ThePurpleQuill
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Jan 11, 2018
- Messages
- 161
- Points
- 16
The low rumble of the central cooling system echoes through the enclosed metal space, as its single occupant, actress Madison Lintz, waits impatiently for her curtain call. With a stint on the popular television show The Walking Dead under her belt, regardless of it being a mere eight episodes, Madison has secured a spot on “The Talking Dead,” one which brings up as many memories as it is sure to make.
The glittering stars adorning her sheer black blouse glisten underneath the fluorescent lightbulbs above, matching so the sheen of her tall black pumps atop her size nine feet. Playing with her hanging earrings, she is being kept on ice in the makeup trailer until they call her to the stage, and the thought of having to wait for so long is finally getting to her. As she finally loses her patience, a full fifteen minutes since her hairdresser stepped out to find the producer, she rises from the plush red chair she is seated on. Approaching the door, she swiftly grasps the handle, only to find it moving on its own accord from the other side.
“Oh Miss Lintz!” a man’s voice spouts from the other side. “Great, you’re finally ready!”
“Yeah!” she shoots back, resting her arms crossed in front of her person. “I’ve been waiting her for almost half an hour.”
“Oh I’m so sorry about that!” he answers, feigning a sense of remorse for inconveniencing her as he reveals himself in full. Standing 5’11” with deep blue eyes and dark chestnut hair, his toothy smile is unobscured through his cleanly shaved face and lightly tanned complexion. His blue buttoned shirt and denim jeans denotes a man of modest means, accented by the olive-green cap adorning his head. Though she has yet to recognize him, the headset and clipboard he is wielding assures her that he is a production assistant of some sort. “We were waiting until the soundstage was set, but we need you to come down to calibrate your mic set before you walk on.”
“Hrmph!” she groans, yet another nuisance she must go through before getting her much-deserved paycheck. “How long do you think it will take?”
“Oh, I’m sure it won’t take so long once we get started,” he assures her, motioning his hands as to direct her out of the trailer. Her high heels clasping against the metal steps, she makes her way into the cool winter air, turning towards the direction of the adjacent studio to her right. Entering a side doorway, she descends the narrow hallway at the back of the set, reaching an enclosed space that hides a locked room. “Right down here, Miss Lintz.” Unlatching it, he lets her through first, carefully descending a darkened stairway to what she thinks is the recording studio.
“Where the hell are we going?” she tersely questions, almost tripping as she lands upon the last step, with everything in front of her being shrouded in darkness. As she reaches the end of a small hallway, an open space right before her, her pace slows to that of a crawl. “This can’t be the…recording…studio…can it?” Her words become stifled as, much to her surprise, she comes across a large recliner perched in the middle of the room. Illuminated seemingly by the bright sheen of a spotlight high above, its conspicuous placement throws Madison for a loop, gazing upon it with a mixture of confusion and bewilderment.
“I actually had something else in mind!” he says before lunging from behind towards her. Quickly turning herself, attempting to leap away from him, she is unsuccessful as he wraps an arm around her midsection, clamping her arms to her side as he places his right hand over her mouth.
“MMMMMMMMPH!” she tries to scream, muffled by the density of his palm resting atop her supple lips. Shimmying her inch by inch, he slowly makes their way towards the recliner, the place that it has become obvious to her is her intended destination. She tries to open her mouth in an attempt to bite him but is cut short: tossed on her back atop its plush material, she grunts upon impact, the force of he landing pushing the footrest forward while locking it in place.
“What the hell are you doing!” she yells at him, trying to hoist herself up, yet not having the leverage to do so. Grasping her by the left wrist, pinning it against the armrest, the man reaches out of sight, only to reveal a plush leather cuff from underneath the chair. “What the hell is that?!” Though realizing herself to be in dire straits, the unexpected nature of the attack has left her stunned, unable to do very much more than protest verbally for her release. As he wraps it around her wrist, pulling the rope underneath to tighten it in place, cutting off her movement as fast as she had it, the true desperation within her begins to take hold.
“Let me out of here!” she shouts, kicking her legs as to unlock the footrest, only to have the man lunge at them before she is successful. Reaching underneath the chair, holding her ankles underneath his armpit, he reveals a large belt, the same type binding her wrist but large enough to bind both her ankles together at once. Looping it around, buckling it into place in one swift motion, he neutralizes the movement in her lower extremities much to her chagrin.
“What kind of sick pervert are you?” she stammers, watching him tighten the thick line of rope. Her voice weak with fear, she can only gaze helplessly upon the stalwart bonds that have all but completely defused her chances of escape.
