So because I write I should clarify that this is not my own work but a story by tkylfynd that accompanied the image above. It used to be on his artwork archive but was deleted when the threads without images got tidied up.
Part 1 ... the warm up.
She slept peacefully, soundly...
And while she slept her soles were lovingly scrubbed with soapy water, and meticulously pumiced to a perfect rosy red smoothness.
Trisha slowly began to wake; feeling groggy and stiff. Suddenly she snapped wide awake. Something was very wrong. She could feel herself locked into some kind of immobilizing restraints.
As she looked around she could see that her head was protruding from a green felt covered box. Several video cameras pointed at her. And she could feel that she was lying tummy down inside this box, with her feet sticking straight up behind her. Her neck and ankles were locked quite firmly in place, and her body was supported by soft cushions. Multiple straps inside the box held her waist, arms, and thighs comfortably, though firmly, in place. She was utterly immobile, the feeling was odd, exasperating. As she assessed her condition of bondage, she noticed that her toes were pulled back and held fast by what felt like a ring on each toe. She couldn't wiggle her toes or move her feet at all, except for a small amount of sole flexing. Her body seemed quite protected inside this rather elegant felt box, but her bare feet were extremely vulnerable. They were exposed and on display for some reason. Her mind raced, afraid to say anything to attract attention to herself, her thoughts raced as she looked for anything that would tell her how to get out, or what was happening to her.
"Hi Trish, how are you feeling?" a soothing female voice from behind her asked.
"What the hell... Who are you and what the hell are you doing with me?" a nervous tone betrayed her.
"We are making a nonconsensual tickle torture video luv, and you are about to be tickled beyond anything you could possible endure. How does that make you feel luv?" the silky smooth, calm voice replied.
"What?..." she almost laughed at the utter weirdness of what she was just asked.
Trish looked into the cameras, and knew these questions were part of this perverted video she was the unwilling star of. 'I'm not playing there game' she thought.
"Let me out now, and I won't call the police." she stated, ignoring her question.
"Are these lovely, soft sexy soles ticklish?" a second female voice from behind her joined in.
"Look, I'm serious, you are committing a felony, this is not funny. If you don't let me out, you will be arrested and charged and prosecuted. I'm dead serious. Think very, very carefully about what you are about to do. This is not a joke, you will spend years in jail for kidnapping and aggravated assault unless you release me immediately!" Trisha's father was a lawyer, and although her heart was pounding in her chest, and her blood was racing hot in her veins, and this nervous feeling of dread swimming in her tummy was growing stronger and stronger; She felt a small measure of confidence from her threatening legalese. Her voice was base tone of authority, with a faint quiver of desperation. Tickling her feet? Did these freaks get off on filming her getting her feet tickled? It was weird, silly, but a bit of a relief. At least they weren't talking about hurting her. Still, she knew she was devastatingly ticklish, especially on her feet. This was not going to be fun, not one bit. And the humiliation of her situation began to dawn on her.
A moment of pregnant silence hung, Trisha felt her heart pound with such force. 'I can't believe this is happening, why is this happening?' she thought.
"Would you like to begin sweetie?" the first voice said to the second.
"I'm dying to mistress." the second voice whispered quietly.
Trish gasped at the sensation. Slippery, latex gloved fingers gently coated her pink soles with warm baby oil. So smooth, so gentle, soothing actually. Trish said nothing, she wasn't going to put on a show for these freaks. She wasn't going to give them anything; let them get board with her stone faced non-cooperation and then they would release her, she thought.
But the sensation was so nice, so gentle. She began to relax. The fingers touched her soles lovingly and carefully, not tickling at all. When her soles were thoroughly coated in oil she they stopped.
A few seconds pause, then she heard a click and a low humming noise. Trish strained her neck, trying to see what they were doing, but she couldn't. It frustrated her immensely, her breathing quickened, anxiety mounted.
"Jesus. Ok, what do you want? What are you going to do to me?" Her voice shook.
"Luv, are you going to play our little game? Tell us how ticklish your feet are." the mistress said. Trish felt a surge of anger "You perverted freak bitch, I'm not your plaything! Go to hell! And you are soooo fucking in trouble!"
