The best thing about a rook, Aurora Chen decided, was that you could respectfully resign a game after losing it. Even if it meant losing to a girl.
Arriving fresh from tennis practice, the 20 year old stood out among her formally dressed competitors, wearing an oversized navy University of Toronto sweater over white short shorts and beaten tennis shoes, exposing long, tanned legs that drew more than a few appreciative glances. Her glossy black hair was tucked in a high ponytail threaded through her cap, and her rackets lay zipped beside her backpack at her feet.
In short, she looked more a college athlete who had wandered in by accident and less the obsessive chess nerd who'd been competing since she was 4.
So Aurora felt bad for the man before her getting completely destroyed, as though she’d inadvertently tricked him. The Chinese girl spun the captured rook in her long, matcha-green tipped fingers, feeling its impressive heft, and hoped the piece was enough.
“Check,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow.
Aurora sighed as he hit the clock. Guess not.
Seven moves later, a truly dismal white king surrendered before a phalanx of black pieces. They shook hands limply and Aurora rose from her chair, stretching the kinks from sitting nearly an hour.
That puts me, what, tied for second? Assuming the top seeds win.
The Toronto Open boasted a twenty player elimination ranging from hopeful newcomers to veterans. A gallery of local sponsors decorated the community hall above a plastic table full of water bottles, Gatorade, and cookies overlooking ten matching tables presenting a green and white chess set, clock, and clusters of spectators nodding/frowning sagely.
In other words: the perfect hunting ground for her Fide Master norm.
“Nice job,” said the arbiter as she signed her name. “You finished early again.”
“Thanks,” said Aurora, snagging a water bottle from the table. “By the way,” she said, hiding her excitement. “If I win my next game, and first place does too, who’s my last opponent?”
“Jeremiah Smith." The arbiter tapped his pencil. "Actually he just finished before you.”
An untitled name, just like her. Though if she had to bet, she would’ve guessed his opponent had the courage to resign earlier.
Hadn't she seen a game or two of his?
He’d played the Italian opening twice in the last two rounds. Conventional, and probably theory-heavy, the analytical underdog cracked her fingers, already forming a plan to crack that composure.
Her penultimate game finished in a dog-fight, pieces trading off in the center until only a wasteland of pawns remained. Aurora’s opponent, a silent Australian guy with a perpetual scowl, tilted his chair back, blasting two long sighs, before reaching over and tipping his king.
“Good game,” he said.
They shook hands as Aurora tried to steady her heartbeat. Spectators had gathered at her board, staring openly at her, grinning. The young savant kept her expression calm as her trembling hands pushed her chair in, belying her excitement.
She might win the whole thing!
In the other corner, a slaughter mirroring her own was concluding as Jeremiah secured his win too. His opponent’s Najdorf defence had been quickly outpaced by a kingside attack. He’s not bad, she thought, watching, but too textbook.
But despite her assessment, Aurora couldn’t stop a mutinous wave of anxiety and excitement from tangling her thoughts. She found herself pacing back and forth like a teenager in trouble, glaring at anyone in her way.
“Screw this,” she muttered. “I need some fresh air.”
Outside, Aurora ran a few laps around the parking lot despite the August heat. Her oversized UofT sweater had been tossed on a bench along with her things, and her black tank top and short shorts had begun to cling damply to her olive skin. Still, the laps succeeded in calming her down which made the stickiness worth it.
“What’s this?” The brunette spied a laptop in the shade of a tree. Looking around, its owner was nowhere to be seen, apparently having lost it. “Maybe, it has a name.”
Opening it up, the black screen booted, revealing a youtube video of a dark haired woman of Asian descent sitting with her bare feet pressed up against the camera. The video, titled ‘Hot public soles’, featured a quadruple digit playlist of similar videos.
“What the fuck!” Aurora stared, unable to process what she was seeing for a moment. Then she slammed the laptop shut as though she’d gleaned something she shouldn’t.
“Hey, that’s mine!” A young man in a stiff collared shirt and tie, ran up to her, looking nearly as freaked out as Aurora felt. To her shock, it was Jeremiah, his normally composed face a vivid crimson.
“No! No! I didn’t,” Aurora felt her own face heat up. “It was just lying here. I thought someone…”
“Oh my god, did you open it?” Jeremiah stammered.
Before Aurora could find the right words, a full blown embarrassed chortle blasted from her lips, filling the awkward silence like a landmine. Her legs gave out, and her palms slapped her knees, struggling against the weight of her mirth. An Aurora Chen special.
“What were you doing with my laptop! I left all my stuff next to it.” Jeremiah snatched the laptop from her and frantically deleted his tabs while glaring at her from above the monitor while she died of laughter.
“Aren’t you part of the tournament? You’re my next opponent. Were you following me?”
“Of course not!” Aurora wheezed. “I was going on a run before our game.”
“How do I know you weren’t snooping on my laptop for my tournament prep?” He demanded.
“That’s how you prep for tournaments?” Aurora raised her dark eyebrows.
“I have other tabs open, ones with my repertoire!” Jeremiah stammered. “For all I know, you’ve been reading all of them. Even if I believe you, I won’t be able to concentrate at all during our game.”
Aurora firmly believed his fear was of his own making. Still, she felt bad for laughing and, more importantly, she didn’t want any sort of advantage, real or imagined, when she kicked his butt.
“Fine, I really am sorry. That was a dick move laughing on my part.” Aurora took a deep breath. “I want us to have a fair game. I’ll lose five minutes before my first move. How about that?”
Jeremiah shook his head. “If you’re serious,” he stabbed a finger at her. “Then I want something else.” He swallowed. “To make us even."
“Spill it.”
“When we play, you’re going to keep your feet on my lap under the table. No matter what happens you can’t move them away.”
“I’m not giving you a footjob or whatever under the table.” Aurora crossed her arms. “Pretty sure that’ll make us famous for all the wrong reasons.”
“Nothing like that, trust me,” said Jeremiah, blushing. “Come on, you owe me one.”
Debatable. And she didn’t love how his eyes were beginning to drift down to her tennis shoes and bare legs with poorly concealed interest.
But if letting this weirdo ogle her for an hour meant they could play a proper game of chess, then who was she to say no? Not to mention, she could use his obsession to her advantage…
“My feet are super sweaty,” she warned. “Just so you know.”
Board 1 was off in the corner thankfully, and the blue cloth over the edge hid her legs as she lifted them up and crossed them into her opponent’s lap. Doing so felt so childishly improper, and a giggle threatened to spill from her lips, leading to Jeremiah’s glare.
Fine, fine. The college student schooled her face to the blank canvas of a morning lecture: half-lidded eyes, lips slack, arms folded. Happy?
The sudden shift proved sufficient. Jeremiah launched his E pawn forward, hit the clock, and recorded his move. With that prosaic sequence, her normal world - one where Aurora had never found the laptop - reasserted itself.
