FreakyFieryFeline
Registered User
- Joined
- Nov 10, 2025
- Messages
- 7
- Points
- 3
I always tried to be a good son. But, my mother had a tendency to push the boundaries of what was acceptable. And when you're the son of a powerful witch, sometimes you end up in situations you'd rather not.
Word Count: 4,084
Illustration available on Deviant Art or Patreon for early access, or available on 12/9/25
“Come now, dear! It’s just a little favor, that’s all.” Mother assured me for the third time. While she wore a smile, the frustration was evident in her voice. She was growing tired of me refusing her, and she’d never been one to take rejection well. The heavy hand she laid on my shoulder, lithe, nimble fingers curling just enough for her sharp red nails to prick my skin, let me know I’d exhausted her patience.
“What…kind of favor was it, again?” I asked with a flinch. The grip on my shoulder tightened; her nails lightly scraped my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.
Her black-painted lips curled into a smile; her dark eyes narrowed like a cat eying a mouse. “Just a simple spell, darling. Why, I imagine you’ll quite enjoy it once we begin.” Her hand moved from my shoulder to my chin, tilting it up to look into her eyes with a single finger. “So, tell me, dear. Will you be a good boy and help your poor old mother with one measly little spell?” The pout she wore was the final instrument of my destruction.
With a beleaguered sigh, I rolled my eyes and nodded.
“If it will make you happy, Mother. I’ll help for a bit. But, I can’t stay long.” I added the last part with a hint of harshness in my voice. For some reason, my glare only made her grin seem wider.
“Such a good boy.” She cooed, brushing the hair from my face. “Shall we begin?”
I blinked.
“Wait, right now?”
Her grin grew sharp, like a shark eying its next meal.
I gulped and mentally cursed myself for being such a mama’s boy.
And so, that was how I ended up in my mother’s basement, bound in soft cotton cloth, covering me entirely save for three places: my head, eyes darting and stinging with sweat, my feet, bare, but still warm from the thick socks I’d been wearing, and my manhood, lovingly and carefully bound in such a way that every inch of my cock and balls was left exposed without giving the rest of me any relief.
The process had taken me by surprise at first — and who wouldn’t be shocked to hear their mother tell them to strip without warning — but those nervous feelings gave way to warm light-headedness as she wrapped me, one strip at a time with a touch so caring and tender that I couldn’t help but allow my held breath be squeezed from my lungs in a happy sigh.
“Comfy, baby?” She asked throughout the process. Her voice soft and soothing as a song, the words tickling my brain and easing the stiffness from my body.
“I don’t…this feels — I mean, it’s weird, isn’t it?”
“Aw, of course not, silly boy. You’re just helping Mommy with an experiment.”
“But, um…do I have to be naked? I mean, you’re my mom and—”
“And there isn’t an inch of you I haven’t seen before. You’re being silly.”
“I just…it’s wrong.”
“Do you feel good? Does it make you happy?”
“Um, well…I guess?”
With each time she asked, I answered more honestly, until my response was a simple moan of contentment. “Good boy,” she cooed and caressed my cheek. “See? I told you everything would be fine. You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“Mmmhmm.” I was. Squirming in my cocoon, snug as a bug — as she used to say when tucking me in — my worries felt miles away. My restricted movement was a blessing, not a curse. With nothing to do but loll my head to and fro and wiggle my toes, it was as if every worry I’d ever had was too far away to be a bother anymore.
“Good. That makes Mommy so very happy.” She stroked my hair, my head resting on her lap, and bent down to kiss my forehead. “Now, are you ready to begin?”
“Hm?” The question didn’t quite make sense to my fog-ridden mind. I thought we were almost done? That this was just a strange little bondage game she’d found on the internet.
Mother chuckled. “Don’t tell me you forgot, silly boy?” Tutting, she shook her head and rose to her feet. From where I lay prone on the floor, I could hear the click-clack of her heels echoing against the stone floor with every measured step she took. Rhythmic as a metronome, pacing in a circle around me.
The fog in my brain thickened, my ears buzzing. She was speaking, but I could no longer make out the words. Instead, I felt them rumble through me and into the cold stone, heating it with every mumble and whisper. A green glow formed beneath me, casting the room in an otherworldly glow that made my spinning head felt lighter still.
“There we are.” Mother’s voice echoed all around me, bouncing between my ears as if my head were a faulty surround sound system. “The preparations are all complete. Now, just one — more — thing!” Her click-clacking footsteps came to a halt near my head.
I heard a shuffle, followed by the sound of her shoes sliding off her feet. The scent from her heels, earthy and strong, reached my nose and stirred me in my stupor. Strong, but alluring. A mix of sweat and soil and just a hint of jasmine. Like a rolling heat, it flooded my nostrils and spread southward, not content to rest in my lungs but far more interested in something more.
Try as I might to resist, I felt my exposed cock growing stiff as I breathed it in.
I was so enraptured by the smell that I didn’t notice she was gone. Not until I felt her nails — dreadfully long and fiendishly sharp — grazing the tops of my feet.
“Ah! C-careful!” I gasped, my voice somewhere between a moan and a squeak. My feet had always been terribly sensitive, a tidbit my mother knew all too well, wielding it against me in playful moments and fits of frustration alike. “Ti—tickles!”
