FreakyFieryFeline
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When the formerly undefeated superheroine, Nightwatch, is captured by her arch-nemesis, what starts as a bit of light hero work quickly escalates into the most harrowing night of her life. The Professor knows her weakness: Nightwatch is invincible, but Kira Heart is dreadfully ticklish.
Word Count: 6,460
M/F | Foot Tickling | Nylon Tickling | Superheroine | Tickle Torture | Illustration available on DeviantArt and Patreon!
This was supposed to be easy.
Just another clash with the Professor. She’d done it tens of times before without breaking a sweat. So, how had it come to this? How had she been so stupid and ended up in a situation like this?
Hands pulled back and tied behind her head, ankles locked in a set of heavy metal stocks. Alone in the dark, save for an oppressive fluorescent spotlight that stung her eyes.
Footsteps approached, echoing loud and hollow in the dark. No urgency. Always the same rhythm. They came to a halt at the edge of the light. Staring at her. Staring through her.
She knew she was invincible. Nevertheless, somehow, in that unseen gaze, she felt something sinister that sent a chill down her spine. The heroine swallowed the nervous lump in her throat, desperately searching her memories for where she screwed up and what she could do now.
Her name was Kira Heart. An unassuming twenty-four-year-old medical student with green eyes, shoulder-length brown hair, and a dusting of freckles across her button nose. Until two years ago, her life was anything but spectacular. She lived in a small apartment and spent the time when she wasn’t in class working at the local bookstore. She avoided making waves, and was satisfied with the direction in which her life was headed.
Until one night, while walking home from work, she noticed an oddly bright shooting star. Before she could make a wish, it crashed down nearby with a thunderous boom. Kira rushed to check it out, and that was when she discovered the meteorite: a purple chunk of space rock that infused her with ultra-super powers that turned her ordinary life extraordinary.
At just five-feet-four-inches tall, Kira had never been strong or sturdy. But a single touch and a flash of violet light later, she discovered she was strong enough to bend steel, lift cars, and withstand a hail of gunfire as if it were packing peanuts. No more needing a step stool to reach her top shelf, as a simple bend of her knees allowed her to take to the sky and soar amongst the clouds.
But with great power came a need to use them responsibly. Her little town wasn’t a hotbed for crime and villainy, but it was the perfect place to put her newfound abilities into practice. Initially, she’d disguised herself with an assortment of hoodies and winter wear from her closet, but when the Summer sun grew too much to bear, and she’d saved up some money, she commissioned a suit of her own from someone who knew how to keep a secret.
Clad in a form-fitting purple bodysuit, comfortable gray shorts (with practical pockets), a thin mask to match, a pair of neon green chucks, and a thin, purple mask to keep her identity hidden, the local superheroine, Nightwatch, made her official debut to a smattering of applause and one very happy old lady whose mobility scooter broke down on the way home from the grocery store.
Most of her earliest endeavors were of similar scale. The usual superhero fare — saving cats from trees, walking drunkards home from the bar, helping lost children find their way back home — was fulfilling for a time. But, after two years of low stakes chores, Nightwatch longed for a real challenge. Her powers had made her borderline invincible, but with nothing to wield her strength against, they felt superfluous.
Her wish was finally granted with the arrival of a mad scientist known as the Professor. A genius with a robot army, marching into town as if were the state capital. That first clash had been the greatest rush of Nightwatch’s young life, battering her fists against the metal monstrosities until, after an hour, she emerged victorious to thunderous cheers.
From that day onward, they battled for control of the city. His machines growing ever more deadly, his plans ever more complex; her skill becoming more refined, her powers stronger with each encounter.
It was clear from their last encounter, that the Professor was growing frustrated with the status quo. While Nightwatch viewed their struggle as a game, he let her know with no uncertainty that he would defeat her. And when she fell, the world would soon follow.
In the interview after he was taken away, Nightwatch couldn’t resist laughing at his declaration, assuring both the town and the Professor that he would never defeat her.
She never imagined how things could go so horribly wrong, so quickly.
That night, she received a notification that a new group of robots were spotted near campus. A grin came to her lips, followed by an eager squeal. Kira leaped from her bed, squatting next to her nightstand and pulling open the drawer. Inside was the purple meteorite. She rubbed her hands together, breathing in them to warm them up, then laid them on the warm, smooth surface.
A violet glow enveloped her body. Kira’s secret, her one weakness, was that the gift granted by the meteorite wasn’t permanent. With every use, her powers dwindled. To circumvent that limitation, she made sure to charge up two to three times a week. With the Professor’s latest threat, and her brazen rebuttal, she didn’t dare face him again without being at peak performance.
“There we go,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief as she pulled her hands away. She clenched her fists, feeling strength brimming within her like a volcano on the verge of erupting. “Alright, Professor. Since you can’t seem to stay in jail, I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
Kira giggled and turned to her closet. In the back, behind a hidden panel, was her suit. As she pulled it on, she couldn’t help but giggle again. Life had become so exciting, like something out of a comic book. Though she knew it wasn’t particularly heroic of her, she’d come to enjoy these clashes with the Professor. To feel the crumbling of steel beneath her knuckles and watch the wicked glimmer fading from his eyes, realizing that he’d been beaten once again by cute, soft-spoken little Kira Heart.
Of course, to him she was the indomitable Nightwatch. That last little part was just for her.
The rest of her suit secured, Kira sat down on the edge of her bed and brought one knee to her chest. The bodysuit left her legs exposed, a choice on which she’d insisted. One of Kira’s little secrets was her love of nylon fabric. The smooth, silky feel was like a soft hug for her legs and feet. Just as much as the feel, she loved the way they looked, and, in a rare bit of vanity, enjoyed the idea of people seeing her in them. Beyond simply feeling great against her skin, she loved the elegant, sensual confidence they instilled in her.
That night, she opted for a pair that would, unfortunately, go unseen. Despite that drawback, they were her favorites: extremely thin, sheer nylon socks. Bright orange, standing out against her peach skin. The way they accentuated her dainty feet — Kira often described herself as plain-looking, but her feet were the one part of her body she loved, one she’d always taken great strides to maintain and show off — made her cheeks hot and her skin tingle.
What she wouldn’t give to show them off in her favorite socks. But, the fabric wasn’t designed for combat, and she wouldn’t risk them for such a stupid reason.
“Let’s do this.” Nightwatch slipped on her chucks and slipped out her window, floating to the rooftop and standing on the edge. She looked over the horizon and, in a moment of self-indulgence, laid her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “Look out, Professor. Your wickedness won’t escape the unwavering gaze of Nightwatch!”
She giggled and shook her head, taking to the sky and rocketing toward campus. Her heroism may have been the real deal, but her catchphrase was still a work in progress.
“Ah, Nightwatch…how I’ve longed for us to meet like this.” The Professor said as he stepped into the light. He was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, neatly combed and parted to one side. True to his namesake, he wore a long, glowing lab coat, with thick, rectangular glasses that always gleamed in the light to obscure his eyes. Black slacks, shiny shoes, and an ill-fitting pair of bright purple rubber gloves completed his otherwise uninspired wardrobe.
Nightwatch frowned, her head still reeling to figure out how she’d ended up here. The fight had been simple enough; the robots crushed as easily as tin cans. But then, at the last minute, something struck her, and the world went dark.
The Professor chuckled. “I can see it on your face. You’re wondering how you got here and where here is, aren’t you?”
“That would be a start.” Nightwatch said. She flinched at the sound of her slurred speech and shook her head to clear away the cobwebs. “Once you’ve answered those questions, let me know which part of your butt, specifically, you’d like me to kick once I get out.” Fists clenched. Muscles tensed. She strained against her restraints for a full minute before giving up with a huff.
“Ah, ah, ah…don’t think you’ll be getting free so easily.” The Professor said with another sinister laugh. He walked closer, resting his hand atop the heavy stocks around her ankles. “All this time, I’ve been studying you. Testing your resistance to different toxins and chemicals, storing them in my machines so that they’d spray you as you recklessly smashed them. As you so love doing,” he added with a low growl.
“I saw what made you sneeze, what made you stumble, and with a bit of ingenuity and luck, I concocted a new serum strong enough to knock you out and restrict your nervous system. Not to worry though, you’re no less invulnerable — trust me, I checked — just a bit unfocused. And this?” He rapped his knuckles against the stocks. “Is a new metal alloy. Stronger than any known to man, stronger than even my strongest machines. In your current state, you’ll find they are quite unbreakable.