Their next moves were quick and testing. She chose an unorthodox Sicilian line, keeping her center pawns flexible while expanding on the queenside. Jeremiah castled early, then prodded with his bishop, hoping to force an advantageous trade, which Aurora firmly evaded.
Meanwhile, her white tennis shoes received unending attention, his hands perpetually molding and caressing every inch. To her dismay, she found herself getting distracted whenever he nudged her laces or the shadow of a finger stroked her shoe edge or traced its sole.
“Just take them off already,” Aurora muttered, finally having enough.
“What was that?” Jeremiah’s blue eyes flickered up innocently.
“Just take my shoes off. I know you want to.” Aurora sighed. “I’d rather you do it now on my terms than wait for it.”
“Getting the worst out of the way before the middle game,” nodded her opponent, twirling a pawn. “A sound strategy.” He pretended to think about it. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Aurora hissed.
He plucked at her fat white laces, pulling them away one by one until her tennis shoe loosened, its canvas walls relaxing and she felt the first hints of the cool community hall breeze tease her sweaty foot. She felt him grip her heel and ankle and slowly wriggle the tennis shoe free.
At least he’s burning his own clock doing this.
The shoe popped off, taking half her sock with it. Jeremiah made a flourish of stripping the laces before ducking down. Aurora pretended not to look as he vigorously inhaled her shoe. Then he set it down under the table and patted her half-bare foot.
“You don’t mind if I take your socks off too, right?” he said.
Aurora sighed and inched forward until her foot was in his hands.
He tugged the white Hanes sock off by inches, revealing her tanned foot underneath. The brunette wiggled her toes experimentally, marveling how an ordinary petite foot, damp with hot sweat, could command so much reverence.
“Are you going to move or what?” she finally asked.
“R-right.” Keeping one rough, cool hand pressed against her instep, he reached and blinked at the board, as though seeing it for the first time.
“Don’t touch the pieces with that other hand,” Aurora hissed. “I told you my feet are gross.”
“You’re the one who asked me to take your shoes off,” Jeremiah snapped back. “How can I help myself?”
“Dude, you’re like a toddler in a candy shop. Have some self. Control.” Her toes jabbed into his hand with each emphasis.
“Okay. Okay. Fine.” He scowled at her, made his move, then collected her other foot, cradling both in his lap.
Her other shoe suffered the same fate, its laces confiscated, contents inhaled, and pulled off her foot with a sticky pop Aurora tried to ignore. Her white ankle sock, on the other hand, welcomed being freed, given that it was practically translucent in places from running. Soon, the chess prodigy found both her bare feet dangling from her rival’s lap, naked to the capricious breeze of the hall.
Forget about this, Aurora thought, staring at the board. Her toes flexed and stretched as she forced herself to focus. How do I prepare my D5 push? We’re barely in the opening and I need a proper strategy.
She wondered if other greats like Bobby Fisher ever had to face such oddities just to play chess when he was in Russia. Somehow she doubted it.
Four moves later, and Aurora flinched as she felt something cool brush her big toe. Her foot jerked involuntarily as did her thoughts.
“What are you doing?” One glance under the table made her gasp. “Dude, are you serious?”
“Try not to move your feet.” Jeremiah’s eyes darted over to the arbiters stalking the hall. “I’m really quick.”
He had somehow snuck a vial into the hall and was sliding the tiny brush down her toes. To her horror, half her digits were already adorned in matcha green polish matching her fingers - how did he even get the same shade? - while he diligently painted the rest.
“These feet are just...wow,” her opponent breathed, pulling her toes. “You know, if chess doesn’t work out for you, I bet you’d make bank on OnlyFans.”
“Sh-shit, that fucking tickles,” Aurora gasped before she could help herself. Her other foot scrunched as her long, toned legs flexed. Desperate hands clamped the table edge as electricity sparked down her olive toes. “Jeremiah, Stop! Fuck, that t-tickles, stop touching my toes.”
“Then you have to stay still,” said Jeremiah, rubbing her toes like a lost puppy.
His tone almost made her whip her feet back. But she was in a public tournament with first place on the line. Just let the perv do what he wants for now.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll stay still.” Aurora’s ears heated up as she finally collected herself, brushing her dark hair back under her cap. The next time the brush graced her toe, she stiffened but didn’t react. Jeremiah smirked but she ignored him. Thankfully the ordeal ended before anyone could spot them.
Guess I won’t need to do my nails this month. At least the polish looked expensive. Now back to the game.
They’d climbed out of the opening with Aurora ahead by a pawn but behind in development. It was the kind of imbalance she loved to analyze; dozens of tactics running through her mind as she surveyed the position even as she did her best to ignore the foreign sensations on her bare feet. I can’t wait to wipe that smirk from his face.
Aurora lifted her rook.
Jeremiah retreated his bishop.
Aurora pushed her pawn.
Jeremiah advanced his knight.
An invisible tether soon connected them which was the imaginary war they were fighting, each calibrating their responses based on the other. Sparks of Jeremiah’s unique style began to reveal themselves, working into Aurora’s assessments, until she felt like she could glean his entire character as a reflection from the board between them even as she was sure he could to her.
It was almost the perfect game.
But a second tether had also formed. One beneath the table, secretive, yet refusing to be ignored. As they played, Aurora felt his hands playing with her feet, tugging her toes, squeezing her instep, tracing the wrinkles along her sole, always keeping her guessing. He was never overbearing, just relentless. But given how sweaty her feet were, she felt positively disgusted and winced each time his palms squeaked along her hot skin.
Her previous announcement of ticklishness did little to prevent him risking both their reputations, though once, when his nail scraped her heel, she firmly kicked him ‘accidentally’ in the groin and he thankfully stopped.
Then a sudden pressure on her big toes made Aurora finally pause and look down.
“Are you serious?” she said incredulously.
“Yes?” he replied innocently.
“Don’t give me that crap! What are you doing?”
Her big toes had been bound together with her own shoelaces, then tied the ends to the leg of the table. Having been caught, he quickly pulled off his purple neck tie and began fastening her slim ankles together.
Quick as a snake, Jeremiah moved his knight and hit the clock. “Your move,” he reminded her.
“Hey…” Aurora stammered, struggling to address the issue above the board and below it. A horrifying vision of herself hopping barefoot out of the hall filled her mind. “You never said anything about-hey!”
He pulled her ankles, scooting her butt nearly off her seat, until her shoelaces, unable to stretch any further, snapped taut. They jostled silently for control for several seconds until Jeremiah unfairly stroked her instep, breaking her concentration, and collected her feet further into his lap.
The necktie was tied to the base of his chair so that both shoelace and necktie formed opposing vectors pulling her feet in opposite directions. Once secured, her feet stretched immobile, her arches totally bent to their fullest extent, her toes forced backwards exposing the pale vulnerable stems underneath.
“A Moroxy bind,” Jeremiah joked, slapping her soles then lightly tickling them. The shock of pain and impropriety made the chess prodigy gasp.