Through the haze, I heard the first sound that almost dragged me back to the surface: a sinister giggle. Warning bells blared in my ears, still too soft to be heard through the buzzing fog.
“You are a sensitive little boy, aren’t you? Such soft, ticklish little footsies.” Though she spoke as she had when I was a boy, the playfulness in her voice carried a different weight now that I was a man grown.
A shiver ran through my helpless form; my toes scrunched and feet shifted, struggling in vain for one to cover the other. Unfortunately, I realized too late that she’d bound me so well, so tight, as to not even afford me that luxury.
“Ah, ah, ah! Naughty boy. There’s no hiding from Mommy’s tickles! I’ve a very hungry friend I’d like you to meet, but first we need to ease it from its hidey hole with a little cooooochie, coochie, cooooo!”
Her nails, tip-tapping along the tops of my feet, had worked me into a giggling fit within seconds. But when they suddenly swooped around and raked my soles, from the base of my toes, down to my plush heels, I arched my back with a bark of frantic laughter.
“Wahaha! W-wait! EEK! M-Mom! St-Stahahap!” The fog had turned pink, buzzing like vibrators against my bound flesh.
Her fingers crawled like spiders along the edges of my feet, nails tip-tapping just enough to be felt. They scurried along the tops of my feet, toward my ankles, back to my toes, and then she raked them down my soles again.
“Sta-HA-hap! Puh-LEASE! Thehehehe! This wa—wasn’t whahahat we tahahhaalked abowhowhowhowt!” My vision cleared with the first prickle of tears in the corners of my eyes. Her damnable rhythm refused to change.
Skitter. Scurry. Rake.
Skitter. Scurry. Rake.
The fog was all but gone, awakening me to the reality of my situation. I was bound, naked and helpless, in the basement, and my wicked witch of a mother had conned me into being tickled. Worst of all was the way my body reacted.
Every touch of her nails, every scrape across my soles, was like a direct line straight to my cock, sending a scandalous, electric message along the wire:
You’re being tickled. You’re getting hard.
As my cock rose to full attention, waving like a skyscraper in heavy wind as I rocked with what little movement I could manage, she was quick to notice.
“Such a happy boy! Our guest will be delighted to see that! They just loooove happy little boys with tickly-wickly little feetsies! Ah-gitchy goo! Gitchy gitchy, ticklish boy!” At last she changed tactics, and I immediately wished she hadn’t.
No longer content with scribbles and scrapes, her nails took to wandering the length of my soles. One moment she was squeezing my heels between her nails, kneading them as if they were soft, ticklish dough. The next, she teased my wiggling toes, chasing them from side to side with playful pinches and flicks of her nails across the round pads.
“STA—HAHAHA—hap! MAHAHAHAHAM! PLEASE! No! No! No mohohohohore!” The first tear trickled down my cheek, a light, but unbearable, tickle I couldn’t brush aside. Another followed. My flushed cheeks felt more sensitive in equal parts due to the magic still bouncing around my head, and the humiliation I felt as my struggling made my rock hard cock wag like a dog’s tail.
“Yes, yes, yes mohohohore!” Mother giggled and teased. “So much more! So many tickles for my boy! Tickle, tickle, tickles for my boy!” She leaned in, gripping the toes of my left foot to hold it taut, then dug her nails into my exposed arch. Short, staccato strokes right in the center.
I threw my head back in breathless mirth, forcing air into my lungs just for it to be expelled again in another peel of increasingly hysteric laughter. All the times she’d tickled me before now felt like a fond memory, even the time she pinned my ankles to the arm of the couch with her chest and raked my feet until I couldn’t breathe.
At least back then, escape had been possible, if not probable. With some hidden well of strength, I might have fought my way free. But trapped in the dark, bound as I was, not even that miraculous escape was possible.
I was no longer a man grown, but a mere face and pair of wiggling feet to laugh and be tickled.
“Ah! Here they coooome! Are you ready, my happy boy?” Mother’s voice, sickeningly sweet as ever, dragged me from the depths of my despair.
Forcing open my eyes, a scream of terror, pierced through my unbridled laughter.
“WAHAHAHAHT THE FAHAHAHACK IS THAHAHAHAT?!”
Above me now was a hole. Not in the ceiling or wall, but a gaping black hole in the space where the air once was. And within that hole, a pair of curious eyes was watching me.
“Our guest, silly boy!” Mother replied with the most wicked giggle ever uttered. “And I suppose now would be the right time to let you know, this little moment isn’t just for us, my happy boy.”
Terror gripped my heart; my cock began to leak.
“That’s riiiight! Mommy didn’t want to have you all to herself. No, no, no! These tickly wittle feetsies and that big, happy cock of yours need to be shared!”
A spectral hand, once formed from magic but resembling hers perfectly, took me by the chin and turned my head. There, on a tripod in the corner, was her cell phone. Fresh tears welled up in my eyes, and my struggles grew more fierce, the flailing of my cock flicking strings of precum.
“Smile for the camera, sweetie! I’m broadcasting this ritual for all my followers.” As the words left her lips, her nails suddenly dug into the space between my toes.