Nightwatch grit her teeth and narrowed her eyes, straining with all the strength she could muster to try to get free. Twisting left, then right. Kicking her legs and bucking her hips. But no matter how she struggled, what he said was true — she couldn’t get free. A rush of anger swelled inside her when the Professor laughed again.
“Congratulations. You’ve delayed your butt kicking until your fancy NyQuil wears off. Good for you. What happens now? You know I’m going to get free. And when I do, I’m going to deck you right in the schnoz.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. You do so love flaunting that superior strength of yours, don’t you?” The Professor paced around the chair. Hands folded behind his back. Eyes raised to the ceiling. “As to what I want? Simple. I want you to tell me where you’ve hidden that fascinating little space rock of yours. My machines need a new power source, and I think yours would be splendid.”
Nightwatch laughed. “And why would I tell you that?” She craned her neck, attempting to fix him with her most incredulous stare. Inside, she was terrified to know that he’d somehow learned about the meteorite. But frightening as that knowledge was, it would do him little good considering, “You still can’t hurt me. You said it yourself.”
“Oh yes. You are quite impervious to pain.”
“I am. You know that firsthand. Well, not you, since you’re just a cowardly egghead who hides in a tower while you send your little toys to do your dirty work.” Nightwatch smirked and sat back, making a show of settling into her seat. “How many toys do I have to break before you learn your lesson, old man?”
“You arrogant, impetuous little — “ The Professor paused in front of her and cut himself off with a deep breath. When he released it, his scowl curled into an eerie smile. “You are impervious to pain. So I thought: what else could I do to gain your cooperation? And then I had something of an epiphany.” He stroked his chin and raised his gaze to the ceiling. “It was ridiculous and foolish, but after some consideration, I realized that made it perfect for dealing with someone as ridiculous and foolish as you.”
Nightwatch sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh my gosh! Do you just love to hear yourself talk? Tick-tock, old man! Your serum won’t last all night! Get on with embarrassing yourself already.”
Perhaps it was ridiculous and foolish of her to be so flippant, but the unbroken string of victories in her wake gave Nightwatch the confidence she needed to see through his bluff. Nothing could hurt her — dynamite blasts, laser beams capable of cutting steel, even diving into an active volcano had failed to so much as faze her — and he was the one on a strict time limit.
The longer he spent yapping, the sooner the drug would wear off and the butt-kicking could begin. She smirked at him when he lowered his gaze back to hers.
“Quite right, Nightwatch. Our time is short, a few hours at most, so we’d best get this show on the road.” The Professor’s hand reached toward the stocks once more, before diverting to her left shoe. He pinched the laces between his fingers and began to methodically untie them.
“What are you doing?” She asked, her toes subconsciously clenching.
“It’s quite simple, really.” The Professor finished undoing the knot and let the laces fall from his fingers. “I’m going to tickle your feet, Nightwatch.”
Like a bathtub being unplugged, the color drained from Nightwatch’s face. Her foot shook, toes clenching even tighter in a futile, desperate attempt to hold on to her shoe. Mouth dry. Throat tight. She swallowed and forced a crooked, half-hearted grin to her face.
“W-Wait that’s it? Wow! Oh wow, hahaha!” Nightwatch laughed — a bit too loud — and shook her head, a bit too forcefully. “Th-that’s your big, scary master plan? Drug me and tickle me? A-are you, like, a Saturday morning cartoon villain? Wh-Where’s your mustache, huh? Got any damsels tied to train tracks, too?” Nightwatch fell silent as the Professor left her shoe on, but moved to the other one, untying it with the same slowness.
“My, Nightwatch, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you sound quite distressed.” He chuckled and shook his head, unraveling the bow and dropping the strings. “I must say, this was quite a shot in the dark for me. But, a bullseye, it would seem, based on your reaction.”
“Reaction? W-what reaction? I’m not having a reaction at all!” Nightwatch clenched both toes, her feet visibly trembling now. She sucked in a sharp hiss through her teeth when she felt his grip on the heel of her shoes. “I mean, it’s a st-stupid plan, anyway! I’m, like, not even ticklish! E-Even before I got my powers! Nope, nope, nope, not ticklish at all!”
But the obvious truth was that Nightwatch, Kira Heart, was desperately, horribly, deathly ticklish. No amount of false bravado could mask the quiver in her voice or stop the beads of sweat from rolling down her temple. And nowhere on her sensitive body was more ticklish than her precious, baby soft feet.
Memories flashed in her mind.
Cousins roughhousing, pinning her down and digging their grubby fingers into her arches; aunts and uncles watching and laughing while she trashed and cried for help.
Friends playfully scribbling their nails across her soles at the pool, teasing her relentlessly for how she shrieked and squealed.
Julie Smith pinning her arms and covering her mouth in the back of chemistry while Mitch Mitchelson dusted her toes with a feather — an experience that went on for nearly ten minutes and still haunted her to this day.
Kira loved her beautiful feet, but there was no denying that they were both her greatest pride and her greatest weakness. One that she never imagined would come back to bite her.
Back in the present, Nightwatch swallowed the grapefruit-sized lump in her throat. She scrunched her toes, pressing them with all her strength against the soles of her shoes. But her best efforts amounted to nothing, and with a gentle pomf, her shoe slid off her foot. Her toes wiggled and flexed, trembling as the cool air hit the damp nylon.
“My, my…what adorable little socks. Not very practical, don’t you think?” The Professor asked. He dropped her shoe to the floor without so much as a second glance, then moved onto the second one.
The sheer terror that Nightwatch felt having her foot exposed stole her strength to fight back as the last defense she had was stripped away. The second shoe hit the floor. Both feet exposed, her toes flexed and wiggled. Their shiny white polish a gorgeous contrast to the neon orange of her socks.
“Look at those little toes go. For someone who isn’t ticklish, they seem to be dreadfully frightened, don’t you think?” The Professor reached forward.
Nightwatch’s feet jerked back. Trembling; toes clenched. The stocks held fast.
“Such pretty little feet. High arches, smooth heels. Soft, supple, blushing skin. And these toes! Round little things that descend oh-so-gracefully from the plump big toes all the way down to these scrumptious little ones.” As he spoke, he tapped her toes, one at a time, from biggest to smallest. Every touch caused her feet to jerk and Nightwatch’s jaw to clench. “Such dainty, elegant little feet for such a mouthy, obnoxious little brat.”
Sucking in short, shallow breaths through her nose, Nightwatch fought to choke down a whimper. His index finger lingered on her pinky toe; his thumb close enough to clamp down on it. She wanted to be brave, to pretend it didn’t bother her. But — and knowing this made her whole body and soul burn ruby red with embarrassment — if he so much as threatened her with a whisper of “This Little Piggie” she’d come unraveled.
“Not to worry, Nightwatch.” The Professor’s voice pierced her panicked thoughts, pulling her attention back to his face. “I can feel you shaking. See you sweating. I’ll come back to these little toes soon enough. For now, though…”
“I’m really n-not t-ticklish…” She said in a whimpering tone.
“Maybe you aren’t.” His hand slid away from her foot.
She very nearly relaxed.
Then he continued, “But what kind of man of science would I be if I did not test my hypothesis? After all, I’ve heard it said that sheer nylons, such as these, can sometimes make even the slightest tickling absolutely unbearable. If someone weren’t ticklish, the lack of friction, the vibrations, might make them giggle.”
Nightwatch closed her eyes. Kira opened them again, her lips pulling back in a panicked grimace. She’d never been tickled in her beloved nylons. Her bare feet were already sensitive enough to reduce her to tears. “W-wait…p-please d-d…”
“A ticklish person? Why…that might make it positively unbearable. Don’t you think? I appreciate your cooperation with this test. I think it might prove most enlightening for us both.”
“Wait! Wait, wait wahahahait!” The very first touch was enough for Kira’s resistance to crumble. A single gloved finger pressing into her heel and slowly, ever-so-slowly, working its way up the length of her sole was all it took for her to sputter and giggle. Her frantic giggles grew in pitch and urgency when the Professor wiggled the tip of his finger, digging it into her sole.
“Would you look at that?” The Professor tickled all the way up Kira’s big toe — an act that caused her to squeal and shake her head — then pulled his hand away. “Why, Nightwatch, dear, I do believe you aren’t just ticklish. You appear to be very, very ticklish. Fascinating.”
Kira wiggled her toes and shook her foot to chase away the lingering ticklish sensation. He’d been telling the truth. Her nylons did, in fact, make it so much worse than she expected. Not an ounce of friction, the fabric buzzing with every scratch of his nail, creating ticklish vibrations across the entirety of her sole.