“Jeremiah,” she struggled. “I never agreed to this 50 shades of grey crap. Untie me right now.”
“Come on Aurora, you agreed to keep your feet in my lap,” Jeremiah grinned, massaging his thumbs into her arches. “I never made any promises.”
“Untie me!”
“Oh look at these beauties,” Jeremiah breathed, ignoring her.
The chess genius’ smooth soles were strained back, the pink expanse of their bottoms fully presented to him. Two sets of subtle vertical tendons creased her arches, a narrow V, belying soft plump valleys. Twin flanks of pudgy pink toes curled restlessly while her big toes strained against their ties like pinned butterflies. To Jeremiah, they looked better than any video he had ever watched and they were warm and heavy cradled in his lap and so soft his fingers seemed to sink into them.
Almost reverently he flicked his fingernails along the arches of her feet.
Aurora flinched.
Flexing her toes, she found them helplessly fanned out and immobile.
Oh no.
“What’s wrong?” Jeremiah smirked. “It’s still your turn.” His nail began tracing the edges of her feet as he watched them quiver. “Remember, if you move, the table will shift.”
“F-fuck you,” Aurora’s fingers dug painfully into her palms.
The nail reached her toes and her legs twisted violently.
“Whoops.” The table shook and a piece clattered to the ground.
To her horror, Jeremiah plucked it up and dragged the bishop’s sharp mitre along her instep, nearly making her scream. Her foot kicked and struggled in their binds as he teased her. “Tickle tickle…”
“No, not that,” Aurora gasped. “Don’t tickle me like that, Jeremiah, please. Oh my god, my feet are so ticklish.”
She couldn’t help herself. Her feet were completely trapped, helpless, two sweaty toys full of nerve endings captured in enemy territory. With her toes and ankles bound, the anticipation of his touch was unbearable.
She had clearly underestimated her opponent, or at least, under-evaluated the position she was in. Another Aurora Chen classic. Why did these things have to happen to her? What kind of chess master lets herself be tied up and tickled?
Her self pity was interrupted when Jeremiah suddenly began rapidly scratching the bishop up and down the full length of her soles. A silent, explosive gasp burst from Aurora’s lips, as her palms clamped against the table, shaking the entire board.
Then she felt his nails on her other foot.
Like a car crash in slow motion, his nails dug deep into the thin skin at the middle of her arch before cycling into the tender flesh. Now both of her feet were being tickled equally bad. Her shoelace bit painfully into her big toes as she tried to flex them to no avail.
Ten agonizing seconds of silent torture dragged on. Aurora’s hand trembled violently as she finally moved her piece.
“Check,” she said, breath quickening. “Hey, check.”
Jeremiah finally tore his hands from her feet and blinked at the board. “Oh right.”
Aurora nearly collapsed at the sudden relief; feet twitching from phantom tickles. The slap of the clock broke her reverie and she groaned at the board.
He wants another piece to tickle me with. Despite the unfavorable maneuver, she retreated her rook.
“Hmm,” said Jeremiah. “Not your best move, Aurora.” Ignoring her glare, he reached out and took her pawn. She flinched as she felt the curved base of the pawn drag up her heels a second later.
“I hate you so much,” Aurora said.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have snooped on my laptop.” The bishop again, sliding its cold edges along the stems of her toes. “Consider this as your punishment.”
Their next five moves only grew Jeremiah’s collection. He tickled her with the teeth of her rook, making her snort and buck; the crown of her queen became a wand that slashed across her arches until she nearly screamed; even her knights became points that jabbed the sensitive webbing between her fanned toes.
Chess was all about keeping calm and assessing new positions. Unfortunately, Aurora could feel herself nearing her limit; soon even the lightest touches rendered her catatonic with silent giggles as she cringed like a little girl anticipating the next stroke. Her dreams of winning the Toronto Open were slowly crumbling and all she could see, feel, think, care about was where Jeremiah would tickle her next.
Finally, he found her worst spot.
“NO! Jeremiah STOP! Please ahahahaha! No not there! Stop!” Horror and shame bloomed across the prodigy’s face as Jeremiah scratched her queen into the hollow right beneath the ball of her foot. Her knees bounced explosively, rattling the table. “No, please, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!”
Heads snapped in their direction. Even her tormentor froze.
Aurora heaved a greedy breath. Her cap flew off, and glossy black locks spilled messily over her face, partially hiding her reddening cheeks.
“Is everything OK?” the arbiter asked, frowning at the dampness near the pretty Asian girl’s eyes.
“I’m fine,” Aurora squeaked. To her dismay, it was the same arbiter whom she had confidently shared her win with just two games ago. Now he was staring confused at her. “I, um, lost a good position just now. My bad - Eee!”
She snapped a pleading glance at Jeremiah who had just stroked her toes.
Giggles rose throughout the room and Aurora felt her blush climb higher up her face until she was sure steam was spurting from her ears like a tea kettle.
“Keep it down,” sighed the arbiter. “I won’t warn you again.”
Aurora nodded, not trusting herself to speak as Jeremiah resumed tickling her under the table.
“Hey, could you get me some lotion?” Her abominable rival asked as his fingers raced down her trapped soles. His face was equally red, though she was sure for different reasons. “My hands have gotten a bit dry.”
“Sure,” said the arbiter, puzzled. “I’ll be right back.”
“Are you trying to get us both disqualified?” Aurora whispered once the judge was gone. Her dark eyes darted around them. “Isn't it enough that you have my feet tied up in your lap? Now everyone's looking at us.”
“You're right, maybe I shouldn't be so greedy,” Jeremiah said. He squirted a generous helping of lotion and Aurora yelped as he slapped it against her soles. The cool, foreign sensation made her shudder. His thumbs sank deep into her arches, filling her stomach with a sensation she didn't dare name. “I mean if I had known you were such a ticklish little girl, I would've been nicer.”
“If I had known you were such a perv, I would have kicked your ass.”
“And yet you’re here, barefoot, tied up, begging for mercy. You really had me fooled, acting like some untouchable ice queen in the park.” He began firmly massaging her feet, sliding between her toes with a possessive roughness that made her whimper. “I guess the real question is: what will you trade for my mercy?”
“I'm not resigning,” Aurora said.
“Please, I'm not a monster.” He tickled her slickened soles, making the chess master slam her head into the board. “I was thinking about your sweater for ten minutes of respite.”
“Fine.” Without hesitation she reached down and pulled her oversized UT sweater over her head in one smooth motion. "Happy?"
Jeremiah whistled. "Damn, I can tell you work out."
Her black sleeveless tank clung damply to her slim frame, revealing more skin than she would have liked. She could sense her rival's gaze on her sharp collarbone and along her bare arms toned from hours of spinning backhands on the court, before settling on her modest breasts.
“Good girl,” Jeremiah said, making her shudder as she tossed the sweater on the floor. “Uh uh don't cross your arms.”
Aurora's hands dropped to her sides.
