Hello everyone. Got a little short story to share. Enjoy, and let me know what you think!
This story contains public humiliation, incest themes, smelly feet, foot worship and, of course, tickling.
The Chuckle Club
“Here it is! This is where I came with my mom last year!”
“The… Chuckle Club?”
“That’s right.” Sophie beamed. “Trust me, it’s a blast.”
“I’m with her,” Zara said. “Mom? Chris?”
“Sure. Sophie’s the expert, she’s been leading us since we got off the plane. Are you staying out with us, Chris, or are you going back to the hotel?”
Chris stood with three pairs of expectant eyes on him. He bashfully rubbed the back of his head.
“I think I’ll go back. I’m hot, I’m tired, it’s getting dark and I could kill for a cold drink and some reading under the AC.”
“Nope. I don’t think so.”
Sophie marched over and wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling his face into her sweaty t-shirt and, more importantly, perky breasts. His bright red face couldn’t have stood out any better against the yellow background.
“You’re coming in with us, mister. Your mom and sister want to spend time with you.”
“What about you? Don’t you want to spend time with my little bro too?” Zara asked, smirking.
Sophie smirked back as Zara was swatted at by her mom.
“Obviously! Who wouldn’t want to spend time with a handsome young man like Chris.”
Sophie pinched his cheek with her fingers and his blush deepened.
“Stop teasing him, you two.”
“So, what’ll it be?” Sophie squeezed his sides and he jumped, causing the three women to laugh.
“I-I’ll come along. Might as well, I’m on holiday, right?”
“Atta boy!” Sophie ruffled his hair condescendingly before heading for the door, looking over her shoulder at her entourage. “Let’s get going then, we need to make sure we get good seats.”
Walking under the lit, gaudy sign and entering the establishment, they were greeted by a smiling woman dressed in formal attire. Her black hair and tan skin were typical of natives.
“Hi,” Sophie said.
The woman smiled wider. “English?”
“Yep.”
“Excellent. I am quite proud of my English. Let me know if I make any mistakes.”
“I doubt you’ll slip up, you sound like a natural,” Lianne said.
“Thank you! What is this then? Three young ladies, out on the town?” She noticed Chris, trailing behind the pack. “And who’s this? Are you the servant, young man?”
Lianne chuckled and put an arm on his shoulder, planting a kiss on his forehead which he wiped off.
“This is my son, Chris. My daughter, Zara. Zara’s best friend, Sophie. We’re on a holiday, first time to this part of the world and already falling in love with the place.”
“Excellent, excellent! In that case, I’m safe to assume you’re all first-timers to the Chuckle Club?”
“Not me,” Sophie said. “I’m the one who brought them here.”
“Ahhh. Are they in for a surprise once the show gets started?”
Sophie winked. “Oh yes.”
“I’ve got just the table for you all. In front of the stage, best seats in the house. You guys need anything at all, give me a shout.”
The greeter brought them over to the table and she wasn’t lying, once those curtains pulled back they’d all have an unmatched view of whatever action happened on the stage.
Lianne leaned forward on her elbows and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Sophie, why all the secrecy? This is a little… suspect. Don’t get me wrong, it seems like a lovely place; just enigmatic.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll understand soon enough, I promise. When mom and I first realised what the Chuckle Club was all about, it was an incredible moment.”
Zara started chatting to her mom about what they had planned for the rest of the week, leaving Chris and Sophie silent. Silent, until Chris felt something touching his leg. He looked at her and saw a cheeky grin. Then, he looked down and saw her sandalled foot was the perpetrator.
“Like my toenail polish?” She asked, her black-topped toes giving him a synchronised wave.
“Yeah it’s...”
“Sexy?”
“V-very.”
She giggled and he blushed.
“You a foot guy, then?”
Chris shook his head frantically. “No no no. You’ve got the wrong idea. Do you need to be a foot guy to appreciate pretty toes?”
They waved again, clearly pleased.
“What are you guys talking about?” Zara asked, grinning. “Chris is as red as a tomato!”
“Nothing!” Chris said.
“Chrissy here was telling me how beautiful my feet are.”
“I said toes!”
Zara laughed. “So you were still complimenting her feet?”
Smiling, Lianne shook her head. “Chris, would you mind going and grabbing us some drinks?”
Eager for the interruption, he nodded immediately. “What do you all want?”
He had to write it down on a napkin, because the fancy cocktails that they wanted were rather complicated. Complicated enough that even with it written down, he had to rehearse it on the way over to ensure he didn’t trip over his own words.
The barmaid looked significantly less friendly than the greeter. She nodded at him when he reached the bar; a signal to order?
“Hi. I’d like some drinks.”
“What do you want?” Gruff and unfriendly, she obviously didn’t want to be here.
Chris reeled off the cocktails, the barmaid’s frown deepening with every syllable that left his mouth. As an attempt to salvage the situation, he chose a simple glass of water. After walking around under that scorching sun, it was necessary.
He thought her expression couldn’t get much angrier after making three fancy cocktails, then he handed her a large note to pay for it.
“Sorry. It’s all I’ve got.”
She snatched it out of his hands and punched numbers into the till which popped open. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as she gathered up the vast amount of change owed.
Out of the corner of his eye, Chris saw that the curtain was being pulled back and the stage gradually unveiled. He was missing it! The barmaid saw the change in his posture, and one side of her mouth curled upwards as she purposefully slowed down.
After much longer than it should have taken, she handed him the change.
“Thanks.”
All he received in response was a grunt. Collecting up the cocktails and the glass of water and navigated the web of tables to find his own. Zara was the first to spot him.
“Finally! Did you get lost?”
“Find a pretty foreign girl to bring home?” Lianne asked.
“Maybe he found another set of toes to compliment!” Sophie suggested.
“Actually, the barmaid wa—”
“Shhhhh. If you haven’t noticed, it’s starting. Sit down,” Lianne said.
Taking his first proper look at the now open stage, Chris gasped. From the name of the place, he’d assumed it was some kind of comedy club. The woman on stage, scantily clad in black leather bra and shorts, with matching knee-high boots, did not look at all like a comedian. And what was that device behind her?
The lights dimmed and chatter from the other tables ceased. The stage might as well have been the sole source of illumination, making the woman look like some kind of divine being.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Chuckle Club! I think I speak for all of us, the waiting staff and my stagehands, when I say I hope you’re all having a fabulous evening so far. You’re in for a hell of a show tonight, so get comfortable and enjoy!”
Chris was more than happy to listen to the woman’s speech; to find out why she was dressed similar to a dominatrix and what the cushioned, metal device behind her was. Sophie had other ideas. Her hand met his and squeezed, drawing all of his attention.
She wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the stage, but the smile playing at those full lips told him that this was no accident.
Stealthily, she lifted his hand from his lap and brought it over to her own. That subtle smile grew and Chris gulped, fully aware of what his hand was near, separated by only a denim skirt. She rubbed his hand around the area, before bringing it further down to her smooth, bare legs.
It was at this point that she leaned over to him.
“I’m not wearing any panties,” she whispered.
Chris felt his face heating rapidly. He sent a nervous glance toward his mother and sister sat across from him and was relieved to see that their attention was glued to the stage and not on his beet red complexion.
He gulped as Sophie continued acting out her plan, placing his hand between her toned thighs and giving it a brief squeeze. This was surprising on her part, he’d been waiting for a moment like this for years! Why was she so eager now, in a public setting?
With deliberate slowness, she used her hold on his arm to slide his hand along her bare leg. The skin grew warmer the closer he got and his breathing became noticeably heavier. Was his hand sweating? He hoped it wasn’t.
Then his hand was ripped away and flung high into the air.
“Looks like we have a volunteer!” The woman on the stage said.
Chris’s eyes widened as he heard the applause. He looked at Sophie and found her laughing.
“Wha—”
“Come on up, young man! We don’t want to have to drag you up here.”
“Go on, Chris,” his mom said. “It’s a little late to change your mind.”
“He just needs a little encouragement.” Zara got out of her seat and moved around the table. “Give me a hand.”
Sophie helped Zara drag a confused Chris to his feet and gave him a light shove in the direction of the stage. He might have tried to retake his seat had the crowd not been urging him on, pushed forward by peer pressure.
Being on the stage wasn’t too pleasant. The lights were hot and made everything beyond difficult to make out. He could just about see his family and Sophie because they were on the closest table. Although he couldn’t see the crowd properly, he could still feel them. All eyes were on him and the pressure hadn’t faded.
“So, what’s your name?”
“C-Chris.”