Just a single finger. There was no way she could survive more.
“Wait! W-wait, wait, wait!” Kira swallowed and shook her head. “D-don’t do this. It’s r-really — it’s not going to w-work. O-okay!” She nodded her head. “Y-you’re right. I’m t-ticklish. B-but, that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you, s-so you might as well j-just g-gihihihihive uhuhuhup nohohohow!”
The finger had returned, Not content to simply trace the length of her sole again, it drew figure eights, wide, swooping patterns, and wrote chemical formulae into her sole. When it reached her toes again, it scratched the fleshy pad of her big toe, chasing it wherever it wiggled to try to escape.
Kira tried to fight back. But no matter how much strength she summoned, the stocks refused to budge, and her giggles flowed freely.
“Stahahap! EEK! Aaaah — hahahaha! Pl-Pl — EEK! — Cuhuhuhut it ohohohout!” She threw her head back, squealing as a second finger joined the first. The dastardly duo settled in the slope of her arch, plucking and scratching as if he were playing a bass guitar. Through watering eyes, Kira peered into the Professor’s gleaming glasses.
His eyes were still obscured. There was a grin on his face. One that grew as he added yet another finger and her shoulders started shaking with unbridled laughter.
“The mighty, mighty Nightwatch. Normally so strong, so confident. But now, look at you! Just a pathetic, squealing little girl.” He chuckled and regarded his free hand, holding it up so that she could see. Then, he lowered it toward her other foot.
Kira shook her head. “Nohohoho! No, no, no! Stahahahap! I’ll mahahahake yohohohou pahahahaha — PAY! — mahahahake you pahahahay for thihihihis! AHHH! HAHAHA!” She lurched forward as much as her restraints would allow, giggling rising to a full-bellied cackle as five fingers pinched and squeezed her heel. On the other foot, the remaining fingers joined in, scribbling up to the ball of her foot.
“Is that so? Well, then, I suppose I should make the most of this chance, shouldn’t I? Perhaps after an hour or two, we can quell that temper of yours.” He suddenly brought both sets of fingers right to the middle of her soles, digging in hard. “Or, at the very least, deflate that unearned ego.”
“YAHAHAHAHA! ST-STAHAHA —” Kira clenched her eyes shut and lowered her head, struggling to curl up her body and suppress her laughter. She managed to last about three seconds before her quivering lips split into a grin. With a snort, she threw her head back with laughter. “Nahahahaha! NAHAHAHAHA! I’ll — I’ll gehehehe — EEE! HEHEHEHE! — Gehehehet yoohohohohou!
Suddenly, the hands pulled back. The exhausted heroine went limp, gasping and sucking air into her lungs. Her toes wiggled and scrunched, her feet rubbing together in a futile, desperate act to find safety. Still giggling, she peered up at him.
“Still some fight left in you?” He was walking away, disappearing into the shadows. Something moved. A loud screech, then a slam. When he returned, there was a wooden beard brush with coarse bristles in his hand. “I should have expected as much. To be honest, I’m glad you’re resisting. If you gave in too soon, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy your suffering.”
“W-What’s th-that?” Kira bit her lip and cleared her throat. Nightwatch opened her eyes, speaking in a pale imitation of her usual, cocky tone. “Are you going to brush my hair? I c-can handle th-that just fine, thanks. H-How about you untie my arms so I can sh-show you?”
Her blood ran cold when the Professor chuckled.
“Ah…there she is. There’s the Nightwatch I know.” He raised his hand and pointed a wagging finger at her. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me. Let’s keep that up a little longer, for the sake of the experiment.” At her feet again, he pinched her big toes between his fingers and pulled them back, stretching her soles taut.
“W-Wait…h-hang on j-just a second. J-just…” Kira — her confidence shrinking until it vanished — stammered out. She wasn’t sure just how bad a brush could tickle, but even if it didn’t tickle as much as his fingers, it was sure to be irritating at best.
“Hm? Ready to tell me where you’ve stored the meteorite, then? I am a reasonable man, Nightwatch. Give me the location, and this can all end.”
Her jaw clenched; muscles tensed. Kira tugged at her restraints with all her strength. And again, they refused her. She looked up at his gleaming lenses, replying with a curt shake of her head.
He grinned; she gulped.
“Very well. Just, be advised, I’m not going to ask again for quite some time. No matter how much you beg and plead to tell me. No, I think a lesson is in order. Now, observe.” The Professors’ grip on her big toes tightened. He brought the brush up to her trembling heel, lightly pressed the bristles into the nylon-clad skin. And swiped down.
Kira’s eyes nearly jumped out of her head, a high-pitched shriek bursting from her lips so abruptly she scared herself. A fluke. It — it had to be a fluke. Right? Just a — he swiped again.
“EEK!” She shrieked again. Not a fluke. Oh gosh, it wasn’t a fluke at all. It wasn’t as bad as his fingers. It was so. Much. Worse.
“Time to begin the demonstration. Feel free to laugh, Nightwatch. In fact, I encourage it!” The Professor’s grin reached the ends of his glasses as he began to scrub her heel in earnest.
“NAAAAHAHAHAHA! NO! NO NO NO! STAHAHAHAP! WAIT! WAHAHAHAHAIT!” Kira fell back in her seat. Her legs kicked, straining for every centimeter of slack they had. Hips pounding on her seat, fists clenched until her fingers hurt, she laughed. She laughed louder and harder than she ever had in her life.
Swish-swish. Swish-swish. Swish-swish.
A short scrub left, then right. Back and forth. Over and over at the same speed, like a metronome. The vibrations it sent rippling up her sole kept going ,shooting up her leg and barreling into her in a constant barrage of blistering, ticklish anguish.
“NOOHOHO! EEK! EEHEHEHE — AHAAHAHA! PL-PLEEEHEHEHEASE! STAHAHAHAP!” And just as she started to think she could get used to it, the brush moved. Swiping up the length of her sole, it scrubbed in a vertical rhythm along her arch.
Swish-swish-swish. Swish-swish-swish. Swish-swish-swish.
Three short scrubs. Up, down, up. Faster than before, but just as consistent. A current of ticklish sensation that had been unbearable escalated into an electric surge. Wearing down her weakened willpower with every scrub, picking her apart until she was a squirming, wailing mess.
And worst of all — growing worse by the second — were the vibrations created by her precious nylons. A prickling, tickling, buzz that covered her entire foot. There was no stinging pain, despite how hard he scrubbed, her delicate skin kept safe by a twisted combination of her favorite socks and the meteorite’s power still thrumming beneath her skin.
“YAAAAAHAHAHA — SNORT — AHAHAHAHAHAY CAHAHAHAHAN’T! HAHAHA!” Kira’s voice cracked and the first trickle of tears spilled down her cheeks. They felt cool against her flushed, aching cheeks. A meager relief in the deluge of mirthful agony coursing through her leg.
“You can’t? Oh, I don’t think so. I think you can. And I think you will.”
The brush moved again. Scrubbing horizontally across the ball of her foot. Her toes flexed and wiggled wildly, desperate to stay out of reach. It was close — too horribly close — now. But the hold the Professor kept on her big toes prevented her feet from doing much more than twitch.
Swish-swish-swish-swish. Swish-swish. Swish-swish-swish-swish. Swish-swish-swish.
Four scrubs, fast and furious. Two scrubs, one to the left — pause — one to the right. Four scrubs, fast and furious. Three short, quick scrubs. Right, left, right. The rhythm was too complicated for her to keep track of, blurring together and getting lost in the ticklish haze choking her thoughts.
Kira fell forward in her seat. “NAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHORE! PL-PLEE — EEEEHEHEHEHEK — PLEEEHEHEHEASE!” But the tickling just kept going. Close enough now that her frantic toes could feel the vibrations, a sensation that was somehow worse than scrubbing brush itself.
A thought she’d soon regret. After only a short detour to clean the ball of her foot, the brush moved up one last time. The Professor’s grip changed, pulling the five toes of her right foot back. Leaving their tender undersides completely unguarded.
The first scrub landed. Kira screamed.
“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! PLEASE NO! NOT MY TAAAAAAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAT MY TOHOHOHOHOES!” Another snort. Her laughter rose several octaves, coalescing into a single scream of ticklish laughter.
There were no more breaks. No more patterns or rhythms or games. Just a constant, non-stop swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish of the brush across her tiny toes. The pads were protected by the Professor’s grasp, but that was no relief to their tender stems and the vulnerable spaces between.