“Oh the usual kind,” he mocks her, wrapping around her person to secure the final cuff around her right wrist, locking her into place for good. “Perfect! Now the fun can begin!”
“You’d better let me out of here!” she demands, struggling against her restraints, muscles bulging yet not an inch of slack to be heard of. “The minute I get out of here, your ass is going to be thrown in jail, you sick…” He places himself before her, his face just inches from hers, summarily cutting off her indignant speech as her mouth hangs open in shock and anticipation.
“Just who do you think you’re talking to?” he asks, an icy tone of speech far different from the warmth he ensnared her with just moments prior. “You think I’m some yes-man producer jumping on some misguided opportunity, do you? Think again before you utter one more word.” The look on his face is that of terrifying indifference, a type of look that demonstrates in one glance just how little there is in the world that he cares for, and as Madison gazes into his piercing eyes, she truly realizes just how much trouble she is in.
“I’m going to let you in one something…you ready?” he pauses, watching her eyebrows raise over her head, not knowing just what kind of fate he has in store for her. “You have no control over what is going to happen to you. I’ve planned this for too long for you to have any say in what you are about to experience. That’s right: every moment, from the time you stepped on set, has been carefully mapped out and executed flawlessly for one purpose. Do you want to know what that is young lady?” She is speechless, unable to even shape her lips into a response, his words have so much power over her at the moment. She has only the will to gently nod her head up and down, eliciting a devious smile scrawled across her lips.
“I’m going to tickle you.” She goes numb, feeling every nerve ending across her body go mute only to tingle relentlessly as she comes slowly back to reality. As the words fall precariously from his lips, it feels as though a bolt of lightning begins coursing up her spine. To be confronted by such a horrid word so soon after her babysitting ordeal eight months prior was bad enough, bound and tickled by that pair of devilish twins with her sister until daylight, but to have it be from the lips of a stranger was out of the question. As far as she was concerned, there would be no limit to how far he would push her.
“Tell me Miss Lintz: are you ticklish?” he coos at her, slowly turning his head to the pair of heel-clad feet bound right in front of him, watching as they involuntarily shuffle at the very notion of his attention. “Thought so.”
Swiftly he lunges his hand towards her left shoe, the poor girl not having the time nor the opportunity to evade his initial attack. He grasps the pointed heel of her shoe, tightening his grip as she attempts to jerk it out of his hand to no avail. Slowly and methodically, he begins peeling it off her foot, not taking his eyes off her as he strips her of that very last vestige of protection.
“It’s going to be awful,” he continues to taunt her, watching the words falling from his dastardly lips slowly creep deeper into his psyche. “The minute this shoe comes off, it’s all going to be over.”
“Rrrrrrrmph!” she groans in exertion, pressing her toes with all her might against the sole of her shoe in desperate attempt to keep it on. She bites the side of her lip, watching the tips of her crimson-painted toes turn white in sheer force as her face turns red in turn.
“Why bother resisting my dear?” he asks her, slipping the bottom half from its perch, popping off as she lets out a gasp of surprise. “You’re going to get tickled, whether you like it or not.” Without warning, despite her best efforts, he gets the upper hand: swiping his fingers across the exposed flesh of the side of her foot, Madison lets out an involuntary yelp, losing her grip long enough for her captor to pry the shoe off her foot.
“Nooooooooo!” she yells, hearing her shoe clasp against the concrete floor as it is tossed clear across the room. He does the same with her other shoe, but with far less struggle on her part, for it would be useless to waste such energy if he were to take such advantage of her predicament.
“Beautiful,” he admires her lush size nine feet, their perfectly pedicured surface to be the bane of Madison’s existence for the coming moments. Toes curling, flexing to and fro to attempt an escape from his grasp, she is merely putting on a personal show for the deranged madman to admire from his seat. “Let’s not waste anymore time, shall we?” Without missing a beat, he raises his fingers, their oscillating fingertips driving her mad with anticipation. However, such a state of limbo is short-lived, for not three seconds pass since her last heel flew off her sole when he begins scraping his nails into the tender flesh of her soles.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaa!!” she wails, throwing her head back in forced mirth as he indulges in her horrendously ticklish feet. “Staaaaaaaaahahahahahahap! Nooooooohohohohohoho please!”