The woman chuckled. “You’ll have to be a little louder, so that everyone can hear you.”
“Chris,” he repeated, much louder than before.
“Can we get another round of applause for Chris? It takes a brave soul to volunteer for this evening’s festivities.”
More clapping, along with hooting from a familiar pair of voices.
“Sounds like some of you are enthusiastic! Anyone you know, Chris?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s my sister and her friend.”
“Do they have names too?”
“My sister is called Zara and her friend is called Sophie.”
“And is that everyone you’re here with?”
“No. My mom is here too, Lianne.”
“Well girls, I hope you brought something to take videos with, because Chris is gonna give one hell of a performance, I promise you that. Before we begin, in case you missed it, my name is Mistress Ada. I’ll be the one showing you why this is called the Chuckle Club!”
Four masked women dressed like Mistress Ada emerged from the wings of the stage and came over to Chris. They grabbed him and started pulled at his clothes. Until he realised what they were doing, when they effortlessly deprived him of his shirt, he didn’t bother resisting. They were stripping him, in front of everyone!
“Stop!” He yelled as they took him to the ground, stealing his trousers, shoes and socks.
Mistress Ada laughed and the audience laughed with her. In no time at all, he was left in his briefs which drew some amused chattering from the silhouetted crowd.
“Sorry, but we need access to every inch of you! You can keep your underwear on… for now.”
“Why?”
Mistress Ada cocked her head. “Why? Were you not listening to my introduction?”
“I was… distracted.”
A lone chuckle came from the crowd.
“You poor thing. You have no idea what you volunteered for?”
Chris had a hard time believing her sympathy whilst a smile was playing at the corners of her red lips.
“No. C-can you tell me?”
She laughed. “Not happening. We’ve never had the pleasure of having someone volunteer after they’ve neglected to listen to my speech. It’s rude not to listen when people talk, that’ll be one of the lessons you’ll never forget after today.”
Before he could continue, the masked women who had stripped him grabbed him with surprising strength and dragged him backward. He knew what was behind him; the intimidating device that he’d pondered the purpose of.
“Get off me! Mom, help!”
“Calling for his mommy? How adorable. Are you going to help your baby boy, Lianne?”
“Like hell I am! Get on with the show!”
The audience started laughing hard at his mom’s response.
“You heard the lady. Girls, buckle this one up tight, he looks like a thrasher.”
Chris struggled and fought to no avail as he was forcefully seated on the device. His limbs were pulled away and buckled down, his feet were guided into stocks and sealed away, his head was strapped to the backboard of the chair portion. Within no time at all, most of his movement had been taken away from him; the little that remained proved useless.
The stagehands stepped back, admiring their handiwork with nods and smiles. The masks covering the top halves of their faces made them look particularly scary.
“So, Chris, are you ready?” Mistress Zara asked.
“Ready for what? Please, tell me.”
She chuckled. “To be tickled insane, of course. Isn’t that right, ladies and gentlemen?”
The cheers from the crowd not only confirmed her ridiculous claim, but told him that they were eager to see it happen.
Suddenly, Chris was all too aware that his sensitive spots were incredibly vulnerable. His ticklish feet, trapped on the other side of those sturdy stocks. His smooth armpits, rendered defenceless with his arms trapped above his head as if he was celebrating the position he was in. His stomach, kept in place by strategic straps which left it open and unmoving.
“T-t-tickling?”
“Yes, tickling. My assistants and I are going to drive you wild in front of everyone here, including your family. You’ll cry, you’ll beg, you’ll promise to do anything we desire. Those pleas will fall on deaf ears. At the Chuckle Club, we stop for nothing.”
Another cheer from the crowd.
“It’s tickle time, little brother!” Zara yelled.
“No escape for you, Chrissy!” Sophie was quick to join in with the heckling.
“Chrissy, eh? Is that your nickname?”
“I used to call him that when he was little,” his mom said loudly, for all to hear. “Whenever I would pin him on my lap and tickle his tummy, I’d call him Chrissy and tease him with baby talk whilst he begged me to stop. I bet he’s just as ticklish now.”
“Aww, seems like little Chrissy has a knack for getting himself into ticklish situations.” Mistress Ada pinched at his cheeks as she taunted him.
“You can’t do this, I’m too ticklish, please!”
“That’s the point, silly boy. Girls, lets not keep our lovely audience waiting for much longer.”
Mistress Ada stepped out in front of the device, allowing the stagehands to take their places. One at each side, one at each foot. He looked from side to side, seeing that they had long, blood red fingernails. Presumably the girls at the stocks did too; they had pulled stools out from backstage and were sat out of view. Chris had the feeling that if he were to wiggle either foot, he’d brush against hands poised and ready to strike.
“Can we get a countdown from our wonderful audience? Starting from three. Three!”
“Two!” The audience counted down, sounding terribly amused.
Chris braced himself. Under the hot lights and heavy pressure, he squirmed anxiously.
“One!”
He screwed his eyes shut, hoping to make it all go away.
“Tickle!” Mistress Ada finished.
Chris exploded in laughter as the sharp fingernails descend on his skin. This was even more intense than he’d feared! Down in the stocks, his feet flailed around like crazy, chased through the air by the evil ticklers. That was the only real movement he could muster.
When his sides and armpits were attacked by those skittering fingers, all he could manage was a slight shift left or right.
“Oh wow, that’s one ticklish young man! Look at him go wild. Shall I let you all in on a little secret? My girls are only playing right now. When they get serious, I wonder how Chrissy will take it?”
Chris couldn’t believe that this could tickle any worse; it was already torture!
They continued in this ‘playful’ manner for a good dozen or so minutes. The audience were laughing along with him, calling out with mocking insults every now and again that Mistress Ada encouraged.
“How about we get serious? Would you guys like that?”
The crowd responded positively. Very positively.
“Sounds like a yes to me.”
“No! Stop, I can’t take this!” Chris shouted.
Mistress Ada chuckled and strutted up towards him.
“You don’t have a choice. Unless our amazing audience demands your immediate release, you’re gonna get tickled.”
With a smirk, she turned one ear towards the audience and cupped it.
“Tickle him harder! His feet are his worst spot!” Zara yelled.
“Are they really?” Mistress Ada placed herself between his legs. “Let’s make them a little more vulnerable, allow my girls to properly see to them.”
She reached out with both hands and pinned his toes to the stocks with surprisingly strong fingers. Fear filled him as he tried to push back against her and found the limited movement he had gone.
“Turn it up a notch. Make him scream.”
They did just that. The girls at his feet were now free to drag their nails down his twitching soles or scratch rapidly all over the place; they lacked a uniform tactic between the two of them. The girls at his sides continued what they were doing before, only faster and more intensely. These two kept him on his toes—figuratively—his mind lagging behind where their fingers would strike next.
All the while the tickle torture picked up, Mistress Ada held his gaze. Behind that superior, grinning face, the shadowy audience egged them on and mocked him.
“There’s no escape, Chrissy,” she taunted. “All you can do is take the tickles.”
And he did. Chris felt his sanity slowly dripping away as time passed. The witnesses of his torture continued enjoying their time in the club, getting drinks and chatting among themselves as if there wasn’t someone being tortured on stage. Were his mom and sister watching and enjoying this? Was Sophie?
After a long stretch of time, he honestly couldn’t tell how long, the tickling stopped. He sat bound, panting and sweating.
“Is… is it over?” He asked, but no one heard him. Mistress Ada was occupied, speaking to the crowd. He’d missed most of what she was saying.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our esteemed guests of the evening. Give it up for Lianne, Zara and Sophie!”
Chris watched in horror as the three women took up positions around him. His mom and Sophie taking one foot each, Zara going behind his back, stroking an armpit on the way.
“I’m not going to show mercy. Don’t let that stop you from begging,” his sister said from behind.
“We’re gonna tickle your feet so much, Chrissy. Aren’t we, Sophie?”
“So so much. I’m an expert. I’ve been wanted to tickle you for a long while, and now the opportunity has arrived. With your own mom helping me, no less! I knew Zara would lend a hand, but this is unexpected.”
“Are you ready, Chris?” Mistress Ada asked.
“No!”
The girls around him laughed and dug in with their nails.
His mom and Sophie pinned his big toes to the stock with one hand each and tickled up and down his soles with the other.
“You’ve always had such ticklish feet,” his mom cooed. “I’m glad I can fully take advantage of that. Tickle tickle.”
“You’re going crazy! This is hilarious,” Sophie said, giggling.
From behind, Zara had reached around, five fingers scrabbling relentlessly in each armpit.
“I don’t even think I’m this ticklish, little brother.”