Lightning. More than a thunderstorm. More than a power plant. As if Zeus himself were unloading into her with fire and fury. The ticklish sensations, and the echoing nylon-vibrations, smothered every thought Kira had beneath an all-consuming need: Laugh.
And cry.
And scream.
And beg.
But above all: laugh.
“AHAHAHAHA! — SNORT — AAAAAHAHAHAHA! — SNORT — STAHAHAHAHAHAP! PLEHEHEHEASE NOHOHOHO MOHOHOHORE! IT TIHIHIHICKLES! IT TIIIIHIHIHICKLES!” On and on, the scrubbing went. Until her body turned weak and went limp. Until her eyes overflowed and a river of tears poured down her burning hot cheeks. Until her voice went quiet, reduced to sobbing, silent laughter.
Swish, swish, swish, swish, swish…
And after what felt like an eternity, it stopped.
The Professor released her toes and stepped back. He regarded her with a slight smile, turning the brush over in his hands. Patiently waiting as she giggled and squirmed, twitched and laughed.
Minutes passed before Kira could finally breathe again. She felt his gaze on her and lifted her weary head. The light reflected on his glasses, something she’d always mocked as a goofy cartoon trait, sent a rush of terror down her spine. Somehow, not being able to see the wicked eyes leering at her terrified her.
“The meteorite, Nightwatch?”
Unable to speak, her throat raw from laughing, her voice choked by tears, she shook her head. She was battered and frayed, pushed past her limits. But she wouldn’t give in. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction or the tool he needed to take over the world. Kira Heart may have been a sobbing, brutally ticklish girl, but Nightwatch was still an unshakeable heroine of justice.
Kira swallowed and whimpered, shaken when the Professor shrugged his shoulders and disappeared into the shadows again. When he returned, a strangled sob escaped her throat.
“No…no, no no…no please…plehehehase…” Kira scrambled in her seat with what little remained of her strength. Desperate. Frantic. Her toes clenched, her feet shook violently, struggling to pull away.
In his head, the Professor held a large fluffy feather. He pinched the tip and spun it between his fingers. “Now that is a reaction I hadn’t expected. I almost threw this out, thinking it would be a waste to use something so light at this point. But, I take it you’d do anything to keep this feather away from your little feet, wouldn’t you, Nightwatch?”
“No! No, no, no…please not…please not the feather. Please. Pleasepleaseplease…” Her voice broke, drowned by her tears. The memory of those ten Hellish minutes in the back of Chemistry came flooding back. Except this time, she couldn’t move. She couldn’t escape. There was no Mr. Green to save her. “Not the feather! Please don’t! N-not my feet, no. No, no, no! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t!”
“You are? Well…since you asked so nicely.” The Professor lowered his hand to his side, feather out of sight. There was a pause. Then —
“NO! NO NO NO! NAAHAHAHAHA! YOHOHOHOHO SAHAHAHAAID YOHOHO — AAAAAAAHAHAHA!” Kira screamed. Not a shrill, hysteric peal of laughter, but an ear-splitting wail of desperation. Her foot was frozen, paralyzed by its own sensitivity as the feather’s tip stroked the length of her sole. Nerves so frayed, she could only scream and laugh.
Julie Smith was pinning her arms. Mitch Mitchelson was making fun of her. And her kindly teacher had been replaced by the wicked Professor, watching with gleaming lenses and a tiny smirk. Nightwatch was gone. Kira Heart was drowning in her own ticklish anguish.
Such a soft touch, and yet somehow that was so much worse for her ultra-super sensitive skin. The faint buzz it created against the nylon, like ripples in the ocean building into a devastating tsunami, crashed into her all at once.
“AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHA! HAAHAHA! AAAAAAHAHAHAA!” She couldn’t speak. Her cute little snorts were gone. All that poured out of her was a broken faucet of screaming laughter.
And somehow — against all logic and reason — it grew louder, higher, when the feather reached her trembling toes. The feathering of her arch caused them to spread, trapping them as their nerves shut down to dedicate every ounce of their function to simply being tickled.
The fluffy tip brushed her big toe, drew little circles on the pad and painted the stem. Then it brushed against the gap between and repeated the process with the next toe. Down the line, each more horrible than the last. The Professor spent an extra long time teasing her little toe, using precise, flicking strokes to smother every inch.
Then, in an act of cruelty so profound that part of Kira’s brain shut down for a moment, he swiped it side-to-side, along the undersides of her toes.
“NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAHA! AAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHA! NAAAAAAHAHAHA! TAHAHAHAHAHALK!” She wanted to form the words, wanted to give him anything he desired. Kira would move the sun and stars, part the seas, and tear down the moon to make him stop. But she just. Couldn’t. Say. The words.
“How pitiful. A mere feather is all it takes to defeat — hah, perhaps I should say de-feet? — the mighty Nightwatch. Such a pathetic excuse for a hero.” The Professor continued dusting her toes for several minutes more. All the while wearing a cruel little smirk on his face.
Swiiish…swiiish…swiiish…swiiish…
“AHAHAHAHAHAHALL TAAAHAHAHAHAHA — AAAAAAHAHAHAHA — AHAHAHALK!” With a monumental effort, Kira forced out those two broken words. There was no fight left in her, nothing but a desire to sink into the ground and never see the light again. Anything to protect her poor, suffering feet from further abuse.
Anything to make the tickling stop.
“I know you will, my weak, little Nightwatch.” And even still, he continued to tickle her. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Ten whole minutes, he continued to tickle her toes with that awful, awful feather. When he finally relented, Kira’s whole body went limp. She couldn’t move, couldn’t twitch, couldn’t do anything at all except lie in her chair and sob.
But the Professor wasn’t so accommodating this time. He lifted the feather and twisted it between his fingers. “The meteorite, Nightwatch. Or I’ll remind you that you have another foot that has gone woefully ignored. Perhaps another hour of toe tickling would loosen your tongue?”
Kira shook her head. “No!” The word burst from her lips, halfway between a plea and a primal scream. Sucking air into her lungs, she tried — tried harder than she’d ever tried before — to make her lips form the words. Still panting, she forced out, “Apartment…32nd Street…drawer in…418…”
“There now, was that so hard?” The Professor chuckled and tossed the feather down on the floor. He turned to leave, but paused and looked back. The air around him caused Kira’s heart to drop into her stomach. He returned to the stocks and pinched the toes of her socks, stripping them from her feet with a single, swiping motion. “I think I’ll keep these. A reminder of what a sad, weak, ticklish little girl you are underneath all that bluster.”
“No…” Kira bit her lip. Her toes curled tight, suddenly exposed to the cool air. “G-give them back…” He’d already taken her dignity, and soon her power, not her favorite socks, too.
“Hm…I wonder…” The Professor folded one of the socks into a thin strip of fabric and pulled it tight. Then, he laced it between Kira’s two smallest toes on the foot that had escaped the brush and feather.
If the feather had been Hell, the sensation of her precious nylons flossing through her toes was its boiler room. Her leg shook, her mouth hung open, but no sound came out. Just gulping bursts of pained, silent laughter.
Her vision blurred, darkness creeping into her tears. Her head swam; her heart jack hammered in her chest. This was how she was going to die. Tickled to death with her favorite socks. But staring Death in the face had a way of summoning a strength unlike any other. With a newfound burst of adrenaline, Nightwatch started to thrash.
She kicked her legs; threw her body side-to-side. Tugged on her wrists and bucked her hips. And somehow, by some miracle, the stocks finally gave in, snapping in half. Nightwatch pulled her legs back, tucking them in tight to her chest and rubbing her feet against the seat to spare them any more tickling.
The Professor pulled back from her. Nylons still clutched in his hand, he turned and stormed out of the room without another word.
Had she half a mind, Nightwatch would have torn her hands free and chased him down. But she’d spent her last miracle for the night — maybe for the rest of her life — in escaping. She pulled her hands free from the ropes, wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her face in her knees.
Sobbing. Shaking. Her toes clenched, feet rubbing together, desperately trying to smother the still lingering phantom tickles.
The heroine’s legs trembled, knees threatening to give out when she at last rose from her seat and stumbled away from the chair from hell. With a bend of her knees, she shot into the air and through the roof like a hot knife through butter.
She’d escaped this time. But now the Professor knew her secret weakness. He knew where the meteorite was — she had to get back immediately, to move it and clear out anything that would give her identity away to him. And, most depressing of all, he’d stolen her favorite socks.
Word Count: 6,460
M/F | Foot Tickling | Nylon Tickling | Superheroine | Tickle Torture | Illustration available on DeviantArt and Patreon!
