TicklishFMWrite
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This is a four-part erotic story containing elements of biology and technology that are not yet available. I hope you enjoy.
------
PT. 1 -- One-on-One Orientation
"-- for the crime of infidelity, you have been sentenced to three weeks in the spiderstocks."
The defendant, wearing nothing but the thin cloth they'd given him after being convicted, did little to keep him from shaking. He was restrained to a wheelchair firmly and his shoes and socks had just been removed and given a firm bath, pedicure, and oiling. He knew what this place was and he was terrified that they knew: he had a deathly fear of being tickled. Ever since he could remember.
They were going to tickle him for cheating on Karen. It was as simple as that.
The judge, a tall blond woman with menacing violet eyes and handing out the sentence, smirked at him, "Do you know what the spiderstocks are, sweetie?" she asks coyly. He admittedly did not. "I-" he stammered.
"Of course you don't! It's new. You were caught two months ago and they only started using them last month. They work wonders baby. You'll never cheat on any girl again..." She slammed the gavel. The wheelchair was rolled out, into some back room, his trembling keeping him from really concentrating on just how far back into the building and how deep underground they were going. Finally an elevator, descending, and at last reaching a floor where, as soon as the elevator door opened, all you could hear was the same.
Laughing. Giggling. Hysterical pleading. The sound of female laughter over the top of the more frantic, screamish laughing.
It was true then. The tickle torture chamber was a real place.
The laughter came from behind doors, which seemed thick enough but the sound did not keep from within. Occasionally a door would open and a woman or two would walk out, giggling, holding some brush or sporting freshly manicured long nails. They wheeled him down the corridor and passed different rooms with different charts. Different crimes and charges brought against men for doing things that were not deemed jailable, but were considered enough to be hurtful. Women usually brought men to the tickle courts in order to settle disputes, such as cheating, lying, or behaving poorly in fights.
They finally got to the end and wheeled him into a room with what appeared to be a normal set of old-time wooden stocks. The kind you put your ankles into and they're secured. Overhead was a perpendicular set meant to accompany the wrists securely above the person. Most strangely though, in front of the stocks were a series of 8 tubes, jutting out from beneath the larger wooden panel beneath the stocks. It almost looked as if 8 feet were about to pop out of those holes somehow. But there wasn't enough room for 4 men.
In went the prisoner, oil-softened bare feet snugly secured in the stocks. And then the strangest thing of all... a netted-looking nylon sock that glowed, one for each foot, put over his bare feet all the way up to the ankle. What are those? They feel quite cool on my soles, he thought. Are they sparing me and not tickling my feet bare? Do i get the protection of socks?? That's a relief I guess. That's--
but then a machine started to whir, and to his horror, his feet started to feel... different. They were there but... so was the feeling that his feet were in more places than one. Like they were all over. Everywhere.
"Oh no. No. No no no." he thought. He watched at the 8 tubes sticking out from beneath the stocks started to grow... feet. His feet. The sensation of his feet being everywhere was in fact the growing of new feet. 40 toes. 8 soles. 8 heels. 8 arches. The toenails looked just like his, the hair on the tops of his feet exactly the same too. They were HIS feet, but there were now more of them, and they were all just as bare and oiled and exposed as his real feet in the stocks had been.
The blond woman approached him. "As you can see, the spiderstocks allow us to carry out your sentence more quickly. We would've had to give you three months of daily feet treatment therapy just to get you out the door. Now though? We can work four times as quickly." And then in walked four women, all of whom he never expected to see.
Four women he never wanted to see here of all places.
Karen, the girlfriend who left him after finding out about his cheating habits.
Katrina, the girl he had cheated with most, who hadn't known about Karen at all.
Laura, his older sister... she was a staunch monogamist and believed in the sanctity of relationships. She had been cheated on twice before and suffered breakdowns because of it.
Angel, his mother, short-hair normally framing a warm and smiling face but this time a disapproving frown on her.
"I can think of nobody better to carry out the sentence over these three weeks than these women, who know you so well." the judge said. She flicked on a monitor, which had a slideshow of various pictures of him with all of these women at various parts of his adult life. His 19th birthday with his sister and mom. His 2-year anniversary with Karen. The picture he snapped with Katrina at the theme park on their 6-month anniversary.
"These pictures will rotate in the background while we administer treatment," the judge continued. "And also, your loved ones have been coached on how to use constructive guilt therapy to remind you of the bad things you've done as they administer treatment. Do you understand?"
"NO!" he yelled. "Please no don't not this not YOU n-" and a firm but calm hand reached around his head to secure a ball-gag that would allow him to laugh but not speak any longer. His ability to say words would be cut off for at least 21 days.