She hated how she had gone from teasing him with her feet to now snapping to his every command. But his fingers seemed to erase what little dignity she had left. It was all she could do not to break down into terrified giggles each time his fingers shifted incrementally on her slickened sensitive skin.
“Better, now,” he cracked her toes. “For another 15, put your hands behind your head and arch your back.”
Aurora froze. She wanted to reach over and slap him.
“A good player knows when they're defeated,” he reminded her. “Now before I change my mind…” His nails stroked up and down the tendons standing out along her shiny stretched soles.
“No, wait-” Aurora clamped her palms over her lips as her eyes screwed shut. Even the gentle tickling was so severe, helpless laughter spilled from her fingers, her chest heaving, stomach clenched into a painful knot.
"Wow that lotion works wonders." Another squeeze and a fresh awful dollop was worked into her helpless soles. "Hope you're ready for this, Aurora."
She wasn't.
Blunt nails stabbed deep into the sweat slicked hollows of her tortured arches, raking viciously vertically then sawing horizontally, sending her into a new stratosphere of torment as drool splattered onto the table and hot tears jeweled her eyes. "Huuuhhh" she wheezed, eyes wide in shock like an electrocuted animal. His nails brutalized her feet like they were his personal scratching posts, slashing into the tender meat of her soles, forsaking any guise of teasing, torturing every stretched glistening inch until they were red, hot, shiny infernos of ticklishness.
"Huuuuhhaaaa!" Aurora's lungs burned. Her whole universe collapsed into nothing but the savage scraping across her brutalized soles. Nylon laces bit into her toe stems as her feet strained, flexing uselessly. A fist pounded her hip. Traitorous tears blurred her vision, rolling hotly down her cheeks and she felt so dizzy she could barely breathe.
“Oh God I'll do it please! I give uahahHAHAHAA!"
To her shameful relief he paused.
Breathing raggedly, Aurora interlocked her long fingers behind her head, lifting her elbows high so he could see her armpits. Arching her back, her tank top pulled up, exposing her midriff too. She knew what she looked like - messy dark hair, breasts pressed against her thin tank, sweat glistening down her face, neck and armpits - posing like some exotic slave girl.
“L-like this?” She asked, hating how plaintive she sounded.
“Perfect.” Jeremiah leaned forward. Aurora closed her eyes as he stroked her jaw. She quivered as his fingers reached her shoulders and armpits where they drew lazy little circles in her strained sockets.
“H-how long do I have to stay like this?”
“For the full 15 minutes, or until I say otherwise.” The hand retreated and his knight clacked as it knocked her pawn aside. “Remember, no hands.”
“Ugh.”
Aurora leaned forward and gripped her knight between her teeth, praying that no one would see her. Shame burned in her stomach yet all she could think was how grateful she was not being tickled.
Three moves later, Jeremiah asked sweetly, “Want another minute of freedom?”
“Yes,” Aurora said pathetically.
“Stick out your tongue.”
She did so, gut twisting at the humiliation.
Worse yet, the board state reflected their new dynamic. A quick glance down revealed Aurora had gone from attacking to now frantically defending her king. Somehow the humiliation on the board felt just as bad at the one above it.
“Good girl,” he said finally. “You may lower your arms.”
The analytical girl collapsed into her chair, fighting exhaustion. The green and white squares blurred. She felt the double humiliation of soon losing the chess match and with it, the telltale pain above her nose that signaled an ugly cry coming.
Is this it?
Just hours ago Aurora Chen had been unstoppable. Now she was about to lose in probably the most embarrassing chess game in history. She'd held out due to stubbornness but now it was obvious she had to resign before she burst into tears.
But as Aurora lifted her hand, she hesitated. At second glance, her position wasn't that bad, and Jeremiah's pieces shockingly had become sloppy.
Her eyes darted up at her tormentor.
His eyes never left her feet.
Aurora slowly realized her rival had forgotten about their game. He thought he'd completely broken her (the truth was he had only come very very close) and the rest of the match was a courtesy. To test her theory, she shakily thrust her rook forward, risking a capture.
He didn't see it.
A spark of hope ignited in the Asian girl's chest. She could still win this; she could use his cockiness against him. She just had to hold out.
Three moves later, her strategy was taking life. She had maneuvered out of his attack with a narrowness that implied luck rather than calculation. She pretended to play at random, as though all she could think of was being tickled again.
“You know,” Jeremiah said. “If you ask nicely, I might just let you last a bit longer.”
His hand swept out and captured her last pawn with lazy contempt.
“Actually,” Aurora said. “I was thinking of ending this now.”
She reached out and slashed her bishop across the board, pinning his king to his rook. “Check.”
Jeremiah stared, mouth open. He seemed unable to comprehend what he was seeing, as though someone had replaced their game with a totally different one. His hand rose up, hesitated like a bird unsure of where to land, and then finally collapsed to his side.
“Um.”
For once, his other hand had dropped too, and Aurora suppressed a cry of relief from her feet being untouched.
Swallowing, Jeremiah looked up at her, panic, shock, and anger flashing across his eyes. Then, a face she knew all too well on her opponents: resignation. With trembling fingers, her rival reached out and tipped his king.
The best thing about a rook was that you resigned after losing it, even if you were a foot obsessed little bastard.
“Good game,” Aurora said, offering her hand. They shook. “Now untie my freaking feet.”
The Toronto Open marked its first ever untitled champion, the youngest ever, and Aurora found herself swarmed with eager sponsors and local reporters. The fact that she was good looking, photogenic, a second generation immigrant was not lost on them. She could only imagine the narratives being spun and found herself eager to retreat into the corner of the parking lot when she had the chance.
To her relief, Jeremiah had honored his promise, quickly unbinding her, though he had insisted on keeping her socks for who knows what. Aurora had allowed it only because her lotioned feet, raw and tingling, wanted nothing more than the hard surface of her tennis shoes anyways. A black coffee and splash of water resurrected her spirit and now she stepped into the shade of the lot, feeling like she'd conquered a mountain.
22 more rating points and I'll reach my FM title!
She was so close! Already she couldn't wait for the next tournament, maybe during her fall break she could fly to New York.
As Aurora tossed her backpack into her Camry, she felt her tennis shoe slip. Bereft of laces, she sighed and popped it off, looking for some string in her backpack to serve as a substitute. Then she paused.
“Oh come on!”
Written along her right sole were the words “Tickle me” in tall blocky ink stretching from the base of her toes down to her heel. When had he found the time to write that?
Kicking off her other shoe, she found a phone number written on her left foot. The audacity of this guy!
Shaking her head, Aurora stuffed her feet back into her shoes.
Then again, if she was going to improve she did need some for practice. And Jeremiah was a strong player, objectively speaking. The area code looked local too.
“What the hell?” Aurora grinned. “I must be going crazy! No way I'm calling him.”
But she saved his number on her phone. Just in case.