“Don’t bother begging sweetie,” he tells her, just under his voice but plenty audible for her. “There will be no mercy here.” What horrid sensations she is forced to endure, bound in the exact same position, only by one who has obviously been expertly trained in such specialties. Her defenses crumbled the moment he said that word, making sure she was primed for receiving an onslaught of merciless tickles right from the start. However, it was that cold indifference in her captor that got to her the most: that callous lack of empathy that drenched his tone of voice, making it seem that her intensive suffering was merely an unavoidable consequence for waking up that morning, and as she is about to see, it would have been best for her to have just stayed in bed a few more weeks.
“SOMEBODY HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEEEE!!” Her tortured cries and rampant shrieks echo off these solemn walls, not a soul around to take pity upon her, no one but the ominous presence of her captor who, as she has questioned this entire time, seems not to have one left in his body. It seems as though hours have passed since he ensnared her, but little could she imagine it had been a mere thirty minutes of unyielding tickle torture. Scraping his dastardly nails across the supple surface of her soles, he indulges in the myriad of strained reactions he can extract from her gullet, a sly smirk at each side of his lips as he makes yet another discovery.
“There’s no one to help you my dear,” he casually replies, noting the growing tint of red across the length of her feet through sheer torment. “I think I’ll move to your heels now.” She tries to fight him off, kicking up her legs to the best of her ability, the only effect of which being a subtle thump as her heels bash against the plush material. Taking the knuckles of both hands, he begins kneading them into their plump surface, watching as Madison digs her nails into the arms of the chair to relieve this horridly new sensation.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she wails, throwing her head side to side in desperate attempt to wake herself from this nightmare. Tears collecting at the sides of her eyes, she hasn’t the capacity to fully distance herself from her torments, something she had thought she learned from her past tickling experience. Yet this was different: the way he psychologically manipulates her is like no other, constantly pulling her back into her tortured reality the moment she escapes for but a brief moment.
“If only you were strong enough to get loose,” he goads her, tracing the tips of his fingers down the sides of her feet, watching them attempt to wriggle away from such teasing sensations. “I made it easy for you to escape, so why don’t you? Is it because you secretly like this young lady?”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” she screams at him, right in tandem with his stubby nails scratching down the side of her foot, the intense sensitivity throwing her for a loop. “IHEHEHEHEHE DON”T!! PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” She is absolutely livid, knowing full well every breath she uses to try and reason with the deranged man will only be wasted at her expense. Yet she can’t help herself, feeling her mind being slowly backed into a corner as whatever is left of her resolve is being used just to keep hold of her sanity. However, as she is soon to find out, there soon will be nothing left of her will to hold onto so long as he is in control.
“You know, the moment we’re done, I’m going to have to take you down to my dungeon,” he suddenly puts forth, as she finds herself completely unable to comprehend at any level exactly what he just said. “And, I guarantee you, it’s going to be much worse than this.” Taking her by the left foot, he pries her toes backwards, stretching her sole taut as he digs into her tender sole unabashed. Her right foot pressing desperately against his arm, it is completely powerless to stop its twin from a dose of unadulterated tickle torture.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” She is hopeless, not a glimmer of salvation to be found, completely and utterly at his mercy (or, in this case, lack thereof). Now, as she writhes in ticklish agony, she is forced to endure her baseless captor dictate the depths of his depravity towards her.
“I wonder how long you’ll be able to last down there,” he solemnly dictates, basking in the torrents of forced laughter ejecting from her strained gullet at this very moment. “You know my last guest barely lasted the week. Surely you’ll last longer than her, right?”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” she wails at the top of her lungs, a combination of his invasive fingers snaking their way underneath her toes along with such a dastardly proposition. Her hapless cries ascending another octave through such a calculated attack, she desperate curls her toes, only to comically secure his fingers in place as they ravage the tingling stems she tries so hard to hide. The very notion of being held captive for an hour as she has already drove her to near madness, but the thought of such torments extending themselves even further truly drove her over the edge.
“Oh, I’m sure you’d last far longer than a week dear,” he responds, digging his stubby nails into her tender flesh, the flailing of her toes completely futile in escaping his grasp. “Just think of the moment I have you locked in my stocks: ankles bound on all sides, with each and every one of these toes bound tight and ripe for endless tormenting. You wouldn’t have to waste so much energy trying to escape, now would you?”
“WAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she screeches in response, throwing her head back in agonizing fashion, unable to balance such maddening verbal torments with that befalling her hapless feet. “LET ME GOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”
“Oh I’ll let you go eventually,” he answers, a devious smile scrawled across his face. “I’ll let you out of the stocks just long enough to get you on the x-frame. Arms bound high above your head, completely helpless as I get right into those tender little underarms you got there, followed by your ribs, then your hips, all the way down your person…now doesn’t that just sound lovely?” He is cold, malicious, a piercing tone of voice that rocks her to her very core, dismantling her defenses the moment the words fall from his lips. Just what power he holds over her psyche at this moment is incomprehensible, only the careful result of prolonged tickling upon her feet. However, the night has only begun, for by the time he is finished with her, only a fractured reflection of her former self will remain.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEEEEEE!!” she squeals, the sensation of his nails across their pads making them uncurl in reflex. Bowing her head forward, she attempts to show her surrender, trying to hide her ticklish responses so he may finally got bored of his new plaything. After only a few moments, her strained laughter dissolving into silent torrents of giggles underneath her breath, she is let to rest.
“So, had enough then?” he questions her, watching tiny droplets fall from the tip of her nose down to her dress. He doesn’t know then to be sweat or tears, but it doesn’t truly matter to him: only that his little plaything is wrapped around his fingers. “Well, I guess I’m finished too.” She sighs, still bowing her head, breathless but hoping to hide her hope that she will finally be let go.
“Finished with just my fingers, that is!” he exclaims, sending a shiver down Madison’s spine as she hears the sound of a zipper in the distance. Looking up through her tangled locks, she witnesses the most horrifying sight of her life: a black duffle bag, placed right before her, its contents spilling out with contraptions the likes of which she couldn’t possibly imagine. Rummaging through his little sack of horrors, he grasps upon an item located at the bottom of the pit, slowly revealing it right in front of her eyes. “Ah, here it is!” It is a hairbrush, black and gray with hot pink nubs on each bristle, the size of which could easily traverse both of her feet at once. In his other hand, he reveals a small bag of what appears to be pipe cleaners, along with a length of brown twine in between his fingers.
“I hope you’re ready for this,” he says, lacing the length of twine around her big toes multiple times. Using the remaining length of string, he pulls them back to her ankles, stretching them taut as he ties them to her restraints, completely immobilizing them. She attempts to cry, but only can eek out a mere whimper as she finds her feet bound in such a helpless manner. “Big girls don’t cry…at least until this happens.” Taking his thumb, he opens a small compartment on the handle of the brush, revealing a hidden switch of some kind. Flipping it on, she hears a low whirring sound, watching in dumbfounded awe as the tips of the bristles begin vibrating at supersonic speeds. With an ungodly skill, he weaves the pipe cleaners through her toes, unable to avoid such a fate due to both her toes being bound as he slowly guides the brush into her helpless soles.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she shrieks a guttural wail the moment it is pressed into her soles, feeling every bristle subvert her skin and go right for her nerve endings. As he vigorously scrubs it across her soles and heels with one hand, his other frantically drags the pipe cleaners through her clenching toes. She begins babbling incoherently, unable to comprehend such torments any further than she has now. The brush was bad enough, its sloppy accuracy making sure not one inch of her secured feet was left unscathed. However, with the pipe cleaners flossing their way in between her toes, pulsating with the same vibrations shooting up her foot, poor Madison just couldn’t handle it. As he ascends up to the balls of her feet, the vibrating sensation too much to bear by now, she feels herself slowly slipping out of consciousness, blacking out with the sound of the hairbrush guiding her down…
“Miss Lintz?” a gentle voice rouses her from a deep slumber, as she finds herself back in the make-up trailer, slumped over the same chair she was seated in long ago. Through the blurring of her eyes, she discerns a stocky young woman wearing the same headset as her captor, without him anywhere in sight. “It’s time for you to go on.”
“Wha…where am I?” she moans, grasping herself by the forehead as she puts herself upright. “What’s going on?”
“You’re on set,” she answers, a look of confusion scrawled across her face. “I’m sorry for the wait, but we just got everyone in the studio. You must have dozed off waiting, but it has only been 45 minutes since you got here. We don’t have time to fix you up here, so if you’ll just follow me to the soundstage, we’ll get you ready.” She groans, wiping her eyes as she attempts to compose herself. Was it all a dream? She tries to understand just what had happened to her, but is unable to even have a moment to herself as she is guided out of the trailer by.
She stumbles out of the trailer, holding the assistant by her hand as she shuffles down the narrow hallway into the recording booth. Her legs and arms feeling like jell-o it is only through the assistant’s aid that she is able to get to the doorway leading into the studio. As she turns the corner, a metal latch is undone right behind her, turning over her shoulder to see what appears to be her captor walking out the door, a devious smirk across his face as he tosses his hat and clipboard into his bag. Her face turning white as a sheet, she opens her mouth to shout in his direction, only a slight squeak coming out in response. Before she can say anything, she is ushered away, directed on set for recording by the assistant’s hand.
The End
The glittering stars adorning her sheer black blouse glisten underneath the fluorescent lightbulbs above, matching so the sheen of her tall black pumps atop her size nine feet. Playing with her hanging earrings, she is being kept on ice in the makeup trailer until they call her to the stage, and the thought of having to wait for so long is finally getting to her. As she finally loses her patience, a full fifteen minutes since her hairdresser stepped out to find the producer, she rises from the plush red chair she is seated on. Approaching the door, she swiftly grasps the handle, only to find it moving on its own accord from the other side.
“Oh Miss Lintz!” a man’s voice spouts from the other side. “Great, you’re finally ready!”
“Yeah!” she shoots back, resting her arms crossed in front of her person. “I’ve been waiting her for almost half an hour.”
“Oh I’m so sorry about that!” he answers, feigning a sense of remorse for inconveniencing her as he reveals himself in full. Standing 5’11” with deep blue eyes and dark chestnut hair, his toothy smile is unobscured through his cleanly shaved face and lightly tanned complexion. His blue buttoned shirt and denim jeans denotes a man of modest means, accented by the olive-green cap adorning his head. Though she has yet to recognize him, the headset and clipboard he is wielding assures her that he is a production assistant of some sort. “We were waiting until the soundstage was set, but we need you to come down to calibrate your mic set before you walk on.”
“Hrmph!” she groans, yet another nuisance she must go through before getting her much-deserved paycheck. “How long do you think it will take?”
“Oh, I’m sure it won’t take so long once we get started,” he assures her, motioning his hands as to direct her out of the trailer. Her high heels clasping against the metal steps, she makes her way into the cool winter air, turning towards the direction of the adjacent studio to her right. Entering a side doorway, she descends the narrow hallway at the back of the set, reaching an enclosed space that hides a locked room. “Right down here, Miss Lintz.” Unlatching it, he lets her through first, carefully descending a darkened stairway to what she thinks is the recording studio.
“Where the hell are we going?” she tersely questions, almost tripping as she lands upon the last step, with everything in front of her being shrouded in darkness. As she reaches the end of a small hallway, an open space right before her, her pace slows to that of a crawl. “This can’t be the…recording…studio…can it?” Her words become stifled as, much to her surprise, she comes across a large recliner perched in the middle of the room. Illuminated seemingly by the bright sheen of a spotlight high above, its conspicuous placement throws Madison for a loop, gazing upon it with a mixture of confusion and bewilderment.
“I actually had something else in mind!” he says before lunging from behind towards her. Quickly turning herself, attempting to leap away from him, she is unsuccessful as he wraps an arm around her midsection, clamping her arms to her side as he places his right hand over her mouth.
“MMMMMMMMPH!” she tries to scream, muffled by the density of his palm resting atop her supple lips. Shimmying her inch by inch, he slowly makes their way towards the recliner, the place that it has become obvious to her is her intended destination. She tries to open her mouth in an attempt to bite him but is cut short: tossed on her back atop its plush material, she grunts upon impact, the force of he landing pushing the footrest forward while locking it in place.
“What the hell are you doing!” she yells at him, trying to hoist herself up, yet not having the leverage to do so. Grasping her by the left wrist, pinning it against the armrest, the man reaches out of sight, only to reveal a plush leather cuff from underneath the chair. “What the hell is that?!” Though realizing herself to be in dire straits, the unexpected nature of the attack has left her stunned, unable to do very much more than protest verbally for her release. As he wraps it around her wrist, pulling the rope underneath to tighten it in place, cutting off her movement as fast as she had it, the true desperation within her begins to take hold.
“Let me out of here!” she shouts, kicking her legs as to unlock the footrest, only to have the man lunge at them before she is successful. Reaching underneath the chair, holding her ankles underneath his armpit, he reveals a large belt, the same type binding her wrist but large enough to bind both her ankles together at once. Looping it around, buckling it into place in one swift motion, he neutralizes the movement in her lower extremities much to her chagrin.
“What kind of sick pervert are you?” she stammers, watching him tighten the thick line of rope. Her voice weak with fear, she can only gaze helplessly upon the stalwart bonds that have all but completely defused her chances of escape.
“Oh the usual kind,” he mocks her, wrapping around her person to secure the final cuff around her right wrist, locking her into place for good. “Perfect! Now the fun can begin!”
“You’d better let me out of here!” she demands, struggling against her restraints, muscles bulging yet not an inch of slack to be heard of. “The minute I get out of here, your ass is going to be thrown in jail, you sick…” He places himself before her, his face just inches from hers, summarily cutting off her indignant speech as her mouth hangs open in shock and anticipation.
“Just who do you think you’re talking to?” he asks, an icy tone of speech far different from the warmth he ensnared her with just moments prior. “You think I’m some yes-man producer jumping on some misguided opportunity, do you? Think again before you utter one more word.” The look on his face is that of terrifying indifference, a type of look that demonstrates in one glance just how little there is in the world that he cares for, and as Madison gazes into his piercing eyes, she truly realizes just how much trouble she is in.
“I’m going to let you in one something…you ready?” he pauses, watching her eyebrows raise over her head, not knowing just what kind of fate he has in store for her. “You have no control over what is going to happen to you. I’ve planned this for too long for you to have any say in what you are about to experience. That’s right: every moment, from the time you stepped on set, has been carefully mapped out and executed flawlessly for one purpose. Do you want to know what that is young lady?” She is speechless, unable to even shape her lips into a response, his words have so much power over her at the moment. She has only the will to gently nod her head up and down, eliciting a devious smile scrawled across her lips.
“I’m going to tickle you.” She goes numb, feeling every nerve ending across her body go mute only to tingle relentlessly as she comes slowly back to reality. As the words fall precariously from his lips, it feels as though a bolt of lightning begins coursing up her spine. To be confronted by such a horrid word so soon after her babysitting ordeal eight months prior was bad enough, bound and tickled by that pair of devilish twins with her sister until daylight, but to have it be from the lips of a stranger was out of the question. As far as she was concerned, there would be no limit to how far he would push her.
“Tell me Miss Lintz: are you ticklish?” he coos at her, slowly turning his head to the pair of heel-clad feet bound right in front of him, watching as they involuntarily shuffle at the very notion of his attention. “Thought so.”
Swiftly he lunges his hand towards her left shoe, the poor girl not having the time nor the opportunity to evade his initial attack. He grasps the pointed heel of her shoe, tightening his grip as she attempts to jerk it out of his hand to no avail. Slowly and methodically, he begins peeling it off her foot, not taking his eyes off her as he strips her of that very last vestige of protection.
“It’s going to be awful,” he continues to taunt her, watching the words falling from his dastardly lips slowly creep deeper into his psyche. “The minute this shoe comes off, it’s all going to be over.”
“Rrrrrrrmph!” she groans in exertion, pressing her toes with all her might against the sole of her shoe in desperate attempt to keep it on. She bites the side of her lip, watching the tips of her crimson-painted toes turn white in sheer force as her face turns red in turn.
“Why bother resisting my dear?” he asks her, slipping the bottom half from its perch, popping off as she lets out a gasp of surprise. “You’re going to get tickled, whether you like it or not.” Without warning, despite her best efforts, he gets the upper hand: swiping his fingers across the exposed flesh of the side of her foot, Madison lets out an involuntary yelp, losing her grip long enough for her captor to pry the shoe off her foot.
“Nooooooooo!” she yells, hearing her shoe clasp against the concrete floor as it is tossed clear across the room. He does the same with her other shoe, but with far less struggle on her part, for it would be useless to waste such energy if he were to take such advantage of her predicament.
“Beautiful,” he admires her lush size nine feet, their perfectly pedicured surface to be the bane of Madison’s existence for the coming moments. Toes curling, flexing to and fro to attempt an escape from his grasp, she is merely putting on a personal show for the deranged madman to admire from his seat. “Let’s not waste anymore time, shall we?” Without missing a beat, he raises his fingers, their oscillating fingertips driving her mad with anticipation. However, such a state of limbo is short-lived, for not three seconds pass since her last heel flew off her sole when he begins scraping his nails into the tender flesh of her soles.
“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaahahahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaa!!” she wails, throwing her head back in forced mirth as he indulges in her horrendously ticklish feet. “Staaaaaaaaahahahahahahap! Nooooooohohohohohoho please!”
“Don’t bother begging sweetie,” he tells her, just under his voice but plenty audible for her. “There will be no mercy here.” What horrid sensations she is forced to endure, bound in the exact same position, only by one who has obviously been expertly trained in such specialties. Her defenses crumbled the moment he said that word, making sure she was primed for receiving an onslaught of merciless tickles right from the start. However, it was that cold indifference in her captor that got to her the most: that callous lack of empathy that drenched his tone of voice, making it seem that her intensive suffering was merely an unavoidable consequence for waking up that morning, and as she is about to see, it would have been best for her to have just stayed in bed a few more weeks.
“SOMEBODY HELP MEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEEEE!!” Her tortured cries and rampant shrieks echo off these solemn walls, not a soul around to take pity upon her, no one but the ominous presence of her captor who, as she has questioned this entire time, seems not to have one left in his body. It seems as though hours have passed since he ensnared her, but little could she imagine it had been a mere thirty minutes of unyielding tickle torture. Scraping his dastardly nails across the supple surface of her soles, he indulges in the myriad of strained reactions he can extract from her gullet, a sly smirk at each side of his lips as he makes yet another discovery.
“There’s no one to help you my dear,” he casually replies, noting the growing tint of red across the length of her feet through sheer torment. “I think I’ll move to your heels now.” She tries to fight him off, kicking up her legs to the best of her ability, the only effect of which being a subtle thump as her heels bash against the plush material. Taking the knuckles of both hands, he begins kneading them into their plump surface, watching as Madison digs her nails into the arms of the chair to relieve this horridly new sensation.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she wails, throwing her head side to side in desperate attempt to wake herself from this nightmare. Tears collecting at the sides of her eyes, she hasn’t the capacity to fully distance herself from her torments, something she had thought she learned from her past tickling experience. Yet this was different: the way he psychologically manipulates her is like no other, constantly pulling her back into her tortured reality the moment she escapes for but a brief moment.
“If only you were strong enough to get loose,” he goads her, tracing the tips of his fingers down the sides of her feet, watching them attempt to wriggle away from such teasing sensations. “I made it easy for you to escape, so why don’t you? Is it because you secretly like this young lady?”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” she screams at him, right in tandem with his stubby nails scratching down the side of her foot, the intense sensitivity throwing her for a loop. “IHEHEHEHEHE DON”T!! PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE!!” She is absolutely livid, knowing full well every breath she uses to try and reason with the deranged man will only be wasted at her expense. Yet she can’t help herself, feeling her mind being slowly backed into a corner as whatever is left of her resolve is being used just to keep hold of her sanity. However, as she is soon to find out, there soon will be nothing left of her will to hold onto so long as he is in control.
“You know, the moment we’re done, I’m going to have to take you down to my dungeon,” he suddenly puts forth, as she finds herself completely unable to comprehend at any level exactly what he just said. “And, I guarantee you, it’s going to be much worse than this.” Taking her by the left foot, he pries her toes backwards, stretching her sole taut as he digs into her tender sole unabashed. Her right foot pressing desperately against his arm, it is completely powerless to stop its twin from a dose of unadulterated tickle torture.
“WAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” She is hopeless, not a glimmer of salvation to be found, completely and utterly at his mercy (or, in this case, lack thereof). Now, as she writhes in ticklish agony, she is forced to endure her baseless captor dictate the depths of his depravity towards her.
“I wonder how long you’ll be able to last down there,” he solemnly dictates, basking in the torrents of forced laughter ejecting from her strained gullet at this very moment. “You know my last guest barely lasted the week. Surely you’ll last longer than her, right?”
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!” she wails at the top of her lungs, a combination of his invasive fingers snaking their way underneath her toes along with such a dastardly proposition. Her hapless cries ascending another octave through such a calculated attack, she desperate curls her toes, only to comically secure his fingers in place as they ravage the tingling stems she tries so hard to hide. The very notion of being held captive for an hour as she has already drove her to near madness, but the thought of such torments extending themselves even further truly drove her over the edge.
“Oh, I’m sure you’d last far longer than a week dear,” he responds, digging his stubby nails into her tender flesh, the flailing of her toes completely futile in escaping his grasp. “Just think of the moment I have you locked in my stocks: ankles bound on all sides, with each and every one of these toes bound tight and ripe for endless tormenting. You wouldn’t have to waste so much energy trying to escape, now would you?”
“WAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she screeches in response, throwing her head back in agonizing fashion, unable to balance such maddening verbal torments with that befalling her hapless feet. “LET ME GOOOOOOOOOHOHOHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!”
“Oh I’ll let you go eventually,” he answers, a devious smile scrawled across his face. “I’ll let you out of the stocks just long enough to get you on the x-frame. Arms bound high above your head, completely helpless as I get right into those tender little underarms you got there, followed by your ribs, then your hips, all the way down your person…now doesn’t that just sound lovely?” He is cold, malicious, a piercing tone of voice that rocks her to her very core, dismantling her defenses the moment the words fall from his lips. Just what power he holds over her psyche at this moment is incomprehensible, only the careful result of prolonged tickling upon her feet. However, the night has only begun, for by the time he is finished with her, only a fractured reflection of her former self will remain.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEEEEEEEEEEEE!!” she squeals, the sensation of his nails across their pads making them uncurl in reflex. Bowing her head forward, she attempts to show her surrender, trying to hide her ticklish responses so he may finally got bored of his new plaything. After only a few moments, her strained laughter dissolving into silent torrents of giggles underneath her breath, she is let to rest.
“So, had enough then?” he questions her, watching tiny droplets fall from the tip of her nose down to her dress. He doesn’t know then to be sweat or tears, but it doesn’t truly matter to him: only that his little plaything is wrapped around his fingers. “Well, I guess I’m finished too.” She sighs, still bowing her head, breathless but hoping to hide her hope that she will finally be let go.
“Finished with just my fingers, that is!” he exclaims, sending a shiver down Madison’s spine as she hears the sound of a zipper in the distance. Looking up through her tangled locks, she witnesses the most horrifying sight of her life: a black duffle bag, placed right before her, its contents spilling out with contraptions the likes of which she couldn’t possibly imagine. Rummaging through his little sack of horrors, he grasps upon an item located at the bottom of the pit, slowly revealing it right in front of her eyes. “Ah, here it is!” It is a hairbrush, black and gray with hot pink nubs on each bristle, the size of which could easily traverse both of her feet at once. In his other hand, he reveals a small bag of what appears to be pipe cleaners, along with a length of brown twine in between his fingers.
“I hope you’re ready for this,” he says, lacing the length of twine around her big toes multiple times. Using the remaining length of string, he pulls them back to her ankles, stretching them taut as he ties them to her restraints, completely immobilizing them. She attempts to cry, but only can eek out a mere whimper as she finds her feet bound in such a helpless manner. “Big girls don’t cry…at least until this happens.” Taking his thumb, he opens a small compartment on the handle of the brush, revealing a hidden switch of some kind. Flipping it on, she hears a low whirring sound, watching in dumbfounded awe as the tips of the bristles begin vibrating at supersonic speeds. With an ungodly skill, he weaves the pipe cleaners through her toes, unable to avoid such a fate due to both her toes being bound as he slowly guides the brush into her helpless soles.
“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!” she shrieks a guttural wail the moment it is pressed into her soles, feeling every bristle subvert her skin and go right for her nerve endings. As he vigorously scrubs it across her soles and heels with one hand, his other frantically drags the pipe cleaners through her clenching toes. She begins babbling incoherently, unable to comprehend such torments any further than she has now. The brush was bad enough, its sloppy accuracy making sure not one inch of her secured feet was left unscathed. However, with the pipe cleaners flossing their way in between her toes, pulsating with the same vibrations shooting up her foot, poor Madison just couldn’t handle it. As he ascends up to the balls of her feet, the vibrating sensation too much to bear by now, she feels herself slowly slipping out of consciousness, blacking out with the sound of the hairbrush guiding her down…
“Miss Lintz?” a gentle voice rouses her from a deep slumber, as she finds herself back in the make-up trailer, slumped over the same chair she was seated in long ago. Through the blurring of her eyes, she discerns a stocky young woman wearing the same headset as her captor, without him anywhere in sight. “It’s time for you to go on.”
“Wha…where am I?” she moans, grasping herself by the forehead as she puts herself upright. “What’s going on?”
“You’re on set,” she answers, a look of confusion scrawled across her face. “I’m sorry for the wait, but we just got everyone in the studio. You must have dozed off waiting, but it has only been 45 minutes since you got here. We don’t have time to fix you up here, so if you’ll just follow me to the soundstage, we’ll get you ready.” She groans, wiping her eyes as she attempts to compose herself. Was it all a dream? She tries to understand just what had happened to her, but is unable to even have a moment to herself as she is guided out of the trailer by.
She stumbles out of the trailer, holding the assistant by her hand as she shuffles down the narrow hallway into the recording booth. Her legs and arms feeling like jell-o it is only through the assistant’s aid that she is able to get to the doorway leading into the studio. As she turns the corner, a metal latch is undone right behind her, turning over her shoulder to see what appears to be her captor walking out the door, a devious smirk across his face as he tosses his hat and clipboard into his bag. Her face turning white as a sheet, she opens her mouth to shout in his direction, only a slight squeak coming out in response. Before she can say anything, she is ushered away, directed on set for recording by the assistant’s hand.
The End
