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  1. #1
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    The Tickle Taxi - /f, feet, stockings

    It's been a while since I've written anything, and I got this idea in my head that I needed to get out. This is part one of (hopefully) a multi-part story I plan on writing over the next few weeks, and I'm going to try not to drop it like I have my previous stories.

    This is very long, and I apologize for the excessive reading. I hope you, the reader, find it interesting enough to hold your attention.


    --------------------------------------------------------------------


    Amy O’Reily smiled at her potential new employer as the middle-aged brunette looked over her reading glasses the young redhead. Amy had been hoping for a job to open up at this particular lingerie store for some time, since she’s such a big shopper there, and she was excited to have this interview with the manager of the store for the possibility of finally working there.

    “Well, Amy,” the manager began, after looking over Amy’s resume once more, “I like you. You’re ambitious, you have great experience and references, and you dress up very well.” The manager, named Eileen, gave a quick look over Amy’s choice of wardrobe as the last bit of her sentence was aired. She glanced over Amy’s black business suit, the single-strand pinstripes a cute shade of pink, with the jacket buttoned twice and the skirt stopping just short of her knees. She admired the high quality, semi-sheer stockings that encased her shapely, sexy legs, and wondered if they were thigh highs, rather than hose. She also loved Amy’s shiny black designer flats, which matched the rest of her outfit flawlessly.


    “I would very much like to hire you,” Eileen said, “but as I am sure you’re familiar, I still have to go through the proper channels. Keep yourself available for the next couple of days – and make sure your cell phone is on.” Eileen smiled as Amy blushed slightly and thanked her. They exchanged a few more pleasantries before Amy collected her purse, and Eileen walked the sexy redhead to the door, showing her out, and giving Amy’s skirt-clad rump and stockinged legs another glance as the smiling girl walked away from her office.

    “Damn, I am glad I’m bi,” Eileen thought.

    She grinned and slowly closed the door to her office before making a couple of phone calls to begin the hiring process proper.

    **--**--**

    Amy couldn’t help but shriek excitedly the very second the elevator doors closed in front of her. She hopped cutely in the small square room as she yelped out a “Yes!” A small fist pump finished the festivities just before she pressed the ground-floor button to send the elevator down.

    Amy was an adorable 23 year old Irish girl with flaming red hair and freckles bridging her nose, as well as a few dotting her chest. She was hot and she knew it, but she usually tried to hide it a little so as not to attract too many creeps. Part of the excitement of working at Daniella’s was that she could dress professionally and sexily, and not get creepy stares from her co-workers – they’d all be female anyway!

    In the reflection of the elevator’s wall, she straightened her thin-rimmed glasses. They sat on her small nose a little crooked if she moved too quickly, and her little celebration in the elevator jostled them just a bit, just enough to bother her. She smiled at herself, knowing she’d managed to do something great today, that she’d impressed the person she needed to without having to use sex appeal or sleaze to get in the door.

    She ran her hand through her firey red hair before the elevator doors opened, letting her onto the concourse of the multi-story collection of department stores. She saw a few guys, some cute, some not-so-cute, turn their heads towards her as she confidently walked outside into the winter air, but it dodn’t bother her like it usually did.

    She confidently held her hand in the air to flag a taxi as she reached the curb. A few passed by, their lights on the roof turned off because they all had fares. After a couple minutes with no taxi whatsoever, another yellow Ford turned the corner, and she held up her arm again, her purse still over her shoulder. She was disappointed to see the light on the roof was also not on, and began to dig for her cell phone.

    She stopped short of dialing a friend for a ride when the taxi pulled over anyway. A bit confused, she peered through the window of the taxi to see a twenty-something, attractive guy waving her towards the back seat. She smiled and tucked her cell back into her black purse, and opened the rear door.

    She said, “Fifth and Sydney Streets, please,” as she climbed into the cushioned back seat and closed the door. She was still smiling as the driver nodded at her through his rear view window and they hit the road.

    After a few seconds they were stopped at a red light. The driver said, “You look happy. Big day today? You’re all dressed up, maybe a date?” He smiled at her, and she smiled back – it wasn’t a creepy smile, and Amy didn’t feel objectified as so many other cabbies made her feel.