My voice cracked as my laughter reached a fever pitch. Not there. Not there. NOT THERE! I wanted to scream, to beg, to promise her the world if she would stop. But all that came out was a garbled mess of laughter. “BAAAA—HAHAHAHA! NAHAHA—HAHA! NAHAHA—HAHAHA!”
Her deception revealed, Mother spoke not just to me, but to the eager eyes watching my suffering — those within the dark hole, and those on the other end of their screens.
“He’s always been such a tickly boy! Why, you should have seen the look on his face the first time I pinched his wittle piggies and tickled him riiiiight here!” Mother pinched my pinky toes with her thumb and middle fingers, then dug her pointers into the space between. Her touch had long since lost its comfort and tenderness. Now, all she wanted from me were my screams.
My hips bucked; my back arched. Bouncing my ass and shaking my head, I fought harder than I ever had before. Not just to escape the devilish drilling of her nails into my flesh, but to try to cast aside the building pressure in my throbbing member.
“HAHAAAA—HAHAHAHA! NOOOOOOOOO! TOHO—HOHO TEHEHE—TEHEHECKLISH! TOO MAHAHAHA! TOO MUCH!”
An eruption bubbled at the tip. Warning trails dripped down my shaft, adding yet another layer to my ticklish torment. But I knew I had to hold back. I had to resist. Because if I were to give into carnal pleasure and let myself cum, I’d never be able to show my face again. Not when however many people watched me be tickled to orgasm.
And worse, I feared that my release would not be the end of my suffering, and I dreaded to think of what Mother, or that thing on the other side of the hole, might do to my overstimulated cock.
Then Mother gasped. My blood turned to ice, and my body froze.
“Look at that, baby! It looks like someone wants to plaaay!”
From within the hole, the thing had grown curious enough to creep to the edge. Thick purple tentacles reached from the darkness and, as its face drew close enough, I could see the gleam of its wide, grinning face. Its mouth fell open, revealing a long, slobbering tongue.
“NO! NOHOHOHO! MAHAHAHAHAM! MAHAHAHAKE IT STAHAHAP!” I screamed; I begged. I prayed with all my heart that she’d find mercy in hers. But instead of casting away the creature, she simply laughed as its appendages stroked my throbbing cock.
The texture wasn’t at all what I expected. Cold and wet, yes, but instead of sticky suckers, it felt like a hundred billion little tongues, gleefully lapping with every caress. And when it wrapped around my shaft and gave it a firm jerk, all that remained of my resistance and dignity was lost in the flood that followed.
“FA—HAAAAAAACK!” I threw my head back, hitting the floor — the stone was like a soft, downy pillow now. Likely thanks to my mother’s magic to protect me, and keep me from passing out — and flinging spittle from my lips. My cock, already pushed to the brink, erupted with an orgasm the likes of which I’d never imagined possible.
My hips tried to thrust, to sink deeper into the thing’s grip, but two more tentacles, from holes I hadn’t noticed, grabbed me and pinned me to the floor. Then, it moved its grip to the head of my cock and squeezed.
Laughter was no longer possible. All that came from my lips was a glass-shattering scream. My cockhead, already hyper-sensitive as it continued to loose its load, burned with pleasure as a hundred billion tongues lapped at its every inch and kissed its spewing slit.
Through water-blurred eyes, I could see the thing lapping up the geyser of cum, licking its lips and reaching toward me with even more tentacles. Its grin had grown hungrier.
“Congratulations, baby! It likes you! But…hm…” Mother paused her tickling to tap her chin. But no relief came, as the thing’s tentacles soon took her place. Pinning my toes with smaller ones, sliding between them with some even smaller. They lapped up and down my soles, never lingering in one place too long.
If the hundred billion tongues in the single tentacle on my cock was Hell, the trillions on my soles were some kind of fresh new Super Hell. Before I had time to recover from the first orgasm, I was already cumming again, an act that only made my helpless feet and tender cock even more sensitive.
Even in my disoriented, barely coherent state, I could feel a new loop forming. With every orgasm, I grew more ticklish. And as I grew more ticklish, I came quicker, and harder.
Suddenly, my screeching laughter was muffled by a pair of damp, thick stockings being stuffed into my mouth. The taste and scent of sweat assaulted my nose and tongue, and in my desperation, I couldn’t help but swallow heaving gulps.
Through bleary eyes, I saw my mother’s face close to mine. Her face was flushed, her eyes glowing in the dark. “You’ve been awfully noisy.” She shook her head and tutted. “Naughty boy. But don’t worry! We still have plenty of fun left. Our friend has quite a taste for you. We simply must gather a sample or two. Why, I might even keep some for myself! Never know when it might come in handy.” She giggled and bit her lip. “Maybe an hour…or a day…gosh, it’s been so long since you visited, why don’t we make it a week? Well. Surely no longer than a year, I promise.”
Screaming into the gag — choking on the taste of her feet, I feel a renewed surge of stamina in my tired cock. How I still possessed the strength to grow harder eluded me. — I shook my head violently.