“The best part is, there’s no escape. No way for you to wriggle away from my nasty fingers.” Her voice came from the other side. She has switching with every sentence in an effort to further tease him.
“Please! Stop!”
Chris was laughing constantly now, literally barking the noises of forced amusement. Tears stained his cheeks. This was too much! All he could do was laugh and beg these cruel girls uselessly.
The stagehands stepped forward once more, holding his toes against the stocks so that his mom and Sophie could make use of all four hands at once. When his sister’s hands disappeared, he thought that perhaps she had decided to finally show him a little mercy.
Nope. Following some shuffling sounds, a hand snaked around from out of sight and clamped over his mouth. He tried to shake it off, but failed to do so and was soon laughing directly into Zara’s palm, made to breathe entirely through his nose.
Then, seconds later, the air he was breathing became warm, humid and smelly as something covered his nose.
“How’s that smell, Chrissy? This sneaker has been on my foot all day long. Without socks too. My feet stink so much, so I imagine that my sneaks are pretty rank!”
Chris screamed into her hand and started thrashing his head around, eager to escape from Zara’s reeking shoe. The potent, cheesy odour was strong evidence of a day spent walking around in the heat, sockless.
“Very creative, Zara!” Mistress Ada laughed, joined by the crowd. They sounded as if they were in tears at the latest development in his torture. “Make sure you sniff nice and hard, you might manage to get rid of the stink completely.”
The intense tickling of his feet was driving Chris insane. Combined with the pungent aroma of his sister’s well-worn sneaker filling his lungs, this was a torment devised in the lowest of hells.
And still, it continued.
No matter how much he flailed against his bonds, no matter how many muffled screams he uttered, no one was helping in. The people watching in the audience only clapped and laughed at his struggles, wanting nothing more than to keep watching. The people he trusted most were up here with him, causing the torture that so effective.
It felt unending. Under the warm lights, suffering for the amusement of the crowd, time seemed to slow to a halt. All Chris could do was laugh. Laugh, and try to endure. Zara seemed to like her cruel idea, leaving her sneaker over his nose until the tickling came to an end.
Chris sagged in his chair.
“Well done to Chris, for surviving his tickle torture! And thanks to Lianne, Zara and Sophie for lending their fingers, and shoes, to the cause of your entertainment!”
The crowd cheered, yet a lot of them also called out for more.
“More? It isn’t up to me, I’m afraid.” Mistress Ada walked over to Lianne. “What do you think, mom? Time out for Chrissy?”
“Hmm. I was thinking that maybe—”
Zara pushed between them. “If Chris wants out, he has to earn it. Don’t you all agree?”
A resounding agreement.
“In that case...” Zara turned to him, her eyes burning with sadistic glee. “Chris, if you want your tickle torture to end, you have to lick all of our feet clean. Mine, Sophie’s and mom’s!”
Chris’s eyes widened as the crowd laughed.
“It sounds like we have an agreement. My lovely assistants, if you wouldn’t mind freeing the sensitive young man, it’s foot cleaning time!”
As soon as Chris was free, he ran. Clearly the stagehands had expected as much, because two of them were ready to grab him, bring him to the ground and keep him there.
“Idiot,” Zara said, planted her foot on his face and smushing it against the stage. She had put her sneaker back on. “You’re not getting away that easily. We have to give the people a show.”
The stocks were taken off-stage. A pair of stagehands returned, hefting a metal chair between them. Either they were weak, or the chair was a lot heavier than it appeared. As it arrived at the middle of the stage, Zara moved her foot and the two women holding him dragged him to where the chair was, laying him on the floor with his arms by his sides. Whenever he tried to move them, the stagehands kicked them back into place and growled something in their native tongue.
The weight of chair made sense when it was dropped on top of him. The legs were connected by thick bars at the perfect height to pin him to the ground. He struggled, but that chair was far too heavy for him to even make it judder.
He watched as his mom took a seat in the chair. On either side of his face were her mature feet, a white flip-flop under the soles of each. He also became painfully aware that the chair was side-on, making it easy for the watching eyes beyond the stage to see everything.
“Mom, please don’t do this. I don’t want to lick your feet.”
“But they want you too, honey. Besides, there’s no need to be embarrassed. We’re on vacation, we don’t know these people. And,” she lifted a foot, leaving the flip-flop behind, “my feet need a good clean. Look how dirty they are.”
They were indeed dirty. Walking around in flip-flops all day would do that.
“Please...” He tried pleading again.
“Honey, if you don’t, you’re going to get tickled some more. Do you want that?”
Chris shook his head and his mom smiled. The filthy sole of her foot came down and stopped just above his face.
“In that case, lick.”
Extending his tongue, Chris felt his face grow hot with humiliation. He trembled, wondering if he really had the willpower to worship his mother’s feet in front of so many people. His mom decided to make the move for him, placing her heel down and moving the full length of her sole along his outstretched tongue.
The earthy, sweaty taste was so unpleasant that he gagged. His tongue tried to escape into his mouth, but his mom’s dexterous toes had other ideas. Quick as a whip, they grabbed his tongue, squeezing it between two of her toes and preventing it from getting away.
“I don’t think so. There’s plenty more left to go.”
Chris groaned as she released her grip. There really was no avoiding this. He steeled himself and started licking as instructed.
“Looks like Chrissy finally found his nerve!” Mistress Ada said. “Check out that expression, ladies and gentlemen. Priceless!”
He kept it up, lapping at the rough soles in his face. Once the first was cleaned of dirt, she moved it away and replaced it with a fresh one. His tongue assaulted the new, dirty wrinkled feet, lapping up the sweat and dust that had glued to the parts of her feet which touched the insoles of the flip-flops.
Before long, he was staring at a clean pair of feet, his tongue laden with the dirt and sweat that it had removed from them.
“Excellent job,” his mom said as she examined both of her feet. “I’m genuinely impressed.”
“Hear that, folks? Chris is a real pro foot-licker.”
Chris watched his mom stand up, vacating the seat that Sophie came over and occupied.
“Hey, Chris,” she said quietly.
“Hi Sophie.” He gulped. “Are you going to make me worship your feet too?”
“Obviously. I hope they’re not too bad. I mean, they felt pretty bad earlier, but it’s not like I’m wearing sneakers without socks.” Sophie sent a pointed look toward Zara.
Then she started unstrapping her sandals.
“Can we not just pretend I’m licking your feet?”
“You’re overestimating my acting abilities if you think I can fool all of those people.” She thumbed over at the audience. “Besides, didn’t you say my feet were ‘sexy’ earlier?”
“Um...”
“That’s what I thought.”
Sophie giggled. Her sandals fell to the floor with a slapping sound. Above his face, she stretched her pink-soled feet, flexing them and scrunching them. They smelled of lotion mostly, with a sweaty scent that was more potent than that of his mother’s feet.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said with a sigh. Although, honestly, the idea of licking Sophie’s feet was much more appealing than that of his mom or sister.
“Yes! I’ve always wanted to have my feet worshipped. It’s so hard finding a guy willing. You don’t mind, right?”
She wiggled her toes over his nose, wafting the smell into it.
“No.” Chris blushed.
“Aww. You look so cute when you’re embarrassed.” Her big toe stroked his lips. “Let’s start with the toes.”
Chris let the toe into his mouth and started sucking. The flavour was the opposite of the smell; here, the lotion took a back-seat and the taste was rather sour and salty. Some warmth lingered in her soles, though they did feel more clammy than anything.
“This is strangely romantic. Tell me, Chrissy, do you happen to have a crush on young Sophie?” Mistress Ada asked.
He tried to answer, but Sophie silenced him by plunging more sweaty toes into his mouth.
“Yeah, I’ve kinda known for a while that he’s got a crush on me. Even if he hadn’t been so damn obvious, Zara told me about it anyway.” She smiled down at his, wriggling her plump toes against his tongue as it cleaned between them.
“Are we about to see a new relationship blossom, live on stage?”
Sophie snorted. “No chance. How could I date someone who licked his own mom’s feet clean in front of so many people?”
Some of the audience laughed, some of them booed. Chris’s heart sank and he felt his face turn redder than ever. Rejected by his crush in front of so many people, with her toes in his mouth, no less? A couple of tears ran down his cheeks.
“Come now, if the girl doesn’t want to be with him, she doesn’t have to.” Mistress Ada calmed their negative reactions and in no time they were all cheering.
“Don’t cry, Chrissy. You’re welcome to kiss or massage my feet whenever you like from now on.”