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Looking for suggestions, feedback, and tips to improve! Please let me know if there's anything you liked or didn't like. Also looking for new story ideas
Arriving fresh from tennis practice, the 20 year old stood out among her formally dressed competitors, wearing an oversized navy University of Toronto sweater over white short shorts and beaten tennis shoes, exposing long, tanned legs that drew more than a few appreciative glances. Her glossy black hair was tucked in a high ponytail threaded through her cap, and her rackets lay zipped beside her backpack at her feet.
In short, she looked more a college athlete who had wandered in by accident and less the obsessive chess nerd who'd been competing since she was 4.
So Aurora felt bad for the man before her getting completely destroyed, as though she’d inadvertently tricked him. The Chinese girl spun the captured rook in her long, matcha-green tipped fingers, feeling its impressive heft, and hoped the piece was enough.
“Check,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow.
Aurora sighed as he hit the clock. Guess not.
Seven moves later, a truly dismal white king surrendered before a phalanx of black pieces. They shook hands limply and Aurora rose from her chair, stretching the kinks from sitting nearly an hour.
That puts me, what, tied for second? Assuming the top seeds win.
The Toronto Open boasted a twenty player elimination ranging from hopeful newcomers to veterans. A gallery of local sponsors decorated the community hall above a plastic table full of water bottles, Gatorade, and cookies overlooking ten matching tables presenting a green and white chess set, clock, and clusters of spectators nodding/frowning sagely.
In other words: the perfect hunting ground for her Fide Master norm.
“Nice job,” said the arbiter as she signed her name. “You finished early again.”
“Thanks,” said Aurora, snagging a water bottle from the table. “By the way,” she said, hiding her excitement. “If I win my next game, and first place does too, who’s my last opponent?”
“Jeremiah Smith." The arbiter tapped his pencil. "Actually he just finished before you.”
An untitled name, just like her. Though if she had to bet, she would’ve guessed his opponent had the courage to resign earlier.
Hadn't she seen a game or two of his?
He’d played the Italian opening twice in the last two rounds. Conventional, and probably theory-heavy, the analytical underdog cracked her fingers, already forming a plan to crack that composure.
Her penultimate game finished in a dog-fight, pieces trading off in the center until only a wasteland of pawns remained. Aurora’s opponent, a silent Australian guy with a perpetual scowl, tilted his chair back, blasting two long sighs, before reaching over and tipping his king.
“Good game,” he said.
They shook hands as Aurora tried to steady her heartbeat. Spectators had gathered at her board, staring openly at her, grinning. The young savant kept her expression calm as her trembling hands pushed her chair in, belying her excitement.
She might win the whole thing!
In the other corner, a slaughter mirroring her own was concluding as Jeremiah secured his win too. His opponent’s Najdorf defence had been quickly outpaced by a kingside attack. He’s not bad, she thought, watching, but too textbook.
But despite her assessment, Aurora couldn’t stop a mutinous wave of anxiety and excitement from tangling her thoughts. She found herself pacing back and forth like a teenager in trouble, glaring at anyone in her way.
“Screw this,” she muttered. “I need some fresh air.”
Outside, Aurora ran a few laps around the parking lot despite the August heat. Her oversized UofT sweater had been tossed on a bench along with her things, and her black tank top and short shorts had begun to cling damply to her olive skin. Still, the laps succeeded in calming her down which made the stickiness worth it.
“What’s this?” The brunette spied a laptop in the shade of a tree. Looking around, its owner was nowhere to be seen, apparently having lost it. “Maybe, it has a name.”
Opening it up, the black screen booted, revealing a youtube video of a dark haired woman of Asian descent sitting with her bare feet pressed up against the camera. The video, titled ‘Hot public soles’, featured a quadruple digit playlist of similar videos.
“What the fuck!” Aurora stared, unable to process what she was seeing for a moment. Then she slammed the laptop shut as though she’d gleaned something she shouldn’t.
“Hey, that’s mine!” A young man in a stiff collared shirt and tie, ran up to her, looking nearly as freaked out as Aurora felt. To her shock, it was Jeremiah, his normally composed face a vivid crimson.
“No! No! I didn’t,” Aurora felt her own face heat up. “It was just lying here. I thought someone…”
“Oh my god, did you open it?” Jeremiah stammered.
Before Aurora could find the right words, a full blown embarrassed chortle blasted from her lips, filling the awkward silence like a landmine. Her legs gave out, and her palms slapped her knees, struggling against the weight of her mirth. An Aurora Chen special.
“What were you doing with my laptop! I left all my stuff next to it.” Jeremiah snatched the laptop from her and frantically deleted his tabs while glaring at her from above the monitor while she died of laughter.
“Aren’t you part of the tournament? You’re my next opponent. Were you following me?”
“Of course not!” Aurora wheezed. “I was going on a run before our game.”
“How do I know you weren’t snooping on my laptop for my tournament prep?” He demanded.
“That’s how you prep for tournaments?” Aurora raised her dark eyebrows.
“I have other tabs open, ones with my repertoire!” Jeremiah stammered. “For all I know, you’ve been reading all of them. Even if I believe you, I won’t be able to concentrate at all during our game.”
Aurora firmly believed his fear was of his own making. Still, she felt bad for laughing and, more importantly, she didn’t want any sort of advantage, real or imagined, when she kicked his butt.
“Fine, I really am sorry. That was a dick move laughing on my part.” Aurora took a deep breath. “I want us to have a fair game. I’ll lose five minutes before my first move. How about that?”
Jeremiah shook his head. “If you’re serious,” he stabbed a finger at her. “Then I want something else.” He swallowed. “To make us even."
“Spill it.”
“When we play, you’re going to keep your feet on my lap under the table. No matter what happens you can’t move them away.”
“I’m not giving you a footjob or whatever under the table.” Aurora crossed her arms. “Pretty sure that’ll make us famous for all the wrong reasons.”
“Nothing like that, trust me,” said Jeremiah, blushing. “Come on, you owe me one.”
Debatable. And she didn’t love how his eyes were beginning to drift down to her tennis shoes and bare legs with poorly concealed interest.
But if letting this weirdo ogle her for an hour meant they could play a proper game of chess, then who was she to say no? Not to mention, she could use his obsession to her advantage…
“My feet are super sweaty,” she warned. “Just so you know.”
Board 1 was off in the corner thankfully, and the blue cloth over the edge hid her legs as she lifted them up and crossed them into her opponent’s lap. Doing so felt so childishly improper, and a giggle threatened to spill from her lips, leading to Jeremiah’s glare.
Fine, fine. The college student schooled her face to the blank canvas of a morning lecture: half-lidded eyes, lips slack, arms folded. Happy?
The sudden shift proved sufficient. Jeremiah launched his E pawn forward, hit the clock, and recorded his move. With that prosaic sequence, her normal world - one where Aurora had never found the laptop - reasserted itself.
Their next moves were quick and testing. She chose an unorthodox Sicilian line, keeping her center pawns flexible while expanding on the queenside. Jeremiah castled early, then prodded with his bishop, hoping to force an advantageous trade, which Aurora firmly evaded.