Mother leaned down and kissed my cheek. “Good boy. Now, I think our guest wants to play a game.” Behind her, a group of tentacles approached, several of Mother’s shoes in their grip. “You see, they just looooove the way you squirt and squirm, and are just so excited to find out what will really,” her voice lowered and her smile turned wicked, “make you scream.”
She gave my head one last pat, then slid to her feet and strolled out of view. “They’re just heavenly, aren’t they? I’ll want another turn soon, but first—” And then, without warning, she plopped down next to my head, stretching out her legs and pressing her bare feet up against my face.
All at once, my senses were assaulted on multiple levels. Her soft, supple soles, slick with sweat and squishing against my cheek, stoked the fire in my loins. Combined with the slight scent, softer than that of her shoes or stockings, but more recent, more real, it was mere seconds of caressing my face before I came again.
“Let’s see here…oh my! You are quite the popular little boy! My coven just cannot get enough of your soft, ticklish feet and your big, throbbing cock! Would you like to hear what they’re saying?” She asked with a grin evident in her voice. And although I shook my head violently, she giggled and continued. “Good boy. Ooh! Here’s a fun one.”
Mother cleared her throat. “This one is from Miss Sarah Sanderson. You remember her, don’t you?”
And I did. I remembered Miss Sanderson, with her low-cut top, her long blonde hair, and her teasing voice and wandering hands. How she used to find excuses to pinch my sides and scribble her fingers in my armpits. How she once put me in a trance and made me sit and watch as she tickled my toes with a nightmarish game of “This Little Piggy”, refusing me even the relief of laughter. Over and over, for an entire evening until my mother arrived to take me home.
How they both laughed when she recounted the story to Mother, then laughed even harder when they saw how red my cheeks burned.
“She says: Such a good boy! So soft and sweet. Make sure you tease his piggies for me, I do so love to hear him squeal What a nice message, and what a fun idea! You’d like that, wouldn’t you, babe?” Mother asked, her foot sliding up my cheek and pinching my nose between her toes. Her warm skin felt cool when my cheeks burned with shame. “How about another one? This is from that sweet girl, Rosie, from high school.”
That “sweet girl” had been my biggest bully. A wicked redhead with thick thighs, and thicker feet, who loved to tease and torment me after catching me with an erection one summer. She loved to humiliate me in front of our classmates, putting her feet on my desk or lap, asking me in a loud voice if I was going to suck her toes.
I still remember the time she pinned me down during study hall, sitting on my back with my face stuffed in her bare, sweaty feet. How she grabbed my flailing leg and stripped off my shoe and sock, then tickled me without mercy. No matter how much I screamed or cried or begged, no one did anything to help.
The teacher just rolled his eyes and went back to reading the newspaper. My classmates laughed and pointed, some of them filming my humiliation on their phones.
Mother’s voice brought me back to the present. “Rosie says: Suck his pinky toes! It makes him cum like a geyser! Here’s a hundred dollars to make this little bitch boy scream. Isn’t that nice? And so generous! Hm? Oh, look here! Someone responded. Annabelle. That name is familiar, isn’t it?”
My body betrayed me, and I came again. Annabelle, blonde and tan, athletic and popular, had been my crush throughout high school. Again, I was jerked back to that day in study hall.
I’d finally gotten the courage to sit beside her and talk to her. Somehow, I was charming and confident; somehow I even made her laugh. Then, Rosie saw my success and pinned me down. From my place, face down on the floor, smothered by her feet, I saw Annabelle’s just out of reach. Her long toes curled and flexed, creating a soft curtain of pink wrinkles across her baby soft soles.
She was laughing, just like the others, but then she whispered, “I would die. My feet are soooo ticklish!” to her friend. That moment played repeatedly in my wettest dreams to this very day. Why was she — how could she — be watching, too?
“I still regret not joining in back then. Rosie, we should get together and get a turn with his cute little feet! I’d love to help you make him cry! Here’s another fifty dollars! My, my, my! What a generous coven I have. It gives me an idea!” Mother shifted her position, bringing both feet atop my face, leaving just enough room for me to breathe.
“Let’s do a donation train! For every hundred — no that’s too high. Hm, fifty? Oh, let’s make sure everyone can have fun! For just five dollars, you can request how we should tickle my sweet little tickle boy! Doesn’t that sound fun? We’ll keep going until he passes out!” Mother giggled and wiggled her toes. “We’re getting so many fun requests! I just can’t wait!”
She continued reading off the suggestions and comments. But despite how horrible the tickling was, and how overwhelmingly amazing the constant orgasms felt, I had hope: I just needed to black out. And surely I would, right?
But something occurred to me.
I hadn’t grown tired yet. In fact, I still felt fresh as I had before we began. My throbbing cock, drained of its sixth orgasm, was neither aching, nor sore. My feet, licked and suckled by the trillion-tongued tentacles, were just as ticklish as ever.
That’s when I realized: the rune beneath me. It not only summoned the beast into the world, but was flooding me with vitality, refreshing my body, and refusing me the embrace of oblivion.
“Let’s start with those toe sucks Rosie talked about! Move over, Beast! I want a taste of my baby boy!” Mother said, pinching my nose one last time, then rising to her feet. As she approached mine, I realized all I could do was scream, and cry, and laugh, and cum until she grew bored with me.