Silently, Chris sucked the rest of Sophie’s toes then lapped the sweat from her soles with long licks from her heels to the bases of her toes.
“Thanks, Chrissy,” Sophie said, smiling. She tapped his nose with her big toe and vacated the chair.
Zara sat down. Before he had chance to greet her, his face was being crushed by the bottom of her sneaker.
“Be a little less rough with him, Zara,” their mom said quietly.
“We’re on holiday, mom. It’s time for fun!” Zara twisted her foot, pulling at his skin and making him hiss with pain.
“I wonder what’s more humiliating, having to lick the feet of a girl who just rejected you, or having to lick the feet of your sister? They’ll be stinky, you know. No socks makes my feet sweat like crazy. And you already know how smelly these sneakers are. My bare feet have been crammed into them all day long, sweltering because of the heat.”
“Zara… please...”
“Please what? Please let you worship my rank feet?”
“No, ple—”
“Did you hear that, everyone? My brother wants to lick the sweat from my soles. If you insist, Chrissy...”
Zara lifted her feet up, using one sneaker to lever the other off, letting it fall right onto his face. It bounced off, landing to the side with the opening facing him. The smell flowing out of it was horrible. She used the toes of her bare foot to push the second shoe off, which also dropped onto his face and off to the side.
“Ah, much better. It’s so satisfying to air out your feet after a day spent walking around. I want you to smell them for me first and let everyone know what they smell like.”
Zara lowered her foot and inserted his nose between her big and second toe.
“Big sniff now.”
His eyes already watering from the repulsive odour, Chris bit the bullet and sniffed deeply.
The foot left. “Go on, tell the audience what my toes smelled of.”
“Rotten cheese and vinegar.”
Zara laughed and the crowd laughed with her.
“Did you hear that? Rotten cheese and vinegar. Just imagine how awful that is going to taste!”
“I certainly wouldn’t like it,” Mistress Ada chimed in, drawing mutters of agreement.
“Now.” Zara brought both bare feet down, smothering him and soaking his face with the layer of sweat clinging to them. “Clean my stinky feet.”
“Zara, stop. They’re disgusting! I don’t want to do this!” Chris squirmed around under the chair. No reaction. It was too heavy. All he could do was suffer the smell of his sister’s feet.
The stagehands were busy dragging something out next to the chair. It was a large coffin.
“If you don’t clean my cheesy feet, I imagine that thing is where you’ll end up next.”
“Correct.” Mistress Ada laid a hand on Zara’s shoulder. “That’s the Coffin of Doom. The most terrible of all our tickle torture equipment.”
Chris looked from one smiling face to the other and realised there was no mercy to be found. Blinking away tears, he stuck out his tongue and licked Zara’s foot. Immediately he gagged, they tasted even worse than they smelt!
Zara laughed. “That bad, huh? Tough luck, because you gotta keep licking! Can we get some encouragement?”
The members of the audience that weren’t howling with laughter started chanting “lick” over and over.
Chris licked some more, wiping away the sweaty sheen of foulness one lick at a time.
“Much better!”
Somehow he managed not to gag or choke any more as he lapped at Zara’s smelly soles, eventually managing to leave no wrinkle free of his saliva.
“Now the toes. Look how delicious they are.” She wiggled them in his face, right by his nose. They smelled anything but delicious. “Make sure you get all the yummy stuff between them, Chrissy.”
Chris whimpered as he let her stuff those vile toes in his mouth, feeling himself becoming overwhelmed by the potent, unpleasant flavours. He slurped and sucked on each of them, swiping his tongue through every gap.
By the time he’d finished, Chris felt defeated. He had just cleaned the feet of three females he was supposed to be able to trust. Why? So he didn’t have to be tickle tortured any further.
Zara stood. The chair was moved away. A pair of stagehands picked him up from the ground, stroking his head comfortingly.
Then they started dragging him towards the Coffin of Doom.
“W-what are you doing? We had a deal!”
“Sorry, Chrissy, change of plan.” Mistress Ada shrugged and the audience cheered.
“Which one of you did this?” Chris growled, staring at his mom, Zara and Sophie with wild eyes.
“They didn’t do anything. We sent a survey around all the tables, asking our patrons if they thought that you cleaning feet was enough to net you mercy. They voted that it wasn’t. However, the final say belongs to your family.”
He gazed at them expectantly, wishing he hadn’t verbally lashed out.
Zara scoffed. “I’d say I’m sorry, bro, but considering how you just spoke to me...” She grinned and gave a thumbs-down. “You’re in for some serious tickle torture.”
“I can only agree, Chrissy,” Sophie said, struggling to contain laughter. “It’s tickle time.”
“Not that my vote will change anything.” His mom shook her head, frowning. “But I also think you deserve some tickling. You need to watch how you speak to your betters.”
“Which is us, since you literally licked our dirty feet!” Zara said, giggling.
Chris struggled some more, but the stagehands were stronger. Another stagehand opened up the Coffin of Doom, splitting it in half. Now he noticed the holes at the bottom end, set into the middle of the panel. The women handling him brought his arms behind his back and started strapping them together with leather cuffs.
Another person came on stage. It was the barmaid who had served him earlier, except now she was smiling. She took a seat on a stool and started unzipping the black leather boots she had on.
“Our barmaid came forward and offered her socks for us to use in your torture,” Mistress Ada explained. “Keep in mind that she’s been working the whole day today, and according to her she rarely changes socks!”
The barmaid stripped off her white socks, which were soaked with foot sweat and heavily discoloured. She stuck her feet back into the boots and walked over to where he stood, brandishing the gross socks.
“Open,” she said with an accented voice.
Chris kept his mouth shut, shaking his head.
The barmaid rolled her eyes and grabbed his nose, holding the nostrils shut. It didn’t take long before he was fighting for breath. It became too much and he gasped for breath.
And in went the socks.
Before he could spit them out, a strip of tape was placed over his lips. Then another. Then another. Then another. They were expertly sealed in there. The first swallow was like being punched in the stomach, that’s how awful the barmaid’s socks were.
He was pushed toward the coffin and his eyes went wide when he saw what was in there. Women’s footwear. Lots of women’s footwear. Sandals, flip-flops, sneakers, trainers, flats, boots, heels, slippers, you name it. There were even socks and stocking in there. Each pair looked as filthy as the last.
“I think I’ll make my addition,” his mom said, placing her own flip-flops in the coffin. They fit in with the rest, given the black imprint of her soles on each foamy surface.
“Mom!” Zara laughed. “How are you going to walk back to the hotel?”
“I’ll just get my feet dirty. We have a professional foot cleaner staying with us, so I might as well.”
“I could do with more foot kissing when we get back, too. And a nice, long massage,” Sophie added.
The stagehands all came together to lift Chris up, dropping him face-first into the coffin filled with dirty footwear. He wriggled around in their grip, however it was a useless show of resistance. He was mortified to realise that his mom’s flip-flops had end up under his face. The smell of all the shoes and socks together was mind-numbing.
“Bye bye, Chrissy!” Zara and Sophie said in unison, laughing.
“Me and your sis will be the ones tickling your feet. Remember that when you’re alone in that coffin with all those stinky shoes, being tickled insane.”
“Yeah! And don’t think it’ll be the last time, either. Now I’ve seen how sensitive you are, things are gonna change when we get home.”
“I’ll be helping too, Chris,” his mom said, holding up two lengths of string. “I’m going to tie these to your big toes and hold them back, leaving your feet completely at the mercy of your sister and Sophie.”
Chris started sobbing as the coffin closed on his back. The cheering and laughter of the crowd faded away. Then, he suddenly felt weightless. He yelled in surprise as everything was turned around. The footwear tumbled all around him, burying him in the stench. Now he was facing the roof of the Coffin of Doom, seeing it through a filter of footwear.
He screamed as he felt hands on his feet, covering them in a slippery substance. For a moment he relaxed, realising that the tickling hadn’t begun. Zara and Sophie were oiling up his feet. He felt his mom tying his big toes with the string, then heard her climb atop the coffin and start to pull back. He tried resisting, tried moving his feet, but his mom’s assistance proved to be scarily effective.
The oiling stopped. Seconds ticked by.
Chris hyperventilated, taken in more and more of the stinky air supply. His feet twitched, left vulnerable and out in the open. The anticipation was too much, he couldn’t deal with it.
He exploded with hysterical, forced laugher as he felt a hairbrush suddenly start scrubbing away on each oiled foot. His body involuntarily thrashed around within the tight confines of the coffin, wishing that his feet could do the same.
And the worst part was, it would be hours before Zara and Sophie decided to show so much as a shred of mercy.