"I'll leave you all to it. Remember... loving touches, soft touches, don't try to hurt him... but try to figure out his worst spots, and coordinate. You can make this an unprecedented physical experience for him that he never does the things he's done to all of you again." The judge smiled at the women, who all gave their warm thanks before she retreated out the metal door.
Clang.
And there they were, four women coming to sit down at four comfortable chairs at the base of his... oh no... 8 FEET. The air on the soles of them, all fucking 8 of them, was making him shiver wildly already. And they were all getting closer, talking amongst each other before starting to speak to him, one at-a-time.
Karen began, "I can't believe you did this to me. I'll never forgive you. The others here may care about you, but they've all agreed that I'm allowed my vengeance. I'm here for me. You are going to laugh your pretty little toes off, sweetheart. Our whole relationship I respected your not wanting to be tickled. Well... this is going to be a fun way to say "fuck you" to that respect." She gave an air-kiss and then flipped her middle finger.
His paramour, Katrina was next, "If I had known you were with another girl... I never would have been with you. You did a horrible thing and broke my heart, but it's nothing compared to what you've done to her. I may not want to be with you but I do want to be your friend after this. I'll do whatever I can to keep another girl from being hurt the way we have."
Then his sister, looking the angriest, "Buddy... I love you, but you're going down. I didn't even know your feet were ticklish after all this time." She held up her nails, which were the longest and the only that were not acrylic but natural and her own. "I know your real worst ticklish spot," she said, and his eyes widened. The other girls looked at her wonderingly. None of them knew. Laura beamed at them, first the two lovers and then his mother before blurting, "it's his nipples." They all cackled and he groaned loudly, thrashing the little bit that he could.
"The order doesn't say anything about being allowed to touch him above the knee," Karen pouted.
"I know," said Laura. "But look at him up there. It'd be easy to slip that shirt off and reach all around that ticklish torso of his. I just want him to know that it's physically possible."
"They put you in here for breaking the rules you know!" Katrina said. "You don't wanna get tickled the way we're gonna do him, Laura. It's not worth it!" Laura made a face of agreement and acquiesced.
Finally and most lovingly, the voice of his mother Angel. "Sweetie I know you're good, but you did a very bad thing, and we need to do whatever we can to help you. I'm glad that there's a way to do it without hurting you, and in such a short time. These next few weeks will go by fine, I promise." She kissed her hand and then, for the first time being touched on any of his 8 artificial feet, she placed her hand gently on his bare sole. He yelped through the gag. The girls giggled.
"Well," said Karen, "let's break these puppies in!" She started to wiggle her fingers anticipatorily. "No," he thought. "It isn't real. I won't feel it. It's an illusion. They're not really my feet I can't really feel EIGHT feet I can't I-"
He felt it.
He felt every square millimeter of it. Each girl got their own pair of his feet to tickle, all to themselves and without any overlap. Arch, heel, ball, sole, toes, tops, bottoms, sides, ankles... His eyes instantly watered and the loudest noise he'd ever made came out of him.
Karen was running her fingers from the tips of his toe bottoms to the bottoms of his heels, pinching the heels when she got there and then kneading her way back up on the soles like they were bread before starting again at the top. She continued this motion unceasingly. She wanted nothing but to make him wriggle and feel the horror that he was always afraid of: tickle tickle tickle at the hands of Karen's wiggly little fingers. She had suppressed her tickling fetish for him, but now she was going to love every second of this. She wettened at every jump and quiver of his feet. Karen was easily the tickler who was scaring him the most, but his insane laughter at the sensation caused his fear to melt into nothing but the sensation of tickling. Tickling. Tickling.
Katrina decided to go a different route, tickling the tops of his feet and then migrating around the area to his ankle and the sides of his heel, tickling extra lightly as they had instructed. "With love." She intended to do him right, and so the extra softness made for an unbearable complement to the oil treatment of his feet. Although he didn't know it, it was Katrina's tickling which was making him buckle the most in his seat.
Laura had been the mos strategic tickler, not allowing any part of each foot to go uncaressed while also taking the lead on the vocal cues. "Respecting women is everything," she explained while attacking the stalks of his toes from both underneath and above, then giving the balls of his feet the middle and pointer finger treatment to drive him the loudest. Laura was responsible for the insane volume that occurred from his mouth.
And then Angel, so elegantly stretching out all ten fingers to just do little loving traces on the parts of his feet that he noticed the other girls were getting good traction with. She was a little slower with her hands than they were, but that almost made it worst. She had the softest hands of all four of them, and her light patting on his soles was making him feel the guiltiest. That was it. The sensation of guilt was driving him mad with those touches, his sister's words about respecting women, Katrina's softness making him unable to keep still, and Karen's vindication scaring him straight.
The first day in the spiderstocks was undoubtedly the hardest day of that young man's life.