But the thing seemed to grow more eager. And the chiming notifications from my mom’s stream told me that wouldn’t be anytime soon.
Word Count: 4,084
Illustration available on Deviant Art or Patreon for early access, or available on 12/9/25
“Come now, dear! It’s just a little favor, that’s all.” Mother assured me for the third time. While she wore a smile, the frustration was evident in her voice. She was growing tired of me refusing her, and she’d never been one to take rejection well. The heavy hand she laid on my shoulder, lithe, nimble fingers curling just enough for her sharp red nails to prick my skin, let me know I’d exhausted her patience.
“What…kind of favor was it, again?” I asked with a flinch. The grip on my shoulder tightened; her nails lightly scraped my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.
Her black-painted lips curled into a smile; her dark eyes narrowed like a cat eying a mouse. “Just a simple spell, darling. Why, I imagine you’ll quite enjoy it once we begin.” Her hand moved from my shoulder to my chin, tilting it up to look into her eyes with a single finger. “So, tell me, dear. Will you be a good boy and help your poor old mother with one measly little spell?” The pout she wore was the final instrument of my destruction.
With a beleaguered sigh, I rolled my eyes and nodded.
“If it will make you happy, Mother. I’ll help for a bit. But, I can’t stay long.” I added the last part with a hint of harshness in my voice. For some reason, my glare only made her grin seem wider.
“Such a good boy.” She cooed, brushing the hair from my face. “Shall we begin?”
I blinked.
“Wait, right now?”
Her grin grew sharp, like a shark eying its next meal.
I gulped and mentally cursed myself for being such a mama’s boy.
And so, that was how I ended up in my mother’s basement, bound in soft cotton cloth, covering me entirely save for three places: my head, eyes darting and stinging with sweat, my feet, bare, but still warm from the thick socks I’d been wearing, and my manhood, lovingly and carefully bound in such a way that every inch of my cock and balls was left exposed without giving the rest of me any relief.
The process had taken me by surprise at first — and who wouldn’t be shocked to hear their mother tell them to strip without warning — but those nervous feelings gave way to warm light-headedness as she wrapped me, one strip at a time with a touch so caring and tender that I couldn’t help but allow my held breath be squeezed from my lungs in a happy sigh.
“Comfy, baby?” She asked throughout the process. Her voice soft and soothing as a song, the words tickling my brain and easing the stiffness from my body.
“I don’t…this feels — I mean, it’s weird, isn’t it?”
“Aw, of course not, silly boy. You’re just helping Mommy with an experiment.”
“But, um…do I have to be naked? I mean, you’re my mom and—”
“And there isn’t an inch of you I haven’t seen before. You’re being silly.”
“I just…it’s wrong.”
“Do you feel good? Does it make you happy?”
“Um, well…I guess?”
With each time she asked, I answered more honestly, until my response was a simple moan of contentment. “Good boy,” she cooed and caressed my cheek. “See? I told you everything would be fine. You’re enjoying yourself, aren’t you?”
“Mmmhmm.” I was. Squirming in my cocoon, snug as a bug — as she used to say when tucking me in — my worries felt miles away. My restricted movement was a blessing, not a curse. With nothing to do but loll my head to and fro and wiggle my toes, it was as if every worry I’d ever had was too far away to be a bother anymore.
“Good. That makes Mommy so very happy.” She stroked my hair, my head resting on her lap, and bent down to kiss my forehead. “Now, are you ready to begin?”
“Hm?” The question didn’t quite make sense to my fog-ridden mind. I thought we were almost done? That this was just a strange little bondage game she’d found on the internet.
Mother chuckled. “Don’t tell me you forgot, silly boy?” Tutting, she shook her head and rose to her feet. From where I lay prone on the floor, I could hear the click-clack of her heels echoing against the stone floor with every measured step she took. Rhythmic as a metronome, pacing in a circle around me.
The fog in my brain thickened, my ears buzzing. She was speaking, but I could no longer make out the words. Instead, I felt them rumble through me and into the cold stone, heating it with every mumble and whisper. A green glow formed beneath me, casting the room in an otherworldly glow that made my spinning head felt lighter still.
“There we are.” Mother’s voice echoed all around me, bouncing between my ears as if my head were a faulty surround sound system. “The preparations are all complete. Now, just one — more — thing!” Her click-clacking footsteps came to a halt near my head.
I heard a shuffle, followed by the sound of her shoes sliding off her feet. The scent from her heels, earthy and strong, reached my nose and stirred me in my stupor. Strong, but alluring. A mix of sweat and soil and just a hint of jasmine. Like a rolling heat, it flooded my nostrils and spread southward, not content to rest in my lungs but far more interested in something more.
Try as I might to resist, I felt my exposed cock growing stiff as I breathed it in.
I was so enraptured by the smell that I didn’t notice she was gone. Not until I felt her nails — dreadfully long and fiendishly sharp — grazing the tops of my feet.
“Ah! C-careful!” I gasped, my voice somewhere between a moan and a squeak. My feet had always been terribly sensitive, a tidbit my mother knew all too well, wielding it against me in playful moments and fits of frustration alike. “Ti—tickles!”