This was supposed to be easy.
Just another clash with the Professor. She’d done it tens of times before without breaking a sweat. So, how had it come to this? How had she been so stupid and ended up in a situation like this?
Hands pulled back and tied behind her head, ankles locked in a set of heavy metal stocks. Alone in the dark, save for an oppressive fluorescent spotlight that stung her eyes.
Footsteps approached, echoing loud and hollow in the dark. No urgency. Always the same rhythm. They came to a halt at the edge of the light. Staring at her. Staring through her.
She knew she was invincible. Nevertheless, somehow, in that unseen gaze, she felt something sinister that sent a chill down her spine. The heroine swallowed the nervous lump in her throat, desperately searching her memories for where she screwed up and what she could do now.
Her name was Kira Heart. An unassuming twenty-four-year-old medical student with green eyes, shoulder-length brown hair, and a dusting of freckles across her button nose. Until two years ago, her life was anything but spectacular. She lived in a small apartment and spent the time when she wasn’t in class working at the local bookstore. She avoided making waves, and was satisfied with the direction in which her life was headed.
Until one night, while walking home from work, she noticed an oddly bright shooting star. Before she could make a wish, it crashed down nearby with a thunderous boom. Kira rushed to check it out, and that was when she discovered the meteorite: a purple chunk of space rock that infused her with ultra-super powers that turned her ordinary life extraordinary.
At just five-feet-four-inches tall, Kira had never been strong or sturdy. But a single touch and a flash of violet light later, she discovered she was strong enough to bend steel, lift cars, and withstand a hail of gunfire as if it were packing peanuts. No more needing a step stool to reach her top shelf, as a simple bend of her knees allowed her to take to the sky and soar amongst the clouds.
But with great power came a need to use them responsibly. Her little town wasn’t a hotbed for crime and villainy, but it was the perfect place to put her newfound abilities into practice. Initially, she’d disguised herself with an assortment of hoodies and winter wear from her closet, but when the Summer sun grew too much to bear, and she’d saved up some money, she commissioned a suit of her own from someone who knew how to keep a secret.
Clad in a form-fitting purple bodysuit, comfortable gray shorts (with practical pockets), a thin mask to match, a pair of neon green chucks, and a thin, purple mask to keep her identity hidden, the local superheroine, Nightwatch, made her official debut to a smattering of applause and one very happy old lady whose mobility scooter broke down on the way home from the grocery store.
Most of her earliest endeavors were of similar scale. The usual superhero fare — saving cats from trees, walking drunkards home from the bar, helping lost children find their way back home — was fulfilling for a time. But, after two years of low stakes chores, Nightwatch longed for a real challenge. Her powers had made her borderline invincible, but with nothing to wield her strength against, they felt superfluous.
Her wish was finally granted with the arrival of a mad scientist known as the Professor. A genius with a robot army, marching into town as if were the state capital. That first clash had been the greatest rush of Nightwatch’s young life, battering her fists against the metal monstrosities until, after an hour, she emerged victorious to thunderous cheers.
From that day onward, they battled for control of the city. His machines growing ever more deadly, his plans ever more complex; her skill becoming more refined, her powers stronger with each encounter.
It was clear from their last encounter, that the Professor was growing frustrated with the status quo. While Nightwatch viewed their struggle as a game, he let her know with no uncertainty that he would defeat her. And when she fell, the world would soon follow.
In the interview after he was taken away, Nightwatch couldn’t resist laughing at his declaration, assuring both the town and the Professor that he would never defeat her.
She never imagined how things could go so horribly wrong, so quickly.
That night, she received a notification that a new group of robots were spotted near campus. A grin came to her lips, followed by an eager squeal. Kira leaped from her bed, squatting next to her nightstand and pulling open the drawer. Inside was the purple meteorite. She rubbed her hands together, breathing in them to warm them up, then laid them on the warm, smooth surface.
A violet glow enveloped her body. Kira’s secret, her one weakness, was that the gift granted by the meteorite wasn’t permanent. With every use, her powers dwindled. To circumvent that limitation, she made sure to charge up two to three times a week. With the Professor’s latest threat, and her brazen rebuttal, she didn’t dare face him again without being at peak performance.
“There we go,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief as she pulled her hands away. She clenched her fists, feeling strength brimming within her like a volcano on the verge of erupting. “Alright, Professor. Since you can’t seem to stay in jail, I guess we’ll have to do this the hard way.”
Kira giggled and turned to her closet. In the back, behind a hidden panel, was her suit. As she pulled it on, she couldn’t help but giggle again. Life had become so exciting, like something out of a comic book. Though she knew it wasn’t particularly heroic of her, she’d come to enjoy these clashes with the Professor. To feel the crumbling of steel beneath her knuckles and watch the wicked glimmer fading from his eyes, realizing that he’d been beaten once again by cute, soft-spoken little Kira Heart.
Of course, to him she was the indomitable Nightwatch. That last little part was just for her.
The rest of her suit secured, Kira sat down on the edge of her bed and brought one knee to her chest. The bodysuit left her legs exposed, a choice on which she’d insisted. One of Kira’s little secrets was her love of nylon fabric. The smooth, silky feel was like a soft hug for her legs and feet. Just as much as the feel, she loved the way they looked, and, in a rare bit of vanity, enjoyed the idea of people seeing her in them. Beyond simply feeling great against her skin, she loved the elegant, sensual confidence they instilled in her.
That night, she opted for a pair that would, unfortunately, go unseen. Despite that drawback, they were her favorites: extremely thin, sheer nylon socks. Bright orange, standing out against her peach skin. The way they accentuated her dainty feet — Kira often described herself as plain-looking, but her feet were the one part of her body she loved, one she’d always taken great strides to maintain and show off — made her cheeks hot and her skin tingle.
What she wouldn’t give to show them off in her favorite socks. But, the fabric wasn’t designed for combat, and she wouldn’t risk them for such a stupid reason.
“Let’s do this.” Nightwatch slipped on her chucks and slipped out her window, floating to the rooftop and standing on the edge. She looked over the horizon and, in a moment of self-indulgence, laid her hands on her hips and lifted her chin. “Look out, Professor. Your wickedness won’t escape the unwavering gaze of Nightwatch!”
She giggled and shook her head, taking to the sky and rocketing toward campus. Her heroism may have been the real deal, but her catchphrase was still a work in progress.
“Ah, Nightwatch…how I’ve longed for us to meet like this.” The Professor said as he stepped into the light. He was a middle-aged man with salt-and-pepper hair, neatly combed and parted to one side. True to his namesake, he wore a long, glowing lab coat, with thick, rectangular glasses that always gleamed in the light to obscure his eyes. Black slacks, shiny shoes, and an ill-fitting pair of bright purple rubber gloves completed his otherwise uninspired wardrobe.
Nightwatch frowned, her head still reeling to figure out how she’d ended up here. The fight had been simple enough; the robots crushed as easily as tin cans. But then, at the last minute, something struck her, and the world went dark.
The Professor chuckled. “I can see it on your face. You’re wondering how you got here and where here is, aren’t you?”
“That would be a start.” Nightwatch said. She flinched at the sound of her slurred speech and shook her head to clear away the cobwebs. “Once you’ve answered those questions, let me know which part of your butt, specifically, you’d like me to kick once I get out.” Fists clenched. Muscles tensed. She strained against her restraints for a full minute before giving up with a huff.
“Ah, ah, ah…don’t think you’ll be getting free so easily.” The Professor said with another sinister laugh. He walked closer, resting his hand atop the heavy stocks around her ankles. “All this time, I’ve been studying you. Testing your resistance to different toxins and chemicals, storing them in my machines so that they’d spray you as you recklessly smashed them. As you so love doing,” he added with a low growl.
“I saw what made you sneeze, what made you stumble, and with a bit of ingenuity and luck, I concocted a new serum strong enough to knock you out and restrict your nervous system. Not to worry though, you’re no less invulnerable — trust me, I checked — just a bit unfocused. And this?” He rapped his knuckles against the stocks. “Is a new metal alloy. Stronger than any known to man, stronger than even my strongest machines. In your current state, you’ll find they are quite unbreakable.
Nightwatch grit her teeth and narrowed her eyes, straining with all the strength she could muster to try to get free. Twisting left, then right. Kicking her legs and bucking her hips. But no matter how she struggled, what he said was true — she couldn’t get free. A rush of anger swelled inside her when the Professor laughed again.
“Congratulations. You’ve delayed your butt kicking until your fancy NyQuil wears off. Good for you. What happens now? You know I’m going to get free. And when I do, I’m going to deck you right in the schnoz.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. You do so love flaunting that superior strength of yours, don’t you?” The Professor paced around the chair. Hands folded behind his back. Eyes raised to the ceiling. “As to what I want? Simple. I want you to tell me where you’ve hidden that fascinating little space rock of yours. My machines need a new power source, and I think yours would be splendid.”
Nightwatch laughed. “And why would I tell you that?” She craned her neck, attempting to fix him with her most incredulous stare. Inside, she was terrified to know that he’d somehow learned about the meteorite. But frightening as that knowledge was, it would do him little good considering, “You still can’t hurt me. You said it yourself.”
“Oh yes. You are quite impervious to pain.”
“I am. You know that firsthand. Well, not you, since you’re just a cowardly egghead who hides in a tower while you send your little toys to do your dirty work.” Nightwatch smirked and sat back, making a show of settling into her seat. “How many toys do I have to break before you learn your lesson, old man?”
“You arrogant, impetuous little — “ The Professor paused in front of her and cut himself off with a deep breath. When he released it, his scowl curled into an eerie smile. “You are impervious to pain. So I thought: what else could I do to gain your cooperation? And then I had something of an epiphany.” He stroked his chin and raised his gaze to the ceiling. “It was ridiculous and foolish, but after some consideration, I realized that made it perfect for dealing with someone as ridiculous and foolish as you.”
Nightwatch sighed and rolled her eyes. “Oh my gosh! Do you just love to hear yourself talk? Tick-tock, old man! Your serum won’t last all night! Get on with embarrassing yourself already.”
Perhaps it was ridiculous and foolish of her to be so flippant, but the unbroken string of victories in her wake gave Nightwatch the confidence she needed to see through his bluff. Nothing could hurt her — dynamite blasts, laser beams capable of cutting steel, even diving into an active volcano had failed to so much as faze her — and he was the one on a strict time limit.
The longer he spent yapping, the sooner the drug would wear off and the butt-kicking could begin. She smirked at him when he lowered his gaze back to hers.
“Quite right, Nightwatch. Our time is short, a few hours at most, so we’d best get this show on the road.” The Professor’s hand reached toward the stocks once more, before diverting to her left shoe. He pinched the laces between his fingers and began to methodically untie them.
“What are you doing?” She asked, her toes subconsciously clenching.
“It’s quite simple, really.” The Professor finished undoing the knot and let the laces fall from his fingers. “I’m going to tickle your feet, Nightwatch.”
Like a bathtub being unplugged, the color drained from Nightwatch’s face. Her foot shook, toes clenching even tighter in a futile, desperate attempt to hold on to her shoe. Mouth dry. Throat tight. She swallowed and forced a crooked, half-hearted grin to her face.
“W-Wait that’s it? Wow! Oh wow, hahaha!” Nightwatch laughed — a bit too loud — and shook her head, a bit too forcefully. “Th-that’s your big, scary master plan? Drug me and tickle me? A-are you, like, a Saturday morning cartoon villain? Wh-Where’s your mustache, huh? Got any damsels tied to train tracks, too?” Nightwatch fell silent as the Professor left her shoe on, but moved to the other one, untying it with the same slowness.
“My, Nightwatch, if I didn’t know any better, I would say you sound quite distressed.” He chuckled and shook his head, unraveling the bow and dropping the strings. “I must say, this was quite a shot in the dark for me. But, a bullseye, it would seem, based on your reaction.”
“Reaction? W-what reaction? I’m not having a reaction at all!” Nightwatch clenched both toes, her feet visibly trembling now. She sucked in a sharp hiss through her teeth when she felt his grip on the heel of her shoes. “I mean, it’s a st-stupid plan, anyway! I’m, like, not even ticklish! E-Even before I got my powers! Nope, nope, nope, not ticklish at all!”
But the obvious truth was that Nightwatch, Kira Heart, was desperately, horribly, deathly ticklish. No amount of false bravado could mask the quiver in her voice or stop the beads of sweat from rolling down her temple. And nowhere on her sensitive body was more ticklish than her precious, baby soft feet.
Memories flashed in her mind.
Cousins roughhousing, pinning her down and digging their grubby fingers into her arches; aunts and uncles watching and laughing while she trashed and cried for help.
Friends playfully scribbling their nails across her soles at the pool, teasing her relentlessly for how she shrieked and squealed.
Julie Smith pinning her arms and covering her mouth in the back of chemistry while Mitch Mitchelson dusted her toes with a feather — an experience that went on for nearly ten minutes and still haunted her to this day.
Kira loved her beautiful feet, but there was no denying that they were both her greatest pride and her greatest weakness. One that she never imagined would come back to bite her.
Back in the present, Nightwatch swallowed the grapefruit-sized lump in her throat. She scrunched her toes, pressing them with all her strength against the soles of her shoes. But her best efforts amounted to nothing, and with a gentle pomf, her shoe slid off her foot. Her toes wiggled and flexed, trembling as the cool air hit the damp nylon.
“My, my…what adorable little socks. Not very practical, don’t you think?” The Professor asked. He dropped her shoe to the floor without so much as a second glance, then moved onto the second one.
The sheer terror that Nightwatch felt having her foot exposed stole her strength to fight back as the last defense she had was stripped away. The second shoe hit the floor. Both feet exposed, her toes flexed and wiggled. Their shiny white polish a gorgeous contrast to the neon orange of her socks.
“Look at those little toes go. For someone who isn’t ticklish, they seem to be dreadfully frightened, don’t you think?” The Professor reached forward.
Nightwatch’s feet jerked back. Trembling; toes clenched. The stocks held fast.
“Such pretty little feet. High arches, smooth heels. Soft, supple, blushing skin. And these toes! Round little things that descend oh-so-gracefully from the plump big toes all the way down to these scrumptious little ones.” As he spoke, he tapped her toes, one at a time, from biggest to smallest. Every touch caused her feet to jerk and Nightwatch’s jaw to clench. “Such dainty, elegant little feet for such a mouthy, obnoxious little brat.”
Sucking in short, shallow breaths through her nose, Nightwatch fought to choke down a whimper. His index finger lingered on her pinky toe; his thumb close enough to clamp down on it. She wanted to be brave, to pretend it didn’t bother her. But — and knowing this made her whole body and soul burn ruby red with embarrassment — if he so much as threatened her with a whisper of “This Little Piggie” she’d come unraveled.
“Not to worry, Nightwatch.” The Professor’s voice pierced her panicked thoughts, pulling her attention back to his face. “I can feel you shaking. See you sweating. I’ll come back to these little toes soon enough. For now, though…”
“I’m really n-not t-ticklish…” She said in a whimpering tone.
“Maybe you aren’t.” His hand slid away from her foot.
She very nearly relaxed.
Then he continued, “But what kind of man of science would I be if I did not test my hypothesis? After all, I’ve heard it said that sheer nylons, such as these, can sometimes make even the slightest tickling absolutely unbearable. If someone weren’t ticklish, the lack of friction, the vibrations, might make them giggle.”
Nightwatch closed her eyes. Kira opened them again, her lips pulling back in a panicked grimace. She’d never been tickled in her beloved nylons. Her bare feet were already sensitive enough to reduce her to tears. “W-wait…p-please d-d…”
“A ticklish person? Why…that might make it positively unbearable. Don’t you think? I appreciate your cooperation with this test. I think it might prove most enlightening for us both.”
“Wait! Wait, wait wahahahait!” The very first touch was enough for Kira’s resistance to crumble. A single gloved finger pressing into her heel and slowly, ever-so-slowly, working its way up the length of her sole was all it took for her to sputter and giggle. Her frantic giggles grew in pitch and urgency when the Professor wiggled the tip of his finger, digging it into her sole.
“Would you look at that?” The Professor tickled all the way up Kira’s big toe — an act that caused her to squeal and shake her head — then pulled his hand away. “Why, Nightwatch, dear, I do believe you aren’t just ticklish. You appear to be very, very ticklish. Fascinating.”
Kira wiggled her toes and shook her foot to chase away the lingering ticklish sensation. He’d been telling the truth. Her nylons did, in fact, make it so much worse than she expected. Not an ounce of friction, the fabric buzzing with every scratch of his nail, creating ticklish vibrations across the entirety of her sole.
Just a single finger. There was no way she could survive more.
“Wait! W-wait, wait, wait!” Kira swallowed and shook her head. “D-don’t do this. It’s r-really — it’s not going to w-work. O-okay!” She nodded her head. “Y-you’re right. I’m t-ticklish. B-but, that doesn’t mean I’m going to tell you, s-so you might as well j-just g-gihihihihive uhuhuhup nohohohow!”
The finger had returned, Not content to simply trace the length of her sole again, it drew figure eights, wide, swooping patterns, and wrote chemical formulae into her sole. When it reached her toes again, it scratched the fleshy pad of her big toe, chasing it wherever it wiggled to try to escape.
Kira tried to fight back. But no matter how much strength she summoned, the stocks refused to budge, and her giggles flowed freely.
“Stahahap! EEK! Aaaah — hahahaha! Pl-Pl — EEK! — Cuhuhuhut it ohohohout!” She threw her head back, squealing as a second finger joined the first. The dastardly duo settled in the slope of her arch, plucking and scratching as if he were playing a bass guitar. Through watering eyes, Kira peered into the Professor’s gleaming glasses.
His eyes were still obscured. There was a grin on his face. One that grew as he added yet another finger and her shoulders started shaking with unbridled laughter.
“The mighty, mighty Nightwatch. Normally so strong, so confident. But now, look at you! Just a pathetic, squealing little girl.” He chuckled and regarded his free hand, holding it up so that she could see. Then, he lowered it toward her other foot.
Kira shook her head. “Nohohoho! No, no, no! Stahahahap! I’ll mahahahake yohohohou pahahahaha — PAY! — mahahahake you pahahahay for thihihihis! AHHH! HAHAHA!” She lurched forward as much as her restraints would allow, giggling rising to a full-bellied cackle as five fingers pinched and squeezed her heel. On the other foot, the remaining fingers joined in, scribbling up to the ball of her foot.
“Is that so? Well, then, I suppose I should make the most of this chance, shouldn’t I? Perhaps after an hour or two, we can quell that temper of yours.” He suddenly brought both sets of fingers right to the middle of her soles, digging in hard. “Or, at the very least, deflate that unearned ego.”
“YAHAHAHAHA! ST-STAHAHA —” Kira clenched her eyes shut and lowered her head, struggling to curl up her body and suppress her laughter. She managed to last about three seconds before her quivering lips split into a grin. With a snort, she threw her head back with laughter. “Nahahahaha! NAHAHAHAHA! I’ll — I’ll gehehehe — EEE! HEHEHEHE! — Gehehehet yoohohohohou!
Suddenly, the hands pulled back. The exhausted heroine went limp, gasping and sucking air into her lungs. Her toes wiggled and scrunched, her feet rubbing together in a futile, desperate act to find safety. Still giggling, she peered up at him.
“Still some fight left in you?” He was walking away, disappearing into the shadows. Something moved. A loud screech, then a slam. When he returned, there was a wooden beard brush with coarse bristles in his hand. “I should have expected as much. To be honest, I’m glad you’re resisting. If you gave in too soon, I wouldn’t be able to enjoy your suffering.”
“W-What’s th-that?” Kira bit her lip and cleared her throat. Nightwatch opened her eyes, speaking in a pale imitation of her usual, cocky tone. “Are you going to brush my hair? I c-can handle th-that just fine, thanks. H-How about you untie my arms so I can sh-show you?”
Her blood ran cold when the Professor chuckled.
“Ah…there she is. There’s the Nightwatch I know.” He raised his hand and pointed a wagging finger at her. “I knew you wouldn’t disappoint me. Let’s keep that up a little longer, for the sake of the experiment.” At her feet again, he pinched her big toes between his fingers and pulled them back, stretching her soles taut.
“W-Wait…h-hang on j-just a second. J-just…” Kira — her confidence shrinking until it vanished — stammered out. She wasn’t sure just how bad a brush could tickle, but even if it didn’t tickle as much as his fingers, it was sure to be irritating at best.
“Hm? Ready to tell me where you’ve stored the meteorite, then? I am a reasonable man, Nightwatch. Give me the location, and this can all end.”
Her jaw clenched; muscles tensed. Kira tugged at her restraints with all her strength. And again, they refused her. She looked up at his gleaming lenses, replying with a curt shake of her head.
He grinned; she gulped.
“Very well. Just, be advised, I’m not going to ask again for quite some time. No matter how much you beg and plead to tell me. No, I think a lesson is in order. Now, observe.” The Professors’ grip on her big toes tightened. He brought the brush up to her trembling heel, lightly pressed the bristles into the nylon-clad skin. And swiped down.
Kira’s eyes nearly jumped out of her head, a high-pitched shriek bursting from her lips so abruptly she scared herself. A fluke. It — it had to be a fluke. Right? Just a — he swiped again.
“EEK!” She shrieked again. Not a fluke. Oh gosh, it wasn’t a fluke at all. It wasn’t as bad as his fingers. It was so. Much. Worse.
“Time to begin the demonstration. Feel free to laugh, Nightwatch. In fact, I encourage it!” The Professor’s grin reached the ends of his glasses as he began to scrub her heel in earnest.
“NAAAAHAHAHAHA! NO! NO NO NO! STAHAHAHAP! WAIT! WAHAHAHAHAIT!” Kira fell back in her seat. Her legs kicked, straining for every centimeter of slack they had. Hips pounding on her seat, fists clenched until her fingers hurt, she laughed. She laughed louder and harder than she ever had in her life.
Swish-swish. Swish-swish. Swish-swish.
A short scrub left, then right. Back and forth. Over and over at the same speed, like a metronome. The vibrations it sent rippling up her sole kept going ,shooting up her leg and barreling into her in a constant barrage of blistering, ticklish anguish.
“NOOHOHO! EEK! EEHEHEHE — AHAAHAHA! PL-PLEEEHEHEHEASE! STAHAHAHAP!” And just as she started to think she could get used to it, the brush moved. Swiping up the length of her sole, it scrubbed in a vertical rhythm along her arch.
Swish-swish-swish. Swish-swish-swish. Swish-swish-swish.
Three short scrubs. Up, down, up. Faster than before, but just as consistent. A current of ticklish sensation that had been unbearable escalated into an electric surge. Wearing down her weakened willpower with every scrub, picking her apart until she was a squirming, wailing mess.
And worst of all — growing worse by the second — were the vibrations created by her precious nylons. A prickling, tickling, buzz that covered her entire foot. There was no stinging pain, despite how hard he scrubbed, her delicate skin kept safe by a twisted combination of her favorite socks and the meteorite’s power still thrumming beneath her skin.
“YAAAAAHAHAHA — SNORT — AHAHAHAHAHAY CAHAHAHAHAN’T! HAHAHA!” Kira’s voice cracked and the first trickle of tears spilled down her cheeks. They felt cool against her flushed, aching cheeks. A meager relief in the deluge of mirthful agony coursing through her leg.
“You can’t? Oh, I don’t think so. I think you can. And I think you will.”
The brush moved again. Scrubbing horizontally across the ball of her foot. Her toes flexed and wiggled wildly, desperate to stay out of reach. It was close — too horribly close — now. But the hold the Professor kept on her big toes prevented her feet from doing much more than twitch.
Swish-swish-swish-swish. Swish-swish. Swish-swish-swish-swish. Swish-swish-swish.
Four scrubs, fast and furious. Two scrubs, one to the left — pause — one to the right. Four scrubs, fast and furious. Three short, quick scrubs. Right, left, right. The rhythm was too complicated for her to keep track of, blurring together and getting lost in the ticklish haze choking her thoughts.
Kira fell forward in her seat. “NAHAHAHAHAHA! NOHOHOHOHO MOHOHOHORE! PL-PLEE — EEEEHEHEHEHEK — PLEEEHEHEHEASE!” But the tickling just kept going. Close enough now that her frantic toes could feel the vibrations, a sensation that was somehow worse than scrubbing brush itself.
A thought she’d soon regret. After only a short detour to clean the ball of her foot, the brush moved up one last time. The Professor’s grip changed, pulling the five toes of her right foot back. Leaving their tender undersides completely unguarded.
The first scrub landed. Kira screamed.
“NO NO NO NO NO NO NO! PLEASE NO! NOT MY TAAAAAAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAT MY TOHOHOHOHOES!” Another snort. Her laughter rose several octaves, coalescing into a single scream of ticklish laughter.
There were no more breaks. No more patterns or rhythms or games. Just a constant, non-stop swish, swish, swish, swish, swish, swish of the brush across her tiny toes. The pads were protected by the Professor’s grasp, but that was no relief to their tender stems and the vulnerable spaces between.