TO BE CONTINUED
------
PT. 1 -- One-on-One Orientation
"-- for the crime of infidelity, you have been sentenced to three weeks in the spiderstocks."
The defendant, wearing nothing but the thin cloth they'd given him after being convicted, did little to keep him from shaking. He was restrained to a wheelchair firmly and his shoes and socks had just been removed and given a firm bath, pedicure, and oiling. He knew what this place was and he was terrified that they knew: he had a deathly fear of being tickled. Ever since he could remember.
They were going to tickle him for cheating on Karen. It was as simple as that.
The judge, a tall blond woman with menacing violet eyes and handing out the sentence, smirked at him, "Do you know what the spiderstocks are, sweetie?" she asks coyly. He admittedly did not. "I-" he stammered.
"Of course you don't! It's new. You were caught two months ago and they only started using them last month. They work wonders baby. You'll never cheat on any girl again..." She slammed the gavel. The wheelchair was rolled out, into some back room, his trembling keeping him from really concentrating on just how far back into the building and how deep underground they were going. Finally an elevator, descending, and at last reaching a floor where, as soon as the elevator door opened, all you could hear was the same.
Laughing. Giggling. Hysterical pleading. The sound of female laughter over the top of the more frantic, screamish laughing.
It was true then. The tickle torture chamber was a real place.
The laughter came from behind doors, which seemed thick enough but the sound did not keep from within. Occasionally a door would open and a woman or two would walk out, giggling, holding some brush or sporting freshly manicured long nails. They wheeled him down the corridor and passed different rooms with different charts. Different crimes and charges brought against men for doing things that were not deemed jailable, but were considered enough to be hurtful. Women usually brought men to the tickle courts in order to settle disputes, such as cheating, lying, or behaving poorly in fights.
They finally got to the end and wheeled him into a room with what appeared to be a normal set of old-time wooden stocks. The kind you put your ankles into and they're secured. Overhead was a perpendicular set meant to accompany the wrists securely above the person. Most strangely though, in front of the stocks were a series of 8 tubes, jutting out from beneath the larger wooden panel beneath the stocks. It almost looked as if 8 feet were about to pop out of those holes somehow. But there wasn't enough room for 4 men.
In went the prisoner, oil-softened bare feet snugly secured in the stocks. And then the strangest thing of all... a netted-looking nylon sock that glowed, one for each foot, put over his bare feet all the way up to the ankle. What are those? They feel quite cool on my soles, he thought. Are they sparing me and not tickling my feet bare? Do i get the protection of socks?? That's a relief I guess. That's--
but then a machine started to whir, and to his horror, his feet started to feel... different. They were there but... so was the feeling that his feet were in more places than one. Like they were all over. Everywhere.
"Oh no. No. No no no." he thought. He watched at the 8 tubes sticking out from beneath the stocks started to grow... feet. His feet. The sensation of his feet being everywhere was in fact the growing of new feet. 40 toes. 8 soles. 8 heels. 8 arches. The toenails looked just like his, the hair on the tops of his feet exactly the same too. They were HIS feet, but there were now more of them, and they were all just as bare and oiled and exposed as his real feet in the stocks had been.
The blond woman approached him. "As you can see, the spiderstocks allow us to carry out your sentence more quickly. We would've had to give you three months of daily feet treatment therapy just to get you out the door. Now though? We can work four times as quickly." And then in walked four women, all of whom he never expected to see.
Four women he never wanted to see here of all places.
Karen, the girlfriend who left him after finding out about his cheating habits.
Katrina, the girl he had cheated with most, who hadn't known about Karen at all.
Laura, his older sister... she was a staunch monogamist and believed in the sanctity of relationships. She had been cheated on twice before and suffered breakdowns because of it.
Angel, his mother, short-hair normally framing a warm and smiling face but this time a disapproving frown on her.
"I can think of nobody better to carry out the sentence over these three weeks than these women, who know you so well." the judge said. She flicked on a monitor, which had a slideshow of various pictures of him with all of these women at various parts of his adult life. His 19th birthday with his sister and mom. His 2-year anniversary with Karen. The picture he snapped with Katrina at the theme park on their 6-month anniversary.
"These pictures will rotate in the background while we administer treatment," the judge continued. "And also, your loved ones have been coached on how to use constructive guilt therapy to remind you of the bad things you've done as they administer treatment. Do you understand?"
"NO!" he yelled. "Please no don't not this not YOU n-" and a firm but calm hand reached around his head to secure a ball-gag that would allow him to laugh but not speak any longer. His ability to say words would be cut off for at least 21 days.