Through the haze, I heard the first sound that almost dragged me back to the surface: a sinister giggle. Warning bells blared in my ears, still too soft to be heard through the buzzing fog.
“You are a sensitive little boy, aren’t you? Such soft, ticklish little footsies.” Though she spoke as she had when I was a boy, the playfulness in her voice carried a different weight now that I was a man grown.
A shiver ran through my helpless form; my toes scrunched and feet shifted, struggling in vain for one to cover the other. Unfortunately, I realized too late that she’d bound me so well, so tight, as to not even afford me that luxury.
“Ah, ah, ah! Naughty boy. There’s no hiding from Mommy’s tickles! I’ve a very hungry friend I’d like you to meet, but first we need to ease it from its hidey hole with a little cooooochie, coochie, cooooo!”
Her nails, tip-tapping along the tops of my feet, had worked me into a giggling fit within seconds. But when they suddenly swooped around and raked my soles, from the base of my toes, down to my plush heels, I arched my back with a bark of frantic laughter.
“Wahaha! W-wait! EEK! M-Mom! St-Stahahap!” The fog had turned pink, buzzing like vibrators against my bound flesh.
Her fingers crawled like spiders along the edges of my feet, nails tip-tapping just enough to be felt. They scurried along the tops of my feet, toward my ankles, back to my toes, and then she raked them down my soles again.
“Sta-HA-hap! Puh-LEASE! Thehehehe! This wa—wasn’t whahahat we tahahhaalked abowhowhowhowt!” My vision cleared with the first prickle of tears in the corners of my eyes. Her damnable rhythm refused to change.
Skitter. Scurry. Rake.
Skitter. Scurry. Rake.
The fog was all but gone, awakening me to the reality of my situation. I was bound, naked and helpless, in the basement, and my wicked witch of a mother had conned me into being tickled. Worst of all was the way my body reacted.
Every touch of her nails, every scrape across my soles, was like a direct line straight to my cock, sending a scandalous, electric message along the wire:
You’re being tickled. You’re getting hard.
As my cock rose to full attention, waving like a skyscraper in heavy wind as I rocked with what little movement I could manage, she was quick to notice.
“Such a happy boy! Our guest will be delighted to see that! They just loooove happy little boys with tickly-wickly little feetsies! Ah-gitchy goo! Gitchy gitchy, ticklish boy!” At last she changed tactics, and I immediately wished she hadn’t.
No longer content with scribbles and scrapes, her nails took to wandering the length of my soles. One moment she was squeezing my heels between her nails, kneading them as if they were soft, ticklish dough. The next, she teased my wiggling toes, chasing them from side to side with playful pinches and flicks of her nails across the round pads.
“STA—HAHAHA—hap! MAHAHAHAHAM! PLEASE! No! No! No mohohohohore!” The first tear trickled down my cheek, a light, but unbearable, tickle I couldn’t brush aside. Another followed. My flushed cheeks felt more sensitive in equal parts due to the magic still bouncing around my head, and the humiliation I felt as my struggling made my rock hard cock wag like a dog’s tail.
“Yes, yes, yes mohohohore!” Mother giggled and teased. “So much more! So many tickles for my boy! Tickle, tickle, tickles for my boy!” She leaned in, gripping the toes of my left foot to hold it taut, then dug her nails into my exposed arch. Short, staccato strokes right in the center.
I threw my head back in breathless mirth, forcing air into my lungs just for it to be expelled again in another peel of increasingly hysteric laughter. All the times she’d tickled me before now felt like a fond memory, even the time she pinned my ankles to the arm of the couch with her chest and raked my feet until I couldn’t breathe.
At least back then, escape had been possible, if not probable. With some hidden well of strength, I might have fought my way free. But trapped in the dark, bound as I was, not even that miraculous escape was possible.
I was no longer a man grown, but a mere face and pair of wiggling feet to laugh and be tickled.
“Ah! Here they coooome! Are you ready, my happy boy?” Mother’s voice, sickeningly sweet as ever, dragged me from the depths of my despair.
Forcing open my eyes, a scream of terror, pierced through my unbridled laughter.
“WAHAHAHAHT THE FAHAHAHACK IS THAHAHAHAT?!”
Above me now was a hole. Not in the ceiling or wall, but a gaping black hole in the space where the air once was. And within that hole, a pair of curious eyes was watching me.
“Our guest, silly boy!” Mother replied with the most wicked giggle ever uttered. “And I suppose now would be the right time to let you know, this little moment isn’t just for us, my happy boy.”
Terror gripped my heart; my cock began to leak.
“That’s riiiight! Mommy didn’t want to have you all to herself. No, no, no! These tickly wittle feetsies and that big, happy cock of yours need to be shared!”
A spectral hand, once formed from magic but resembling hers perfectly, took me by the chin and turned my head. There, on a tripod in the corner, was her cell phone. Fresh tears welled up in my eyes, and my struggles grew more fierce, the flailing of my cock flicking strings of precum.
“Smile for the camera, sweetie! I’m broadcasting this ritual for all my followers.” As the words left her lips, her nails suddenly dug into the space between my toes.