    “I just pretty much nailed down a new job, and I am really excited!” Amy could clearly see the driver’s blue eyes through the gap in the plexiglass that separated the front from the back. His eyes were welcoming and friendly, and she could tell her was grinning at her. She heard somewhere that good moods rubbed off on people, and she figured that today, it was true.

    “That’s awesome,” said the driver. “My name is Michael, by the way, pardon my manners.”

    “Oh, I’m Amy,” she returned, half-flirtaceously. The light turned green, and they drove down the road.

    A few more blocks went by, and Michael asked her if the seat was comfortable enough.

    “Well, yeah,” she said, somewhat puzzled. Cabbies never really asked her that before, they just drove from point A to point B, collected their fare, and that was that. “Why do you ask? Should it be painful?” A quick giggle escaped her lips to break up the seemingly awkward moment.

    “No, not really. I just thought you might like to not be too uncomfortable when you fall over.” Michael reached up with his right arm as he drove and slid the plexiglass shut between the front and back seats, and it suddenly got very, very quiet in the back of the cab.

    Amy’s eyes widened a bit as her confusion evidenced itself through the driver’s rear-view mirror. Her mouth moved – she was trying to say, “What do you mean?” - but Michael couldn’t hear the words. In fact, no sound transferred from the front to the rear of the cab now, or vice-versa, as the back compartment was now sound-proofed.

    Michael was not driving any ordinary taxicab. This was something Amy would quickly realize when Michael pressed a small button on the dashboard. Amy heard a click from above her, and she looked up to see a small mesh screen that she hadn’t noticed before. Her confusion turned quickly to fear when a soft “hisssssss” began to emanate from the mesh, and a puffy, pink steam or gas began to spew down onto her.

    “Hey!” Amy yelled. “What the fuck is this?” She pounded her fist on the plexiglass, which barely shook when her small hand struck it. She hit it again, repeatedly, but to no avail. She saw Michael look into the rearview again to look at her as she began to cough. She gasped in a lungful of the pink vapor and immediately felt light headed. The back of the cab slowly started to spin as she jiggled the handle of the back door – but it was locked, and the little lock-knob in the doorpanel was missing on both doors.

    Amy leaned back in the seat and lifted her stocking-clad legs, trying to kick out the passenger window. She was still coughing, and her vision was fuzzy. She could barely see through the haze, and everything was starting to darken. Her legs flailed weakly in the direction of the door window, and her left shoe slid off her stockinged foot in the valiant effort as she left the world of the conscious.

    **--**--**

    Amy swam naked through a deep blue sea of clear, beautiful water. She cut effortlessly over coral reefs, tropical fish, and turtles, which swam along with her, gliding through the perfect water happily and watching her gorgeous, nude body as she gleefully moved along. She didn’t need to breathe, which was odd, but she was happy.

    As she slid through the water and it caressed her pale, peach-colored skin, an octopus emerged from behind a large seasponge. She swam towards him, wanting to dance in the water with him. Her arms reached out, and the creature’s tentacles met her hands, sliding around her wrists gently. The tentacles were sort of rough, not slimy, as Amy has expected. She smiled the octopus gently lifted her arms up and spun her around slowly, gently. Her arms were soon fully extended over her head, her wrists held comfortably together by the octopi’s gentle and caring tendrils.

    After a few moments of happy underwater dancing, the silly octopus got frisky, and slid another pair of it’s rough tentacles about her ankles. It held her snugly, rendering her helpless as it danced with her in the sunlit, glimmering water, and it soon wrapped it’s limbs around her thighs as well. Her ankles were drawn up to the backs of her thighs, bending her knees and spreading her legs, upturning her soles to the water’s surface. She was almost embarrassed to let the octopus see her neatly trimmed and well-kept mound, and her pink womanhood lips. But it was an octopus! A friendly, dancing, octopus.

    That suddenly seemed startled. It tilted it’s body away from her, holding her wrists, ankles, and thighs snugly, and a small jet of black dye shot from underneath it. The dye slid through the water in a slithering stream, wrapping around her eyes and blinding her, making their underwater world dark and pitch black

    . She tried to ask him why he was doing this – “but we were having so much fun!” – but her lips didn’t move, and no sound was made.

    She began to panic a little, despite knowing it wouldn’t help her. The water began to get chilly, and she shivered a bit within the seacreature’s grasp. She gently tugged at her limbs, but she couldn’t move – his hold was far too strong.

    **--**--**
    Amy murmured as she began to stir. Her head hung limply, and her fingers wiggled a bit. Below her hands, around her wrists, a thick cuff made of bright pink cotton ropes looped around and around, securing her arms in a tight tie, high above her head. The ends of the pink rope were tied to a large steel eyering in a beam a couple of feet above her hands.

    A wide leather belt adorned her bare, 30-inch waist, with large steel rings on the sides and one in the rear. They were clasped with a few short lengths of chain to a sort of steel framework, with one length of steel running up and down on each side of her, only a foot away from her body on both sides. The third rod ran up just behind her, just an inch or so from her back, rear end, and the back of her head. This framework kept her from moving side to side or front-to-back.

    Her knees were bent, and with more bright pink ropes, her still-stocking-clad ankles were tightly lashed to her upper thighs, the bottoms of her feet facing upwards. Her knees rested on well-padded platforms, separated by a foot and a half, spreading her legs widely, and still more pink rope ran through her bent knees and under the small, comfort-minded platforms that were held up by welded steel poles bolted tightly to the floor.

    In short, she wasn’t going anywhere.

    Though she was wearing less clothing than she was when she entered the ill-intended cab, she was still ‘decent’, in the strict sense of the term. Her stockings were indeed thigh-highs – high quality, designer, “romantic” style stockings that were silky, smooth, and seamless, and conformed perfectly to her thighs, calves, and her size 7 feet, despite the rope that snugly held her in place. A matching set of black, lacy underwear adorned her chest and pelvis, hiding her stiffening nipples and neatly trimmed red pubic hair. Her black flats were still on her helplessly bound, stockinged feet as well.

    The stretched out, unconscious Irish redhead murmured for several long minutes before she began to come around. Michael’s pink knockout gas (if, in fact, that was his real name) did a fantastic job of putting her out quickly and effectively, and keeping her unaware for several hours while he transported her to this shadowy room of torment. Now that she was stripped to her underwear, helpless, and all his, it was just a matter of time before she woke up and was ready for him to play with.

    “M – Mister Octopus...why are you…unngh…”

    The murmurs stopped. A few confused, silent seconds went by as Amy’s head slowly rolled to the side, then picked up and turned about. She still felt restrained, and tugged away from whatever was holding her. She moved nowhere, and she looked up, but in the pitch blackness of the room, she couldn’t see a thing, not to mention that even if the room were lit, she wouldn’t be able to lift her head up to see her wrists, on account of her arms being tied so tightly together and blocking her head’s range of motion.

    She tugged on her legs. Only then could she actually visualize, despite the room’s oppressive blackness, her position. Tied tightly, arms up, knees bent, in a chilly, dark room. The memories of the cab and of “Michael” flooded back and she began to breathe heavily, her bra-clad 34D breasts beginning to heave slightly as she did so.

    “Hel…hello?” she called out nervously into the darkness. The quick, muffled echo meant she was in a relatively small room, but there were no windows or panes of glass that allowed light in. She wriggled and writhed slightly, trying to get her wrists or legs free from her bonds, but to no avail.

    “Help me, please,” she whimpered into the darkness, “I don’t know who you are but please, let me go, I – I won’t call the police, I don’t even know who you are…” Amy thought about the cab she had gotten into. It has the standard markings, the phone numbers, the little vinyl decals on it that no one ever paid attention to. If only she had read them, if only she had been more aware of her surroundings instead of floating on Cloud Nine…

    There was a shuffling sound behind her, and Amy gasped as she head the movement. She whipped her head to the left and pleaded, “Please, whoever you are, let me go, I don’t want to…I don’t to be hurt or anything, just please…”

    No response came. Only more shuffling, and what sounded like a zipper to a jacket pocket. Amy suddenly realized, with increasing embarrassment, that her nipples were rather stiff thanks to the chilly air in the room.

    The shuffling fell silent. A few quiet seconds passed, and the only sound Amy could hear was her own somewhat panicked breathing. Then, she felt a touch on her forhead, and she gasped a soft shriek of fear.

    A padded blindfold was placed over her eyes, the elastic-feeling strap slid over her head and her hair, pulling the blindfold tight on her eyes. She closed them just before it was fully on, and now, even if the room were lit, she knew she wouldn’t be able to see a thing.

    She heard a click from in front of her, and a few seconds later, a warm sensation began to slightly heat the front of her bound and helpless body. She realized it was a light of some kind, but she couldn’t see a thing from behind the tight blindfold. She then heard a beep, and shivered at the sound.

    “What – what are you doing? Please, I just wanna go home, please…”

    Amy’s pleads were ignored, as her alleged captor moved behind her, clicking on another light and pressing something that made another beeping sound. Her back, rump, and stocking-covered legs and feet began to feel the warm sensation as well, and despite her deep, trembling fear for her safety, she found herself curious as to what the hell was going on.

    Amy whimpered fearfully for a few moments as she heard the person moving what sounded like a chair along side her. She instinctively waggled her helplessly bound feet a bit, and yelped in surprise when she felt her left shoe being removed from her foot. It took her by surprise, and the designer show slid easily away from her stockinged ped.

    “Wait, why…what are you doing with my shoe?” Amy asked, afraid, curious, and nervous. Was this some kind of pervert? He must be – she was only in her underwear, and she was tied up like some sort of interrogation victim.

    “You put my shoe back on, plea-“

    Her semi-demand was interrupted by a squeal as she felt a single fingertip slide along the sole of her left stockinged foot. It started on her heel, and slowly stroked, in one long, slow motion, along her arch and to the base of her toes. The squeal was immediately followed by a held breath, as she began to think of what might be in store for her.

    “No, n-no, please,” she requested. Her feet were deathly ticklish – they always had been – and her recent trip to the pedicurist had led to many giggled from the girls working there as the treatment made her squirm and giggle madly in her chair. Of course, her feet were bare and wet then – now, they were encased in stockings, and the sheer, silky material would surely only make this much, much worse. Though she very much enjoyed a gentle footrub and even a quick tickling now and then, she didn’t think this person had pleasurable intentions in mind.

    She opened her mouth to ask again for him not to touch her soles, but before she could finish drawing the breath, she felt the fingertip again. It made a slower, more deliberate trip along her smooth arch, stroking in a wide circle around her perfect heel, just against the back of her thigh, then along the outer edge of her foot. She bit her lip, hard, and tried not to let the response of a giggle to spill out. Holding her breath as the fingertip slowly, teasingly traced her stockinged sole, she didn’t want to give her captor the satisfaction of her laughter.

    Her struggle for silence was short lived. The fingertip stroked back up the center of her arch, then down again, then in large, wide circles. She responded with wiggling toes and a few stuttered ‘eep!’s as she tried desperately to maintain her composure. Her toes scrunched in her stockings and her thighs trembled as the ticklish sensations buzzed along her nerves like so much electricity through a wire. She tried to shake her head to loosen her blindfold, but to no avail.

    For long, torturous seconds this went on, her captor gently stroking, teasing, and tickling her arch, her heel, under her toes, and the ball of her stocking foot. She squealed with every few breaths, uttering a girlish “please!” in between giggles. Her toes splayed and scrunched and the gentle tickling went on and on, and she slowly began to loosen up.

    After several long minutes, the tickling of her left, helpless, nyloned sole finally ceased, but her right flat was soon plucked off her other foot. She moaned out a gentle, “Noooooo!” as she waited for the ticklish sensations to begin on her other sensitive sole. She didn’t have to wait long.

    The buxom, beautiful redhead erupted into giggles as her right foot was stroked by the gentle fingertips. She squealed, tittered, and gasped as the teasing sensations flew through her leg, and a small voice in the back of her head began to set her at ease.

    ‘Maybe this isn’t so bad after all,’ she thought through the swimming sensations of gentle tickling. ‘It’s only tickling, and I do like to be tickled…it’s not like I’m really being tortured.’ She began to loosen up a bit, giving into the cruelly teasing tickles of her right, helpless sole. ‘Maybe they’ll do this for a while, get their pervy rocks off or whatever, then hit me with that pink gas and take me somewhere, maybe home if I’m lucky. I may not even have to call the cops if I enjoy myself enough.’ As she slowly grew more and more comfortable with this idea, she began to loosen up – she tugged on the ropes less, she giggled and laughed more freely, and she accepted the electric, intense sensations of ticklishness as something she might as well enjoy while she was here.

    As she allowed herself to get more comfortable with the idea of being help captive, against her will, and tickled silly on the bottoms of her sensitive, defenseless stockinged soles, she began to crave more. For long, long minutes her captor stroked her soles, one at a time, switching from one to the other every now and then, using different pressures and patterns, his fingertips dancing and prancing over her upturned arches, heels, and the balls of her feet. She focused on how great the tickling felt, despite it ultimately being against her will, and her pleading for mercy and to be released had stopped. She laughed and squealed, almost happily, as her helpless feet were being tittilated and teased.

    Soon, both her soles were being lightly tickled at the same time. She could feel two fingertips on each sole now, gently sliding along her stockings, tracing the curves of her shapely, sexy, smooth size seven’s. Every now and then, the methodical tickler would use their fingernails instead of their fingertips, which would shoot a firey blaze of ticklishness through her legs and make her gasp a deep breath while she tugged on her ropes.

    Poor Amy had long ago lost track of time. Her mind was swimming in the cruelly intense pleasure of having so much non-abusive attention paid to her sensitive feet, and she fell into a lull of security, wanting to tell her tickler how much she was actually enjoying herself, wanting to know who it was that was bringing out this wonderful feeling from deep within her. It was fun, relaxing, and pretty hot, and she suddenly realized that, although the lights that she knew were focused on her and warming her helpless body, her nipples were still quite stiff.

    She gasped as she felt all four fingertips of her captor’s hands now stroking and scratching her soles through her nylons. Her tickler was amazingly skilled - they varied the tickling-tactic enough to never let her feet get used to the sensations, stroking, then circling, then scratching, and so forth, eliciting louder and more intense laughter from the twenty-three year old beauty’s smiling mouth. She fought for deeper breaths as the tickling went on and on, and she began to feel somewhat light-headed from all the hyper-ventilating. Her arms, though tied tightly high above her head, remained comfortable and well-circulated. Her legs weren’t cramping or falling asleep, either. She wondered if her tormentor would ever tire of their work. Deep down, she almost hoped they never would.

    Her mind began to change, though, as her tickler began to crank the tickling up a notch. No longer using their fingertips, the tickles were only with their fingernails now. The smaller contact area multiplied the ticklish feeling that was lighting up Amy’s stockinged soles, and she laughed harder, louder. Her chest heaved as she breathed in and out, her bra barely containing her breasts within it’s confines as she fought to get enough oxygen. Long string and laughter, and no more giggled, poured from her mouth, and her toes wiggled under the increasing tickling assault.

    She wasn’t sure if she was having quite as much fun now, and she tried to ask her tomentor to slow down, to go back to the lighter, more sensual tickling. However, the sensations were so intense that she only manages to sputter out a few incoherent syllables between bouts of laughter, and soon, the tickling became so incredibly, cruelly forceful that she could do nothing but laugh hysterically.

    Amy’s helpless, stockinged feet were wriggling madly, and her captor used one hand to grab the toes of her left foot. Stretching her toes back firmly, pulling the thin fabric over her sole, the fingertips then scrabbled madly over her ticklish arch. Amy had never felt such an intense sensation before aside from an orgasm, and she let loose a scream of ticklish agony as her legs vibrated with the sensations.

    Her scream dissolved into mad laughter, and the tickling showed no signs of mercy. Seconds, minutes, several minutes slowly passed as the poor girl laughed herself into hysterics, her torturer switching from one foot to the other, holding her helpless toes back and making the sexy redhead scream and laugh as though there were no tomorrow.

    Amy couldn’t take it anymore. She’d never been tickled like this – she went from a state cautious acceptance and weary tolerance to panicked and frenzied laughter in less than a few seconds, and the sudden shift in sensations confused both her mind and body. Was she still enjoying herself, or did she want – need – this to stop?

    Her laughter became silent as she fought for breath. After a few more minutes of this cruel, non-consensual foot torture, she couldn’t think. She couldn’t beg. It took everything she had just to breathe through the mind-blowing ticklish sensations that coursed through her nerves from her feet and exploded in her brain.

    The lack of oxygen was beginning to get painful, and her tummy ached from laughing so hard for so long. The only sounds she made were little squeaks as she tried to laugh between raspy gasps for air. After a few more minutes of her stockinged soled being tickled while she was in this state, she finally received the break she so desperately needed.

    The tickling stopped. Her toes were released, and she gasped long and hard for breath, drawing the precious air into her lungs over and over. After a few breaths, she burst into giggles again, the residual sensations slowly ebbing away from her captured feet. A few seconds of this gigglefit and she began to calm down, her breathing still heavy and labored.

    She hung her head. “Oh….my…god,” she began, “…that…that was…intense.” Behind her padded blindfold, tears had just begun to form in the corners of her closed eyes. She hadn’t quite been tickled to the point of crying, but damn near it.

    “Please…enough…whoever you are, that was, um, fun, but I wanna go home now, please,” she requested, her voice small and demure. She didn’t have enough energy to demand it with any authority.

    Her toes wiggled slowly in her stockings. She almost could still feel her torturer’s fingernails stroking her soles. A long silence rang in the room as she waited for a response, but her tormentor’s hands unclasping her bra was the only answer she received.

    “No, no no no, please, what are you doing,” she began to beg, “please, come on, you don’t have to – wait, stop!” She could do nothing as her bra was unclasped and lifted up over her head and shoulders, wrapped tightly around the rope above her hands and tied off to prevent it from falling. Her Large, bare breasts hung in what she could only assume was plain view, warmed by the light in front of her that turned her bare upperbody into a feast for her captor’s eyes. She was again painfully aware of how stiff her nipples remained, and she was also aware that her stretched out underarms, her bare, helpless ribs, and, very likely, her sensitive, naked breasts, would now be the targets of this cruel, merciless tickling treatment.

    Part two, coming soon...

  2. #2
    fucking awesome and hot! great story - can't wait for part 2 - and... you should film this - :-)

  3. #3
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    Very fun. Very hot Viper. Love the imagery. Didn't seem very long really.


    Sex, Guns & Violence



    Samantha Storm: The Omega Horizon

  4. #4
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    Good to see the talent is making a comeback at the end of this year.
    Quote Originally Posted by chicago View Post
    I am going to label myself Cleopatra Queen of the Nile. If I make a video about it, it will equal truth.
    There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.

  5. #5
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    Very Hot!!!! Lookin Forward To Part 2!!
    LETS TALK ABOUT FANTASIES!!!






    An Angel Can ALWAYS Dream

  6. #6
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    Amazing viper...simply amazing.

  7. #7
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    I love your stories Viper and have been left frustrated in the past when you never finished them (you tease us, you swine - lol!)

    This is fantastic and very sexy. It cracked along at a fair old pace and didn't feel long at all. I look forward to part 2.

  8. #8
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    I know, I suck at keeping a series going. But don't worry - I have several ideas for how to continue this one, and I fully intend to turn Amy's ordeal into a three part story.

  9. #9
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    Great!

  10. #10
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    Marvelous entertainment!

    Let's quickly proceed to part 2!

    I am jerry606, CrystalLight, AnnieHall, Black Widow, C.A.B., Dave2112, Jersy Tickler, ElFewja's, and the Marquis De Sade's biggest fan.

    WRITE ON!

    JMD

  11. #11
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    wow that was good!!!.

  12. #12
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    Old school is good! Even though it's only a year!



    The authority of those who teach is often an obstacle to those who want to learn. - Cicero

    People spend a lifetime searching for happiness; looking for peace. They chase idle dreams, addictions, religions, even other people, hoping to fill the emptiness that plagues them. The irony is the only place they ever needed to search was within. - Ramona L. Anderson


  13. #13
    Excellent. One of the best ever.

  14. #14
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    What a great story!!!



    The authority of those who teach is often an obstacle to those who want to learn. - Cicero

    People spend a lifetime searching for happiness; looking for peace. They chase idle dreams, addictions, religions, even other people, hoping to fill the emptiness that plagues them. The irony is the only place they ever needed to search was within. - Ramona L. Anderson


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