"I'll leave you all to it. Remember... loving touches, soft touches, don't try to hurt him... but try to figure out his worst spots, and coordinate. You can make this an unprecedented physical experience for him that he never does the things he's done to all of you again." The judge smiled at the women, who all gave their warm thanks before she retreated out the metal door.
Clang.
And there they were, four women coming to sit down at four comfortable chairs at the base of his... oh no... 8 FEET. The air on the soles of them, all fucking 8 of them, was making him shiver wildly already. And they were all getting closer, talking amongst each other before starting to speak to him, one at-a-time.
Karen began, "I can't believe you did this to me. I'll never forgive you. The others here may care about you, but they've all agreed that I'm allowed my vengeance. I'm here for me. You are going to laugh your pretty little toes off, sweetheart. Our whole relationship I respected your not wanting to be tickled. Well... this is going to be a fun way to say "fuck you" to that respect." She gave an air-kiss and then flipped her middle finger.
His paramour, Katrina was next, "If I had known you were with another girl... I never would have been with you. You did a horrible thing and broke my heart, but it's nothing compared to what you've done to her. I may not want to be with you but I do want to be your friend after this. I'll do whatever I can to keep another girl from being hurt the way we have."
Then his sister, looking the angriest, "Buddy... I love you, but you're going down. I didn't even know your feet were ticklish after all this time." She held up her nails, which were the longest and the only that were not acrylic but natural and her own. "I know your real worst ticklish spot," she said, and his eyes widened. The other girls looked at her wonderingly. None of them knew. Laura beamed at them, first the two lovers and then his mother before blurting, "it's his nipples." They all cackled and he groaned loudly, thrashing the little bit that he could.
"The order doesn't say anything about being allowed to touch him above the knee," Karen pouted.
"I know," said Laura. "But look at him up there. It'd be easy to slip that shirt off and reach all around that ticklish torso of his. I just want him to know that it's physically possible."
"They put you in here for breaking the rules you know!" Katrina said. "You don't wanna get tickled the way we're gonna do him, Laura. It's not worth it!" Laura made a face of agreement and acquiesced.
Finally and most lovingly, the voice of his mother Angel. "Sweetie I know you're good, but you did a very bad thing, and we need to do whatever we can to help you. I'm glad that there's a way to do it without hurting you, and in such a short time. These next few weeks will go by fine, I promise." She kissed her hand and then, for the first time being touched on any of his 8 artificial feet, she placed her hand gently on his bare sole. He yelped through the gag. The girls giggled.
"Well," said Karen, "let's break these puppies in!" She started to wiggle her fingers anticipatorily. "No," he thought. "It isn't real. I won't feel it. It's an illusion. They're not really my feet I can't really feel EIGHT feet I can't I-"
He felt it.
He felt every square millimeter of it. Each girl got their own pair of his feet to tickle, all to themselves and without any overlap. Arch, heel, ball, sole, toes, tops, bottoms, sides, ankles... His eyes instantly watered and the loudest noise he'd ever made came out of him.
Karen was running her fingers from the tips of his toe bottoms to the bottoms of his heels, pinching the heels when she got there and then kneading her way back up on the soles like they were bread before starting again at the top. She continued this motion unceasingly. She wanted nothing but to make him wriggle and feel the horror that he was always afraid of: tickle tickle tickle at the hands of Karen's wiggly little fingers. She had suppressed her tickling fetish for him, but now she was going to love every second of this. She wettened at every jump and quiver of his feet. Karen was easily the tickler who was scaring him the most, but his insane laughter at the sensation caused his fear to melt into nothing but the sensation of tickling. Tickling. Tickling.
Katrina decided to go a different route, tickling the tops of his feet and then migrating around the area to his ankle and the sides of his heel, tickling extra lightly as they had instructed. "With love." She intended to do him right, and so the extra softness made for an unbearable complement to the oil treatment of his feet. Although he didn't know it, it was Katrina's tickling which was making him buckle the most in his seat.
Laura had been the mos strategic tickler, not allowing any part of each foot to go uncaressed while also taking the lead on the vocal cues. "Respecting women is everything," she explained while attacking the stalks of his toes from both underneath and above, then giving the balls of his feet the middle and pointer finger treatment to drive him the loudest. Laura was responsible for the insane volume that occurred from his mouth.
And then Angel, so elegantly stretching out all ten fingers to just do little loving traces on the parts of his feet that he noticed the other girls were getting good traction with. She was a little slower with her hands than they were, but that almost made it worst. She had the softest hands of all four of them, and her light patting on his soles was making him feel the guiltiest. That was it. The sensation of guilt was driving him mad with those touches, his sister's words about respecting women, Katrina's softness making him unable to keep still, and Karen's vindication scaring him straight.
The first day in the spiderstocks was undoubtedly the hardest day of that young man's life.
TO BE CONTINUED