"Ok sweetie, I think she's begging for it. Let's make her sing for us." mistress cooed softly to her assistant.
"You'll be putty in our hands before this night is over luv."
The heat gun hummed softly, and pleasantly warm air bathed her scented soles.
The pitch of volume of the gun jumped. The gently warm breezed grew hot. The baby oil conducted the heat to her smooth tender soles. The sensation grew uncomfortable, then unpleasant. She began to complain of the burning on her soles.
"Oh, oooh, ow, that is getting a bit too hot. Aahh, ouch, stop please, it starting to really burn! Oh my god, that is so hot. PLEASE stop, ahhh, PLEASE!"
They backed off with the gun just a little, until her protestations eased a bit. But they kept broiling her soles; paying close attention to the urgency of her gasps and pleas. They didn't to burn her or make her suffer, not yet, just bake her delicious soles to the point of peak sensitivity and tenderness.
"Your soles are like ripe fruit. So delicious, so irresistible. Can you guess what the heat is doing to your feet? The scented oil conducts the heat to tenderize your skin, amplifying your sensitivity." The humming stopped. "And now the fun really starts luv."
Part 2... the teasing.
One slippery black latex covered fingertip touched her right heel. Trish gritted her teeth and held back the giggles. Struggled to block the sensation. The finger made little circles on her heel, teasing her and taunting her helplessness. Trish began waving her head back and forth, grimacing, struggling not to laugh for these sick perverts.
Another finger began stroking her left heel. Trish dug in deep, breathing heavily, she could barely hold it in. The two fingertips slid down her soles, stroking her arches. She snapped instantly, giggling in steady streams. Forced giggles, she wanted so bad to hold it in, to deny these weird freaks their show. But the electricity of the ticklish sensations on her arches was too much.
Suddenly, the teasing stopped.
She opened her eyes, panting. The hated cameras stared blankly at her.
"Ok luv, we are going to break you, and there is nothing in heaven or earth that can stop us. We are going to mercilessly tickle these super tender soles of yours for as long as your precious little nervous system can take it. Then we are going to wake you with smelling salts and take it up a notch. Not one thing you say or do tonight will save you. But you know what? You will say and do anything we ask for before the night is over. You will be ours, we will break you and own you, and then we will go to work on you. Now look into the camera and tell us exactly how that makes you feel luv."
Trish's heart sank. 'Oh my god, this is so sick, why is this happening' she thought. Although she felt scared and helpless and more vulnerable then she had ever felt in her life, a surge of rebelliousness welled up inside her.
"I'm not your plaything! I'm not your fucking plaything you pathetic, sick perverts! You weird freaks! You get off on this? Tickling? What the hell is wrong with you losers? Your just sick pathetic fucks! You have no right to do this. I'm not your plaything! Let me out now! Aaaahhh!!..." Her tantrum was interrupted by sixteen slippery fingertips dancing across her soles.
The shock of the sensation seized control of her, shook her in her restrains like a rag doll. She howled wildly in her torment. And as soon as it started it stopped.
"Beg for us to stop it luv. Beg for mercy and forgiveness!" mistresses voice had changed. A sadistic tone had crept in, and something else. There was hunger in her voice. That hunger scared Trish. 'These goddamn pervs are so fucking sick' she thought.
"... go fuck yourselves." Trish's voice was small, weak, barely a whisper. She was trembling with fear. 'This isn't happening, This isn't happening, someone please help me, this isn't happening..." her mantra wasn't helping. And this rest was the last one she would get while conscious that night.
Part 3 ... the begging.
The four gloved hands attacked her helpless soles again. Fingers scrambling lightly across the stretched soles. Rosy red and hot from the heat gun, these two plump size 13 feet were so inviting. Frozen in the toe bondage, they just begged for tickling, and now they were getting it. Mistress Sarah and her assistant Shanti were giggling softly as they tormented Trisha.
Trisha was struggling as hard as she could, and the exertion was wearing her out. She was barking out streams of laughter, wild giggling fits. The sensation on her big bare feet was excruciating. Through squinting, tearing eyes she looked around desperately for some way out. Praying for the torture to stop.