This story contains public humiliation, incest themes, smelly feet, foot worship and, of course, tickling.
The Chuckle Club
“Here it is! This is where I came with my mom last year!”
“The… Chuckle Club?”
“That’s right.” Sophie beamed. “Trust me, it’s a blast.”
“I’m with her,” Zara said. “Mom? Chris?”
“Sure. Sophie’s the expert, she’s been leading us since we got off the plane. Are you staying out with us, Chris, or are you going back to the hotel?”
Chris stood with three pairs of expectant eyes on him. He bashfully rubbed the back of his head.
“I think I’ll go back. I’m hot, I’m tired, it’s getting dark and I could kill for a cold drink and some reading under the AC.”
“Nope. I don’t think so.”
Sophie marched over and wrapped her arm around his neck, pulling his face into her sweaty t-shirt and, more importantly, perky breasts. His bright red face couldn’t have stood out any better against the yellow background.
“You’re coming in with us, mister. Your mom and sister want to spend time with you.”
“What about you? Don’t you want to spend time with my little bro too?” Zara asked, smirking.
Sophie smirked back as Zara was swatted at by her mom.
“Obviously! Who wouldn’t want to spend time with a handsome young man like Chris.”
Sophie pinched his cheek with her fingers and his blush deepened.
“Stop teasing him, you two.”
“So, what’ll it be?” Sophie squeezed his sides and he jumped, causing the three women to laugh.
“I-I’ll come along. Might as well, I’m on holiday, right?”
“Atta boy!” Sophie ruffled his hair condescendingly before heading for the door, looking over her shoulder at her entourage. “Let’s get going then, we need to make sure we get good seats.”
Walking under the lit, gaudy sign and entering the establishment, they were greeted by a smiling woman dressed in formal attire. Her black hair and tan skin were typical of natives.
“Hi,” Sophie said.
The woman smiled wider. “English?”
“Yep.”
“Excellent. I am quite proud of my English. Let me know if I make any mistakes.”
“I doubt you’ll slip up, you sound like a natural,” Lianne said.
“Thank you! What is this then? Three young ladies, out on the town?” She noticed Chris, trailing behind the pack. “And who’s this? Are you the servant, young man?”
Lianne chuckled and put an arm on his shoulder, planting a kiss on his forehead which he wiped off.
“This is my son, Chris. My daughter, Zara. Zara’s best friend, Sophie. We’re on a holiday, first time to this part of the world and already falling in love with the place.”
“Excellent, excellent! In that case, I’m safe to assume you’re all first-timers to the Chuckle Club?”
“Not me,” Sophie said. “I’m the one who brought them here.”
“Ahhh. Are they in for a surprise once the show gets started?”
Sophie winked. “Oh yes.”
“I’ve got just the table for you all. In front of the stage, best seats in the house. You guys need anything at all, give me a shout.”
The greeter brought them over to the table and she wasn’t lying, once those curtains pulled back they’d all have an unmatched view of whatever action happened on the stage.
Lianne leaned forward on her elbows and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Sophie, why all the secrecy? This is a little… suspect. Don’t get me wrong, it seems like a lovely place; just enigmatic.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll understand soon enough, I promise. When mom and I first realised what the Chuckle Club was all about, it was an incredible moment.”
Zara started chatting to her mom about what they had planned for the rest of the week, leaving Chris and Sophie silent. Silent, until Chris felt something touching his leg. He looked at her and saw a cheeky grin. Then, he looked down and saw her sandalled foot was the perpetrator.
“Like my toenail polish?” She asked, her black-topped toes giving him a synchronised wave.
“Yeah it’s...”
“Sexy?”
“V-very.”
She giggled and he blushed.
“You a foot guy, then?”
Chris shook his head frantically. “No no no. You’ve got the wrong idea. Do you need to be a foot guy to appreciate pretty toes?”
They waved again, clearly pleased.
“What are you guys talking about?” Zara asked, grinning. “Chris is as red as a tomato!”
“Nothing!” Chris said.
“Chrissy here was telling me how beautiful my feet are.”
“I said toes!”
Zara laughed. “So you were still complimenting her feet?”
Smiling, Lianne shook her head. “Chris, would you mind going and grabbing us some drinks?”
Eager for the interruption, he nodded immediately. “What do you all want?”
He had to write it down on a napkin, because the fancy cocktails that they wanted were rather complicated. Complicated enough that even with it written down, he had to rehearse it on the way over to ensure he didn’t trip over his own words.
The barmaid looked significantly less friendly than the greeter. She nodded at him when he reached the bar; a signal to order?
“Hi. I’d like some drinks.”
“What do you want?” Gruff and unfriendly, she obviously didn’t want to be here.
Chris reeled off the cocktails, the barmaid’s frown deepening with every syllable that left his mouth. As an attempt to salvage the situation, he chose a simple glass of water. After walking around under that scorching sun, it was necessary.
He thought her expression couldn’t get much angrier after making three fancy cocktails, then he handed her a large note to pay for it.
“Sorry. It’s all I’ve got.”
She snatched it out of his hands and punched numbers into the till which popped open. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other as she gathered up the vast amount of change owed.
Out of the corner of his eye, Chris saw that the curtain was being pulled back and the stage gradually unveiled. He was missing it! The barmaid saw the change in his posture, and one side of her mouth curled upwards as she purposefully slowed down.
After much longer than it should have taken, she handed him the change.
“Thanks.”
All he received in response was a grunt. Collecting up the cocktails and the glass of water and navigated the web of tables to find his own. Zara was the first to spot him.
“Finally! Did you get lost?”
“Find a pretty foreign girl to bring home?” Lianne asked.
“Maybe he found another set of toes to compliment!” Sophie suggested.
“Actually, the barmaid wa—”
“Shhhhh. If you haven’t noticed, it’s starting. Sit down,” Lianne said.
Taking his first proper look at the now open stage, Chris gasped. From the name of the place, he’d assumed it was some kind of comedy club. The woman on stage, scantily clad in black leather bra and shorts, with matching knee-high boots, did not look at all like a comedian. And what was that device behind her?
The lights dimmed and chatter from the other tables ceased. The stage might as well have been the sole source of illumination, making the woman look like some kind of divine being.
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Chuckle Club! I think I speak for all of us, the waiting staff and my stagehands, when I say I hope you’re all having a fabulous evening so far. You’re in for a hell of a show tonight, so get comfortable and enjoy!”
Chris was more than happy to listen to the woman’s speech; to find out why she was dressed similar to a dominatrix and what the cushioned, metal device behind her was. Sophie had other ideas. Her hand met his and squeezed, drawing all of his attention.
She wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the stage, but the smile playing at those full lips told him that this was no accident.
Stealthily, she lifted his hand from his lap and brought it over to her own. That subtle smile grew and Chris gulped, fully aware of what his hand was near, separated by only a denim skirt. She rubbed his hand around the area, before bringing it further down to her smooth, bare legs.
It was at this point that she leaned over to him.
“I’m not wearing any panties,” she whispered.
Chris felt his face heating rapidly. He sent a nervous glance toward his mother and sister sat across from him and was relieved to see that their attention was glued to the stage and not on his beet red complexion.
He gulped as Sophie continued acting out her plan, placing his hand between her toned thighs and giving it a brief squeeze. This was surprising on her part, he’d been waiting for a moment like this for years! Why was she so eager now, in a public setting?
With deliberate slowness, she used her hold on his arm to slide his hand along her bare leg. The skin grew warmer the closer he got and his breathing became noticeably heavier. Was his hand sweating? He hoped it wasn’t.
Then his hand was ripped away and flung high into the air.
“Looks like we have a volunteer!” The woman on the stage said.
Chris’s eyes widened as he heard the applause. He looked at Sophie and found her laughing.
“Wha—”
“Come on up, young man! We don’t want to have to drag you up here.”
“Go on, Chris,” his mom said. “It’s a little late to change your mind.”
“He just needs a little encouragement.” Zara got out of her seat and moved around the table. “Give me a hand.”
Sophie helped Zara drag a confused Chris to his feet and gave him a light shove in the direction of the stage. He might have tried to retake his seat had the crowd not been urging him on, pushed forward by peer pressure.
Being on the stage wasn’t too pleasant. The lights were hot and made everything beyond difficult to make out. He could just about see his family and Sophie because they were on the closest table. Although he couldn’t see the crowd properly, he could still feel them. All eyes were on him and the pressure hadn’t faded.
“So, what’s your name?”
“C-Chris.”
The woman chuckled. “You’ll have to be a little louder, so that everyone can hear you.”