My voice cracked as my laughter reached a fever pitch. Not there. Not there. NOT THERE! I wanted to scream, to beg, to promise her the world if she would stop. But all that came out was a garbled mess of laughter. “BAAAA—HAHAHAHA! NAHAHA—HAHA! NAHAHA—HAHAHA!”
Her deception revealed, Mother spoke not just to me, but to the eager eyes watching my suffering — those within the dark hole, and those on the other end of their screens.
“He’s always been such a tickly boy! Why, you should have seen the look on his face the first time I pinched his wittle piggies and tickled him riiiiight here!” Mother pinched my pinky toes with her thumb and middle fingers, then dug her pointers into the space between. Her touch had long since lost its comfort and tenderness. Now, all she wanted from me were my screams.
My hips bucked; my back arched. Bouncing my ass and shaking my head, I fought harder than I ever had before. Not just to escape the devilish drilling of her nails into my flesh, but to try to cast aside the building pressure in my throbbing member.
“HAHAAAA—HAHAHAHA! NOOOOOOOOO! TOHO—HOHO TEHEHE—TEHEHECKLISH! TOO MAHAHAHA! TOO MUCH!”
An eruption bubbled at the tip. Warning trails dripped down my shaft, adding yet another layer to my ticklish torment. But I knew I had to hold back. I had to resist. Because if I were to give into carnal pleasure and let myself cum, I’d never be able to show my face again. Not when however many people watched me be tickled to orgasm.
And worse, I feared that my release would not be the end of my suffering, and I dreaded to think of what Mother, or that thing on the other side of the hole, might do to my overstimulated cock.
Then Mother gasped. My blood turned to ice, and my body froze.
“Look at that, baby! It looks like someone wants to plaaay!”
From within the hole, the thing had grown curious enough to creep to the edge. Thick purple tentacles reached from the darkness and, as its face drew close enough, I could see the gleam of its wide, grinning face. Its mouth fell open, revealing a long, slobbering tongue.
“NO! NOHOHOHO! MAHAHAHAHAM! MAHAHAHAKE IT STAHAHAP!” I screamed; I begged. I prayed with all my heart that she’d find mercy in hers. But instead of casting away the creature, she simply laughed as its appendages stroked my throbbing cock.
The texture wasn’t at all what I expected. Cold and wet, yes, but instead of sticky suckers, it felt like a hundred billion little tongues, gleefully lapping with every caress. And when it wrapped around my shaft and gave it a firm jerk, all that remained of my resistance and dignity was lost in the flood that followed.
“FA—HAAAAAAACK!” I threw my head back, hitting the floor — the stone was like a soft, downy pillow now. Likely thanks to my mother’s magic to protect me, and keep me from passing out — and flinging spittle from my lips. My cock, already pushed to the brink, erupted with an orgasm the likes of which I’d never imagined possible.
My hips tried to thrust, to sink deeper into the thing’s grip, but two more tentacles, from holes I hadn’t noticed, grabbed me and pinned me to the floor. Then, it moved its grip to the head of my cock and squeezed.
Laughter was no longer possible. All that came from my lips was a glass-shattering scream. My cockhead, already hyper-sensitive as it continued to loose its load, burned with pleasure as a hundred billion tongues lapped at its every inch and kissed its spewing slit.
Through water-blurred eyes, I could see the thing lapping up the geyser of cum, licking its lips and reaching toward me with even more tentacles. Its grin had grown hungrier.
“Congratulations, baby! It likes you! But…hm…” Mother paused her tickling to tap her chin. But no relief came, as the thing’s tentacles soon took her place. Pinning my toes with smaller ones, sliding between them with some even smaller. They lapped up and down my soles, never lingering in one place too long.
If the hundred billion tongues in the single tentacle on my cock was Hell, the trillions on my soles were some kind of fresh new Super Hell. Before I had time to recover from the first orgasm, I was already cumming again, an act that only made my helpless feet and tender cock even more sensitive.
Even in my disoriented, barely coherent state, I could feel a new loop forming. With every orgasm, I grew more ticklish. And as I grew more ticklish, I came quicker, and harder.
Suddenly, my screeching laughter was muffled by a pair of damp, thick stockings being stuffed into my mouth. The taste and scent of sweat assaulted my nose and tongue, and in my desperation, I couldn’t help but swallow heaving gulps.
Through bleary eyes, I saw my mother’s face close to mine. Her face was flushed, her eyes glowing in the dark. “You’ve been awfully noisy.” She shook her head and tutted. “Naughty boy. But don’t worry! We still have plenty of fun left. Our friend has quite a taste for you. We simply must gather a sample or two. Why, I might even keep some for myself! Never know when it might come in handy.” She giggled and bit her lip. “Maybe an hour…or a day…gosh, it’s been so long since you visited, why don’t we make it a week? Well. Surely no longer than a year, I promise.”
Screaming into the gag — choking on the taste of her feet, I feel a renewed surge of stamina in my tired cock. How I still possessed the strength to grow harder eluded me. — I shook my head violently.
Mother leaned down and kissed my cheek. “Good boy. Now, I think our guest wants to play a game.” Behind her, a group of tentacles approached, several of Mother’s shoes in their grip. “You see, they just looooove the way you squirt and squirm, and are just so excited to find out what will really,” her voice lowered and her smile turned wicked, “make you scream.”