"The camera just loves you Trish." Sarah mocked. "Have you had enough, or do you love it so much you want more?" Trish couldn't answer, the forced giggles gushing from her blocked her from saying anything. "This video is going to be sooo hot, your a star Trish; a beautiful blushing, giggling star!" The tickle torture victim’s head flailed its gorgeous red hair like a ludicrous hood ornament. She had no control over her body anymore. She had enough, and was desperate for it to end.
"Are you going to beg for us now luv?" The two gleeful torturers paused in their tormenting. "Yes please! oh god please stop, ill do anything you want, just stop it!" panic was setting in. "Tell us how ticklish you are, describe it in colorful terms baby." Sarah was hot with a sense of power. "Oh god it tickles so much! I just can't take it! My feet are so ticklish, very ticklish! Its awful, please, please no more." Trish felt the humiliation washing over her. It was so strong it made her dizzy. "You call that colorful? You call that begging? You insult us with this weak performance. Your just asking for more aren't you?" And the hated slippery fingertips resumed there frenzied dance. Stroking and sliding, circling and wiggling. The screaming red headed tickle slave locked in this green torture box howled franticly. She was yelping as loud as she could; trying to shout out pleas of mercy that might stay her agony.
"Please...STOP...cant....take it...please...anything..." Trish's captors held out the false hope that her begging could stop the tickling, or at least make it less horrible. They told her there was nothing she could do to stop or reduce her torment, but she needed to believe she could. Never had anyone bean so mean to her. Never had physical discomfort of this mind ripping intensity been forced upon her tender nervous system, and never for so long.
The stress of the torture was building. The demons at her soles could hear it, could smell it. And they loved it. The fingers scrambled faster, scratching and clawing with cruel lust, hungry to evoke more suffering from this tortured girl. The ticklers were no longer giggling at Trish's misery, they were panting in anticipation of 'The Moment'. It was so close they could taste it. They worked theses tender soles, aching to hear the change in Trish. The moment that they just had to capture on video.
Part 4 ... the breaking
Trish snapped suddenly. You could see it in the total loss of control. One moment Trish is struggling to regain control. Believing that there was some way to stop the tickling, some way to escape. The next moment, she has given up. Her muscles spasm in a random jerking. The stroking on her soles forces giggles and screams in an unfiltered, immediate way. The touching and stroking of her soles was still every bit as awful, every bit as hated and unpleasant. But now she had giving up resisting it.
Sarah felt the rush of sweet sexual thrill that only this moment ever produced. She felt hot all over, itching with lust, tinged with nervous guilt at her own sadistic cruelty.
Sarah grabbed Shanti's hands to stop the torment.
"Now, beg like you really mean it! Beg for your life!" Sarah shouted.
"Ohhh gawd please please please stop it! Oh my god I cant take it, i cant take it! Its the worst torture. I'll do anything you want, anything, oh please god, I can't take it, ... " Trish's begging wandered off to mumbled sobbing.
"Your our plaything now aren't you? You belong to us, your our tickle slut, our toy, aren't you? Say it, SAY IT!"
"Yes, yes I'm your play thing, I'm your tickle slut, I'm yours, I'll do anything you ask, oh please please please, no more tickling, It's so awful, it's pure torture. Ask me anything, please." Trisha was broken, completely.
"OK then bitch, beg us to tickle you more! beg us! Tell me how much you love tickling, how sensitive your feet are, how you want it, you need it, beg for more!" Sarah's mad gleam in her eye, her fiercely sadistic tone, frightened Shanti, and excited her. Shanti loved to tickle also, but she loved to be made to tickle torture. The guilt of wanting so badly to tickle torture senseless another woman was something she wanted to be free of, and Sarah gave her that. Such a sweet climax to see Trisha's humiliating descent into total submission. Shanti wondered what it was like for Trish. It excited and teased her womanhood just thinking about the desperation, panic, humiliation, and fear that was crushing Trish.
" uh, uh,... you want what?" Trish was baffled, not defiant, just lost.
"I SAID BEG FOR MORE TICKING on these plump, delicious soles! DO IT or I will TICKLE YOU TO DEATH!" Sarah was loving this. The power and domination over another, it was so sweet.
"..ah.. um.. yes, YES Tickle me, please tickle me." Trish was searching for what to say, straining to figure out exactly what would please her captors, her masters.
" oh god yes, tickle me more please, tickle my bare soles, they are so pink and tender, so soft. I love it, stroke my soles, I,.. I, I need you to tickle me. I want it, yes, I want you to tease and tickle my creamy soft soles. please please please, more tickling please." She couldn't believe what she was saying, but there was no will to resist left in her. Trish was so broken that she no longer wanted anything but what her tormenters told her to want.
"YES, thats it luv, you want this tickling don’t you? You're my little tickle slut! Now beg harder for your tickling! BEG!" Sarah and Shanti were both touching themselves, staring at the smooth plump pink soles that lay stretched and helpless below them. The two devils craved to hear the tortured owner of these ticklish soles beg and beg for more torture.
Sarah picked up the heat gun, turned it on high, and began heating up the tender foot flesh for the final act of this depraved movie of cruelty and sadism.
"Oh please please tickle my feet. Please tickle my soles, I need it, I want it. tickle me tickle me tickle me!, run your fingers all over my tender soles. Im begging you to tickle my sensitive bare feet..." Trish babbled on in a desperate, confused stream of begging for the one thing she hated more than anything. So broken and subdued she was, that she didn't feel humiliation at this, just overwhelming fear, dread, and a desperate need to give her evil tormenters anything they asked for.
Sarah knew the heat gun was broiling the rosy red soles below, it must hurt, she thought, but Trish didn’t stop her begging, she just grew more frantic and earnest in her pleas for her feet to be tickled. Sarah dropped the gun on the floor, forgetting to shut it off, and tore off her latex gloves with her teeth. Shanti followed suit. Their long spidery fingers ended in pointy nails, sharp and long, wicked and cruel.
Part 5 ... the crushing.
"OK, tickle slut, don't you stop begging, not for one second, tell me how much you love my fingers on your ticklish soles, beg and beg with all you've got! Don't you dare stop!" And with that Sarah and Shanti dug their fingernails into the tenderized flesh below them. Trish went into convulsions. Every muscle on her body was out of her control.
"We are going to take you somewhere you have never been, my little ticklish plaything!" Sarah was straining to shout over the screaming. Trish couldn't hear a word, couldn’t see, all she did was feel the most excruciating sensations of her life shooting up from her soles to her brain. Her howling and giggling, ripped from her lungs, totally against her will, dwindled to panting and gasping. Breathless giggles replaced throaty howling. Violent shaking of her aching body gave way to weak shivering. Her bladder gave out, and dumped its contents into a large ceramic bowl placed under her nude sweating body.
And the cameras caught it all, quietly recording the stretched, bright red mask of torture that was Trish's face. The sporadic gasping, tears streaming down her face, saliva flowing out the corners of her gaping mouth. Her frayed nerves were wavering. She felt dizzy, weak, defeated. Her senses began to dull, fade. Then mercifully she slipped into blackness.
Sarah and Shanti felt the twitching squirming tender flesh go limp under their fingers. The delicious ecstasy of bare sole tickling was snuffed out like a light. In their sexual frustration they dropped to the floor in a sixty nine position and began pleasuring each other. In a matter of seconds, orgasms ripped through there smooth bronzed nude bodies. The cameras above recorded the sounds of the heated moans of desperation as they erupted into strained orgasmic yells of ecstasy. But Trish's limp, drooling, flushed face and oil soaked soles lay motionless against the soundtrack of two wicked women's shouts of pleasure.
Epilogue.
Trish woke in a cheap motel. She sat up, totally exhausted and aching all over. Her large size 13 feet tingling and tender. The cool sheets felt good against her nude body. She sat up and grabbed the phone. 'First I'll call Dad.' she thought, 'He will know what to do.' But as she dialed the number she realized how little information she had about who her torturers were or where they could be.
Sarah edited the hours of video down to a gripping 90 minutes of non-consensual tickle torture intensity the likes of which the tickling community had never seen. 'Just wait till they see this!' she thought, 'this one is going to be a legend.' "Cross your fingers Shanti, this one will make us a bundle."
The End.
Again to clarify. Story by tkylfynd who I suspect is no longer with us, not one of mine
Thanks for sharing it here. 