“Chris,” he repeated, much louder than before.
“Can we get another round of applause for Chris? It takes a brave soul to volunteer for this evening’s festivities.”
More clapping, along with hooting from a familiar pair of voices.
“Sounds like some of you are enthusiastic! Anyone you know, Chris?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s my sister and her friend.”
“Do they have names too?”
“My sister is called Zara and her friend is called Sophie.”
“And is that everyone you’re here with?”
“No. My mom is here too, Lianne.”
“Well girls, I hope you brought something to take videos with, because Chris is gonna give one hell of a performance, I promise you that. Before we begin, in case you missed it, my name is Mistress Ada. I’ll be the one showing you why this is called the Chuckle Club!”
Four masked women dressed like Mistress Ada emerged from the wings of the stage and came over to Chris. They grabbed him and started pulled at his clothes. Until he realised what they were doing, when they effortlessly deprived him of his shirt, he didn’t bother resisting. They were stripping him, in front of everyone!
“Stop!” He yelled as they took him to the ground, stealing his trousers, shoes and socks.
Mistress Ada laughed and the audience laughed with her. In no time at all, he was left in his briefs which drew some amused chattering from the silhouetted crowd.
“Sorry, but we need access to every inch of you! You can keep your underwear on… for now.”
“Why?”
Mistress Ada cocked her head. “Why? Were you not listening to my introduction?”
“I was… distracted.”
A lone chuckle came from the crowd.
“You poor thing. You have no idea what you volunteered for?”
Chris had a hard time believing her sympathy whilst a smile was playing at the corners of her red lips.
“No. C-can you tell me?”
She laughed. “Not happening. We’ve never had the pleasure of having someone volunteer after they’ve neglected to listen to my speech. It’s rude not to listen when people talk, that’ll be one of the lessons you’ll never forget after today.”
Before he could continue, the masked women who had stripped him grabbed him with surprising strength and dragged him backward. He knew what was behind him; the intimidating device that he’d pondered the purpose of.
“Get off me! Mom, help!”
“Calling for his mommy? How adorable. Are you going to help your baby boy, Lianne?”
“Like hell I am! Get on with the show!”
The audience started laughing hard at his mom’s response.
“You heard the lady. Girls, buckle this one up tight, he looks like a thrasher.”
Chris struggled and fought to no avail as he was forcefully seated on the device. His limbs were pulled away and buckled down, his feet were guided into stocks and sealed away, his head was strapped to the backboard of the chair portion. Within no time at all, most of his movement had been taken away from him; the little that remained proved useless.
The stagehands stepped back, admiring their handiwork with nods and smiles. The masks covering the top halves of their faces made them look particularly scary.
“So, Chris, are you ready?” Mistress Zara asked.
“Ready for what? Please, tell me.”
She chuckled. “To be tickled insane, of course. Isn’t that right, ladies and gentlemen?”
The cheers from the crowd not only confirmed her ridiculous claim, but told him that they were eager to see it happen.
Suddenly, Chris was all too aware that his sensitive spots were incredibly vulnerable. His ticklish feet, trapped on the other side of those sturdy stocks. His smooth armpits, rendered defenceless with his arms trapped above his head as if he was celebrating the position he was in. His stomach, kept in place by strategic straps which left it open and unmoving.
“T-t-tickling?”
“Yes, tickling. My assistants and I are going to drive you wild in front of everyone here, including your family. You’ll cry, you’ll beg, you’ll promise to do anything we desire. Those pleas will fall on deaf ears. At the Chuckle Club, we stop for nothing.”
Another cheer from the crowd.
“It’s tickle time, little brother!” Zara yelled.
“No escape for you, Chrissy!” Sophie was quick to join in with the heckling.
“Chrissy, eh? Is that your nickname?”
“I used to call him that when he was little,” his mom said loudly, for all to hear. “Whenever I would pin him on my lap and tickle his tummy, I’d call him Chrissy and tease him with baby talk whilst he begged me to stop. I bet he’s just as ticklish now.”
“Aww, seems like little Chrissy has a knack for getting himself into ticklish situations.” Mistress Ada pinched at his cheeks as she taunted him.
“You can’t do this, I’m too ticklish, please!”
“That’s the point, silly boy. Girls, lets not keep our lovely audience waiting for much longer.”
Mistress Ada stepped out in front of the device, allowing the stagehands to take their places. One at each side, one at each foot. He looked from side to side, seeing that they had long, blood red fingernails. Presumably the girls at the stocks did too; they had pulled stools out from backstage and were sat out of view. Chris had the feeling that if he were to wiggle either foot, he’d brush against hands poised and ready to strike.
“Can we get a countdown from our wonderful audience? Starting from three. Three!”
“Two!” The audience counted down, sounding terribly amused.
Chris braced himself. Under the hot lights and heavy pressure, he squirmed anxiously.
“One!”
He screwed his eyes shut, hoping to make it all go away.
“Tickle!” Mistress Ada finished.
Chris exploded in laughter as the sharp fingernails descend on his skin. This was even more intense than he’d feared! Down in the stocks, his feet flailed around like crazy, chased through the air by the evil ticklers. That was the only real movement he could muster.
When his sides and armpits were attacked by those skittering fingers, all he could manage was a slight shift left or right.
“Oh wow, that’s one ticklish young man! Look at him go wild. Shall I let you all in on a little secret? My girls are only playing right now. When they get serious, I wonder how Chrissy will take it?”
Chris couldn’t believe that this could tickle any worse; it was already torture!
They continued in this ‘playful’ manner for a good dozen or so minutes. The audience were laughing along with him, calling out with mocking insults every now and again that Mistress Ada encouraged.
“How about we get serious? Would you guys like that?”
The crowd responded positively. Very positively.
“Sounds like a yes to me.”
“No! Stop, I can’t take this!” Chris shouted.
Mistress Ada chuckled and strutted up towards him.
“You don’t have a choice. Unless our amazing audience demands your immediate release, you’re gonna get tickled.”
With a smirk, she turned one ear towards the audience and cupped it.
“Tickle him harder! His feet are his worst spot!” Zara yelled.
“Are they really?” Mistress Ada placed herself between his legs. “Let’s make them a little more vulnerable, allow my girls to properly see to them.”
She reached out with both hands and pinned his toes to the stocks with surprisingly strong fingers. Fear filled him as he tried to push back against her and found the limited movement he had gone.
“Turn it up a notch. Make him scream.”
They did just that. The girls at his feet were now free to drag their nails down his twitching soles or scratch rapidly all over the place; they lacked a uniform tactic between the two of them. The girls at his sides continued what they were doing before, only faster and more intensely. These two kept him on his toes—figuratively—his mind lagging behind where their fingers would strike next.
All the while the tickle torture picked up, Mistress Ada held his gaze. Behind that superior, grinning face, the shadowy audience egged them on and mocked him.
“There’s no escape, Chrissy,” she taunted. “All you can do is take the tickles.”
And he did. Chris felt his sanity slowly dripping away as time passed. The witnesses of his torture continued enjoying their time in the club, getting drinks and chatting among themselves as if there wasn’t someone being tortured on stage. Were his mom and sister watching and enjoying this? Was Sophie?
After a long stretch of time, he honestly couldn’t tell how long, the tickling stopped. He sat bound, panting and sweating.
“Is… is it over?” He asked, but no one heard him. Mistress Ada was occupied, speaking to the crowd. He’d missed most of what she was saying.
“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome our esteemed guests of the evening. Give it up for Lianne, Zara and Sophie!”
Chris watched in horror as the three women took up positions around him. His mom and Sophie taking one foot each, Zara going behind his back, stroking an armpit on the way.
“I’m not going to show mercy. Don’t let that stop you from begging,” his sister said from behind.
“We’re gonna tickle your feet so much, Chrissy. Aren’t we, Sophie?”
“So so much. I’m an expert. I’ve been wanted to tickle you for a long while, and now the opportunity has arrived. With your own mom helping me, no less! I knew Zara would lend a hand, but this is unexpected.”
“Are you ready, Chris?” Mistress Ada asked.
“No!”
The girls around him laughed and dug in with their nails.
His mom and Sophie pinned his big toes to the stock with one hand each and tickled up and down his soles with the other.
“You’ve always had such ticklish feet,” his mom cooed. “I’m glad I can fully take advantage of that. Tickle tickle.”
“You’re going crazy! This is hilarious,” Sophie said, giggling.
From behind, Zara had reached around, five fingers scrabbling relentlessly in each armpit.
“I don’t even think I’m this ticklish, little brother.”
“The best part is, there’s no escape. No way for you to wriggle away from my nasty fingers.” Her voice came from the other side. She has switching with every sentence in an effort to further tease him.
“Please! Stop!”
Chris was laughing constantly now, literally barking the noises of forced amusement. Tears stained his cheeks. This was too much! All he could do was laugh and beg these cruel girls uselessly.
The stagehands stepped forward once more, holding his toes against the stocks so that his mom and Sophie could make use of all four hands at once. When his sister’s hands disappeared, he thought that perhaps she had decided to finally show him a little mercy.
Nope. Following some shuffling sounds, a hand snaked around from out of sight and clamped over his mouth. He tried to shake it off, but failed to do so and was soon laughing directly into Zara’s palm, made to breathe entirely through his nose.
Then, seconds later, the air he was breathing became warm, humid and smelly as something covered his nose.
“How’s that smell, Chrissy? This sneaker has been on my foot all day long. Without socks too. My feet stink so much, so I imagine that my sneaks are pretty rank!”
Chris screamed into her hand and started thrashing his head around, eager to escape from Zara’s reeking shoe. The potent, cheesy odour was strong evidence of a day spent walking around in the heat, sockless.
“Very creative, Zara!” Mistress Ada laughed, joined by the crowd. They sounded as if they were in tears at the latest development in his torture. “Make sure you sniff nice and hard, you might manage to get rid of the stink completely.”
The intense tickling of his feet was driving Chris insane. Combined with the pungent aroma of his sister’s well-worn sneaker filling his lungs, this was a torment devised in the lowest of hells.
And still, it continued.
No matter how much he flailed against his bonds, no matter how many muffled screams he uttered, no one was helping in. The people watching in the audience only clapped and laughed at his struggles, wanting nothing more than to keep watching. The people he trusted most were up here with him, causing the torture that so effective.
It felt unending. Under the warm lights, suffering for the amusement of the crowd, time seemed to slow to a halt. All Chris could do was laugh. Laugh, and try to endure. Zara seemed to like her cruel idea, leaving her sneaker over his nose until the tickling came to an end.
Chris sagged in his chair.
“Well done to Chris, for surviving his tickle torture! And thanks to Lianne, Zara and Sophie for lending their fingers, and shoes, to the cause of your entertainment!”
The crowd cheered, yet a lot of them also called out for more.
“More? It isn’t up to me, I’m afraid.” Mistress Ada walked over to Lianne. “What do you think, mom? Time out for Chrissy?”
“Hmm. I was thinking that maybe—”
Zara pushed between them. “If Chris wants out, he has to earn it. Don’t you all agree?”
A resounding agreement.
“In that case...” Zara turned to him, her eyes burning with sadistic glee. “Chris, if you want your tickle torture to end, you have to lick all of our feet clean. Mine, Sophie’s and mom’s!”
Chris’s eyes widened as the crowd laughed.
“It sounds like we have an agreement. My lovely assistants, if you wouldn’t mind freeing the sensitive young man, it’s foot cleaning time!”
As soon as Chris was free, he ran. Clearly the stagehands had expected as much, because two of them were ready to grab him, bring him to the ground and keep him there.
“Idiot,” Zara said, planted her foot on his face and smushing it against the stage. She had put her sneaker back on. “You’re not getting away that easily. We have to give the people a show.”
The stocks were taken off-stage. A pair of stagehands returned, hefting a metal chair between them. Either they were weak, or the chair was a lot heavier than it appeared. As it arrived at the middle of the stage, Zara moved her foot and the two women holding him dragged him to where the chair was, laying him on the floor with his arms by his sides. Whenever he tried to move them, the stagehands kicked them back into place and growled something in their native tongue.
The weight of chair made sense when it was dropped on top of him. The legs were connected by thick bars at the perfect height to pin him to the ground. He struggled, but that chair was far too heavy for him to even make it judder.
He watched as his mom took a seat in the chair. On either side of his face were her mature feet, a white flip-flop under the soles of each. He also became painfully aware that the chair was side-on, making it easy for the watching eyes beyond the stage to see everything.
“Mom, please don’t do this. I don’t want to lick your feet.”
“But they want you too, honey. Besides, there’s no need to be embarrassed. We’re on vacation, we don’t know these people. And,” she lifted a foot, leaving the flip-flop behind, “my feet need a good clean. Look how dirty they are.”
They were indeed dirty. Walking around in flip-flops all day would do that.
“Please...” He tried pleading again.
“Honey, if you don’t, you’re going to get tickled some more. Do you want that?”
Chris shook his head and his mom smiled. The filthy sole of her foot came down and stopped just above his face.
“In that case, lick.”
Extending his tongue, Chris felt his face grow hot with humiliation. He trembled, wondering if he really had the willpower to worship his mother’s feet in front of so many people. His mom decided to make the move for him, placing her heel down and moving the full length of her sole along his outstretched tongue.
The earthy, sweaty taste was so unpleasant that he gagged. His tongue tried to escape into his mouth, but his mom’s dexterous toes had other ideas. Quick as a whip, they grabbed his tongue, squeezing it between two of her toes and preventing it from getting away.
“I don’t think so. There’s plenty more left to go.”
Chris groaned as she released her grip. There really was no avoiding this. He steeled himself and started licking as instructed.
“Looks like Chrissy finally found his nerve!” Mistress Ada said. “Check out that expression, ladies and gentlemen. Priceless!”
He kept it up, lapping at the rough soles in his face. Once the first was cleaned of dirt, she moved it away and replaced it with a fresh one. His tongue assaulted the new, dirty wrinkled feet, lapping up the sweat and dust that had glued to the parts of her feet which touched the insoles of the flip-flops.
Before long, he was staring at a clean pair of feet, his tongue laden with the dirt and sweat that it had removed from them.
“Excellent job,” his mom said as she examined both of her feet. “I’m genuinely impressed.”
“Hear that, folks? Chris is a real pro foot-licker.”
Chris watched his mom stand up, vacating the seat that Sophie came over and occupied.
“Hey, Chris,” she said quietly.
“Hi Sophie.” He gulped. “Are you going to make me worship your feet too?”
“Obviously. I hope they’re not too bad. I mean, they felt pretty bad earlier, but it’s not like I’m wearing sneakers without socks.” Sophie sent a pointed look toward Zara.
Then she started unstrapping her sandals.
“Can we not just pretend I’m licking your feet?”
“You’re overestimating my acting abilities if you think I can fool all of those people.” She thumbed over at the audience. “Besides, didn’t you say my feet were ‘sexy’ earlier?”
“Um...”
“That’s what I thought.”
Sophie giggled. Her sandals fell to the floor with a slapping sound. Above his face, she stretched her pink-soled feet, flexing them and scrunching them. They smelled of lotion mostly, with a sweaty scent that was more potent than that of his mother’s feet.
“Let’s get this over with,” he said with a sigh. Although, honestly, the idea of licking Sophie’s feet was much more appealing than that of his mom or sister.
“Yes! I’ve always wanted to have my feet worshipped. It’s so hard finding a guy willing. You don’t mind, right?”
She wiggled her toes over his nose, wafting the smell into it.
“No.” Chris blushed.
“Aww. You look so cute when you’re embarrassed.” Her big toe stroked his lips. “Let’s start with the toes.”
Chris let the toe into his mouth and started sucking. The flavour was the opposite of the smell; here, the lotion took a back-seat and the taste was rather sour and salty. Some warmth lingered in her soles, though they did feel more clammy than anything.
“This is strangely romantic. Tell me, Chrissy, do you happen to have a crush on young Sophie?” Mistress Ada asked.
He tried to answer, but Sophie silenced him by plunging more sweaty toes into his mouth.
“Yeah, I’ve kinda known for a while that he’s got a crush on me. Even if he hadn’t been so damn obvious, Zara told me about it anyway.” She smiled down at his, wriggling her plump toes against his tongue as it cleaned between them.
“Are we about to see a new relationship blossom, live on stage?”
Sophie snorted. “No chance. How could I date someone who licked his own mom’s feet clean in front of so many people?”
Some of the audience laughed, some of them booed. Chris’s heart sank and he felt his face turn redder than ever. Rejected by his crush in front of so many people, with her toes in his mouth, no less? A couple of tears ran down his cheeks.
“Come now, if the girl doesn’t want to be with him, she doesn’t have to.” Mistress Ada calmed their negative reactions and in no time they were all cheering.
“Don’t cry, Chrissy. You’re welcome to kiss or massage my feet whenever you like from now on.”
