ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 16
The shimmering rays of a golden sun begin peeking their way over the expansive mountain vista, illuminating the rustic charm that is Pinebrook University. An established liberal arts college located far out in the charming countryside, its decorated alumni inhabit the upper echelons of society through and through, with each student who enters through its glorious arches dreaming of their place amongst them. A brand-new school year is in bloom, ripe with endless possibilities for exploration and self-discovery. Upon this campus the hordes of young men and women will coalesce, a diversity of opinions and backgrounds fostering a strong ecosystem of mutual respect and the pursuit of higher learning. It is here that the seeds of friendship will be planted, blossoming into that which may be destined to last merely a semester, or that which will last a lifetime.
However, had it been her choice, it wouldn’t have lasted one day.
Returning as a sophomore to Pinebrook this semester is Carrie Dashwood, on track for earning her Bachelor’s in English Literature a full semester earlier than anticipated. This was no doubt due to a mixture of her intense focus and commitment to her education, combined with a strong aversion to anything she has deemed merely a distraction from it. Such led her to present in a way that seemed at odds with her naturally bestowed assets: standing five feet ten inches in height, her prolonged figure could have walked runways had it not been cloaked in wool-knit blouses and long skirts even in the zenith of summer. A mane of long luscious walnut locks could easily be seen cascading in the morning breeze, had it not been tightly bound in a single ponytail behind her. Her piercing blue eyes were hard to notice under the thick rims of her tortoise shell eyeglasses, and her well-shaped breasts were all but completely covered when she has her daily reading clasped around her chest.
To be labeled the posterchild on self-suppression may have been an understatement, but it was a personal choice she embodied through and through, not letting anything stand in the way between her and academic excellence. However, she was to soon discover that, against her fervent request to have a single room for herself this year, she had been paired with the most incompatible creature they could have dug right out of the 1960s as her roommate.
Sarah MacIntosh, a five-year junior who had changed more majors than anyone else in the school, was slotted to fill the empty bed she so lamentingly gazes upon. It must have been a vengeful God that paired her with Sarah, forcing her to spend her supposedly relaxing hours with her exact opposite: a wiry energetic young woman, her dirty blonde hair lay perpetually in tangles, left unbrushed the moment she shuffles out of bed, and not one strand put back into place when she hobbles her way back in. Her clothing ragged and second-hand, she can’t help but throw whatever flea market find straight unto the floor, a point of irritation for Carrie expecting to arrive home every day to a clean domicile. The word Carrie found most appropriate when describing her roommate was “flamboyant,” just one of the many words Carrie found herself using both in and outside of Sarah’s presence.
However, there was to be one thing about Sarah that would ultimately break the camel’s back: her disgusting feet. A complete aversion to footwear led Sarah prancing across campus barefoot day in and day out, tracking in her daily escapades unto the carpet of their small dormitory, leading right to the culprit the moment Carrie walks in the door. Such became a point of argument for the two, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object time and time again with little room for either to budge.
Little did Carrie know that, on this day in particular, it would be her that would be doing the budging, and Sarah doing the pushing.
The late summer sunlight, when directed in this very manner at this very hour, is rendered perfect for delving into a fine piece of an American classic, at least as far as Carrie is concerned. Seated at her desk, Carrie finds herself completely immersed in the endless pages of Their Eyes Were Watching God, watching the events unfold as though she were watching a film right before her eyes. It was this meditative trance she found most solace in, and one she felt most protective of when it came to be. However, her bliss would soon be robbed from her, for as the jingle of an oversized key ring rattled beyond her door, it served merely a premonition of her roommate, swinging open the heavy slab, throwing it harshly into the wall, shaking nearly everything in the room through the force of contact.
“Sup Stilts!” Sarah calls out, a most infuriating pet name she had settled on since day one for her most elongated roommate.
“Hello Sarah,” Carrie groans solemnly, determined not to let Sarah interfere with her extracurricular reading. She winces to the clunk of Sarah’s backpack, collapsing unto the ground right in front of the door, something she will have to move once she inevitably storms out later that night. However, that would have to wait, for a very familiar sight is invading her periphery, one whose very utterance elicits a prominent vein atop Carrie’s temple. Peering off to her right corner, she is confronted with the sight of footprints, perfect indentations of Sarah’s size five feet, yet again covering their carpeted walkway.
“Dammit Sarah, I’ve told you a hundred times to wipe your feet on the mat outside!” Carrie barks, rising to confront her roommate. “Don’t you know how disgusting it is to turn around just to see your footprints spattered all across the floor?!”
“I did wipe my feet, you just weren’t paying attention!” Sarah claps back, responding with her usual lackadaisical attitude, knowing full well just how much Carrie hates when she does that, or just not caring enough to bother. Her brow furrowing, Carrie is visibly flustered, a rarity but one that signals trouble impending for the free spirit. She doesn’t know whether it would be worse that Sarah was lying, or that she had wiped her feet off but were so putrid they left the mess anyway, but by now she couldn’t care less. All she did know is that she had to put a stop to this, once and for all.
In the meantime, Sarah is oblivious to the tint of cherry red encapsulating her roommate’s face. Plopping herself atop their sofa, propping her bare feet atop the coffee table, Sarah reveals herself as the culprit, revealing a thick coating of dust and dirt atop her soles, the source of which nobody will truly know.
“Ahhhhh, that’s better!” Sarah moans in pleasure, now hellbent on making sure Carrie makes quick with her nightly bombastic exit, leaving her in peace for a little R&R. This, Carrie thought, is absolutely the last straw.
“That’s it!” Carrie shouts, stamping her feet towards the door, kicking away Sarah’s backpack in frustration. “I’m getting the RA, and letting her decide just who is the moral authority in this dorm!” A swift chill runs down Sarah’s spine, knowing for sure that the campus board has been gunning it for her the past three years, trying to find any and all reason to toss her delinquent butt out onto the street. If Carrie lets them search their room, they might inadvertently find Sarah’s little “personal garden” in her closet, making her expulsion all but assured. That definitely was not going to happen, and Sarah was going to make sure of it.
“Oh no you don’t!” Sarah yell, jumping up just as Carrie is just about to unlatch their front door. Pouncing from behind, Sarah grasps Carrie around the arms, swinging her statuesque figure to the ground behind her, eliciting a yelp of shock from the repressed beauty. A soft thud echoes through the room as Carrie lands right on her stomach, having the wind temporarily knocked out of her. Reaching underneath the couch, Sarah reveals a length of rope she had left from the exploratory phase of one of her previous relationships. Attempting to scream for help, Carrie’s calls merely reveal themselves as strained whispers, the impact of her fall leaving her mute, a happy accident as far as Sarah is concerned. Wrenching Carrie’s arms behind her back, Sarah begins binding her roommate, all to the helpless horror of the distressed brunette.
This isn’t possible, Carrie attempts to comprehend, not believing for one second that she would have to deal with being assaulted one year into college. However, Carrie’s soon to realize she is somewhat to blame: despite being blind sighted at the start, it was her willful ignorance of Sarah’s stash that led her to hastily try and get the RA, rather than just wait until Sarah was out for the day to do so. As well, had she invested even one day a week in the gym, her atrophying muscles barely able to keep herself upright, she may have been able to fend off her enthusiastic roommate, standing a formidable five feet three inches and just a stone over 100 pounds.
“Get off me!” Carrie demands, regaining her breath just enough to issue such a seemingly stern order. Her pitiful struggles are no match for Sarah’s keen ropework, making sure to secure every last hope of escape from her grasp.
“You know, I think it’s time for an attitude adjustment,” Sarah says, lassoing her roommate’s wrists together, binding them with a double knot behind her back. Pinning Carrie’s legs to the ground behind her, she does the same to her ankles, winding several coils around the spot just between the tops of her socks and the end of her dress. Using the final length of rope, Sarah decides to demonstrate the pinnacle of her amateur BDSM skills to her roommate’s virgin eyes: hoisting Carrie’s bound ankles atop her butt, Sarah swiftly binds them to her wrists, successfully completing an inescapable hogtie. Throughout her handiwork, Sarah can’t help herself but smile, knowing just how much power she currently has over her roommate, and sure she is going to demonstrate that for the time being.
“There!” Sarah exclaims, hoisting herself up, admiring the work of art she has created. “How does that feel honey?” Wriggling from side to side, fingering at the mounds of knots she couldn’t possibly untie, Carrie is left utterly helpless, completely at the mercy (or lack thereof) of her deranged roommate.
“Why did you do this?” Carrie cries out, just trying to fathom what reality she is living in as of currently. She feels her cheeks blushing, the combination of frustration and embarrassment settling in, knowing she was useless at preventing this from the start.
“I just want you to lighten up a little,” Sarah cryptically states, Carrie’s misunderstanding making her uneasy at the moment. Kneeling down next to her bundled roommate, Sarah begins teasingly poking her index fingers into Carrie sides, eliciting an abrupt response the likes of which she has never experienced.
“Wahahahaha! Don’t do that!” Carrie shrieks, twisting and turning with all her might, desperate to escape such teasing pokes.
“Do what?” Sarah replies, failing to relent as she playfully prods her pointing fingers in between Carrie’s ribs, curiously pushing buttons as a small child would.
“Stahahahap!” she cackles, attempting to shield her sides with her arms, only to fall pitifully short of full protection. “Let me go! Ihehehehe mean it!”
“What’s wrong sweetie?” Sarah asks, snaking her fingers underneath Carrie’s pinned arms, their vice-like grip unable to keep out such inquisitively invasive fingers as Sarah’s. “You aren’t ticklish are you?” Finding the tender flesh of her underarms, Sarah begins pulsating her wriggling fingers, eliciting a hapless shriek from her captive.
“Waaaaaaaahahahahahahahaha!” Carrie cries out, unable to cope with such a foreign mixture of girlish teasing and malicious assault. She cries and howls with wild abandonment, a true drama queen as far as Sarah is concerned: just how sheltered has this girl been that she can’t handle a little tickle now and again? Her mouth peeled open in forced mirth, Carrie attempts to hide her ticklish reactions, burying her face in the carpet no matter how many of Sarah’s footprints she has to deal with.
“I’m begging youhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhu!” Carrie screams in muffled frustration, dissolving into cascades of forced laughter much to the delight of her captor. “Just let me go!”
“You know: I have to tell you,” Sarah interjects, abruptly ceasing Carrie’s torments, enough to let the girl catch her breath for a few precious moments. “I think you have an unhealthy fixation on me and my feet, and the strange thing is: I have yet to even catch a glimpse of you and your feet.” A cold sweat washes over Carrie, the mere thought of Sarah getting close to her bare feet turning her entire world upside down.
It’s true: her feet had been a sore spot for her since middle school, a sudden growth spurt not equally balanced across her body, leaving her feet protruding many sizes larger than her peers. Such childhood trauma left her to shroud them in a clunky set of sneakers, never letting them see the light of day for fear of the teasing she may receive. However, it would seem on this day that Sarah would force her out of that cycle, with or without her expressed consent.
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” Sarah teases, tapping her manicured nails atop the hard rubber soles of Carrie’s jogging shoes. Bit by bit, she begins unlacing the top laces, a mound of knots no match for her nimble fingers, unweaving their intricate design until they fall precariously at their sides. Taking her left shoe by the heel, the front of which being adequately loosened, Sarah begins ever so slowly removing it, slipping it off as slowly as possible to artificially raise the tension. Carrie tries to resist, meagerly pressing her toes against the material inside her shoe, attempting to keep it stationary if not to spare her a few precious moments. Such is futile, as Sarah flings them over her shoulder: first the left one, and then the right one, revealing a pair of socked feet, wrinkling themselves in anticipation.
“Aww, they look so scared!” Sarah admires, blowing a slight stream of air across them, throwing a lightning bolt up Carrie’s spine. Little could she have imagined just how ticklish they truly were, shrouded from the world and all that would desensitize them. She was left mute, unable to think of anything that might spare her from the torments that she is soon to experience in full.
“Oh you don’t need these anymore sweetie!” Sarah indicates, gently pinching the side of Carrie’s sock. Tugging them upward, she begins gently peeling them off her feet, her curling and clenching toes slowly losing their grip on the soft material.
“Please no!” Carrie shouts on deaf ears, desperate to keep her last vestige of safety upon her silky soles. "I'm begging you now, please!" However, it must have been difficult for Sarah to hear her down there, for Sarah just couldn’t help but reveal to the world a pair of freshly found hyper ticklish size ten feet that Carrie has been hiding from her for so long.
“Oh, they’re so pale!” Sarah exclaims, eliciting a blush across Carrie’s face, unable to cope with her hippy roommate’s focused attention upon her naked feet. “Shall we get started?” Just out of the corner of her eye, Carrie can make out the glistening sheen of her roommate’s nails, making their trek right into the soles of her tenderly soft feet.
“No wait please!” Carrie thrusts forth, just as Sarah’s nails rest upon the untouched soles of her virgin feet. “I’ll never say anything about you or your feet again! Just please…don’t!”
“Please don’t what, dear?” Sarah asks, obviously fishing for an answer Carrie is unable to give. However, with every passing moment, and the anticipation within her boiling over, Carrie finally gives in to her roommate’s growing influence.
“Please don’t tickle my feet!” Carrie meekly states, her submissive state rendering it to a squeak that Sarah is just barely able to make out from her perched position. However, that was all she needed.
“You mean like…this?!” Sarah answers, her fingernails frantically scraping across Carrie’s tender soles, sending her swiftly into a ticklish tailspin from which she may never return.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA!!” Carrie bellows into the carpet, unable to watch her feet being violated in such a manner by her roommate. Her feet flailing desperately behind her, she is left completely helpless to those invasive nails, skittering their way into every crease and crevice of her pristine size ten soles.
“We’ve got a live one!” Sarah exclaims, skittering her nails across their silky-smooth surface, gliding from her tender heels all the way to the crevice underneath her toes. Such ticklish reactions usurp Carrie’s reason, unable to mentally cope with such overwhelming sensations in such a docile state. Her cascading laughter is substituted by that of a shriek for clemency, just as Sarah finds her way into the spot in between her toes.
“MERCYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!! AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
It might surprise those who wonder just why nobody had barged in to the scene for her rescue, recognizing her unbridled screams as a call for help. Well, little did Carrie understand she had stepped on one too many toes during her stay last semester: reporting too many code violations, breaking up too many parties, and just being a real drag on her neighbors. It might have been that, just beforehand, Sarah had warned their neighbors to put on their headphones once things started going down, something they were all doing at this moment. Had they known exactly what was going on, they might have been more likely to join in themselves.
“You love this don’t you?” Sarah tenderly asks, in between Carrie’s cackling wails, having dissolved into silent breathy laughter. “Tell me you do!”
Tears begin streaming down Carrie’s cheeks, the combination of unbridled tickle torture and psychological teasing too much for Carrie’s fragile psyche to bear. Sheltered her entire life, the world being handed to her on a silver platter, she could scarcely imagine being subject to such abject circumstances, especially not at the hands of someone as deviously hellbent as Sarah. However, with every swipe of her nails across her feet, she finds her will being steadily wiped away.
“If you say you love it, I might go easy on you!” Sarah states, seemingly giving the poor creature a way out of her torments knowing what little choice she would have. Carrie was no stooge: having been accepted on a full ride scholarship, she could see past the ruse as though it were completely transparent. However, such was the ploy of Sarah’s trap: by mentally cornering her, she could strip her of any and all predilections towards logical thought, rendering her completely and irrationally submissive to her will. Only after several minutes, after the reality of her situation had taken hold, Carrie finally breaks her composure.
“I LOVE IT!!” Carrie bellows forth, wedged in between her hapless cackles and shrieks of terror echoing throughout the compact space.
“I’m so glad you do!” Sarah beams, clapping her hands together as though she’s found a brand new plaything. “Now the fun can really begin!” Carrie hasn’t the will to even respond, lost in hell as her body is used against her in ticklish delights. It was only through the wicked sensation that she knew what was happening, as Sarah begins gliding the hard bristles of her own hairbrush across her tender soles.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” Carrie shrieks, her blood curdling cries echoing through the halls, catching by surprise the crowd growing outside their room.
“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPP!! GET AWAYHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!”
“Are you going to behave?” Sarah demands, raking the dastardly device into both of her heels, sending the poor creature into a maelstrom of ticklish agony she has never known.
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEESAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!!”
“You’ll be good?!” Sarah yells, finding the hairbrush slowly ascending up Carrie’s soles, making a beeline into her flailing toes.
“I’LL BE GOOD!! I’LL BE GOOOOOOOOOODAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Carrie screams at the top of her lungs, hoping to avoid that impending punishment she is sure will occur, only to yet again fail pitifully in doing so. "NAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAT THE TOOOOOOOOOOES!!"
“From now on you’re my little tickle pet, got it?!” Sarah demands, ravaging her toes in earnest just as Carrie had so desperately tried to avail herself of.
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHESSSSSSSSSSS!!”
“Say you’re my tickle pet!” Sarah exclaims, merely putting the icing on her little tickle cake.
“I’M YOUR TICKLE PET!!” Carrie screams, feeling the ball of every bristle dig into her long tender toes, caressing every patch with ungodly effectiveness. Her helpless tears and unbridled drool begin collecting underneath her, forced to lie in a puddle of her own collected suffering. Her voice grown hoarse, she is nonetheless tickled even more, extracting every last primal wail from her gullet until nothing else is left. It is only after a full hour that is left alone, her liquefied mind inundated with a torrent of ticklish horror.
She has been broken, and now, she can be rebuilt…
“Wakey wakey my little pet,” a diminutive voice gently whispers, stirring a sleeping beauty from a hard night’s rest. Despite this, Carrie is unable to open her eyes naturally before they come thrusting forward, responding to the flurry of manicured nails across her soles.
“Wahahahahahahahahaha!” she cackles, struggling against the binds that she was left in all night. Her wrists and ankles bound with her own socks, tied spread eagle across Sarah's bed as she lie next to her all night, she is unable to escape her mistress, as Sarah playfully ravages her tender soles like always. “Please Mistress! Hahahahave mercy!”
“Okay, just because you asked nicely!” Sarah exclaims, relinquishing Carrie’s feet from their morning tickles, unbinding the poor creature. Unfortunately for Carrie, that would be the last time she would even see her socks that day.
She gazes up at her running shoes, nailed atop a wooden shield above Sarah’s bed, a testament to the ravenous hippy’s conquest over her stuck-up roommate. Three weeks had passed since that initial incident, and ever since Sarah has molded the broken young woman into her own. Robbing her of all her footwear, not even one sandal left for her to cling to, Carrie is forced to trek the campus barefoot, day in and day out much to her utter chagrin. Adorned with only a curated selection of toe rings and ankle bracelets, Carrie has been slowly molded into her mistress’s image, becoming a miniature (well enlarged might be more appropriate) form of Sarah.
Every night, after a long day of going barefoot, Carrie would be subject to a thorough inspection: propping up her feet, Sarah would meticulously inspect them, making sure Carrie had gone exactly where she was told to that day. Any disobedience would result in swift and irrevocable punishment, a heavy dose of tickle torture frequently involving both Sarah’s and Carrie’s friends and classmates. It was a fate Carrie could think of nothing but trying to avoid, but one which ultimately she failed in doing so.
“I told you to walk across the quad this afternoon!” Sarah scolds Carrie, dragging her pointing nails across her twitching soles. “These feet haven’t gone near there today!”
“I can’t go across the quad again!” Carrie exclaims, shuffling her feet, attempting to sway Sarah’s heart if only just this once.
“You do what your mistress tells you, or it’s back to the renaissance fair with you!” Sarah commands, a grimace of fear on Carrie’s face.
“But the last time I did, Jeremy held me down and tickled me,” Carrie blurts out, curling her toes in remembrance, much to Sarah’s notice.
“Then you’re going to ask him out on a date to thank him for noticing you,” Sarah dictates, a look of absolute horror scrawled across her subbie’s fate.
“But Mistress!” Carrie exclaims, her doughy eyes not getting anywhere with Sarah.
“No buts young lady!” Sarah claps back, rendering her submissive mute.
Such would become Carrie’s reality for the remainder of the year: at the beck and call of her mistress, forced to endure every ticklish and foot-focused command she gave. Even after Sarah had dropped out of college, Carrie kept up her routine, believing it all to be a ruse until Sarah came back, ripe to punish her for disobeying her orders.
The transformation, from pristine bookworm to barefoot hippy, has been completed.
The End
However, had it been her choice, it wouldn’t have lasted one day.
Returning as a sophomore to Pinebrook this semester is Carrie Dashwood, on track for earning her Bachelor’s in English Literature a full semester earlier than anticipated. This was no doubt due to a mixture of her intense focus and commitment to her education, combined with a strong aversion to anything she has deemed merely a distraction from it. Such led her to present in a way that seemed at odds with her naturally bestowed assets: standing five feet ten inches in height, her prolonged figure could have walked runways had it not been cloaked in wool-knit blouses and long skirts even in the zenith of summer. A mane of long luscious walnut locks could easily be seen cascading in the morning breeze, had it not been tightly bound in a single ponytail behind her. Her piercing blue eyes were hard to notice under the thick rims of her tortoise shell eyeglasses, and her well-shaped breasts were all but completely covered when she has her daily reading clasped around her chest.
To be labeled the posterchild on self-suppression may have been an understatement, but it was a personal choice she embodied through and through, not letting anything stand in the way between her and academic excellence. However, she was to soon discover that, against her fervent request to have a single room for herself this year, she had been paired with the most incompatible creature they could have dug right out of the 1960s as her roommate.
Sarah MacIntosh, a five-year junior who had changed more majors than anyone else in the school, was slotted to fill the empty bed she so lamentingly gazes upon. It must have been a vengeful God that paired her with Sarah, forcing her to spend her supposedly relaxing hours with her exact opposite: a wiry energetic young woman, her dirty blonde hair lay perpetually in tangles, left unbrushed the moment she shuffles out of bed, and not one strand put back into place when she hobbles her way back in. Her clothing ragged and second-hand, she can’t help but throw whatever flea market find straight unto the floor, a point of irritation for Carrie expecting to arrive home every day to a clean domicile. The word Carrie found most appropriate when describing her roommate was “flamboyant,” just one of the many words Carrie found herself using both in and outside of Sarah’s presence.
However, there was to be one thing about Sarah that would ultimately break the camel’s back: her disgusting feet. A complete aversion to footwear led Sarah prancing across campus barefoot day in and day out, tracking in her daily escapades unto the carpet of their small dormitory, leading right to the culprit the moment Carrie walks in the door. Such became a point of argument for the two, an unstoppable force meeting an immovable object time and time again with little room for either to budge.
Little did Carrie know that, on this day in particular, it would be her that would be doing the budging, and Sarah doing the pushing.
The late summer sunlight, when directed in this very manner at this very hour, is rendered perfect for delving into a fine piece of an American classic, at least as far as Carrie is concerned. Seated at her desk, Carrie finds herself completely immersed in the endless pages of Their Eyes Were Watching God, watching the events unfold as though she were watching a film right before her eyes. It was this meditative trance she found most solace in, and one she felt most protective of when it came to be. However, her bliss would soon be robbed from her, for as the jingle of an oversized key ring rattled beyond her door, it served merely a premonition of her roommate, swinging open the heavy slab, throwing it harshly into the wall, shaking nearly everything in the room through the force of contact.
“Sup Stilts!” Sarah calls out, a most infuriating pet name she had settled on since day one for her most elongated roommate.
“Hello Sarah,” Carrie groans solemnly, determined not to let Sarah interfere with her extracurricular reading. She winces to the clunk of Sarah’s backpack, collapsing unto the ground right in front of the door, something she will have to move once she inevitably storms out later that night. However, that would have to wait, for a very familiar sight is invading her periphery, one whose very utterance elicits a prominent vein atop Carrie’s temple. Peering off to her right corner, she is confronted with the sight of footprints, perfect indentations of Sarah’s size five feet, yet again covering their carpeted walkway.
“Dammit Sarah, I’ve told you a hundred times to wipe your feet on the mat outside!” Carrie barks, rising to confront her roommate. “Don’t you know how disgusting it is to turn around just to see your footprints spattered all across the floor?!”
“I did wipe my feet, you just weren’t paying attention!” Sarah claps back, responding with her usual lackadaisical attitude, knowing full well just how much Carrie hates when she does that, or just not caring enough to bother. Her brow furrowing, Carrie is visibly flustered, a rarity but one that signals trouble impending for the free spirit. She doesn’t know whether it would be worse that Sarah was lying, or that she had wiped her feet off but were so putrid they left the mess anyway, but by now she couldn’t care less. All she did know is that she had to put a stop to this, once and for all.
In the meantime, Sarah is oblivious to the tint of cherry red encapsulating her roommate’s face. Plopping herself atop their sofa, propping her bare feet atop the coffee table, Sarah reveals herself as the culprit, revealing a thick coating of dust and dirt atop her soles, the source of which nobody will truly know.
“Ahhhhh, that’s better!” Sarah moans in pleasure, now hellbent on making sure Carrie makes quick with her nightly bombastic exit, leaving her in peace for a little R&R. This, Carrie thought, is absolutely the last straw.
“That’s it!” Carrie shouts, stamping her feet towards the door, kicking away Sarah’s backpack in frustration. “I’m getting the RA, and letting her decide just who is the moral authority in this dorm!” A swift chill runs down Sarah’s spine, knowing for sure that the campus board has been gunning it for her the past three years, trying to find any and all reason to toss her delinquent butt out onto the street. If Carrie lets them search their room, they might inadvertently find Sarah’s little “personal garden” in her closet, making her expulsion all but assured. That definitely was not going to happen, and Sarah was going to make sure of it.
“Oh no you don’t!” Sarah yell, jumping up just as Carrie is just about to unlatch their front door. Pouncing from behind, Sarah grasps Carrie around the arms, swinging her statuesque figure to the ground behind her, eliciting a yelp of shock from the repressed beauty. A soft thud echoes through the room as Carrie lands right on her stomach, having the wind temporarily knocked out of her. Reaching underneath the couch, Sarah reveals a length of rope she had left from the exploratory phase of one of her previous relationships. Attempting to scream for help, Carrie’s calls merely reveal themselves as strained whispers, the impact of her fall leaving her mute, a happy accident as far as Sarah is concerned. Wrenching Carrie’s arms behind her back, Sarah begins binding her roommate, all to the helpless horror of the distressed brunette.
This isn’t possible, Carrie attempts to comprehend, not believing for one second that she would have to deal with being assaulted one year into college. However, Carrie’s soon to realize she is somewhat to blame: despite being blind sighted at the start, it was her willful ignorance of Sarah’s stash that led her to hastily try and get the RA, rather than just wait until Sarah was out for the day to do so. As well, had she invested even one day a week in the gym, her atrophying muscles barely able to keep herself upright, she may have been able to fend off her enthusiastic roommate, standing a formidable five feet three inches and just a stone over 100 pounds.
“Get off me!” Carrie demands, regaining her breath just enough to issue such a seemingly stern order. Her pitiful struggles are no match for Sarah’s keen ropework, making sure to secure every last hope of escape from her grasp.
“You know, I think it’s time for an attitude adjustment,” Sarah says, lassoing her roommate’s wrists together, binding them with a double knot behind her back. Pinning Carrie’s legs to the ground behind her, she does the same to her ankles, winding several coils around the spot just between the tops of her socks and the end of her dress. Using the final length of rope, Sarah decides to demonstrate the pinnacle of her amateur BDSM skills to her roommate’s virgin eyes: hoisting Carrie’s bound ankles atop her butt, Sarah swiftly binds them to her wrists, successfully completing an inescapable hogtie. Throughout her handiwork, Sarah can’t help herself but smile, knowing just how much power she currently has over her roommate, and sure she is going to demonstrate that for the time being.
“There!” Sarah exclaims, hoisting herself up, admiring the work of art she has created. “How does that feel honey?” Wriggling from side to side, fingering at the mounds of knots she couldn’t possibly untie, Carrie is left utterly helpless, completely at the mercy (or lack thereof) of her deranged roommate.
“Why did you do this?” Carrie cries out, just trying to fathom what reality she is living in as of currently. She feels her cheeks blushing, the combination of frustration and embarrassment settling in, knowing she was useless at preventing this from the start.
“I just want you to lighten up a little,” Sarah cryptically states, Carrie’s misunderstanding making her uneasy at the moment. Kneeling down next to her bundled roommate, Sarah begins teasingly poking her index fingers into Carrie sides, eliciting an abrupt response the likes of which she has never experienced.
“Wahahahaha! Don’t do that!” Carrie shrieks, twisting and turning with all her might, desperate to escape such teasing pokes.
“Do what?” Sarah replies, failing to relent as she playfully prods her pointing fingers in between Carrie’s ribs, curiously pushing buttons as a small child would.
“Stahahahap!” she cackles, attempting to shield her sides with her arms, only to fall pitifully short of full protection. “Let me go! Ihehehehe mean it!”
“What’s wrong sweetie?” Sarah asks, snaking her fingers underneath Carrie’s pinned arms, their vice-like grip unable to keep out such inquisitively invasive fingers as Sarah’s. “You aren’t ticklish are you?” Finding the tender flesh of her underarms, Sarah begins pulsating her wriggling fingers, eliciting a hapless shriek from her captive.
“Waaaaaaaahahahahahahahaha!” Carrie cries out, unable to cope with such a foreign mixture of girlish teasing and malicious assault. She cries and howls with wild abandonment, a true drama queen as far as Sarah is concerned: just how sheltered has this girl been that she can’t handle a little tickle now and again? Her mouth peeled open in forced mirth, Carrie attempts to hide her ticklish reactions, burying her face in the carpet no matter how many of Sarah’s footprints she has to deal with.
“I’m begging youhuhuhuhuhuhuhuhu!” Carrie screams in muffled frustration, dissolving into cascades of forced laughter much to the delight of her captor. “Just let me go!”
“You know: I have to tell you,” Sarah interjects, abruptly ceasing Carrie’s torments, enough to let the girl catch her breath for a few precious moments. “I think you have an unhealthy fixation on me and my feet, and the strange thing is: I have yet to even catch a glimpse of you and your feet.” A cold sweat washes over Carrie, the mere thought of Sarah getting close to her bare feet turning her entire world upside down.
It’s true: her feet had been a sore spot for her since middle school, a sudden growth spurt not equally balanced across her body, leaving her feet protruding many sizes larger than her peers. Such childhood trauma left her to shroud them in a clunky set of sneakers, never letting them see the light of day for fear of the teasing she may receive. However, it would seem on this day that Sarah would force her out of that cycle, with or without her expressed consent.
“Let’s have a look, shall we?” Sarah teases, tapping her manicured nails atop the hard rubber soles of Carrie’s jogging shoes. Bit by bit, she begins unlacing the top laces, a mound of knots no match for her nimble fingers, unweaving their intricate design until they fall precariously at their sides. Taking her left shoe by the heel, the front of which being adequately loosened, Sarah begins ever so slowly removing it, slipping it off as slowly as possible to artificially raise the tension. Carrie tries to resist, meagerly pressing her toes against the material inside her shoe, attempting to keep it stationary if not to spare her a few precious moments. Such is futile, as Sarah flings them over her shoulder: first the left one, and then the right one, revealing a pair of socked feet, wrinkling themselves in anticipation.
“Aww, they look so scared!” Sarah admires, blowing a slight stream of air across them, throwing a lightning bolt up Carrie’s spine. Little could she have imagined just how ticklish they truly were, shrouded from the world and all that would desensitize them. She was left mute, unable to think of anything that might spare her from the torments that she is soon to experience in full.
“Oh you don’t need these anymore sweetie!” Sarah indicates, gently pinching the side of Carrie’s sock. Tugging them upward, she begins gently peeling them off her feet, her curling and clenching toes slowly losing their grip on the soft material.
“Please no!” Carrie shouts on deaf ears, desperate to keep her last vestige of safety upon her silky soles. "I'm begging you now, please!" However, it must have been difficult for Sarah to hear her down there, for Sarah just couldn’t help but reveal to the world a pair of freshly found hyper ticklish size ten feet that Carrie has been hiding from her for so long.
“Oh, they’re so pale!” Sarah exclaims, eliciting a blush across Carrie’s face, unable to cope with her hippy roommate’s focused attention upon her naked feet. “Shall we get started?” Just out of the corner of her eye, Carrie can make out the glistening sheen of her roommate’s nails, making their trek right into the soles of her tenderly soft feet.
“No wait please!” Carrie thrusts forth, just as Sarah’s nails rest upon the untouched soles of her virgin feet. “I’ll never say anything about you or your feet again! Just please…don’t!”
“Please don’t what, dear?” Sarah asks, obviously fishing for an answer Carrie is unable to give. However, with every passing moment, and the anticipation within her boiling over, Carrie finally gives in to her roommate’s growing influence.
“Please don’t tickle my feet!” Carrie meekly states, her submissive state rendering it to a squeak that Sarah is just barely able to make out from her perched position. However, that was all she needed.
“You mean like…this?!” Sarah answers, her fingernails frantically scraping across Carrie’s tender soles, sending her swiftly into a ticklish tailspin from which she may never return.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAA!!” Carrie bellows into the carpet, unable to watch her feet being violated in such a manner by her roommate. Her feet flailing desperately behind her, she is left completely helpless to those invasive nails, skittering their way into every crease and crevice of her pristine size ten soles.
“We’ve got a live one!” Sarah exclaims, skittering her nails across their silky-smooth surface, gliding from her tender heels all the way to the crevice underneath her toes. Such ticklish reactions usurp Carrie’s reason, unable to mentally cope with such overwhelming sensations in such a docile state. Her cascading laughter is substituted by that of a shriek for clemency, just as Sarah finds her way into the spot in between her toes.
“MERCYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!! AAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!”
It might surprise those who wonder just why nobody had barged in to the scene for her rescue, recognizing her unbridled screams as a call for help. Well, little did Carrie understand she had stepped on one too many toes during her stay last semester: reporting too many code violations, breaking up too many parties, and just being a real drag on her neighbors. It might have been that, just beforehand, Sarah had warned their neighbors to put on their headphones once things started going down, something they were all doing at this moment. Had they known exactly what was going on, they might have been more likely to join in themselves.
“You love this don’t you?” Sarah tenderly asks, in between Carrie’s cackling wails, having dissolved into silent breathy laughter. “Tell me you do!”
Tears begin streaming down Carrie’s cheeks, the combination of unbridled tickle torture and psychological teasing too much for Carrie’s fragile psyche to bear. Sheltered her entire life, the world being handed to her on a silver platter, she could scarcely imagine being subject to such abject circumstances, especially not at the hands of someone as deviously hellbent as Sarah. However, with every swipe of her nails across her feet, she finds her will being steadily wiped away.
“If you say you love it, I might go easy on you!” Sarah states, seemingly giving the poor creature a way out of her torments knowing what little choice she would have. Carrie was no stooge: having been accepted on a full ride scholarship, she could see past the ruse as though it were completely transparent. However, such was the ploy of Sarah’s trap: by mentally cornering her, she could strip her of any and all predilections towards logical thought, rendering her completely and irrationally submissive to her will. Only after several minutes, after the reality of her situation had taken hold, Carrie finally breaks her composure.
“I LOVE IT!!” Carrie bellows forth, wedged in between her hapless cackles and shrieks of terror echoing throughout the compact space.
“I’m so glad you do!” Sarah beams, clapping her hands together as though she’s found a brand new plaything. “Now the fun can really begin!” Carrie hasn’t the will to even respond, lost in hell as her body is used against her in ticklish delights. It was only through the wicked sensation that she knew what was happening, as Sarah begins gliding the hard bristles of her own hairbrush across her tender soles.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” Carrie shrieks, her blood curdling cries echoing through the halls, catching by surprise the crowd growing outside their room.
“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPP!! GET AWAYHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!”
“Are you going to behave?” Sarah demands, raking the dastardly device into both of her heels, sending the poor creature into a maelstrom of ticklish agony she has never known.
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEESAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!!”
“You’ll be good?!” Sarah yells, finding the hairbrush slowly ascending up Carrie’s soles, making a beeline into her flailing toes.
“I’LL BE GOOD!! I’LL BE GOOOOOOOOOODAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Carrie screams at the top of her lungs, hoping to avoid that impending punishment she is sure will occur, only to yet again fail pitifully in doing so. "NAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAT THE TOOOOOOOOOOES!!"
“From now on you’re my little tickle pet, got it?!” Sarah demands, ravaging her toes in earnest just as Carrie had so desperately tried to avail herself of.
“YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHESSSSSSSSSSS!!”
“Say you’re my tickle pet!” Sarah exclaims, merely putting the icing on her little tickle cake.
“I’M YOUR TICKLE PET!!” Carrie screams, feeling the ball of every bristle dig into her long tender toes, caressing every patch with ungodly effectiveness. Her helpless tears and unbridled drool begin collecting underneath her, forced to lie in a puddle of her own collected suffering. Her voice grown hoarse, she is nonetheless tickled even more, extracting every last primal wail from her gullet until nothing else is left. It is only after a full hour that is left alone, her liquefied mind inundated with a torrent of ticklish horror.
She has been broken, and now, she can be rebuilt…
“Wakey wakey my little pet,” a diminutive voice gently whispers, stirring a sleeping beauty from a hard night’s rest. Despite this, Carrie is unable to open her eyes naturally before they come thrusting forward, responding to the flurry of manicured nails across her soles.
“Wahahahahahahahahaha!” she cackles, struggling against the binds that she was left in all night. Her wrists and ankles bound with her own socks, tied spread eagle across Sarah's bed as she lie next to her all night, she is unable to escape her mistress, as Sarah playfully ravages her tender soles like always. “Please Mistress! Hahahahave mercy!”
“Okay, just because you asked nicely!” Sarah exclaims, relinquishing Carrie’s feet from their morning tickles, unbinding the poor creature. Unfortunately for Carrie, that would be the last time she would even see her socks that day.
She gazes up at her running shoes, nailed atop a wooden shield above Sarah’s bed, a testament to the ravenous hippy’s conquest over her stuck-up roommate. Three weeks had passed since that initial incident, and ever since Sarah has molded the broken young woman into her own. Robbing her of all her footwear, not even one sandal left for her to cling to, Carrie is forced to trek the campus barefoot, day in and day out much to her utter chagrin. Adorned with only a curated selection of toe rings and ankle bracelets, Carrie has been slowly molded into her mistress’s image, becoming a miniature (well enlarged might be more appropriate) form of Sarah.
Every night, after a long day of going barefoot, Carrie would be subject to a thorough inspection: propping up her feet, Sarah would meticulously inspect them, making sure Carrie had gone exactly where she was told to that day. Any disobedience would result in swift and irrevocable punishment, a heavy dose of tickle torture frequently involving both Sarah’s and Carrie’s friends and classmates. It was a fate Carrie could think of nothing but trying to avoid, but one which ultimately she failed in doing so.
“I told you to walk across the quad this afternoon!” Sarah scolds Carrie, dragging her pointing nails across her twitching soles. “These feet haven’t gone near there today!”
“I can’t go across the quad again!” Carrie exclaims, shuffling her feet, attempting to sway Sarah’s heart if only just this once.
“You do what your mistress tells you, or it’s back to the renaissance fair with you!” Sarah commands, a grimace of fear on Carrie’s face.
“But the last time I did, Jeremy held me down and tickled me,” Carrie blurts out, curling her toes in remembrance, much to Sarah’s notice.
“Then you’re going to ask him out on a date to thank him for noticing you,” Sarah dictates, a look of absolute horror scrawled across her subbie’s fate.
“But Mistress!” Carrie exclaims, her doughy eyes not getting anywhere with Sarah.
“No buts young lady!” Sarah claps back, rendering her submissive mute.
Such would become Carrie’s reality for the remainder of the year: at the beck and call of her mistress, forced to endure every ticklish and foot-focused command she gave. Even after Sarah had dropped out of college, Carrie kept up her routine, believing it all to be a ruse until Sarah came back, ripe to punish her for disobeying her orders.
The transformation, from pristine bookworm to barefoot hippy, has been completed.
The End
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