Meanwhile, her white tennis shoes received unending attention, his hands perpetually molding and caressing every inch. To her dismay, she found herself getting distracted whenever he nudged her laces or the shadow of a finger stroked her shoe edge or traced its sole.
“Just take them off already,” Aurora muttered, finally having enough.
“What was that?” Jeremiah’s blue eyes flickered up innocently.
“Just take my shoes off. I know you want to.” Aurora sighed. “I’d rather you do it now on my terms than wait for it.”
“Getting the worst out of the way before the middle game,” nodded her opponent, twirling a pawn. “A sound strategy.” He pretended to think about it. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” Aurora hissed.
He plucked at her fat white laces, pulling them away one by one until her tennis shoe loosened, its canvas walls relaxing and she felt the first hints of the cool community hall breeze tease her sweaty foot. She felt him grip her heel and ankle and slowly wriggle the tennis shoe free.
At least he’s burning his own clock doing this.
The shoe popped off, taking half her sock with it. Jeremiah made a flourish of stripping the laces before ducking down. Aurora pretended not to look as he vigorously inhaled her shoe. Then he set it down under the table and patted her half-bare foot.
“You don’t mind if I take your socks off too, right?” he said.
Aurora sighed and inched forward until her foot was in his hands.
He tugged the white Hanes sock off by inches, revealing her tanned foot underneath. The brunette wiggled her toes experimentally, marveling how an ordinary petite foot, damp with hot sweat, could command so much reverence.
“Are you going to move or what?” she finally asked.
“R-right.” Keeping one rough, cool hand pressed against her instep, he reached and blinked at the board, as though seeing it for the first time.
“Don’t touch the pieces with that other hand,” Aurora hissed. “I told you my feet are gross.”
“You’re the one who asked me to take your shoes off,” Jeremiah snapped back. “How can I help myself?”
“Dude, you’re like a toddler in a candy shop. Have some self. Control.” Her toes jabbed into his hand with each emphasis.
“Okay. Okay. Fine.” He scowled at her, made his move, then collected her other foot, cradling both in his lap.
Her other shoe suffered the same fate, its laces confiscated, contents inhaled, and pulled off her foot with a sticky pop Aurora tried to ignore. Her white ankle sock, on the other hand, welcomed being freed, given that it was practically translucent in places from running. Soon, the chess prodigy found both her bare feet dangling from her rival’s lap, naked to the capricious breeze of the hall.
Forget about this, Aurora thought, staring at the board. Her toes flexed and stretched as she forced herself to focus. How do I prepare my D5 push? We’re barely in the opening and I need a proper strategy.
She wondered if other greats like Bobby Fisher ever had to face such oddities just to play chess when he was in Russia. Somehow she doubted it.
Four moves later, and Aurora flinched as she felt something cool brush her big toe. Her foot jerked involuntarily as did her thoughts.
“What are you doing?” One glance under the table made her gasp. “Dude, are you serious?”
“Try not to move your feet.” Jeremiah’s eyes darted over to the arbiters stalking the hall. “I’m really quick.”
He had somehow snuck a vial into the hall and was sliding the tiny brush down her toes. To her horror, half her digits were already adorned in matcha green polish matching her fingers - how did he even get the same shade? - while he diligently painted the rest.
“These feet are just...wow,” her opponent breathed, pulling her toes. “You know, if chess doesn’t work out for you, I bet you’d make bank on OnlyFans.”
“Sh-shit, that fucking tickles,” Aurora gasped before she could help herself. Her other foot scrunched as her long, toned legs flexed. Desperate hands clamped the table edge as electricity sparked down her olive toes. “Jeremiah, Stop! Fuck, that t-tickles, stop touching my toes.”
“Then you have to stay still,” said Jeremiah, rubbing her toes like a lost puppy.
His tone almost made her whip her feet back. But she was in a public tournament with first place on the line. Just let the perv do what he wants for now.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. I’ll stay still.” Aurora’s ears heated up as she finally collected herself, brushing her dark hair back under her cap. The next time the brush graced her toe, she stiffened but didn’t react. Jeremiah smirked but she ignored him. Thankfully the ordeal ended before anyone could spot them.
Guess I won’t need to do my nails this month. At least the polish looked expensive. Now back to the game.
They’d climbed out of the opening with Aurora ahead by a pawn but behind in development. It was the kind of imbalance she loved to analyze; dozens of tactics running through her mind as she surveyed the position even as she did her best to ignore the foreign sensations on her bare feet. I can’t wait to wipe that smirk from his face.
Aurora lifted her rook.
Jeremiah retreated his bishop.
Aurora pushed her pawn.
Jeremiah advanced his knight.
An invisible tether soon connected them which was the imaginary war they were fighting, each calibrating their responses based on the other. Sparks of Jeremiah’s unique style began to reveal themselves, working into Aurora’s assessments, until she felt like she could glean his entire character as a reflection from the board between them even as she was sure he could to her.
It was almost the perfect game.
But a second tether had also formed. One beneath the table, secretive, yet refusing to be ignored. As they played, Aurora felt his hands playing with her feet, tugging her toes, squeezing her instep, tracing the wrinkles along her sole, always keeping her guessing. He was never overbearing, just relentless. But given how sweaty her feet were, she felt positively disgusted and winced each time his palms squeaked along her hot skin.
Her previous announcement of ticklishness did little to prevent him risking both their reputations, though once, when his nail scraped her heel, she firmly kicked him ‘accidentally’ in the groin and he thankfully stopped.
Then a sudden pressure on her big toes made Aurora finally pause and look down.
“Are you serious?” she said incredulously.
“Yes?” he replied innocently.
“Don’t give me that crap! What are you doing?”
Her big toes had been bound together with her own shoelaces, then tied the ends to the leg of the table. Having been caught, he quickly pulled off his purple neck tie and began fastening her slim ankles together.
Quick as a snake, Jeremiah moved his knight and hit the clock. “Your move,” he reminded her.
“Hey…” Aurora stammered, struggling to address the issue above the board and below it. A horrifying vision of herself hopping barefoot out of the hall filled her mind. “You never said anything about-hey!”
He pulled her ankles, scooting her butt nearly off her seat, until her shoelaces, unable to stretch any further, snapped taut. They jostled silently for control for several seconds until Jeremiah unfairly stroked her instep, breaking her concentration, and collected her feet further into his lap.
The necktie was tied to the base of his chair so that both shoelace and necktie formed opposing vectors pulling her feet in opposite directions. Once secured, her feet stretched immobile, her arches totally bent to their fullest extent, her toes forced backwards exposing the pale vulnerable stems underneath.
“A Moroxy bind,” Jeremiah joked, slapping her soles then lightly tickling them. The shock of pain and impropriety made the chess prodigy gasp.
“Jeremiah,” she struggled. “I never agreed to this 50 shades of grey crap. Untie me right now.”
“Come on Aurora, you agreed to keep your feet in my lap,” Jeremiah grinned, massaging his thumbs into her arches. “I never made any promises.”
“Untie me!”
“Oh look at these beauties,” Jeremiah breathed, ignoring her.
The chess genius’ smooth soles were strained back, the pink expanse of their bottoms fully presented to him. Two sets of subtle vertical tendons creased her arches, a narrow V, belying soft plump valleys. Twin flanks of pudgy pink toes curled restlessly while her big toes strained against their ties like pinned butterflies. To Jeremiah, they looked better than any video he had ever watched and they were warm and heavy cradled in his lap and so soft his fingers seemed to sink into them.
Almost reverently he flicked his fingernails along the arches of her feet.
Aurora flinched.
Flexing her toes, she found them helplessly fanned out and immobile.
Oh no.
“What’s wrong?” Jeremiah smirked. “It’s still your turn.” His nail began tracing the edges of her feet as he watched them quiver. “Remember, if you move, the table will shift.”
“F-fuck you,” Aurora’s fingers dug painfully into her palms.
The nail reached her toes and her legs twisted violently.
“Whoops.” The table shook and a piece clattered to the ground.
To her horror, Jeremiah plucked it up and dragged the bishop’s sharp mitre along her instep, nearly making her scream. Her foot kicked and struggled in their binds as he teased her. “Tickle tickle…”
“No, not that,” Aurora gasped. “Don’t tickle me like that, Jeremiah, please. Oh my god, my feet are so ticklish.”
She couldn’t help herself. Her feet were completely trapped, helpless, two sweaty toys full of nerve endings captured in enemy territory. With her toes and ankles bound, the anticipation of his touch was unbearable.
She had clearly underestimated her opponent, or at least, under-evaluated the position she was in. Another Aurora Chen classic. Why did these things have to happen to her? What kind of chess master lets herself be tied up and tickled?
Her self pity was interrupted when Jeremiah suddenly began rapidly scratching the bishop up and down the full length of her soles. A silent, explosive gasp burst from Aurora’s lips, as her palms clamped against the table, shaking the entire board.
Then she felt his nails on her other foot.
Like a car crash in slow motion, his nails dug deep into the thin skin at the middle of her arch before cycling into the tender flesh. Now both of her feet were being tickled equally bad. Her shoelace bit painfully into her big toes as she tried to flex them to no avail.
Ten agonizing seconds of silent torture dragged on. Aurora’s hand trembled violently as she finally moved her piece.
“Check,” she said, breath quickening. “Hey, check.”
Jeremiah finally tore his hands from her feet and blinked at the board. “Oh right.”
Aurora nearly collapsed at the sudden relief; feet twitching from phantom tickles. The slap of the clock broke her reverie and she groaned at the board.
He wants another piece to tickle me with. Despite the unfavorable maneuver, she retreated her rook.
“Hmm,” said Jeremiah. “Not your best move, Aurora.” Ignoring her glare, he reached out and took her pawn. She flinched as she felt the curved base of the pawn drag up her heels a second later.
“I hate you so much,” Aurora said.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have snooped on my laptop.” The bishop again, sliding its cold edges along the stems of her toes. “Consider this as your punishment.”
Their next five moves only grew Jeremiah’s collection. He tickled her with the teeth of her rook, making her snort and buck; the crown of her queen became a wand that slashed across her arches until she nearly screamed; even her knights became points that jabbed the sensitive webbing between her fanned toes.
Chess was all about keeping calm and assessing new positions. Unfortunately, Aurora could feel herself nearing her limit; soon even the lightest touches rendered her catatonic with silent giggles as she cringed like a little girl anticipating the next stroke. Her dreams of winning the Toronto Open were slowly crumbling and all she could see, feel, think, care about was where Jeremiah would tickle her next.
Finally, he found her worst spot.
“NO! Jeremiah STOP! Please ahahahaha! No not there! Stop!” Horror and shame bloomed across the prodigy’s face as Jeremiah scratched her queen into the hollow right beneath the ball of her foot. Her knees bounced explosively, rattling the table. “No, please, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!”
Heads snapped in their direction. Even her tormentor froze.
Aurora heaved a greedy breath. Her cap flew off, and glossy black locks spilled messily over her face, partially hiding her reddening cheeks.
“Is everything OK?” the arbiter asked, frowning at the dampness near the pretty Asian girl’s eyes.
“I’m fine,” Aurora squeaked. To her dismay, it was the same arbiter whom she had confidently shared her win with just two games ago. Now he was staring confused at her. “I, um, lost a good position just now. My bad - Eee!”
She snapped a pleading glance at Jeremiah who had just stroked her toes.
Giggles rose throughout the room and Aurora felt her blush climb higher up her face until she was sure steam was spurting from her ears like a tea kettle.
“Keep it down,” sighed the arbiter. “I won’t warn you again.”
Aurora nodded, not trusting herself to speak as Jeremiah resumed tickling her under the table.
“Hey, could you get me some lotion?” Her abominable rival asked as his fingers raced down her trapped soles. His face was equally red, though she was sure for different reasons. “My hands have gotten a bit dry.”
“Sure,” said the arbiter, puzzled. “I’ll be right back.”
“Are you trying to get us both disqualified?” Aurora whispered once the judge was gone. Her dark eyes darted around them. “Isn't it enough that you have my feet tied up in your lap? Now everyone's looking at us.”
“You're right, maybe I shouldn't be so greedy,” Jeremiah said. He squirted a generous helping of lotion and Aurora yelped as he slapped it against her soles. The cool, foreign sensation made her shudder. His thumbs sank deep into her arches, filling her stomach with a sensation she didn't dare name. “I mean if I had known you were such a ticklish little girl, I would've been nicer.”
“If I had known you were such a perv, I would have kicked your ass.”
“And yet you’re here, barefoot, tied up, begging for mercy. You really had me fooled, acting like some untouchable ice queen in the park.” He began firmly massaging her feet, sliding between her toes with a possessive roughness that made her whimper. “I guess the real question is: what will you trade for my mercy?”
“I'm not resigning,” Aurora said.
“Please, I'm not a monster.” He tickled her slickened soles, making the chess master slam her head into the board. “I was thinking about your sweater for ten minutes of respite.”
“Fine.” Without hesitation she reached down and pulled her oversized UT sweater over her head in one smooth motion. "Happy?"
Jeremiah whistled. "Damn, I can tell you work out."
Her black sleeveless tank clung damply to her slim frame, revealing more skin than she would have liked. She could sense her rival's gaze on her sharp collarbone and along her bare arms toned from hours of spinning backhands on the court, before settling on her modest breasts.
“Good girl,” Jeremiah said, making her shudder as she tossed the sweater on the floor. “Uh uh don't cross your arms.”
Aurora's hands dropped to her sides.
