re traumatized, and I want to help you. I’m trying a new technique that is specific to you, dear.” Dr. Collins leaned over, and pulled a long, colorful peacock feather from underneath the couch, and handed it ceremoniously to Sam. He gladly accepted this wonderful gift.
Stacia couldn’t speak. Her throat was tightening up, and every fantasy she’d had for more than a decade were being realized right here, right now. She just never dreamed it would be in front of her doctor and very cute assistant. Her head rested back, as she pondered the ramifications of what was going on.
“Stacia, I understand that tickling is rooted deep within your psyche. There are some things associated with tickling that you are not telling me. So I’m going to have Sam help me out while we talk.”
Stacia nodded feebly. Her excitement precluded her from saying anything witty, snide, or nice. She just couldn’t say anything at all.
Sam looked down, doing something with the feather. Because of the stocks’ obstruction, Stacia couldn’t tell what he was doing.
“So let’s begin with that night, Stacia. I want you to tell me what happened.”
Stacia paused, knowing this conversation would lead them to the same ending that it had a dozen times before. She would get to thinking about it, then trail off, become distracted, and the two of them would end up talking about her overbearing mother or some other unrelated thing. She just wished that…
That thought was interrupted.
Stacia let out a shriek that shook Dr. Collins to the bone. The doctor stiffened a bit in her seat. Sam had begun to stroke the redhead’s milky white soles with half of the peacock feather the doctor had given him earlier. The feather had an immediate and visceral effect on Stacia. She clearly had very ticklish feet, and began to laugh earnestly.
There was no hesitation or tough act. Stacia’s feet were ticklish beyond measure, and she could not control the feeling.
Dr. Collins looked on, impressed. She knew Stacia had some deep seeded connection with tickling, but would never reveal anything about it. Stacia mentioned in passing when spending all night with him that first time, that she laughed all week long; which was a strange thing to say since he abducted, abused, and tortured her for days. At least, that’s what the papers said. Who knows what really happened that night. Dr. Collins knew that she needed to help Stacia out, even if the help had to be “pushed” slightly from one direction or another.
Stacia couldn’t concentrate. The constant, yet erratic fashion at which Sam was gently stroking her soles was maddening. Her feet had always been more sensitive than other girls her age, and even into her thirties that hadn’t changed. She turned into a giggling fourteen year old again instantly; the weight of the world somehow lifted with the stroke of an unassuming bird feather.
As soon as she tried to regain composure, Sam would slowly drag the feather to her other sole, with not a care in the world. He didn’t tickle like most of the other guys. Most other guys would grab her roughly around the midsection and attempt to give her the Heimlich maneuver or something crazy until she let out a pity laugh. They couldn’t tickle, because they didn’t have the touch.
Sam had the touch, and it drove her crazy.
He had the touch of someone with not a care in the world, someone that could do this all night long if he had to, no matter how insane it drove her.
Just like him.
Overwhelmed by the feather’s dance, Stacia left loose another wave of gut laughs. She tried to listen to her doctor, but the intense ticklings made concentration impossible.
“Stacia,” Dr. Collins repeated, “I need you to tell me what happened that night. How were you taken, and what did he do to you?”
Dr. Collins’s words were lost by Stacia’s frantic flailings in the stocks. Dr. Collins was impressed at how easy it was to control and manipulate such a powerful woman. The good doctor was pleased when Stacia first came to her. Stacia was well known the world over, and such a high profile client would inevitably lead to more book deals, grants, and publicity, once it was known that she had been “cured.” Stacia’s contagious sexiness was apparent to Dr. Collins when they first met. That sexiness was power, in highly concentrated form.
It could wrangle the wills of men, and bend to her will the very nature of reality.
So it was not without a sense of irony that Dr. Collins sat and patiently watched such power, such sexiness, come completely undone after some focused foot tickling.
The thought of being able to control such power was intoxicating. Dr. Collins paused again, and just let Sam work his magic. He was content to continue with the unusual task, and she was content watching her beautiful patient writhing with ticklish laughter.
And so, for a time, she said nothing at all.
Stacia’s mind was entering into a state of lustful frenzy. This intense tickling, the prospect of becoming completely helpless in front of someone whom she respected, as well as someone she thought was cute, was starting to take hold. She could feel that old yearning creep up the base of her spine and interrupt her bouts of laughter every few seconds. She would scream with laughter, pause, sigh or moan, then continue with yet another round of laughter. No matter how long Sam tickled, the feeling never softened. It tickled just as intensely as it did when he first started. The sensation switched from pleasurable to unbearable and back again in the blink of an eye.
She couldn’t stand it. And she craved it. She couldn’t tell them no.
Her eyes welled up with tears, and she tore feebly at her wrist restraints, knowing they would hold fast. Her feet became a blur of ticklish, frenetic motion as she tried to pull back. But there was no pulling back, no escape from Sam’s determination. He had one job to perform, and he performed it with no mercy, remorse, or second thoughts.
Dr. Collins was noticing her patient’s reactions, and suddenly the room felt very warm for her, too. It was dangerous to encase this much explosive sexual energy into one space, and Stacia was about to explode. Dr. Collins wanted that explosion. For some reason, she had a strong desire to watch it unfold before her very eyes.
So she didn’t pull Sam back, even though she knew that Stacia was starting to…
Stacia’s eyes rolled up in the back of her head. Her fists clenched up tightly, and her nipples stood as erect as they’ve ever been inside her pajama top. She would randomly clutch at the pajama top with her clenched fists, which had sporadically revealed her breasts from time to time. She knew it, but didn’t care. She knew the good doctor must have noticed them, as had Sam. There was no way to mask how much pleasure this was really giving her.
She couldn’t even muster human language. She couldn’t beg for him to stop, she couldn’t beg for him to continue. She was at the brink, and she knew she couldn’t stop her body’s inevitable reaction to this realized fantasy.
That’s when Sam kicked it into overdrive. He began to slowly and methodically run the feather through Stacia’s toes. She sent her into a new world of hysterical laughter as she thrashed and bucked against the stocks.
The toe tickling was something she could not bear. Her frantic laughs suddenly stopped for a brief moment. Her toes curled, a loud moan escaped her lips as she quickly forgot there were others in the room. She groaned with frustration as the wrist cuffs prevented her from finishing herself off with the stimuli in the background. She craved release, just as she craved the unbearable foot tickling to continue.
Her body bucked a few times as it seemed she didn’t need any clitoral stimulation. The toe tickling has driven her to the edge, and she paused, fearful for just a split second of how much she’d lose control if it continued to …
She stopped, then let out a moan laced with helpless giggles. Wave after wave of pleasure pulsed her in brain, and she instinctually thrust her hips in response to the feeling. Smiles faded into euphoric gasps for air. She rhythmically grinded in the stocks, allowing the orgasm to course through her entire body. The overwhelming sensation overpowered every outside stimuli for just a brief moment.
Then the waves of pleasure subsided, and her feet were left even more ticklish than before. Remembering where she was, Stacia let out a scream of ticklish agony as Sam was using two feathers on her soles now, and her climax had left her even more susceptible to the doctor’s techniques than before. This centerfold, this glamour girl, writhed in agony as her tender feet twitched back and forth, unable to escape the insidious touch of the feathers.
Sam had begun to have doubts about his role in this therapy. Dr. Collins had stopped saying anything for about two minutes, and this gorgeous redhead was sitting in front of him, totally paralyzed by her own ticklishness. He felt strange bringing such uninvited torment into this woman’s life.
But then, he noticed her toes curled, and she had the most powerful orgasm he’d ever witnessed another woman have. The prospect blew his mind, and he could do nothing except continue tickling, else the situation would truly become awkward. But he looked at her shapely feet and ankles, her beautifully manicured nails, and began to truly enjoy the fantasy they were creating for this goddess.
“Stacia, I can see this is having a strong effect on you,” Dr. Collins started, “I would like you to tell me what happened on that night. You’ve started to tell me in prior sessions, but then you’d just trail off. What did he do?”
Dr. Collins was starting to feel the effects of Stacia’s euphoria rub off on her. Sam was intently performing his duties, as he usually did. Dr. Collins was glad for this, because had he looked back, even for a second, he would see his boss slowly rubbing one nylon clad foot longingly against her other leg. He would see his boss’s eyes slowly stare down this redheaded goddess in her throne, and he would see how captivated she was by Stacia’s laughter. She was glad he couldn’t see any of these things.
She licked her lips twice, and was going to repeat her question to Stacia, when Stacia let out a howl into the room. Dr. Collins sat back, closed her eyes, and simply listened as Stacia experienced her second earth shattering orgasm.
Stacia could no longer see or hear anything in the room. All she could experience was the methodical foot tickling as it continued for what seemed like hours. The sensation was maddening, she could not resist the effects it had on her. She didn’t realize her feet were this sensitive, and could do nothing except laugh, and try to get them to stop.
Then that wave began to swell…
Her eyes rolled back, her hips began to pulse with the rhythm of her laughter, and her head shook violently as she could not stand the tickling any longer. The sheer break of her will caused her to expel any demons she had constrained inside. There were no sounds left to make. She thrust upward, threw her head back, and howled as the waves of pleasure controlled her every desire to live, to breathe, to be. The howl of laughter become a howl of primal sensory overload. Her torturous laughs manifested into euphoria, her twitching feet became puppets through which her true nature could surface. She realized her doctor would not stop this torment, that she was destined to experience both the heaven and hell of laughter and ticklish fervor that beckoned her home. She continued to howl, as the gales of laughter could not be held back any further.
Stacia’s laughs echoed through the room, taking on an entirely new dimension of desperation and uncontrollable mirth. She had laughed probably more than any other human could endure, yet she spiraled into further fits of laughter that worsened by the minute. The more she laughed, the more it turned her on. The more she was turned on, the more ticklish she became. It was an unending cycle of torment that she wished never ended.
It was her true nature, and it showed for just a fleeting moment of time. She was sex, drama, and emotion personified in that brief moment.
And in the echoes of eternal laughter, she heard that familiar voice calling her.
“Stacia, what did he do? Who is he?”
Stacia, overcome by her body’s responses to the unending sole tickling, began to twitch into a series of high pitched giggles. Despite her dolphin imitations, the good doctor persisted.
“Stacia, who is he?”
Stacia’s eyes opened wide. She leaned forward, damp and sweating from the evening’s activities. She stared into Dr. Collins’s deep, blue eyes.
Stacia screamed, “He is Ruthless!”
Sam stopped, a shiver ran up his spine. There was something not quite right in Stacia’s voice. She slumped back, breathing heavily, trying to catch her breath. Between her cooing, incoherent babbling, and frequent titters, Sam distinctly heard her murmur…
“And he can’t wait to meet you…”
At this point in the story, Stacia begins to reveal some of her experience with this mysterious villain called The Ruthless. That's where Issue One of the comic book will come into play.