Lightning. More than a thunderstorm. More than a power plant. As if Zeus himself were unloading into her with fire and fury. The ticklish sensations, and the echoing nylon-vibrations, smothered every thought Kira had beneath an all-consuming need: Laugh.
And cry.
And scream.
And beg.
But above all: laugh.
“AHAHAHAHA! — SNORT — AAAAAHAHAHAHA! — SNORT — STAHAHAHAHAHAP! PLEHEHEHEASE NOHOHOHO MOHOHOHORE! IT TIHIHIHICKLES! IT TIIIIHIHIHICKLES!” On and on, the scrubbing went. Until her body turned weak and went limp. Until her eyes overflowed and a river of tears poured down her burning hot cheeks. Until her voice went quiet, reduced to sobbing, silent laughter.
Swish, swish, swish, swish, swish…
And after what felt like an eternity, it stopped.
The Professor released her toes and stepped back. He regarded her with a slight smile, turning the brush over in his hands. Patiently waiting as she giggled and squirmed, twitched and laughed.
Minutes passed before Kira could finally breathe again. She felt his gaze on her and lifted her weary head. The light reflected on his glasses, something she’d always mocked as a goofy cartoon trait, sent a rush of terror down her spine. Somehow, not being able to see the wicked eyes leering at her terrified her.
“The meteorite, Nightwatch?”
Unable to speak, her throat raw from laughing, her voice choked by tears, she shook her head. She was battered and frayed, pushed past her limits. But she wouldn’t give in. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction or the tool he needed to take over the world. Kira Heart may have been a sobbing, brutally ticklish girl, but Nightwatch was still an unshakeable heroine of justice.
Kira swallowed and whimpered, shaken when the Professor shrugged his shoulders and disappeared into the shadows again. When he returned, a strangled sob escaped her throat.
“No…no, no no…no please…plehehehase…” Kira scrambled in her seat with what little remained of her strength. Desperate. Frantic. Her toes clenched, her feet shook violently, struggling to pull away.
In his head, the Professor held a large fluffy feather. He pinched the tip and spun it between his fingers. “Now that is a reaction I hadn’t expected. I almost threw this out, thinking it would be a waste to use something so light at this point. But, I take it you’d do anything to keep this feather away from your little feet, wouldn’t you, Nightwatch?”
“No! No, no, no…please not…please not the feather. Please. Pleasepleaseplease…” Her voice broke, drowned by her tears. The memory of those ten Hellish minutes in the back of Chemistry came flooding back. Except this time, she couldn’t move. She couldn’t escape. There was no Mr. Green to save her. “Not the feather! Please don’t! N-not my feet, no. No, no, no! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, please don’t!”
“You are? Well…since you asked so nicely.” The Professor lowered his hand to his side, feather out of sight. There was a pause. Then —
“NO! NO NO NO! NAAHAHAHAHA! YOHOHOHOHO SAHAHAHAAID YOHOHO — AAAAAAAHAHAHA!” Kira screamed. Not a shrill, hysteric peal of laughter, but an ear-splitting wail of desperation. Her foot was frozen, paralyzed by its own sensitivity as the feather’s tip stroked the length of her sole. Nerves so frayed, she could only scream and laugh.
Julie Smith was pinning her arms. Mitch Mitchelson was making fun of her. And her kindly teacher had been replaced by the wicked Professor, watching with gleaming lenses and a tiny smirk. Nightwatch was gone. Kira Heart was drowning in her own ticklish anguish.
Such a soft touch, and yet somehow that was so much worse for her ultra-super sensitive skin. The faint buzz it created against the nylon, like ripples in the ocean building into a devastating tsunami, crashed into her all at once.
“AAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! AHAHAHA! HAAHAHA! AAAAAAHAHAHAA!” She couldn’t speak. Her cute little snorts were gone. All that poured out of her was a broken faucet of screaming laughter.
And somehow — against all logic and reason — it grew louder, higher, when the feather reached her trembling toes. The feathering of her arch caused them to spread, trapping them as their nerves shut down to dedicate every ounce of their function to simply being tickled.
The fluffy tip brushed her big toe, drew little circles on the pad and painted the stem. Then it brushed against the gap between and repeated the process with the next toe. Down the line, each more horrible than the last. The Professor spent an extra long time teasing her little toe, using precise, flicking strokes to smother every inch.
Then, in an act of cruelty so profound that part of Kira’s brain shut down for a moment, he swiped it side-to-side, along the undersides of her toes.
“NAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAAHA! AAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLAHAHAHAHAHA! NAHAHAHAHA! NAAAAAAHAHAHA! TAHAHAHAHAHALK!” She wanted to form the words, wanted to give him anything he desired. Kira would move the sun and stars, part the seas, and tear down the moon to make him stop. But she just. Couldn’t. Say. The words.
“How pitiful. A mere feather is all it takes to defeat — hah, perhaps I should say de-feet? — the mighty Nightwatch. Such a pathetic excuse for a hero.” The Professor continued dusting her toes for several minutes more. All the while wearing a cruel little smirk on his face.
Swiiish…swiiish…swiiish…swiiish…
“AHAHAHAHAHAHALL TAAAHAHAHAHAHA — AAAAAAHAHAHAHA — AHAHAHALK!” With a monumental effort, Kira forced out those two broken words. There was no fight left in her, nothing but a desire to sink into the ground and never see the light again. Anything to protect her poor, suffering feet from further abuse.
Anything to make the tickling stop.
“I know you will, my weak, little Nightwatch.” And even still, he continued to tickle her. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
Ten whole minutes, he continued to tickle her toes with that awful, awful feather. When he finally relented, Kira’s whole body went limp. She couldn’t move, couldn’t twitch, couldn’t do anything at all except lie in her chair and sob.
But the Professor wasn’t so accommodating this time. He lifted the feather and twisted it between his fingers. “The meteorite, Nightwatch. Or I’ll remind you that you have another foot that has gone woefully ignored. Perhaps another hour of toe tickling would loosen your tongue?”
Kira shook her head. “No!” The word burst from her lips, halfway between a plea and a primal scream. Sucking air into her lungs, she tried — tried harder than she’d ever tried before — to make her lips form the words. Still panting, she forced out, “Apartment…32nd Street…drawer in…418…”
“There now, was that so hard?” The Professor chuckled and tossed the feather down on the floor. He turned to leave, but paused and looked back. The air around him caused Kira’s heart to drop into her stomach. He returned to the stocks and pinched the toes of her socks, stripping them from her feet with a single, swiping motion. “I think I’ll keep these. A reminder of what a sad, weak, ticklish little girl you are underneath all that bluster.”
“No…” Kira bit her lip. Her toes curled tight, suddenly exposed to the cool air. “G-give them back…” He’d already taken her dignity, and soon her power, not her favorite socks, too.
“Hm…I wonder…” The Professor folded one of the socks into a thin strip of fabric and pulled it tight. Then, he laced it between Kira’s two smallest toes on the foot that had escaped the brush and feather.
If the feather had been Hell, the sensation of her precious nylons flossing through her toes was its boiler room. Her leg shook, her mouth hung open, but no sound came out. Just gulping bursts of pained, silent laughter.
Her vision blurred, darkness creeping into her tears. Her head swam; her heart jack hammered in her chest. This was how she was going to die. Tickled to death with her favorite socks. But staring Death in the face had a way of summoning a strength unlike any other. With a newfound burst of adrenaline, Nightwatch started to thrash.
She kicked her legs; threw her body side-to-side. Tugged on her wrists and bucked her hips. And somehow, by some miracle, the stocks finally gave in, snapping in half. Nightwatch pulled her legs back, tucking them in tight to her chest and rubbing her feet against the seat to spare them any more tickling.
The Professor pulled back from her. Nylons still clutched in his hand, he turned and stormed out of the room without another word.
Had she half a mind, Nightwatch would have torn her hands free and chased him down. But she’d spent her last miracle for the night — maybe for the rest of her life — in escaping. She pulled her hands free from the ropes, wrapped her arms around her legs, and buried her face in her knees.
Sobbing. Shaking. Her toes clenched, feet rubbing together, desperately trying to smother the still lingering phantom tickles.
The heroine’s legs trembled, knees threatening to give out when she at last rose from her seat and stumbled away from the chair from hell. With a bend of her knees, she shot into the air and through the roof like a hot knife through butter.
She’d escaped this time. But now the Professor knew her secret weakness. He knew where the meteorite was — she had to get back immediately, to move it and clear out anything that would give her identity away to him. And, most depressing of all, he’d stolen her favorite socks.