She gave my head one last pat, then slid to her feet and strolled out of view. “They’re just heavenly, aren’t they? I’ll want another turn soon, but first—” And then, without warning, she plopped down next to my head, stretching out her legs and pressing her bare feet up against my face.
All at once, my senses were assaulted on multiple levels. Her soft, supple soles, slick with sweat and squishing against my cheek, stoked the fire in my loins. Combined with the slight scent, softer than that of her shoes or stockings, but more recent, more real, it was mere seconds of caressing my face before I came again.
“Let’s see here…oh my! You are quite the popular little boy! My coven just cannot get enough of your soft, ticklish feet and your big, throbbing cock! Would you like to hear what they’re saying?” She asked with a grin evident in her voice. And although I shook my head violently, she giggled and continued. “Good boy. Ooh! Here’s a fun one.”
Mother cleared her throat. “This one is from Miss Sarah Sanderson. You remember her, don’t you?”
And I did. I remembered Miss Sanderson, with her low-cut top, her long blonde hair, and her teasing voice and wandering hands. How she used to find excuses to pinch my sides and scribble her fingers in my armpits. How she once put me in a trance and made me sit and watch as she tickled my toes with a nightmarish game of “This Little Piggy”, refusing me even the relief of laughter. Over and over, for an entire evening until my mother arrived to take me home.
How they both laughed when she recounted the story to Mother, then laughed even harder when they saw how red my cheeks burned.
“She says: Such a good boy! So soft and sweet. Make sure you tease his piggies for me, I do so love to hear him squeal What a nice message, and what a fun idea! You’d like that, wouldn’t you, babe?” Mother asked, her foot sliding up my cheek and pinching my nose between her toes. Her warm skin felt cool when my cheeks burned with shame. “How about another one? This is from that sweet girl, Rosie, from high school.”
That “sweet girl” had been my biggest bully. A wicked redhead with thick thighs, and thicker feet, who loved to tease and torment me after catching me with an erection one summer. She loved to humiliate me in front of our classmates, putting her feet on my desk or lap, asking me in a loud voice if I was going to suck her toes.
I still remember the time she pinned me down during study hall, sitting on my back with my face stuffed in her bare, sweaty feet. How she grabbed my flailing leg and stripped off my shoe and sock, then tickled me without mercy. No matter how much I screamed or cried or begged, no one did anything to help.
The teacher just rolled his eyes and went back to reading the newspaper. My classmates laughed and pointed, some of them filming my humiliation on their phones.
Mother’s voice brought me back to the present. “Rosie says: Suck his pinky toes! It makes him cum like a geyser! Here’s a hundred dollars to make this little bitch boy scream. Isn’t that nice? And so generous! Hm? Oh, look here! Someone responded. Annabelle. That name is familiar, isn’t it?”
My body betrayed me, and I came again. Annabelle, blonde and tan, athletic and popular, had been my crush throughout high school. Again, I was jerked back to that day in study hall.
I’d finally gotten the courage to sit beside her and talk to her. Somehow, I was charming and confident; somehow I even made her laugh. Then, Rosie saw my success and pinned me down. From my place, face down on the floor, smothered by her feet, I saw Annabelle’s just out of reach. Her long toes curled and flexed, creating a soft curtain of pink wrinkles across her baby soft soles.
She was laughing, just like the others, but then she whispered, “I would die. My feet are soooo ticklish!” to her friend. That moment played repeatedly in my wettest dreams to this very day. Why was she — how could she — be watching, too?
“I still regret not joining in back then. Rosie, we should get together and get a turn with his cute little feet! I’d love to help you make him cry! Here’s another fifty dollars! My, my, my! What a generous coven I have. It gives me an idea!” Mother shifted her position, bringing both feet atop my face, leaving just enough room for me to breathe.
“Let’s do a donation train! For every hundred — no that’s too high. Hm, fifty? Oh, let’s make sure everyone can have fun! For just five dollars, you can request how we should tickle my sweet little tickle boy! Doesn’t that sound fun? We’ll keep going until he passes out!” Mother giggled and wiggled her toes. “We’re getting so many fun requests! I just can’t wait!”
She continued reading off the suggestions and comments. But despite how horrible the tickling was, and how overwhelmingly amazing the constant orgasms felt, I had hope: I just needed to black out. And surely I would, right?
But something occurred to me.
I hadn’t grown tired yet. In fact, I still felt fresh as I had before we began. My throbbing cock, drained of its sixth orgasm, was neither aching, nor sore. My feet, licked and suckled by the trillion-tongued tentacles, were just as ticklish as ever.
That’s when I realized: the rune beneath me. It not only summoned the beast into the world, but was flooding me with vitality, refreshing my body, and refusing me the embrace of oblivion.
“Let’s start with those toe sucks Rosie talked about! Move over, Beast! I want a taste of my baby boy!” Mother said, pinching my nose one last time, then rising to her feet. As she approached mine, I realized all I could do was scream, and cry, and laugh, and cum until she grew bored with me.
But the thing seemed to grow more eager. And the chiming notifications from my mom’s stream told me that wouldn’t be anytime soon.
Last edited:
