oneortheother
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Morgana's Mansion: A Tickle Horror-Comedy, Part 2
At the edge of dawn, a ringing phone alarm blared in the girls’ hotel room. Two of the girls stirred, while one continued to appear dead to the world. Janis yawned, swept a fringe of bright blue hair out of her face and turned off her phone alarm. Lee was blinking herself awake. Her petite frame wandered to the bathroom where the Chinese girl quickly made herself presentable.
“Taylor isn’t up yet, huh?” Lee said as she came out a few moments later with wet tousled hair and a toothbrush in her mouth.
“Let’s give her another few minutes till we bust out the big guns.”
The two girls quickly changed into their accustomed attire. Lee was perennially prim and professional, and she wore a white short-sleeved blouse, a navy-blue skirt, black nylon stockings, and her brown oxfords, with her long black hair bound back in a studious bun. Janis preferred a more laidback, goth look, so she wore a black t-shirt to go with ripped black jeans and her black boots—as always, her blue hair and blue nails were the only things that were not monochromatic on her.
Even after both girls had finished straightening their hair and lacing up their boots, Taylor continued to slumber in bed in the oversized t-shirt that served as her pyjamas. Janis shook the blonde girl roughly by the shoulders, yet she still slept on, dead to the world.
“You wanna bet she’s just faking it?” Lee said.
“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Janis has a mischievous glint in her eye. She went over to the foot of the bed where Taylor’s feet were hidden beneath the snug duvet. The university tennis team captain slept without socks, so when Janis pulled back the covers they saw the pair of tanned, long bare feet, adorned with sparking gold toenail polish and a pair of silver toe rings on the second toes of both feet. Taylor slept on her back, so the feet were upright and ready. The two feet were huddled together, with the left foot covering the right foot, almost as if in protection for what it subconsciously must have sensed was coming.
“Wakey wakey, Taylor,” Janis said in a sing-song voice as she used her index finger to skate from heel to toe. Taylor had only just gotten a pedicure the other day, so her feet were as pampered as they had ever been, so soft Janis almost felt like they were tickling her fingers as she brushed up and down them. “Give me a hand, Lee.”
With Lee adding her finger to the mix, the two teasing fingers were starting to make the sleeping girl giggle in her sleep. Her toes were starting to wiggle and flex as the girls’ long fingernails brushed past them. A smile was starting to form on Taylor’s voice. “Tired of pretending to sleep yet, Taylor?” Janis asked, but the blonde girl made no response.
“Guess she must want us to tickle her more,” Lee said in a voice that was all innocent.
“Must be that.”
Taylor’s feet had spread apart during their last bout of wiggling, so Janis and Lee repositioned themselves around one foot each. They both used only their index fingers to see how much they could do before Taylor either woke up or decided the end this charade of being such a heavy sleeper.
Lee positioned her fingers at Taylor’s high arch. She stroked them up and down the arch like a pendulum, with one fingernail dragging up the foot as the other nail went down it. The arch kept wrinkling and unwrinkling in response to this constant up down motion teasing her sensitive soft arch.
Janis decided she wanted to play with Taylor’s flexing toes. She knew from extensive personal experience that the gap between the toes was so often a sweet spot because of how protected it tended to be, so her goal was to tease that spot on Taylor’s long, immaculate feet as much as possible. Her tickling was much less steady and constant as Lee’s persistent, tireless attack on the arch. She was much more stop and go, poke and leave. The toes would constantly be curling and wiggling from the onslaught on her other foot, so Janis would simply would till the toes opened for her to sneak a few quick finger strokes along those fleshy undersides. Then, she would wait for that spot to open again, and hit another spot around the toes. And if she ever grew too impatient, she knew all she had to do was flick her fingers across the soft pads to get those toes to burst open like ripe, ticklish fruit.
Taylor was breathing heavily now, chortling with soft laughter.
“Fun as this is, I think we really need to go soon,” Lee said. She shifted up and sat on Taylor’s ankle.
“Agreed.” Janis did the same. They looked at each other and at the same time, scribbled all ten of their fingernails across Taylor’s trapped feet. Twenty fingers ravaging across her hypersensitive feet were far more than a girl as ticklish as Taylor could stand, and she flew upright, wailing with laughter.
“Good morning, Taylor!” Lee and Taylor said in unison as their fingers continued to scrabble across her wiggling and flapping bare feet. “Ready to wake up?”
The two girls kept it up for a while longer before Taylor managed to twist her feet from under them. Taylor curled up on her body in the foetal position, still laughing as she rubbed away the lingering sensations on her soles. “Better than an alarm clock, huh? C’mon, let’s get moving.”
“I hope you girls know… this means war,” Taylor said, with her hair a dishevelled mess. “Revenge will be mine!”
“If you can wake up on earlier than us tomorrow, I say you perfectly deserve to tickle the shit out of us,” Janis said.
“What do you mean ‘us’?” Lee said, frowning. “I didn’t agree to this!”
All three girls laughed, Taylor headed to the washroom, and in twenty minutes, the girls set off for the manor of Morgana Lafey.
O-O-O
After they took a bus and trekked up a hill for about twenty minutes, Taylor complaining all the while about wearing her flip flops instead of her tennis trainers, the three university students had arrived. Lee manned the camera as they went for a nice wide shot of Morgana Lafey’s manor. Outside the manor there was a sign which read, “NO TRESPAPSSING, TRESPASSERS WILL GET THE SHIT TICKLED OUT OF THEM IF THEY’RE CUTE OR PELTED WITH DUNG IF THEY ARE NOT. WITH THE EXCEPTION OF GIRL SCOUTS. I LOVE COOKIES. THIS IS NOT A TRAP. SIGNED, MORGANA LAFEY.”
That strange sign aside, the manor was not exactly what came to mind when one thought of a haunted house. In fact, it looked so jarring that Lee was almost worried it would not be taken seriously if they were to publish it in their article. The manor was massive and sprawling, and it looked like it might contain half a hundred rooms, but it was painted a gaudy pink, for instance, though much of it had faded over time so it was more a faint peach pink that the hot pink it must have been at its inception. Vines and moss splattered some of it, but it looks worryingly like a sorority house. The rusted gates were open and welcoming, though the statues of naked women being tickled by stony fingers built into the main pillars of the gate were considerably more ominous.
“Pretty tacky,” Lee said, patting on of the women on the head as they walked past.
“You take that right back,” said a mysterious voice from behind them. “Those statues cost me an arm and leg to commission.”
“Morgana Lafey,” Janis said with a gasp.
The witch was far prettier in person than in the faded old portraits they had found, though perhaps it wasn’t that fair to use the phrase ‘in person’ when you were looking at a ghost. She had dark brown hair that tumbled to her shoulders, powerful green eyes, and pale skin, though they have just appeared pale because everything about her was tinged in a faint blue glow. Morgana wore long-sleeved black robes which cut off mid-thigh, and she was barefoot with long, black-painted nails. From the lack of sound her footsteps made on the leaves at their feet, she was floating instead of walking.
“Sup,” she said, “so you three are the university girls, here to write an article on me. I’m awfully flattered.”
“You, you are?” Janis said, a reluctant smile spreading across her face. “That’s great. We’d love an interview with you. What’s it like being a ghost?”
“Not too bad. There’s some prejudice, some discrimination, but it has its perks. You’re Janis, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“I know everything that happens in my town. Did you guys enjoy the little obstacles I threw at your little quest?”
“That was you?” Lee said, gasping. “I know there was something spooky going on!”
“Oh, don’t be so gauche, Lee. I know you’re pissy because of how much I teased you in that library, but you must agree, it makes things much more rewarding if you have to work a bit harder to get what you want.”
“So, what now?” Taylor said. “Are you going to try to steal our souls?”
Morgana shook her head. “I’m much more interested in ticklish soles, as you’ve probably gathered. I’ll let you three enter my humble home, write some notes, take a few souvenirs, snap a few selfies, do whatever you like. But you’ll remain my guests until you can complete this challenge I set for you—revenge.”
“Revenge?”
“I’m the one responsible for your tickling earlier. You naturally want revenge, no? My real body is somewhere in that house—perfectly preserved of course, as it’d be no fun to tickle skeleton. Show me a good tickling, and you can walk out of here.”
“What’s stopping us from walking out now?” Lee demanded, and as soon as she had finished talking, the metal gates clanged shut.
“Trust me, I have the power to fuck you up in a thousand different ways, so try not to tempt me.” Morgana gave them all a sweet smile. “Alright, good luck.”
She disappeared as the doors of the manor opened wide and invitingly.
Lee groaned. “What’ve we gotten ourselves into...”
“The scoop of our lives?” Taylor said. “Seriously, we just spoke to a ghost!”
“She didn’t sound like someone from the 18th Century,” Janis observed.
“Well, maybe she’s one of those hip old ladies who keeps up to date with the times,” Taylor said.
“Did you just fucking call me old?” screeched Morgana’s voice out of nowhere, and suddenly Taylor disappeared in a puff of blue smoke.
“Dude, what the fuck!” Janis exclaimed. She swatted at the smoke where her friend had been, but Taylor was gone. “She called you hip as well! Come on!”
“Don’t sass me, girl!” said the disembodied voice once more, and Janis too disappeared.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Lee said, suddenly finding herself all alone. “Did you kill them? Where are they?”
“Chillax, girl. I just sent them to different rooms in the manor. Be kinda boring if they all stuck together, anyway. Goes against the spirit of the whole haunted house thing. Have you never seen any horror movies?”
“You’re joking! That’s so cheating!”
“Fo’ shure. Now you better a movie on. Maybe you’ll get lucky and you’ll run into them inside after a few rooms.”
With nothing else that could be done, Lee trudged inside, her shoes clacking on the wooden floorboard. The heavy pink door swung shut behind her.
O-O-O
Janis had never felt more like a suckling pig in her life.
She had woken up in some dim corridor, with only faint sunlight drifting through the edges of the curtains to light her way. She pushed open the varnished wooden door to the next room, and in a flash, a blindfold had been whisked over her eyes, and she had been grabbed, spun around, bound up, and carted away elsewhere. It didn’t make a lick of sense, but nothing in this manor seemed to make much sense.
And now, here she was with an apple roughly shoved into her mouth, her wrists bound behind her back, and her ankles propped up through some kind of chute. She was flat on her back on something soft and fuzzy with her legs straight up into something firm and unyielding—she couldn’t pull her feet out nor shift them around at all. And with the blindfold on, she saw nothing, but she heard a persistent clink and clang of metal on some kind of hard surface, the low murmur and laughter of conversation, and there was an unmistakably aromatic smell wafting throughout the room. Her toes were tied together by something silky, possibly a ribbon, but she couldn’t work out anything more about her bizarre situation. It sounded like she was at some kind of dinner party, but that didn’t make any sense! Who were the people talking in the room? More ghosts?
Luckily, Morgana Lafey came to clue her in on what was going on before long.
“And how is my pièce de résistance?” Morgana said as she sidled up beside the bound and gagged girl. “Comfortable?” She gave a little giggle. “Your tasty little feet are going to be the star attraction at my party tonight, dear. Thanks so much for volunteering!”
There was the sound of a cover before removed from a dish, and suddenly Janis felt cool air and warm light bearing down on her pale, bare soles, a second before metal prongs began tracing across her feet. She wailed in her gag a one, two, three, five, seven, she lost count soon after as too many forks began scraping their cold metal tines across her feet. She felt like some kind of morsel being poked and prodded at, like a cheeky child playing with her food.
And those forks were teasing, their mysterious wielders using them with consummate skill as they glided all over Janis’s captive feet. Forks were the kind of tools that needed to be used with care, Janis knew from her own in-depth experimentations, if you applied too much force, they ceased to tickle and began to hurt, which might be what some people were after, but that wasn’t really her fetish.
These mysterious dinner guests of Morgana’s seemed to understand stand that, and they would drag the fork lightly across the expanse of her bare feet, occasionally adding in little wrist turns so there was a bit of kneading of flesh in addition to the scratching. Her tender arches always had forks stroking away at them, as did her plump blue-painted toes, which must have looked like ripe blueberries to them, as they kept poking away at them as if they wanted to spear them. These spots were well-covered, but the other forks were equally devastating in her less-frequented tickling areas. She would never have imagined the tops of her feet were so vulnerable to the light touches like this, nor the sides of her wide feet, even her yellowish heel, which by all accounts was the least sensitive spot on her feet.
All these spots were plumbed for every scrap of ticklish laughter, like the most diligent of eaters devouring every inch of food on their plate till it was spotless. And thanks to the ribbon binding her toes together, Janis’s feet weren’t going anywhere.
Janis shrieked, but the apple in her mouth was forced in with tape, and she could do nothing but wiggle her body about on the carpeted floor as forks picked away at their favourite spots on her chunky feet to make her squeal.
“Why do you keep wiggling towards me, huh?” Morgana said with a giggle. “I’ll have you know I’m usually not that kind of lady… but maybe I’ll make an exception just this once.” As the forks continued to dance across her bare feet, Morgana sent her long fingernails scurrying on the back of Janis’s knees, tickling through the thin fabric of her black jeans. She went all the way along the thighs till she got at the point where they met the hips, dangerously close to Janis’s womanhood.
A chuckling Morgana kept this up till Janis felt an ominous tingle between her legs, and then, pandemonium. Janis surged forward, shaking her head so wildly her blue hair slapped backed and forth like a whip. All the forks had suddenly disappeared and were replaced by marauding hands. Some hands were gloved in velvet, some hands were bare, some hands had long cruel fingernails, some hands were rough and callused, but what they all had in common is they tickled like hell, and they had been paying close attention to all the spots on her poor feet. There had been about ten or so forks teasing her feet, and it became apparent that each fork had been wielded by one person, as Janis felt close to a hundred fingers now on her bare feet.
They had pulled the stringy ribbon binding her big toes away, and that should have been a cause for celebration, but no, it just meant they could her feet away from each other so they had more space to operate. Certain spots had been spared because of how her feet had been tied to each other, like the inner sides of her feet, for instance, but no longer.
Strong hands pulled her toes back to keep her twitching foot in place—not to mention to make it easier to feast on the bounty of sensitive spots around her stubby toes, and all the other fingers fought over the choice dishes of ticklishness on her quivering feet. Sometimes they would hit the same spot and cancel each other out, but even if a hand or two was ineffectual, there were still plenty of others to pick up the slack.
The swarm of fingers scampering all over her feet was far too much for Janis to stand. There wasn’t a spot on her foot that those fingers weren’t tormenting—not one.
“My guests are so uncouth, aren’t they?” Morgana whispered in her ear. “It’s so uncivilised to eat with your hands. I’ll go have a word with them.”
Morgana stood up, leaving Janis to suck air frantically through her nose as she tried to get her breathing under control, as well as ease the throbbing between her legs. After a few seconds, the hands disappeared, and Janis managed a sigh of relief.
It turned out to be a premature one, though, as moments later, tongues began lapping along her feet. Her feet twisted in alarm, but there was nowhere to go. Janis had experience the joy of foot worship on occasion, and she had always adored how the ticklishness of her own feet coupled with the innate sensuality of it made it such an enjoyable experience. But that was too much! The ten or so tongues crawling over her feet, not caring if they touched each other, was overpowering. And the insistent tingle of her womanhood was getting strong and stronger as the tongues slathered her feet in saliva. Her feet flapped and wiggled as best they could, sometimes brushing against a bristly beard or a few strands of hair, but the tongues were tireless. And after letting her feet squirm around for a bit, a pair of mouths claimed her big toes to not only unleash a shuddering groan from the girl, but keep her feet trapped in place for the other tongues to do their business.
Janis’s eyes were starting to roll back as she felt a pair of talented tongues suckle her littlest toes as well. That was when Morgana suddenly returned to her side once more, giggling.
“There, now isn’t that much better? My guests wish to pass their compliments to your delicious feet, by the way… and they say they can’t wait for their second course!”
Janis gasped at the tongues suddenly disappeared all at once. A lock of blue hair was clinging to her damp forehead as she panted and panted. She only had a moment to brace herself before the forks returned.
“And they’re very eager to get started!” Morgana said as Janis wailed in ticklish frustration.
O-O-O
The next room smelled surprisingly clean for a musty, grimy old manor.
Taylor has woken up in some dark, foreboding corridor. She could hear the steady trickle of water, so she followed it a room nearby, turning a brass door knob to gain entry. As she took her first step in the dimly-lit room, Taylor’s flip flops stepped right into a puddle, the cold water sloshing over her bare feet. She wasn’t sure what she would call a room like this—it was the manor’s bathroom, that was apparent from the sinks, the half-empty bottles of perfume, and the white tiles everywhere.
But to call it a bathroom gave no credit to its scale. The grand tub in the centre of the room was sunk into the ground, and it was almost a small swimming pool, with a dozen brass taps pumping water into it. The taps seemed to be working, somehow, as the room was quickly filling with steam. It was more a bathhouse of sort, Taylor decided. She spied fresh towels lying on a hook beside the door, and she suddenly become very aware of how sweaty she was from her exertions. She was sure she had picked up some of the dirt and dust from the place just by being in it.
“This is a trap, isn’t it?” Taylor said aloud, not truly expecting a reply.
“Totally, yo,” said a voice from the far corner of the tub. And to her surprise, Morgana Lafey was there, naked and bathed in a ghostly blue glow. She had her pale, slender arms propped up against the edge as her legs make cycling motions in the water. “The only question is if you’re going to jump in, or if you’re going to need to be thrown in.”
Taylor mulled over those words and kicked off her flip flops before beginning to strip off her clothing. Well, if it was going to happen anyway, she might as well try to make the most of it. She dunked her head in the warm waters and sighed. It was the perfect tonic after all her hardships.
“When’s the last time you had a bubble bath?” Morgana said as she tossed some bath salts into the tub. “They really are quite nice.”
“I didn’t know bubble baths were around in the 18th century,” Taylor said as she allowed her entire body to submerged in the soothing waters. “I always thought they were a rather modern invention.”
“How dare you!” Morgana scowled with mock outrage. “Are you accusing me of being anachronistic?”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure what that means. Something to do with time?”
“It means you’re being a cheeky girl,” Morgana said with a wide smile, “and cheeky girls get punished in Lafey Manor.”
“You were just waiting for any excuse to tickle me, weren’t you?”
“Possibly.” Morgana snapped her fingers. “And the brass taps at the sides of the tub suddenly reared wrapped around Taylor’s wrists and ankles like handcuffs. They slowly pulled her body until everything taut and spread. She ended up in a position where she was half in the water and half out. Her bum and womanhood remained in the water along with most of her legs, though her bare ended up sticking out, as well as most of her upper torso, from the middle of her ribcage to her shoulders.
Morgana came swimming over, with a bar of soap in her hand. “Don’t worry, I plan on tickling you. I just wouldn’t want to dirty my lovely nails on anything dirty.”
“Aren’t you a ghost? How would the dirt cling to you? Aren’t you, like, transparent?”
“For your insolence, I’m gonna give you an extra thorough scrubbing.” Morgana gave the bottom of Taylor’s nearest foot a slap. The sole was a noticeably paler than the tanned tops and legs that preceded it. “Especially on those cute toe rings of yours. Don’t worry, I won’t stop till the metal is gleaming!”
Taylor groaned. “No fair.”
“Get used to it, honey. Even the laws of physics don’t play fair in my house.” She rubbed the soap around in her hands for a while as good thick lather built up before rubbing it across Taylor’s bare feet.
As she rubbed the soap into her feet, Taylor sat back and sighed with contentment. It felt rather like a foot massage, and those were always appreciated. Things would not stay this pleasant for long, she knew. Once the long, tanned feet were covered with the thick, soapy bubbles and smelling like daisies, Morgana held up a single, long, sharp fingernail and began stroking at the center of Taylor’s arches, the left foot for a stroke, then the right foot for a stroke, back and forth, back and forth. The metal taps that had wrapped around Taylor’s toned limbs like vines clanked and creaked as the university tennis star tried to break free, but they proved sturdy as Taylor quivered with burbling laughter.
“Hmm.” Morgana changed up her approach, using all ten of those long, pointed nails to rake up and down Taylor’s tanned feet. With her feet trapped in place, all Taylor could do was try to clench her toes shut to defend the soapy onslaught on her soles, but before long, it would always become too much to take, and her digits would spring open to allow those wicked nails to scratch under and between the toes with ease. “not a bad reaction, but we can do better, can’t we?”
She stared coating Taylor’s squirming feet in a fresh layer of suds as the university girl panted like she had just finished a five-set thriller.
Morgana swam forward till she was beside Taylor, who was starting to sweat all over again. “Hey, do you see those things over there?” She put an arm around Taylor’s tense shoulders as if they were buddies. When Taylor saw the pair of wooden scrub brushes, she shook her head.
“No, no, no!”
“Oh, so you don’t see them? I’ll bring ‘em closer.” Morgana beckoned and the scrub brushes flew through the air to hover an inch away from the slick and soaped-up soles of the super-ticklish Taylor. The brushes were big, chunky things, about the size of Taylor’s hand, and they looked like they would be very capable of inflicting a high amount of ticklish damage. And Taylor was right as the brushes picked up speed as they skated up and down her feet, making the blonde girl throw her head back and howl with laughter.
Whistling an infuriating casual tone, Morgana picked the soap back up and swam back to Taylor’s midsection. “You look like you do a lot of sports, eh? Your armpits must reek of BO afterwards. But don’t worry, I got the perfect thing for you, honey.”
A pair of wooden-handled, thick shaving brushes appeared behind her. Taylor’s eyes grew wide.
“Let's see how you like these brushes, sweetie. Last boy I had in here, oh, we had such fun with these brushes and his ticklish little cock.” Morgana shivered then smiled. “Let's see how you like them in your armpits. After we get the surface nice and soapy, of course.” Even rubbing that soapy lather into her armpits proved to be a ticklish affair, to the extent Taylor wasn't sure how she would possibly handle the shaving brushes when they started 'cleaning' her underarms. The answer was that she didn't handle them. She screamed and shook with wild abandon as the wet bristles slid across slick and oh so sensitive skin. They weren't as large as the scrub brushes rampaging across her soles, but that was the only good thing that could be said about them.
Her body must have been tormented by hundreds if not thousands of these tiny bristles, each one eliciting their own harrowing ticklish response on her slippery, soaped-up skin. The only consolation was her sensitive navel was submerged in the warm, bubbly bathwater, so she should escape a cleaning of her belly button, but that was it.
“What are you thinking, darling?” Morgana asked with a finger on her chin, “clean enough?”
“Yehehehes! Yehes, yes, yehehehehes!”
“You know, I get the feeling you’re lying. You don’t really think that. You’re just trying to be nice to spare my feelings.” Morgana gave Taylor a belittling pat on the head. “I appreciate that, but I am a perfectionist! We’re gonna do this right! For instance, I just don't think I'm doing a good enough job over here.” Morgana swam over to where the scrub brushes were working tirelessly away at Taylor’s feet. Much of the arches were already tickled pink. “I promised I’d get those lovely rings of yours squeaky clean! These big brushes just aren’t capable of giving your toes a good enough service, are they?”
Taylor squeaked at the sight of two more of those accursed shaving brushes flying towards her toes, where they immediately set to worth swirling over the tips and tops of those shiny gold-painted toenails. She begged and pleaded with the witch that she was doing a fine job, that her feet were definitely clean enough, but the witch just tutted as she went to work. The brushes would do the cleaning by themselves as they floated in the air propelled by some mysterious magic, but Morgana would pluck a pair of them out of the air and opt for a hands-on approach.
“Awww, you’re looking a bit worn-out. One more cleaning spot, and I’ll leave you to it, I promise.” Morgana gave Taylor a wink as she reached for the soap once more.
Great, Taylor thought. Knowing her luck, it would be those hellish brushes in her navel. She was wrong however, when Morgana began lathering up her bountiful breasts and nipples. She gaped in shock—or she would have, if she weren’t laughing so hard.
A bit of sensual rubbing of the soap lather later, Taylor arched her back as the soft bristles of the shaving brush flicked across her rapidly hardening nipples. The blonde girl gnashed her teeth as those brushes swirled circles all over her highly sensitive orbs, especially those prominent pink points of her nipples.
Before long, Taylor was grinding her hips and more than a little grateful her submerged womanhood must be concealing her wetness. And yet the all-abating tickling continued undaunted, any hopes of an orgasm impossible from her ticklish distress.
Morgana must have known, the consummate tease, Taylor thought. The cruel witch was just pretending not to notice as she flitted from spot to spot, re-applying soapy lather on those fun cleaning spots. Only after Taylor was so flushed and hot she felt like her body was aflame did the witch stop, with orgasm a hair’s breadth away.
“Clean enough, I say. Gtg. Have fun with your shower.” Morgana disappeared with a parting wave, and the taps that held her limbs shrank away. Taylor panted and gasped, her hand hovering over her throbbing womanhood. Well, there was only one sane thing to do now…
O-O-O
Lee’s brown oxford shoes clacked on the creaking floorboards as she made her way along the narrow corridor, her heart beating hard in her chest. There was a crystal chandelier above her head with candles that provided a dim light, yet the small Asian girl still found herself jumping and flinching at every sound. At any other team, she might have been drawn to the fine oil paintings of landscapes, at the dusty busts of long-dead figures, or at the moth-eaten tapestries hanging from the walls.
What was going on here? The hyperrational Chinese girl was struggling to corroborate the strange occurrences at this manor with the world of logic she had known so well. And now she was alone, alone in the queer place. She hoped her friends were doing better than she was…
It was as all these doubts and fears were sweeping through her mind that Lee’s right foot must have stepped on a rotten plank of wood, as her right leg suddenly swept through. She yelped, and for a half a heartbeat, she feared she might tumble through to an untimely death. But it soon became clear that the hole was only large enough for one small foot to fall through, not her entire body.
She would have breathed a huge sigh of relief, if not for the fact something strong and pincer-like had just gripped her by the ankle. She tugged and tugged using her hands for leverage, but her trapped right foot would not budge.
“Yeah, you know what they say about old houses,” said a voice from behind her. She spun and suddenly the witch herself, Morgana Lafey was behind her. The witch shone with a ghostly blue translucence as she sat with her back propped against the wall, barefoot and smiling. “You know, I’ve called people to try to come and take a look at the house, but no one seems to want to take the job. Whatever happened to professionalism, eh? They must have stopped making honest workers in my time.”
“My foot…”
“What’s that?” Morgana smiled. “You really must watch your step, my dear. After all, I might have some critters dwelling in my humble home.”
Lee gasped and bit on her lower lip as she felt something playing with her trapped foot. It felt like a scaled, clawed hand. She felt her shoe plop out and fall away, leaving her foot alone with only the thin fabric of her black stockings for protection. And they proved capable of very little protection at all.
Rough fingers began to wriggle against her soft sole, which caused Lee to try to kick her feet free, but the wooden hole had somehow closed around her knee, leaving her foot trapped from the shin down. She pursed her lips together, giggles already starting to spurt free as she felt something smaller, about the size of a shoelace snake up her foot to slide in between her toes to tickle them through her nylon stockings. Lee balled her finger into fists as she felt the tickling start to increase. Just what was down there? There was definitely more than one, and she could hear a low rumble that must have been them talking to each other.
“Yeah, you can probably tell I have a bit of a reptile problem,” Morgana said. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out. It’s on my to-do list after world peace, abolish all pornography, and get a commission from oneortheother.”
That was one riddle unravelled, which might have been good for Lee’s mind, but it did no favours for her body, which was at the mercy of whatever Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were tickling the shit out of her feet with what must have been their fingers and tails.
There were five fingers spidering away at her heels and arches, but the real damage was being done by the tail that was tormenting her petite, red-painted toes. That nimble, quick, slender thing proved to be especially bothersome. Lee tried to use her toes to grab the rough thing with her toes, but it always evaded her clumsy attempts at capture, and it would always launch a fierce counter attack, darting around the other way to stroke the base of her toes or along their quivering tips.
After a while, one of the hands tugged at the toe of the stockings and pulled them down towards the ground to force her foot straight. Lee would never have imagined her own nylons could be used against her. It was so cruel to be betrayed by her own socks. Her own stocking was being used to imprison her right foot to keep it in place for the brutal tickling that was inflicted upon it, as bad as ropes around each toe. Her foot twisted and strained and tried to get free, but she didn’t dare try too hard lest she end up ripping her stockings—her feet were ludicrously ticklish even in stockings, but bare foot? She wouldn’t have a chance at all at keeping composure, she feared…
Yet before long, as Lee shrieked and squealed, it became apparent that the tail was trying especially hard to worm between her toes, which would mean that the fabric of her nylons would… rip. There was a small hole at the gap between big toe and second toe at first, but the tail went scurrying inside straight away to get at the creamy flesh of her bare foot, without even the scant resistance her stockings had offers her.
Fingers quickly joined the tail, and before long, Lee’s stocking was reduced to shreds, and her foot was bare and completely exposed as the creatures ravished it with tough fingers and rough scratchy tails. She pounded and slammed the wooden floorboards as Morgana sat there smirking at her.
As fingers began questing through the gaps between all her terribly ticklish toes at once, Lee found a fresh reserve of strength to squirm and struggle against her bonds. She slammed her palms down at the floor again and again, till she heard the cracking splinter of wood. She looked down and saw that she might have been a bit too successful—the floorboards all around her were breaking!
Morgana chuckled. “I guess you don’t know your own strength. I expect to be reimbursed for damages, by the way.” The floorboard fell apart, and Lee was falling, falling down into the deep unknown.
O-O-O
The next room was dusty and dark. Well, dustier and darker than the other ones in this old, creaky manor. As the door swung shut behind her like it always did, Janis found herself struggling to make light of what was even a few inches in front of her. She blinked steadily, waiting for her eyes to acclimatise to the darkness, it was then that something bit her on the neck, and everything started to blur…
“Come, come, my dear, I haven’t got all day,” said a familiar, mocking voice. “I have places to be, people to tickle, TV shows to watch…”
Janis opened her eyes to see the sight of Morgana Lafey standing on the ceiling, illuminated by candles. It took her groggy, drugged-out mind a moment to realise that it was only because she herself was upside down with her long brightly-coloured hair in her face. She squirmed a bit, but the cocoon had her firmly encased in the strong silken material.
Morgana smiled at her. The ghost witch still had the same spectral blue glow to her, but her attire had undergone some transformation. She was barefoot as always, her toenails shimmering in the faint light, but she now wore grey silken stockings and a white evening dress that would not have looked out of place at any dinner party in the world. “Admiring my stockings?” Morgana said, having noticed where Janis was looking. “My guests helped make them for me.”
“Guests?” The drug-addled mind worked slowly, and Janis only figured out what the witch meant when she felt a dozen or three tiny, hairy, quite ticklish legs scramble across her feet—the only part of her aside from her neck that had neglected to wrap up in their webs, evidently was her right foot, though her left one remained bound, in a curious case of asymmetrical bondage.
The transgressive girl found herself instantly breaking into laughter. Each spider couldn’t have been larger an inch or two, but that seemed to be the perfect size of their purpose. They were large enough that their presence would be unignorable, and they were small enough that plenty of them were able to roam all over the sensitive spots on Janis’s chunky, wide feet. The silken webbing that bound Janis’s right foot like a sock was made of thin, gossamer that did little to block out the sensations, so both feet managed to tickle terribly.
And it was not for nothing that so many of the tickle erotica that Janis had enjoyed spoke of fingers ‘spidering’ across ticklish stomachs or feet. The spiders were maddeningly effective as they scurried wherever they wanted. They clustered along her arches, especially the deep crevice in the centre of them, but plenty of them had migrated to other spots. Their light, ethereal touches itched terribly along the tops of her feet along the insteps, as well as the ankles and sides of the foot.
“Tell me, which foot seems to tickle more?” Morgana was lying on a settee, her stocking-clad feet propped up on one of the armrests. Janis tried to focus on that pale foot with those high, soft-looking arches. Focusing on tickling the bejeezus out of those soles helped make her situation infinitely more bearable. “Do stockings make the tickling worse? I was hoping we could do a rather empirical study on the manner?” She wiggled her toes. “Answer me helpfully, and I may even let you get a quick tickle on these feet you so apparently lusting over.”
Janis scrunched her eyes shut to try to focus on the sensations. The nylon-esque covering on her right foot did block out some of the tickling, albeit not much, and it smoothed out the crinkles and wrinkles of her sole as if they were lathered in baby oil, so she hypothesised that they would be more vulnerable to long strokes up and down the soles. These small spiders, as effective as they were tormenting her ticklish soles in unison, weren’t really able to do that, however.
“Thehehehy both tihihickle a lohohohot! Cahahahan’t say!”
“You can do better, dearie,” Morgana floated up into the air, and the spiders parted like the red sea to allow the witch’s long fingernails a chance to dance across Janis’s bare feet. And this, oh, this tickled like hell. Morgana drew her nails in a firm line from heel to toes, before changing course to zigzag her way back down again, always starting with a stroke across those pedicured toes. With her foot pulled back in Morgana’s grip, her foot was taut and perfectly vulnerable.
“You tihihhickle beheheheter than the spihihiderrs! On wehehehehebbed foohoohoot!”
“Well, of course I tickle better than the spiders, dear,” Morgana said with a laugh, her fingers never breaking contact with Janis’s flapping feet for a moment. “I mean, that surely goes without saying. But it would be wrong to deprive them of practice, wouldn’t it?”
Morgana shifted both hands to the right foot—the one with the silken stockings intensified every sensation from her long, raking nails, and the spiders flooded back over left foot, which was bare and perfectly exposed to the fuzzy touch of their legs. As the spiders crawled along and between Janis’s toes, she tried to grab some of the spiders with them and squash them, but somehow it never seemed to quite be successful. Of course, it was hard to focus too much on something like that when you had Morgana’s expert fingers stroking up and down her foot as if it was a fine fabric to be caressed.
“But I’m a woman of my word,” Morgana said, and she removed her fingers from Janis’s right foot. The spiders were quick to reclaim that spot as she floated back down and extended her foot in front of Janis’s face. “Go on, before I change my point. Biting on the ball of my feet drives me crazy, as do licks on my arches. Those are my two most awful spots.”
Janis tried to shift her head forward towards that alluring, immaculate foot, but tickling at her own feet was just too intense! It was impossible to get any kind of oral tickling going on when her jaw kept clamping shut to laugh. And then, just like that, the moment was gone.
“Well, would you look at the time?” Morgana said and moved away. “Afraid I’m a very busy lady, and I don’t have time for you to muster up the courage to tickle me. A shame—my feet are really quite sensitive. I’ll have the spiders let you out before tooooooooooo long.” She gave Janis a wink and disappeared, leaving the punk girl with only regrets, anger at being cheated on her vengeance, and a pair of very ticklish feet at the mercy of a cluster of spiders.
O-O-O
Lee’s eyes took a few moments to adjust to the harsh light. In a sharp contrast to the dark and dreary room she had expected, this room was bright and well-lit. The windows were thrown open and the curtains were drawn back to allow in the midday sun.
She soon realised why—she was in the manor’s infirmary, though perhaps experimentation room might have been a more apt descriptor. All around her were glass jars of unknown, strange-looking substance. Herbs hung from the ceiling. She saw rolls of bandages, stacks of wooden splints, strange implements she did not recognise. Lee found herself tied down to a metal surgical bed, with lengths of high-tensile straps binding her firmly in place. They were especially thick around her wrists, which were tied above her head, and her ankles. One foot was bare from her earlier encounter and the other remained sheathed in the black stocking.
“Ah, my favourite patient is up,” said a familiar voice from the other side of the room. Morgana Lafey had changed her garb to resemble that of a nurse. She had the white nurse’s hat with a red cross, a short white dress, and white stockings. The smug look on her face was not that of a benevolent healer, however. “How are you feeling?”
“Um, not great,” Lee said as she tested her bonds. They were implacable.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Morgana said, not sounding very sorry at all. “but while you’re here, how about we do a little examination?” She reached for a utensil with a shining metal wheel of serrated teeth on its end. She rolled it along her fingers, smiling.
“That’s a bit anachronistic, isn’t it?” Lee said in the airy voice of the know-it-all. “Wartenberg Wheels definitely weren’t around in the 18th century when you were supposed to have lived.”
“That’s a tracing wheel actually. They’re used to transfer markings from patterns onto fabric.” Morgana’s face scrunched up into a frown. “Also, has anyone said you’re a real killjoy?”
“You know no one even uses pinwheels anymore?”
“What are you taking about it? It’s all scientific and shit. This wheel will systematically test your nerve reactions and sensitivity… an essential part of any medical examination!” Morgana reached out and grabbed Lee’s right foot, the one that was bare. She held the tiny toes firm so the pinwheel could run a line across the pads of all her toes at once.
Lee jerked up, repressed laughter coming out a shaky grunt. “People don’t even use these things anymore! They’re outdated! They’re unsanitary! You know how many germs you get from using one of those things in a medical setting?”
“Well, thank goodness this isn’t a medical setting, then. Thanks for ruining the illusion.” Morgana sighed and shook her head. “And I even dressed up for this. Gosh, I’m mighty tempted to break out some hairbrushes and oil and just tickle you till you cry. But you’re lucky I’m such a professional.”
Still holding Lee’s bare foot straight with one hand, Morgana ran the pinwheel lightly over the surface of that small foot. Lee gritted her teeth as laughter came whooshing through the gaps in her teeth. It was outrageous how much it tickled, and her keen analytical mind was having difficulty with comprehending how tiny metal prongs were capable of inducing such a response from her sensitive soles. Fingers and feathers made sense—they resembled scampering insects, and tickle reflex had evolved as a method of detection of critters that might damage the body. But those sharp spikes?
It didn’t make a whiff of sense, yet ticklish sensations continued to surge up her legs as the pinwheel drew lines vertically up and down the sole.
“You’re responding very well here,” Morgana observed with a giggle as the pinwheel forced a squeal from Lee’s pouty lips when they zipped along her pale, soft arch. “I’ll have to compare and contrast with that other foot in a moment. I wonder if it’ll be worse with the nylons on.”
It was hard to imagine things being much worse than they were already, Lee thought, as Morgana changed to horizontal lines across her soles. This was especially true as Morgana seemed to be starting with Lee’s petite toes. From her instant squeaking hysterics, they were were almost as bad as her arch when it came to the pinwheel’s cold, prickly touch.
After Morgana was finished with her vertical lines, Lee’s milky white feet were started to redden, and they reddened even further when Morgana decided that she needed to run a few more tests before moving onto the other foot.
“Feel free to tell me which spot tickles more, dearie,” Morgana said as she alternating between teasing the pink arch and the bubble-like toes with that dreaded pinwheel of hers. Lee was shaking and shuddering in her binds, but Morgana’s grip was iron, and the pinwheel continued to roll up and down across her foot.
After another eternity of this, Morgana walked over to the other foot which had so far been spared. The nylon-covered foot immediately curled up and scrunched, but Morgana yanked by her red-painted toes with ease. “Now, now, dear, for science!”
As the pinwheel ran over and over her helpless foot, paying particular attention to her arch and those small toes of hers, Lee’s scientific mind was starting to come to the rather unhelpful conclusion that nylon-clad feet really didn’t mix well with pinwheels. In fact, they might double the sensations. Lee’s frantic squeals and thrashing probably made this clear, though that wasn’t enough for Morgana.
“Which foot tickles more? Tell me! Tell me!” Morgana kept asking as tears of laughter rolled down Lee’s face. “I must know!”
The evil witch then found a new spot—the base of the toes, that little ridge just beneath those small digits that proved exceptionally vulnerable to the pinwheels. She went at that spot on the right foot and then the left, stroke here, stroke there, let the wheels run along them slowly, slowly, slowly.
“Thehehehe leheheheft! The stohohohockings!” Lee finally burbled out after Morgana changed foot for the umpteenth time. Regardless to how monotonous and predictable the action was, the change in targets catching her off-guard like it had every time before. Why did she feel like she was becoming increasingly ticklish as opposed to becoming accustomed to the sensation? Lee wished she knew. It didn’t make sense that her nerves should scream in surprise to a change that she knew was coming, yet they did, and it tickled so much.
“Aww, was that so hard?” Morgana said, focusing her pinwheeling efforts entirely on the left foot. Base of toes, arch, and toe-pads. She went back and forth around this unholy trinity of ticklish agony till Lee was a breathing mess.
“Thank you for your contributions to science, honey,” Morgana said, leaning down to kiss the panting girl on the forehead. “I’ll leave you to recuperate. Ciao, baby!”
At the edge of dawn, a ringing phone alarm blared in the girls’ hotel room. Two of the girls stirred, while one continued to appear dead to the world. Janis yawned, swept a fringe of bright blue hair out of her face and turned off her phone alarm. Lee was blinking herself awake. Her petite frame wandered to the bathroom where the Chinese girl quickly made herself presentable.
“Taylor isn’t up yet, huh?” Lee said as she came out a few moments later with wet tousled hair and a toothbrush in her mouth.
“Let’s give her another few minutes till we bust out the big guns.”
The two girls quickly changed into their accustomed attire. Lee was perennially prim and professional, and she wore a white short-sleeved blouse, a navy-blue skirt, black nylon stockings, and her brown oxfords, with her long black hair bound back in a studious bun. Janis preferred a more laidback, goth look, so she wore a black t-shirt to go with ripped black jeans and her black boots—as always, her blue hair and blue nails were the only things that were not monochromatic on her.
Even after both girls had finished straightening their hair and lacing up their boots, Taylor continued to slumber in bed in the oversized t-shirt that served as her pyjamas. Janis shook the blonde girl roughly by the shoulders, yet she still slept on, dead to the world.
“You wanna bet she’s just faking it?” Lee said.
“There’s only one way to find out, isn’t there?” Janis has a mischievous glint in her eye. She went over to the foot of the bed where Taylor’s feet were hidden beneath the snug duvet. The university tennis team captain slept without socks, so when Janis pulled back the covers they saw the pair of tanned, long bare feet, adorned with sparking gold toenail polish and a pair of silver toe rings on the second toes of both feet. Taylor slept on her back, so the feet were upright and ready. The two feet were huddled together, with the left foot covering the right foot, almost as if in protection for what it subconsciously must have sensed was coming.
“Wakey wakey, Taylor,” Janis said in a sing-song voice as she used her index finger to skate from heel to toe. Taylor had only just gotten a pedicure the other day, so her feet were as pampered as they had ever been, so soft Janis almost felt like they were tickling her fingers as she brushed up and down them. “Give me a hand, Lee.”
With Lee adding her finger to the mix, the two teasing fingers were starting to make the sleeping girl giggle in her sleep. Her toes were starting to wiggle and flex as the girls’ long fingernails brushed past them. A smile was starting to form on Taylor’s voice. “Tired of pretending to sleep yet, Taylor?” Janis asked, but the blonde girl made no response.
“Guess she must want us to tickle her more,” Lee said in a voice that was all innocent.
“Must be that.”
Taylor’s feet had spread apart during their last bout of wiggling, so Janis and Lee repositioned themselves around one foot each. They both used only their index fingers to see how much they could do before Taylor either woke up or decided the end this charade of being such a heavy sleeper.
Lee positioned her fingers at Taylor’s high arch. She stroked them up and down the arch like a pendulum, with one fingernail dragging up the foot as the other nail went down it. The arch kept wrinkling and unwrinkling in response to this constant up down motion teasing her sensitive soft arch.
Janis decided she wanted to play with Taylor’s flexing toes. She knew from extensive personal experience that the gap between the toes was so often a sweet spot because of how protected it tended to be, so her goal was to tease that spot on Taylor’s long, immaculate feet as much as possible. Her tickling was much less steady and constant as Lee’s persistent, tireless attack on the arch. She was much more stop and go, poke and leave. The toes would constantly be curling and wiggling from the onslaught on her other foot, so Janis would simply would till the toes opened for her to sneak a few quick finger strokes along those fleshy undersides. Then, she would wait for that spot to open again, and hit another spot around the toes. And if she ever grew too impatient, she knew all she had to do was flick her fingers across the soft pads to get those toes to burst open like ripe, ticklish fruit.
Taylor was breathing heavily now, chortling with soft laughter.
“Fun as this is, I think we really need to go soon,” Lee said. She shifted up and sat on Taylor’s ankle.
“Agreed.” Janis did the same. They looked at each other and at the same time, scribbled all ten of their fingernails across Taylor’s trapped feet. Twenty fingers ravaging across her hypersensitive feet were far more than a girl as ticklish as Taylor could stand, and she flew upright, wailing with laughter.
“Good morning, Taylor!” Lee and Taylor said in unison as their fingers continued to scrabble across her wiggling and flapping bare feet. “Ready to wake up?”
The two girls kept it up for a while longer before Taylor managed to twist her feet from under them. Taylor curled up on her body in the foetal position, still laughing as she rubbed away the lingering sensations on her soles. “Better than an alarm clock, huh? C’mon, let’s get moving.”
“I hope you girls know… this means war,” Taylor said, with her hair a dishevelled mess. “Revenge will be mine!”
“If you can wake up on earlier than us tomorrow, I say you perfectly deserve to tickle the shit out of us,” Janis said.
“What do you mean ‘us’?” Lee said, frowning. “I didn’t agree to this!”
All three girls laughed, Taylor headed to the washroom, and in twenty minutes, the girls set off for the manor of Morgana Lafey.
O-O-O
After they took a bus and trekked up a hill for about twenty minutes, Taylor complaining all the while about wearing her flip flops instead of her tennis trainers, the three university students had arrived. Lee manned the camera as they went for a nice wide shot of Morgana Lafey’s manor. Outside the manor there was a sign which read, “NO TRESPAPSSING, TRESPASSERS WILL GET THE SHIT TICKLED OUT OF THEM IF THEY’RE CUTE OR PELTED WITH DUNG IF THEY ARE NOT. WITH THE EXCEPTION OF GIRL SCOUTS. I LOVE COOKIES. THIS IS NOT A TRAP. SIGNED, MORGANA LAFEY.”
That strange sign aside, the manor was not exactly what came to mind when one thought of a haunted house. In fact, it looked so jarring that Lee was almost worried it would not be taken seriously if they were to publish it in their article. The manor was massive and sprawling, and it looked like it might contain half a hundred rooms, but it was painted a gaudy pink, for instance, though much of it had faded over time so it was more a faint peach pink that the hot pink it must have been at its inception. Vines and moss splattered some of it, but it looks worryingly like a sorority house. The rusted gates were open and welcoming, though the statues of naked women being tickled by stony fingers built into the main pillars of the gate were considerably more ominous.
“Pretty tacky,” Lee said, patting on of the women on the head as they walked past.
“You take that right back,” said a mysterious voice from behind them. “Those statues cost me an arm and leg to commission.”
“Morgana Lafey,” Janis said with a gasp.
The witch was far prettier in person than in the faded old portraits they had found, though perhaps it wasn’t that fair to use the phrase ‘in person’ when you were looking at a ghost. She had dark brown hair that tumbled to her shoulders, powerful green eyes, and pale skin, though they have just appeared pale because everything about her was tinged in a faint blue glow. Morgana wore long-sleeved black robes which cut off mid-thigh, and she was barefoot with long, black-painted nails. From the lack of sound her footsteps made on the leaves at their feet, she was floating instead of walking.
“Sup,” she said, “so you three are the university girls, here to write an article on me. I’m awfully flattered.”
“You, you are?” Janis said, a reluctant smile spreading across her face. “That’s great. We’d love an interview with you. What’s it like being a ghost?”
“Not too bad. There’s some prejudice, some discrimination, but it has its perks. You’re Janis, right?”
“How’d you know?”
“I know everything that happens in my town. Did you guys enjoy the little obstacles I threw at your little quest?”
“That was you?” Lee said, gasping. “I know there was something spooky going on!”
“Oh, don’t be so gauche, Lee. I know you’re pissy because of how much I teased you in that library, but you must agree, it makes things much more rewarding if you have to work a bit harder to get what you want.”
“So, what now?” Taylor said. “Are you going to try to steal our souls?”
Morgana shook her head. “I’m much more interested in ticklish soles, as you’ve probably gathered. I’ll let you three enter my humble home, write some notes, take a few souvenirs, snap a few selfies, do whatever you like. But you’ll remain my guests until you can complete this challenge I set for you—revenge.”
“Revenge?”
“I’m the one responsible for your tickling earlier. You naturally want revenge, no? My real body is somewhere in that house—perfectly preserved of course, as it’d be no fun to tickle skeleton. Show me a good tickling, and you can walk out of here.”
“What’s stopping us from walking out now?” Lee demanded, and as soon as she had finished talking, the metal gates clanged shut.
“Trust me, I have the power to fuck you up in a thousand different ways, so try not to tempt me.” Morgana gave them all a sweet smile. “Alright, good luck.”
She disappeared as the doors of the manor opened wide and invitingly.
Lee groaned. “What’ve we gotten ourselves into...”
“The scoop of our lives?” Taylor said. “Seriously, we just spoke to a ghost!”
“She didn’t sound like someone from the 18th Century,” Janis observed.
“Well, maybe she’s one of those hip old ladies who keeps up to date with the times,” Taylor said.
“Did you just fucking call me old?” screeched Morgana’s voice out of nowhere, and suddenly Taylor disappeared in a puff of blue smoke.
“Dude, what the fuck!” Janis exclaimed. She swatted at the smoke where her friend had been, but Taylor was gone. “She called you hip as well! Come on!”
“Don’t sass me, girl!” said the disembodied voice once more, and Janis too disappeared.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Lee said, suddenly finding herself all alone. “Did you kill them? Where are they?”
“Chillax, girl. I just sent them to different rooms in the manor. Be kinda boring if they all stuck together, anyway. Goes against the spirit of the whole haunted house thing. Have you never seen any horror movies?”
“You’re joking! That’s so cheating!”
“Fo’ shure. Now you better a movie on. Maybe you’ll get lucky and you’ll run into them inside after a few rooms.”
With nothing else that could be done, Lee trudged inside, her shoes clacking on the wooden floorboard. The heavy pink door swung shut behind her.
O-O-O
Janis had never felt more like a suckling pig in her life.
She had woken up in some dim corridor, with only faint sunlight drifting through the edges of the curtains to light her way. She pushed open the varnished wooden door to the next room, and in a flash, a blindfold had been whisked over her eyes, and she had been grabbed, spun around, bound up, and carted away elsewhere. It didn’t make a lick of sense, but nothing in this manor seemed to make much sense.
And now, here she was with an apple roughly shoved into her mouth, her wrists bound behind her back, and her ankles propped up through some kind of chute. She was flat on her back on something soft and fuzzy with her legs straight up into something firm and unyielding—she couldn’t pull her feet out nor shift them around at all. And with the blindfold on, she saw nothing, but she heard a persistent clink and clang of metal on some kind of hard surface, the low murmur and laughter of conversation, and there was an unmistakably aromatic smell wafting throughout the room. Her toes were tied together by something silky, possibly a ribbon, but she couldn’t work out anything more about her bizarre situation. It sounded like she was at some kind of dinner party, but that didn’t make any sense! Who were the people talking in the room? More ghosts?
Luckily, Morgana Lafey came to clue her in on what was going on before long.
“And how is my pièce de résistance?” Morgana said as she sidled up beside the bound and gagged girl. “Comfortable?” She gave a little giggle. “Your tasty little feet are going to be the star attraction at my party tonight, dear. Thanks so much for volunteering!”
There was the sound of a cover before removed from a dish, and suddenly Janis felt cool air and warm light bearing down on her pale, bare soles, a second before metal prongs began tracing across her feet. She wailed in her gag a one, two, three, five, seven, she lost count soon after as too many forks began scraping their cold metal tines across her feet. She felt like some kind of morsel being poked and prodded at, like a cheeky child playing with her food.
And those forks were teasing, their mysterious wielders using them with consummate skill as they glided all over Janis’s captive feet. Forks were the kind of tools that needed to be used with care, Janis knew from her own in-depth experimentations, if you applied too much force, they ceased to tickle and began to hurt, which might be what some people were after, but that wasn’t really her fetish.
These mysterious dinner guests of Morgana’s seemed to understand stand that, and they would drag the fork lightly across the expanse of her bare feet, occasionally adding in little wrist turns so there was a bit of kneading of flesh in addition to the scratching. Her tender arches always had forks stroking away at them, as did her plump blue-painted toes, which must have looked like ripe blueberries to them, as they kept poking away at them as if they wanted to spear them. These spots were well-covered, but the other forks were equally devastating in her less-frequented tickling areas. She would never have imagined the tops of her feet were so vulnerable to the light touches like this, nor the sides of her wide feet, even her yellowish heel, which by all accounts was the least sensitive spot on her feet.
All these spots were plumbed for every scrap of ticklish laughter, like the most diligent of eaters devouring every inch of food on their plate till it was spotless. And thanks to the ribbon binding her toes together, Janis’s feet weren’t going anywhere.
Janis shrieked, but the apple in her mouth was forced in with tape, and she could do nothing but wiggle her body about on the carpeted floor as forks picked away at their favourite spots on her chunky feet to make her squeal.
“Why do you keep wiggling towards me, huh?” Morgana said with a giggle. “I’ll have you know I’m usually not that kind of lady… but maybe I’ll make an exception just this once.” As the forks continued to dance across her bare feet, Morgana sent her long fingernails scurrying on the back of Janis’s knees, tickling through the thin fabric of her black jeans. She went all the way along the thighs till she got at the point where they met the hips, dangerously close to Janis’s womanhood.
A chuckling Morgana kept this up till Janis felt an ominous tingle between her legs, and then, pandemonium. Janis surged forward, shaking her head so wildly her blue hair slapped backed and forth like a whip. All the forks had suddenly disappeared and were replaced by marauding hands. Some hands were gloved in velvet, some hands were bare, some hands had long cruel fingernails, some hands were rough and callused, but what they all had in common is they tickled like hell, and they had been paying close attention to all the spots on her poor feet. There had been about ten or so forks teasing her feet, and it became apparent that each fork had been wielded by one person, as Janis felt close to a hundred fingers now on her bare feet.
They had pulled the stringy ribbon binding her big toes away, and that should have been a cause for celebration, but no, it just meant they could her feet away from each other so they had more space to operate. Certain spots had been spared because of how her feet had been tied to each other, like the inner sides of her feet, for instance, but no longer.
Strong hands pulled her toes back to keep her twitching foot in place—not to mention to make it easier to feast on the bounty of sensitive spots around her stubby toes, and all the other fingers fought over the choice dishes of ticklishness on her quivering feet. Sometimes they would hit the same spot and cancel each other out, but even if a hand or two was ineffectual, there were still plenty of others to pick up the slack.
The swarm of fingers scampering all over her feet was far too much for Janis to stand. There wasn’t a spot on her foot that those fingers weren’t tormenting—not one.
“My guests are so uncouth, aren’t they?” Morgana whispered in her ear. “It’s so uncivilised to eat with your hands. I’ll go have a word with them.”
Morgana stood up, leaving Janis to suck air frantically through her nose as she tried to get her breathing under control, as well as ease the throbbing between her legs. After a few seconds, the hands disappeared, and Janis managed a sigh of relief.
It turned out to be a premature one, though, as moments later, tongues began lapping along her feet. Her feet twisted in alarm, but there was nowhere to go. Janis had experience the joy of foot worship on occasion, and she had always adored how the ticklishness of her own feet coupled with the innate sensuality of it made it such an enjoyable experience. But that was too much! The ten or so tongues crawling over her feet, not caring if they touched each other, was overpowering. And the insistent tingle of her womanhood was getting strong and stronger as the tongues slathered her feet in saliva. Her feet flapped and wiggled as best they could, sometimes brushing against a bristly beard or a few strands of hair, but the tongues were tireless. And after letting her feet squirm around for a bit, a pair of mouths claimed her big toes to not only unleash a shuddering groan from the girl, but keep her feet trapped in place for the other tongues to do their business.
Janis’s eyes were starting to roll back as she felt a pair of talented tongues suckle her littlest toes as well. That was when Morgana suddenly returned to her side once more, giggling.
“There, now isn’t that much better? My guests wish to pass their compliments to your delicious feet, by the way… and they say they can’t wait for their second course!”
Janis gasped at the tongues suddenly disappeared all at once. A lock of blue hair was clinging to her damp forehead as she panted and panted. She only had a moment to brace herself before the forks returned.
“And they’re very eager to get started!” Morgana said as Janis wailed in ticklish frustration.
O-O-O
The next room smelled surprisingly clean for a musty, grimy old manor.
Taylor has woken up in some dark, foreboding corridor. She could hear the steady trickle of water, so she followed it a room nearby, turning a brass door knob to gain entry. As she took her first step in the dimly-lit room, Taylor’s flip flops stepped right into a puddle, the cold water sloshing over her bare feet. She wasn’t sure what she would call a room like this—it was the manor’s bathroom, that was apparent from the sinks, the half-empty bottles of perfume, and the white tiles everywhere.
But to call it a bathroom gave no credit to its scale. The grand tub in the centre of the room was sunk into the ground, and it was almost a small swimming pool, with a dozen brass taps pumping water into it. The taps seemed to be working, somehow, as the room was quickly filling with steam. It was more a bathhouse of sort, Taylor decided. She spied fresh towels lying on a hook beside the door, and she suddenly become very aware of how sweaty she was from her exertions. She was sure she had picked up some of the dirt and dust from the place just by being in it.
“This is a trap, isn’t it?” Taylor said aloud, not truly expecting a reply.
“Totally, yo,” said a voice from the far corner of the tub. And to her surprise, Morgana Lafey was there, naked and bathed in a ghostly blue glow. She had her pale, slender arms propped up against the edge as her legs make cycling motions in the water. “The only question is if you’re going to jump in, or if you’re going to need to be thrown in.”
Taylor mulled over those words and kicked off her flip flops before beginning to strip off her clothing. Well, if it was going to happen anyway, she might as well try to make the most of it. She dunked her head in the warm waters and sighed. It was the perfect tonic after all her hardships.
“When’s the last time you had a bubble bath?” Morgana said as she tossed some bath salts into the tub. “They really are quite nice.”
“I didn’t know bubble baths were around in the 18th century,” Taylor said as she allowed her entire body to submerged in the soothing waters. “I always thought they were a rather modern invention.”
“How dare you!” Morgana scowled with mock outrage. “Are you accusing me of being anachronistic?”
“I’m not a hundred percent sure what that means. Something to do with time?”
“It means you’re being a cheeky girl,” Morgana said with a wide smile, “and cheeky girls get punished in Lafey Manor.”
“You were just waiting for any excuse to tickle me, weren’t you?”
“Possibly.” Morgana snapped her fingers. “And the brass taps at the sides of the tub suddenly reared wrapped around Taylor’s wrists and ankles like handcuffs. They slowly pulled her body until everything taut and spread. She ended up in a position where she was half in the water and half out. Her bum and womanhood remained in the water along with most of her legs, though her bare ended up sticking out, as well as most of her upper torso, from the middle of her ribcage to her shoulders.
Morgana came swimming over, with a bar of soap in her hand. “Don’t worry, I plan on tickling you. I just wouldn’t want to dirty my lovely nails on anything dirty.”
“Aren’t you a ghost? How would the dirt cling to you? Aren’t you, like, transparent?”
“For your insolence, I’m gonna give you an extra thorough scrubbing.” Morgana gave the bottom of Taylor’s nearest foot a slap. The sole was a noticeably paler than the tanned tops and legs that preceded it. “Especially on those cute toe rings of yours. Don’t worry, I won’t stop till the metal is gleaming!”
Taylor groaned. “No fair.”
“Get used to it, honey. Even the laws of physics don’t play fair in my house.” She rubbed the soap around in her hands for a while as good thick lather built up before rubbing it across Taylor’s bare feet.
As she rubbed the soap into her feet, Taylor sat back and sighed with contentment. It felt rather like a foot massage, and those were always appreciated. Things would not stay this pleasant for long, she knew. Once the long, tanned feet were covered with the thick, soapy bubbles and smelling like daisies, Morgana held up a single, long, sharp fingernail and began stroking at the center of Taylor’s arches, the left foot for a stroke, then the right foot for a stroke, back and forth, back and forth. The metal taps that had wrapped around Taylor’s toned limbs like vines clanked and creaked as the university tennis star tried to break free, but they proved sturdy as Taylor quivered with burbling laughter.
“Hmm.” Morgana changed up her approach, using all ten of those long, pointed nails to rake up and down Taylor’s tanned feet. With her feet trapped in place, all Taylor could do was try to clench her toes shut to defend the soapy onslaught on her soles, but before long, it would always become too much to take, and her digits would spring open to allow those wicked nails to scratch under and between the toes with ease. “not a bad reaction, but we can do better, can’t we?”
She stared coating Taylor’s squirming feet in a fresh layer of suds as the university girl panted like she had just finished a five-set thriller.
Morgana swam forward till she was beside Taylor, who was starting to sweat all over again. “Hey, do you see those things over there?” She put an arm around Taylor’s tense shoulders as if they were buddies. When Taylor saw the pair of wooden scrub brushes, she shook her head.
“No, no, no!”
“Oh, so you don’t see them? I’ll bring ‘em closer.” Morgana beckoned and the scrub brushes flew through the air to hover an inch away from the slick and soaped-up soles of the super-ticklish Taylor. The brushes were big, chunky things, about the size of Taylor’s hand, and they looked like they would be very capable of inflicting a high amount of ticklish damage. And Taylor was right as the brushes picked up speed as they skated up and down her feet, making the blonde girl throw her head back and howl with laughter.
Whistling an infuriating casual tone, Morgana picked the soap back up and swam back to Taylor’s midsection. “You look like you do a lot of sports, eh? Your armpits must reek of BO afterwards. But don’t worry, I got the perfect thing for you, honey.”
A pair of wooden-handled, thick shaving brushes appeared behind her. Taylor’s eyes grew wide.
“Let's see how you like these brushes, sweetie. Last boy I had in here, oh, we had such fun with these brushes and his ticklish little cock.” Morgana shivered then smiled. “Let's see how you like them in your armpits. After we get the surface nice and soapy, of course.” Even rubbing that soapy lather into her armpits proved to be a ticklish affair, to the extent Taylor wasn't sure how she would possibly handle the shaving brushes when they started 'cleaning' her underarms. The answer was that she didn't handle them. She screamed and shook with wild abandon as the wet bristles slid across slick and oh so sensitive skin. They weren't as large as the scrub brushes rampaging across her soles, but that was the only good thing that could be said about them.
Her body must have been tormented by hundreds if not thousands of these tiny bristles, each one eliciting their own harrowing ticklish response on her slippery, soaped-up skin. The only consolation was her sensitive navel was submerged in the warm, bubbly bathwater, so she should escape a cleaning of her belly button, but that was it.
“What are you thinking, darling?” Morgana asked with a finger on her chin, “clean enough?”
“Yehehehes! Yehes, yes, yehehehehes!”
“You know, I get the feeling you’re lying. You don’t really think that. You’re just trying to be nice to spare my feelings.” Morgana gave Taylor a belittling pat on the head. “I appreciate that, but I am a perfectionist! We’re gonna do this right! For instance, I just don't think I'm doing a good enough job over here.” Morgana swam over to where the scrub brushes were working tirelessly away at Taylor’s feet. Much of the arches were already tickled pink. “I promised I’d get those lovely rings of yours squeaky clean! These big brushes just aren’t capable of giving your toes a good enough service, are they?”
Taylor squeaked at the sight of two more of those accursed shaving brushes flying towards her toes, where they immediately set to worth swirling over the tips and tops of those shiny gold-painted toenails. She begged and pleaded with the witch that she was doing a fine job, that her feet were definitely clean enough, but the witch just tutted as she went to work. The brushes would do the cleaning by themselves as they floated in the air propelled by some mysterious magic, but Morgana would pluck a pair of them out of the air and opt for a hands-on approach.
“Awww, you’re looking a bit worn-out. One more cleaning spot, and I’ll leave you to it, I promise.” Morgana gave Taylor a wink as she reached for the soap once more.
Great, Taylor thought. Knowing her luck, it would be those hellish brushes in her navel. She was wrong however, when Morgana began lathering up her bountiful breasts and nipples. She gaped in shock—or she would have, if she weren’t laughing so hard.
A bit of sensual rubbing of the soap lather later, Taylor arched her back as the soft bristles of the shaving brush flicked across her rapidly hardening nipples. The blonde girl gnashed her teeth as those brushes swirled circles all over her highly sensitive orbs, especially those prominent pink points of her nipples.
Before long, Taylor was grinding her hips and more than a little grateful her submerged womanhood must be concealing her wetness. And yet the all-abating tickling continued undaunted, any hopes of an orgasm impossible from her ticklish distress.
Morgana must have known, the consummate tease, Taylor thought. The cruel witch was just pretending not to notice as she flitted from spot to spot, re-applying soapy lather on those fun cleaning spots. Only after Taylor was so flushed and hot she felt like her body was aflame did the witch stop, with orgasm a hair’s breadth away.
“Clean enough, I say. Gtg. Have fun with your shower.” Morgana disappeared with a parting wave, and the taps that held her limbs shrank away. Taylor panted and gasped, her hand hovering over her throbbing womanhood. Well, there was only one sane thing to do now…
O-O-O
Lee’s brown oxford shoes clacked on the creaking floorboards as she made her way along the narrow corridor, her heart beating hard in her chest. There was a crystal chandelier above her head with candles that provided a dim light, yet the small Asian girl still found herself jumping and flinching at every sound. At any other team, she might have been drawn to the fine oil paintings of landscapes, at the dusty busts of long-dead figures, or at the moth-eaten tapestries hanging from the walls.
What was going on here? The hyperrational Chinese girl was struggling to corroborate the strange occurrences at this manor with the world of logic she had known so well. And now she was alone, alone in the queer place. She hoped her friends were doing better than she was…
It was as all these doubts and fears were sweeping through her mind that Lee’s right foot must have stepped on a rotten plank of wood, as her right leg suddenly swept through. She yelped, and for a half a heartbeat, she feared she might tumble through to an untimely death. But it soon became clear that the hole was only large enough for one small foot to fall through, not her entire body.
She would have breathed a huge sigh of relief, if not for the fact something strong and pincer-like had just gripped her by the ankle. She tugged and tugged using her hands for leverage, but her trapped right foot would not budge.
“Yeah, you know what they say about old houses,” said a voice from behind her. She spun and suddenly the witch herself, Morgana Lafey was behind her. The witch shone with a ghostly blue translucence as she sat with her back propped against the wall, barefoot and smiling. “You know, I’ve called people to try to come and take a look at the house, but no one seems to want to take the job. Whatever happened to professionalism, eh? They must have stopped making honest workers in my time.”
“My foot…”
“What’s that?” Morgana smiled. “You really must watch your step, my dear. After all, I might have some critters dwelling in my humble home.”
Lee gasped and bit on her lower lip as she felt something playing with her trapped foot. It felt like a scaled, clawed hand. She felt her shoe plop out and fall away, leaving her foot alone with only the thin fabric of her black stockings for protection. And they proved capable of very little protection at all.
Rough fingers began to wriggle against her soft sole, which caused Lee to try to kick her feet free, but the wooden hole had somehow closed around her knee, leaving her foot trapped from the shin down. She pursed her lips together, giggles already starting to spurt free as she felt something smaller, about the size of a shoelace snake up her foot to slide in between her toes to tickle them through her nylon stockings. Lee balled her finger into fists as she felt the tickling start to increase. Just what was down there? There was definitely more than one, and she could hear a low rumble that must have been them talking to each other.
“Yeah, you can probably tell I have a bit of a reptile problem,” Morgana said. “Don’t worry, I’ll sort it out. It’s on my to-do list after world peace, abolish all pornography, and get a commission from oneortheother.”
That was one riddle unravelled, which might have been good for Lee’s mind, but it did no favours for her body, which was at the mercy of whatever Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles were tickling the shit out of her feet with what must have been their fingers and tails.
There were five fingers spidering away at her heels and arches, but the real damage was being done by the tail that was tormenting her petite, red-painted toes. That nimble, quick, slender thing proved to be especially bothersome. Lee tried to use her toes to grab the rough thing with her toes, but it always evaded her clumsy attempts at capture, and it would always launch a fierce counter attack, darting around the other way to stroke the base of her toes or along their quivering tips.
After a while, one of the hands tugged at the toe of the stockings and pulled them down towards the ground to force her foot straight. Lee would never have imagined her own nylons could be used against her. It was so cruel to be betrayed by her own socks. Her own stocking was being used to imprison her right foot to keep it in place for the brutal tickling that was inflicted upon it, as bad as ropes around each toe. Her foot twisted and strained and tried to get free, but she didn’t dare try too hard lest she end up ripping her stockings—her feet were ludicrously ticklish even in stockings, but bare foot? She wouldn’t have a chance at all at keeping composure, she feared…
Yet before long, as Lee shrieked and squealed, it became apparent that the tail was trying especially hard to worm between her toes, which would mean that the fabric of her nylons would… rip. There was a small hole at the gap between big toe and second toe at first, but the tail went scurrying inside straight away to get at the creamy flesh of her bare foot, without even the scant resistance her stockings had offers her.
Fingers quickly joined the tail, and before long, Lee’s stocking was reduced to shreds, and her foot was bare and completely exposed as the creatures ravished it with tough fingers and rough scratchy tails. She pounded and slammed the wooden floorboards as Morgana sat there smirking at her.
As fingers began questing through the gaps between all her terribly ticklish toes at once, Lee found a fresh reserve of strength to squirm and struggle against her bonds. She slammed her palms down at the floor again and again, till she heard the cracking splinter of wood. She looked down and saw that she might have been a bit too successful—the floorboards all around her were breaking!
Morgana chuckled. “I guess you don’t know your own strength. I expect to be reimbursed for damages, by the way.” The floorboard fell apart, and Lee was falling, falling down into the deep unknown.
O-O-O
The next room was dusty and dark. Well, dustier and darker than the other ones in this old, creaky manor. As the door swung shut behind her like it always did, Janis found herself struggling to make light of what was even a few inches in front of her. She blinked steadily, waiting for her eyes to acclimatise to the darkness, it was then that something bit her on the neck, and everything started to blur…
“Come, come, my dear, I haven’t got all day,” said a familiar, mocking voice. “I have places to be, people to tickle, TV shows to watch…”
Janis opened her eyes to see the sight of Morgana Lafey standing on the ceiling, illuminated by candles. It took her groggy, drugged-out mind a moment to realise that it was only because she herself was upside down with her long brightly-coloured hair in her face. She squirmed a bit, but the cocoon had her firmly encased in the strong silken material.
Morgana smiled at her. The ghost witch still had the same spectral blue glow to her, but her attire had undergone some transformation. She was barefoot as always, her toenails shimmering in the faint light, but she now wore grey silken stockings and a white evening dress that would not have looked out of place at any dinner party in the world. “Admiring my stockings?” Morgana said, having noticed where Janis was looking. “My guests helped make them for me.”
“Guests?” The drug-addled mind worked slowly, and Janis only figured out what the witch meant when she felt a dozen or three tiny, hairy, quite ticklish legs scramble across her feet—the only part of her aside from her neck that had neglected to wrap up in their webs, evidently was her right foot, though her left one remained bound, in a curious case of asymmetrical bondage.
The transgressive girl found herself instantly breaking into laughter. Each spider couldn’t have been larger an inch or two, but that seemed to be the perfect size of their purpose. They were large enough that their presence would be unignorable, and they were small enough that plenty of them were able to roam all over the sensitive spots on Janis’s chunky, wide feet. The silken webbing that bound Janis’s right foot like a sock was made of thin, gossamer that did little to block out the sensations, so both feet managed to tickle terribly.
And it was not for nothing that so many of the tickle erotica that Janis had enjoyed spoke of fingers ‘spidering’ across ticklish stomachs or feet. The spiders were maddeningly effective as they scurried wherever they wanted. They clustered along her arches, especially the deep crevice in the centre of them, but plenty of them had migrated to other spots. Their light, ethereal touches itched terribly along the tops of her feet along the insteps, as well as the ankles and sides of the foot.
“Tell me, which foot seems to tickle more?” Morgana was lying on a settee, her stocking-clad feet propped up on one of the armrests. Janis tried to focus on that pale foot with those high, soft-looking arches. Focusing on tickling the bejeezus out of those soles helped make her situation infinitely more bearable. “Do stockings make the tickling worse? I was hoping we could do a rather empirical study on the manner?” She wiggled her toes. “Answer me helpfully, and I may even let you get a quick tickle on these feet you so apparently lusting over.”
Janis scrunched her eyes shut to try to focus on the sensations. The nylon-esque covering on her right foot did block out some of the tickling, albeit not much, and it smoothed out the crinkles and wrinkles of her sole as if they were lathered in baby oil, so she hypothesised that they would be more vulnerable to long strokes up and down the soles. These small spiders, as effective as they were tormenting her ticklish soles in unison, weren’t really able to do that, however.
“Thehehehy both tihihickle a lohohohot! Cahahahan’t say!”
“You can do better, dearie,” Morgana floated up into the air, and the spiders parted like the red sea to allow the witch’s long fingernails a chance to dance across Janis’s bare feet. And this, oh, this tickled like hell. Morgana drew her nails in a firm line from heel to toes, before changing course to zigzag her way back down again, always starting with a stroke across those pedicured toes. With her foot pulled back in Morgana’s grip, her foot was taut and perfectly vulnerable.
“You tihihhickle beheheheter than the spihihiderrs! On wehehehehebbed foohoohoot!”
“Well, of course I tickle better than the spiders, dear,” Morgana said with a laugh, her fingers never breaking contact with Janis’s flapping feet for a moment. “I mean, that surely goes without saying. But it would be wrong to deprive them of practice, wouldn’t it?”
Morgana shifted both hands to the right foot—the one with the silken stockings intensified every sensation from her long, raking nails, and the spiders flooded back over left foot, which was bare and perfectly exposed to the fuzzy touch of their legs. As the spiders crawled along and between Janis’s toes, she tried to grab some of the spiders with them and squash them, but somehow it never seemed to quite be successful. Of course, it was hard to focus too much on something like that when you had Morgana’s expert fingers stroking up and down her foot as if it was a fine fabric to be caressed.
“But I’m a woman of my word,” Morgana said, and she removed her fingers from Janis’s right foot. The spiders were quick to reclaim that spot as she floated back down and extended her foot in front of Janis’s face. “Go on, before I change my point. Biting on the ball of my feet drives me crazy, as do licks on my arches. Those are my two most awful spots.”
Janis tried to shift her head forward towards that alluring, immaculate foot, but tickling at her own feet was just too intense! It was impossible to get any kind of oral tickling going on when her jaw kept clamping shut to laugh. And then, just like that, the moment was gone.
“Well, would you look at the time?” Morgana said and moved away. “Afraid I’m a very busy lady, and I don’t have time for you to muster up the courage to tickle me. A shame—my feet are really quite sensitive. I’ll have the spiders let you out before tooooooooooo long.” She gave Janis a wink and disappeared, leaving the punk girl with only regrets, anger at being cheated on her vengeance, and a pair of very ticklish feet at the mercy of a cluster of spiders.
O-O-O
Lee’s eyes took a few moments to adjust to the harsh light. In a sharp contrast to the dark and dreary room she had expected, this room was bright and well-lit. The windows were thrown open and the curtains were drawn back to allow in the midday sun.
She soon realised why—she was in the manor’s infirmary, though perhaps experimentation room might have been a more apt descriptor. All around her were glass jars of unknown, strange-looking substance. Herbs hung from the ceiling. She saw rolls of bandages, stacks of wooden splints, strange implements she did not recognise. Lee found herself tied down to a metal surgical bed, with lengths of high-tensile straps binding her firmly in place. They were especially thick around her wrists, which were tied above her head, and her ankles. One foot was bare from her earlier encounter and the other remained sheathed in the black stocking.
“Ah, my favourite patient is up,” said a familiar voice from the other side of the room. Morgana Lafey had changed her garb to resemble that of a nurse. She had the white nurse’s hat with a red cross, a short white dress, and white stockings. The smug look on her face was not that of a benevolent healer, however. “How are you feeling?”
“Um, not great,” Lee said as she tested her bonds. They were implacable.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Morgana said, not sounding very sorry at all. “but while you’re here, how about we do a little examination?” She reached for a utensil with a shining metal wheel of serrated teeth on its end. She rolled it along her fingers, smiling.
“That’s a bit anachronistic, isn’t it?” Lee said in the airy voice of the know-it-all. “Wartenberg Wheels definitely weren’t around in the 18th century when you were supposed to have lived.”
“That’s a tracing wheel actually. They’re used to transfer markings from patterns onto fabric.” Morgana’s face scrunched up into a frown. “Also, has anyone said you’re a real killjoy?”
“You know no one even uses pinwheels anymore?”
“What are you taking about it? It’s all scientific and shit. This wheel will systematically test your nerve reactions and sensitivity… an essential part of any medical examination!” Morgana reached out and grabbed Lee’s right foot, the one that was bare. She held the tiny toes firm so the pinwheel could run a line across the pads of all her toes at once.
Lee jerked up, repressed laughter coming out a shaky grunt. “People don’t even use these things anymore! They’re outdated! They’re unsanitary! You know how many germs you get from using one of those things in a medical setting?”
“Well, thank goodness this isn’t a medical setting, then. Thanks for ruining the illusion.” Morgana sighed and shook her head. “And I even dressed up for this. Gosh, I’m mighty tempted to break out some hairbrushes and oil and just tickle you till you cry. But you’re lucky I’m such a professional.”
Still holding Lee’s bare foot straight with one hand, Morgana ran the pinwheel lightly over the surface of that small foot. Lee gritted her teeth as laughter came whooshing through the gaps in her teeth. It was outrageous how much it tickled, and her keen analytical mind was having difficulty with comprehending how tiny metal prongs were capable of inducing such a response from her sensitive soles. Fingers and feathers made sense—they resembled scampering insects, and tickle reflex had evolved as a method of detection of critters that might damage the body. But those sharp spikes?
It didn’t make a whiff of sense, yet ticklish sensations continued to surge up her legs as the pinwheel drew lines vertically up and down the sole.
“You’re responding very well here,” Morgana observed with a giggle as the pinwheel forced a squeal from Lee’s pouty lips when they zipped along her pale, soft arch. “I’ll have to compare and contrast with that other foot in a moment. I wonder if it’ll be worse with the nylons on.”
It was hard to imagine things being much worse than they were already, Lee thought, as Morgana changed to horizontal lines across her soles. This was especially true as Morgana seemed to be starting with Lee’s petite toes. From her instant squeaking hysterics, they were were almost as bad as her arch when it came to the pinwheel’s cold, prickly touch.
After Morgana was finished with her vertical lines, Lee’s milky white feet were started to redden, and they reddened even further when Morgana decided that she needed to run a few more tests before moving onto the other foot.
“Feel free to tell me which spot tickles more, dearie,” Morgana said as she alternating between teasing the pink arch and the bubble-like toes with that dreaded pinwheel of hers. Lee was shaking and shuddering in her binds, but Morgana’s grip was iron, and the pinwheel continued to roll up and down across her foot.
After another eternity of this, Morgana walked over to the other foot which had so far been spared. The nylon-covered foot immediately curled up and scrunched, but Morgana yanked by her red-painted toes with ease. “Now, now, dear, for science!”
As the pinwheel ran over and over her helpless foot, paying particular attention to her arch and those small toes of hers, Lee’s scientific mind was starting to come to the rather unhelpful conclusion that nylon-clad feet really didn’t mix well with pinwheels. In fact, they might double the sensations. Lee’s frantic squeals and thrashing probably made this clear, though that wasn’t enough for Morgana.
“Which foot tickles more? Tell me! Tell me!” Morgana kept asking as tears of laughter rolled down Lee’s face. “I must know!”
The evil witch then found a new spot—the base of the toes, that little ridge just beneath those small digits that proved exceptionally vulnerable to the pinwheels. She went at that spot on the right foot and then the left, stroke here, stroke there, let the wheels run along them slowly, slowly, slowly.
“Thehehehe leheheheft! The stohohohockings!” Lee finally burbled out after Morgana changed foot for the umpteenth time. Regardless to how monotonous and predictable the action was, the change in targets catching her off-guard like it had every time before. Why did she feel like she was becoming increasingly ticklish as opposed to becoming accustomed to the sensation? Lee wished she knew. It didn’t make sense that her nerves should scream in surprise to a change that she knew was coming, yet they did, and it tickled so much.
“Aww, was that so hard?” Morgana said, focusing her pinwheeling efforts entirely on the left foot. Base of toes, arch, and toe-pads. She went back and forth around this unholy trinity of ticklish agony till Lee was a breathing mess.
“Thank you for your contributions to science, honey,” Morgana said, leaning down to kiss the panting girl on the forehead. “I’ll leave you to recuperate. Ciao, baby!”