Silently, Chris sucked the rest of Sophie’s toes then lapped the sweat from her soles with long licks from her heels to the bases of her toes.
“Thanks, Chrissy,” Sophie said, smiling. She tapped his nose with her big toe and vacated the chair.
Zara sat down. Before he had chance to greet her, his face was being crushed by the bottom of her sneaker.
“Be a little less rough with him, Zara,” their mom said quietly.
“We’re on holiday, mom. It’s time for fun!” Zara twisted her foot, pulling at his skin and making him hiss with pain.
“I wonder what’s more humiliating, having to lick the feet of a girl who just rejected you, or having to lick the feet of your sister? They’ll be stinky, you know. No socks makes my feet sweat like crazy. And you already know how smelly these sneakers are. My bare feet have been crammed into them all day long, sweltering because of the heat.”
“Zara… please...”
“Please what? Please let you worship my rank feet?”
“No, ple—”
“Did you hear that, everyone? My brother wants to lick the sweat from my soles. If you insist, Chrissy...”
Zara lifted her feet up, using one sneaker to lever the other off, letting it fall right onto his face. It bounced off, landing to the side with the opening facing him. The smell flowing out of it was horrible. She used the toes of her bare foot to push the second shoe off, which also dropped onto his face and off to the side.
“Ah, much better. It’s so satisfying to air out your feet after a day spent walking around. I want you to smell them for me first and let everyone know what they smell like.”
Zara lowered her foot and inserted his nose between her big and second toe.
“Big sniff now.”
His eyes already watering from the repulsive odour, Chris bit the bullet and sniffed deeply.
The foot left. “Go on, tell the audience what my toes smelled of.”
“Rotten cheese and vinegar.”
Zara laughed and the crowd laughed with her.
“Did you hear that? Rotten cheese and vinegar. Just imagine how awful that is going to taste!”
“I certainly wouldn’t like it,” Mistress Ada chimed in, drawing mutters of agreement.
“Now.” Zara brought both bare feet down, smothering him and soaking his face with the layer of sweat clinging to them. “Clean my stinky feet.”
“Zara, stop. They’re disgusting! I don’t want to do this!” Chris squirmed around under the chair. No reaction. It was too heavy. All he could do was suffer the smell of his sister’s feet.
The stagehands were busy dragging something out next to the chair. It was a large coffin.
“If you don’t clean my cheesy feet, I imagine that thing is where you’ll end up next.”
“Correct.” Mistress Ada laid a hand on Zara’s shoulder. “That’s the Coffin of Doom. The most terrible of all our tickle torture equipment.”
Chris looked from one smiling face to the other and realised there was no mercy to be found. Blinking away tears, he stuck out his tongue and licked Zara’s foot. Immediately he gagged, they tasted even worse than they smelt!
Zara laughed. “That bad, huh? Tough luck, because you gotta keep licking! Can we get some encouragement?”
The members of the audience that weren’t howling with laughter started chanting “lick” over and over.
Chris licked some more, wiping away the sweaty sheen of foulness one lick at a time.
“Much better!”
Somehow he managed not to gag or choke any more as he lapped at Zara’s smelly soles, eventually managing to leave no wrinkle free of his saliva.
“Now the toes. Look how delicious they are.” She wiggled them in his face, right by his nose. They smelled anything but delicious. “Make sure you get all the yummy stuff between them, Chrissy.”
Chris whimpered as he let her stuff those vile toes in his mouth, feeling himself becoming overwhelmed by the potent, unpleasant flavours. He slurped and sucked on each of them, swiping his tongue through every gap.
By the time he’d finished, Chris felt defeated. He had just cleaned the feet of three females he was supposed to be able to trust. Why? So he didn’t have to be tickle tortured any further.
Zara stood. The chair was moved away. A pair of stagehands picked him up from the ground, stroking his head comfortingly.
Then they started dragging him towards the Coffin of Doom.
“W-what are you doing? We had a deal!”
“Sorry, Chrissy, change of plan.” Mistress Ada shrugged and the audience cheered.
“Which one of you did this?” Chris growled, staring at his mom, Zara and Sophie with wild eyes.
“They didn’t do anything. We sent a survey around all the tables, asking our patrons if they thought that you cleaning feet was enough to net you mercy. They voted that it wasn’t. However, the final say belongs to your family.”
He gazed at them expectantly, wishing he hadn’t verbally lashed out.
Zara scoffed. “I’d say I’m sorry, bro, but considering how you just spoke to me...” She grinned and gave a thumbs-down. “You’re in for some serious tickle torture.”
“I can only agree, Chrissy,” Sophie said, struggling to contain laughter. “It’s tickle time.”
“Not that my vote will change anything.” His mom shook her head, frowning. “But I also think you deserve some tickling. You need to watch how you speak to your betters.”
“Which is us, since you literally licked our dirty feet!” Zara said, giggling.
Chris struggled some more, but the stagehands were stronger. Another stagehand opened up the Coffin of Doom, splitting it in half. Now he noticed the holes at the bottom end, set into the middle of the panel. The women handling him brought his arms behind his back and started strapping them together with leather cuffs.
Another person came on stage. It was the barmaid who had served him earlier, except now she was smiling. She took a seat on a stool and started unzipping the black leather boots she had on.
“Our barmaid came forward and offered her socks for us to use in your torture,” Mistress Ada explained. “Keep in mind that she’s been working the whole day today, and according to her she rarely changes socks!”
The barmaid stripped off her white socks, which were soaked with foot sweat and heavily discoloured. She stuck her feet back into the boots and walked over to where he stood, brandishing the gross socks.
“Open,” she said with an accented voice.
Chris kept his mouth shut, shaking his head.
The barmaid rolled her eyes and grabbed his nose, holding the nostrils shut. It didn’t take long before he was fighting for breath. It became too much and he gasped for breath.
And in went the socks.
Before he could spit them out, a strip of tape was placed over his lips. Then another. Then another. Then another. They were expertly sealed in there. The first swallow was like being punched in the stomach, that’s how awful the barmaid’s socks were.
He was pushed toward the coffin and his eyes went wide when he saw what was in there. Women’s footwear. Lots of women’s footwear. Sandals, flip-flops, sneakers, trainers, flats, boots, heels, slippers, you name it. There were even socks and stocking in there. Each pair looked as filthy as the last.
“I think I’ll make my addition,” his mom said, placing her own flip-flops in the coffin. They fit in with the rest, given the black imprint of her soles on each foamy surface.
“Mom!” Zara laughed. “How are you going to walk back to the hotel?”
“I’ll just get my feet dirty. We have a professional foot cleaner staying with us, so I might as well.”
“I could do with more foot kissing when we get back, too. And a nice, long massage,” Sophie added.
The stagehands all came together to lift Chris up, dropping him face-first into the coffin filled with dirty footwear. He wriggled around in their grip, however it was a useless show of resistance. He was mortified to realise that his mom’s flip-flops had end up under his face. The smell of all the shoes and socks together was mind-numbing.
“Bye bye, Chrissy!” Zara and Sophie said in unison, laughing.
“Me and your sis will be the ones tickling your feet. Remember that when you’re alone in that coffin with all those stinky shoes, being tickled insane.”
“Yeah! And don’t think it’ll be the last time, either. Now I’ve seen how sensitive you are, things are gonna change when we get home.”
“I’ll be helping too, Chris,” his mom said, holding up two lengths of string. “I’m going to tie these to your big toes and hold them back, leaving your feet completely at the mercy of your sister and Sophie.”
Chris started sobbing as the coffin closed on his back. The cheering and laughter of the crowd faded away. Then, he suddenly felt weightless. He yelled in surprise as everything was turned around. The footwear tumbled all around him, burying him in the stench. Now he was facing the roof of the Coffin of Doom, seeing it through a filter of footwear.
He screamed as he felt hands on his feet, covering them in a slippery substance. For a moment he relaxed, realising that the tickling hadn’t begun. Zara and Sophie were oiling up his feet. He felt his mom tying his big toes with the string, then heard her climb atop the coffin and start to pull back. He tried resisting, tried moving his feet, but his mom’s assistance proved to be scarily effective.
The oiling stopped. Seconds ticked by.
Chris hyperventilated, taken in more and more of the stinky air supply. His feet twitched, left vulnerable and out in the open. The anticipation was too much, he couldn’t deal with it.
He exploded with hysterical, forced laugher as he felt a hairbrush suddenly start scrubbing away on each oiled foot. His body involuntarily thrashed around within the tight confines of the coffin, wishing that his feet could do the same.
And the worst part was, it would be hours before Zara and Sophie decided to show so much as a shred of mercy.