She hated how she had gone from teasing him with her feet to now snapping to his every command. But his fingers seemed to erase what little dignity she had left. It was all she could do not to break down into terrified giggles each time his fingers shifted incrementally on her slickened sensitive skin.
“Better, now,” he cracked her toes. “For another 15, put your hands behind your head and arch your back.”
Aurora froze. She wanted to reach over and slap him.
“A good player knows when they're defeated,” he reminded her. “Now before I change my mind…” His nails stroked up and down the tendons standing out along her shiny stretched soles.
“No, wait-” Aurora clamped her palms over her lips as her eyes screwed shut. Even the gentle tickling was so severe, helpless laughter spilled from her fingers, her chest heaving, stomach clenched into a painful knot.
"Wow that lotion works wonders." Another squeeze and a fresh awful dollop was worked into her helpless soles. "Hope you're ready for this, Aurora."
She wasn't.
Blunt nails stabbed deep into the sweat slicked hollows of her tortured arches, raking viciously vertically then sawing horizontally, sending her into a new stratosphere of torment as drool splattered onto the table and hot tears jeweled her eyes. "Huuuhhh" she wheezed, eyes wide in shock like an electrocuted animal. His nails brutalized her feet like they were his personal scratching posts, slashing into the tender meat of her soles, forsaking any guise of teasing, torturing every stretched glistening inch until they were red, hot, shiny infernos of ticklishness.
"Huuuuhhaaaa!" Aurora's lungs burned. Her whole universe collapsed into nothing but the savage scraping across her brutalized soles. Nylon laces bit into her toe stems as her feet strained, flexing uselessly. A fist pounded her hip. Traitorous tears blurred her vision, rolling hotly down her cheeks and she felt so dizzy she could barely breathe.
“Oh God I'll do it please! I give uahahHAHAHAA!"
To her shameful relief he paused.
Breathing raggedly, Aurora interlocked her long fingers behind her head, lifting her elbows high so he could see her armpits. Arching her back, her tank top pulled up, exposing her midriff too. She knew what she looked like - messy dark hair, breasts pressed against her thin tank, sweat glistening down her face, neck and armpits - posing like some exotic slave girl.
“L-like this?” She asked, hating how plaintive she sounded.
“Perfect.” Jeremiah leaned forward. Aurora closed her eyes as he stroked her jaw. She quivered as his fingers reached her shoulders and armpits where they drew lazy little circles in her strained sockets.
“H-how long do I have to stay like this?”
“For the full 15 minutes, or until I say otherwise.” The hand retreated and his knight clacked as it knocked her pawn aside. “Remember, no hands.”
“Ugh.”
Aurora leaned forward and gripped her knight between her teeth, praying that no one would see her. Shame burned in her stomach yet all she could think was how grateful she was not being tickled.
Three moves later, Jeremiah asked sweetly, “Want another minute of freedom?”
“Yes,” Aurora said pathetically.
“Stick out your tongue.”
She did so, gut twisting at the humiliation.
Worse yet, the board state reflected their new dynamic. A quick glance down revealed Aurora had gone from attacking to now frantically defending her king. Somehow the humiliation on the board felt just as bad at the one above it.
“Good girl,” he said finally. “You may lower your arms.”
The analytical girl collapsed into her chair, fighting exhaustion. The green and white squares blurred. She felt the double humiliation of soon losing the chess match and with it, the telltale pain above her nose that signaled an ugly cry coming.
Is this it?
Just hours ago Aurora Chen had been unstoppable. Now she was about to lose in probably the most embarrassing chess game in history. She'd held out due to stubbornness but now it was obvious she had to resign before she burst into tears.
But as Aurora lifted her hand, she hesitated. At second glance, her position wasn't that bad, and Jeremiah's pieces shockingly had become sloppy.
Her eyes darted up at her tormentor.
His eyes never left her feet.
Aurora slowly realized her rival had forgotten about their game. He thought he'd completely broken her (the truth was he had only come very very close) and the rest of the match was a courtesy. To test her theory, she shakily thrust her rook forward, risking a capture.
He didn't see it.
A spark of hope ignited in the Asian girl's chest. She could still win this; she could use his cockiness against him. She just had to hold out.
Three moves later, her strategy was taking life. She had maneuvered out of his attack with a narrowness that implied luck rather than calculation. She pretended to play at random, as though all she could think of was being tickled again.
“You know,” Jeremiah said. “If you ask nicely, I might just let you last a bit longer.”
His hand swept out and captured her last pawn with lazy contempt.
“Actually,” Aurora said. “I was thinking of ending this now.”
She reached out and slashed her bishop across the board, pinning his king to his rook. “Check.”
Jeremiah stared, mouth open. He seemed unable to comprehend what he was seeing, as though someone had replaced their game with a totally different one. His hand rose up, hesitated like a bird unsure of where to land, and then finally collapsed to his side.
“Um.”
For once, his other hand had dropped too, and Aurora suppressed a cry of relief from her feet being untouched.
Swallowing, Jeremiah looked up at her, panic, shock, and anger flashing across his eyes. Then, a face she knew all too well on her opponents: resignation. With trembling fingers, her rival reached out and tipped his king.
The best thing about a rook was that you resigned after losing it, even if you were a foot obsessed little bastard.
“Good game,” Aurora said, offering her hand. They shook. “Now untie my freaking feet.”
The Toronto Open marked its first ever untitled champion, the youngest ever, and Aurora found herself swarmed with eager sponsors and local reporters. The fact that she was good looking, photogenic, a second generation immigrant was not lost on them. She could only imagine the narratives being spun and found herself eager to retreat into the corner of the parking lot when she had the chance.
To her relief, Jeremiah had honored his promise, quickly unbinding her, though he had insisted on keeping her socks for who knows what. Aurora had allowed it only because her lotioned feet, raw and tingling, wanted nothing more than the hard surface of her tennis shoes anyways. A black coffee and splash of water resurrected her spirit and now she stepped into the shade of the lot, feeling like she'd conquered a mountain.
22 more rating points and I'll reach my FM title!
She was so close! Already she couldn't wait for the next tournament, maybe during her fall break she could fly to New York.
As Aurora tossed her backpack into her Camry, she felt her tennis shoe slip. Bereft of laces, she sighed and popped it off, looking for some string in her backpack to serve as a substitute. Then she paused.
“Oh come on!”
Written along her right sole were the words “Tickle me” in tall blocky ink stretching from the base of her toes down to her heel. When had he found the time to write that?
Kicking off her other shoe, she found a phone number written on her left foot. The audacity of this guy!
Shaking her head, Aurora stuffed her feet back into her shoes.
Then again, if she was going to improve she did need some for practice. And Jeremiah was a strong player, objectively speaking. The area code looked local too.
“What the hell?” Aurora grinned. “I must be going crazy! No way I'm calling him.”
But she saved his number on her phone. Just in case.
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Looking for suggestions, feedback, and tips to improve! Please let me know if there's anything you liked or didn't like. Also looking for new story ideas
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