NovemberTickle
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A continuation of Part I. All characters are over eighteen, as explained in Part I and Part II.
I.
Jeon stood in the narrow doorframe hugging the backpack which contained all her belongings. The dorm room, her dorm room now, was cramped and musty, with a high ceiling that felt somehow ominous. There were two bunk beds jammed against the walls, and sitting on top of one of them was a slight girl with caramel skin and hair dyed a reddish brown. She was pretty, in a plain sort of way, and still had a few pimples on her face – remnants of her recent youth. She looked up from her phone and gave Jeon a once-over.
“Jeon, this is your dorm-mate for now – Zeynep. Zeynep, Jeon here is new – take care of her will you?”
Principal Astrid gave Zeynep a curt look, turned on her heels and strode away. Zeynep unfroze as the sound of heels faded down the corridor and resumed chewing her gum.
“Is that… gum?” Jeon asked tentatively. Zeynep gave only a flat stare in response.
“And how did you get your phone back? They took mine away when I got here.”
Zeynep gave a knowing smirk.
“It’s Jeon, right? What are you Korean or something? How about I call you J. Don’t worry J, stick with me and you might just survive this place.”
II.
Jeon was still awake when the bell rang to start the day. She hadn’t been able to sleep much with the portal boots still fastened securely to her feet. She was ushered into her homeroom class, where a baby-faced woman with streaks of grey in her hair introduced herself to the class as Mrs. Bentley.
“Ok sweeties, we have a new student among us today. Everybody, this is Jeon – please make her feel welcome.”
Jeon nodded shyly as the girls in the class turned and acknowledged.
“First, as always – attendance.”
Mrs. Bentley leaned under her desk and took out a plain wooden box with metal clasps.
“Alana Hale.”
Jeon watched as a thin, ethnically ambiguous girl with coffee colored skin wordless stood and approached the front of the room. Meanwhile, Mrs. Bentley rifled through a massive keychain to find a key, then opened the box on her desk ceremoniously.
“Oh Alana” She cooed. “These monkey toes seem to get longer every time I see them.”
Alana, evidently used to this humiliating display, stood with hunched shoulders, gaze fixed blankly to the floor. Curious, Jeon stood a little from her seat at the back of the class. Inside the box, she could just make out a pair of slender feet resting inside of a red satin cushion. They were tanned on the tops, the same coffee color as the rest of Alana, but their soles abruptly transitioned to a lighter, almost sandy shade. Sure enough, they ended with unusually long toes, curled tightly with finger-like dexterity.
“Well, these are obviously your feet – but it would only be prudent to double check.”
Mrs. Bentley raised a pudgy hand and stroked her fingers gently across the tops of the long toes which were curled defensively to protect their undersides, trailing her fingers across the nail beds. Alana jumped as if electrocuted, but remained standing, her large eyes squeezed shut and her mouth set in a rigid line.
“Aww, are these toesies trying to hide?” Mrs. Bentley cooed. As she spoke, she rhythmically stroked a single finger across the tops of Alana’s toes, alternating between her feet. Alana shook with effort, her breathing now bordering on hyperventilation, until evidently, she couldn’t take any more. As soon as her toes uncurled to protect their tops, Mrs. Bentley dove in with both hands to dig her fingers into their tender undersides. Jeon watched, rapt, as Alana’s knees buckled and she fell to the floor, her booted legs kicking senselessly as her brain struggled to compute the sensations it was receiving. Still, she did not laugh, instead letting out a series of frantic gasps punctuated by squeals. When Mrs. Bentley removed her fingers after just a few seconds, the damage had already been done and Alana lay panting, her hair and uniform in disarray.
“You can’t hide from me.” Mrs. Bentley sung sweetly.
Alana stood and collected her box from Mrs. Bentley, bringing it back to her table. Jeon turned to Zeynep with questioning eyes.
Zeynep leaned in to whisper an explanation. “They give us our boxes during the day to bring to our various classes - but they keep the keys.”
One by one, Mrs. Bentley called up the girls in the class, all no older than their early twenties. She seemed to have a map of their most sensitive spots. For most, she targeted the arches of their feet. Other girls were more sensitive on their toes, like Alana, or in some rarer cases their heels. For Jessica, an athletic blonde who looked like a volleyball player, Mrs. Bentley took a boar bristle brush to her wide soles, eliciting a piercing shriek. Jeon was dismayed to see even Zeynep’s tough façade crumble into helpless giggles as Mrs. Bentley scribbled the sharp end of a feather across the tender balls of her feet, as though signing ownership of her soles. When a disheveled and beet red Zeynep returned to her seat, she refused to meet Jeon’s eyes.
When finally it was Jeon’s turn, she approached the front of the class apprehensively.
“Now, lets see what we have here,” Mrs. Bentley said with relish. She unlocked the box and lifted the lid, revealing a pair of feet nestled in a blue satin cushion. They were pale and small, almost doll-like in their proportions, with a light pink blush on their undersides.
“Such delicate little feet.” Mrs. Bentley breathed. “Are they ticklish?”
She darted a hand and fluttered her fingers against the ball of one foot for what must have been only a fraction of a second. Jeon squealed and clasped her hands to her mouth, her back ramrod straight.
“My, you’re a sensitive one aren’t you? Is it just the balls of your feet?”
A scurry of fingers across the ball of Jeon’s other foot had her twisting on the spot.
“What about these arches?”
A sole fingernail trailed a tortuous path down one pale arch and circled Jeon’s pointed heel, tracing the pretty creases that formed when Jeon’s foot curled reflexively. Jeon squeezed her eyes shut, hands flapping wildly as if swatting imaginary flies.
“Oh yes.” Mrs. Bentley said in delight. “Definitely on the arches.”
By now Jeon’s hyperventilating was interspersed with a kind of desperate, neurotic giggling. Next, Mrs. Bentley’s wandering fingers moved upwards to lightly trace the tops of Jeon’s clenched toes, circling the nail beds and prodding their exposed pads. Jeon wanted nothing more than to wiggle her toes evasively, anything to stop the unbearable tickling, but she knew from watching Alana that she could not afford to expose their tender undersides. Tears welled up in her eyes as she willed her toes to stay clenched. At last, Mrs. Bentley paused.
“I’m going to need you to unclench those toes for me Jeon.”
Jeon stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest as every instinct screamed at her to protect her feet. In the box, her feet did not move.
“Jeon,” Mrs. Bentley repeated, her voice sharp and commanding. “Unclench your toes. Now.”
“I—I can’t,” Jeon stammered, her voice hoarse from laughter. Her toes remained stubbornly curled, her feet trembling in the box. The thought of exposing the tender undersides to Mrs. Bentley’s probing fingers was unthinkable. Even if she had wanted to, it was like her feet had a mind of their own.
Mrs. Bentley’s lips curled into a thin smile, though her eyes remained cold. “In that case… you’ll be seeing me after class.”
To be continued, probably.
I.
Jeon stood in the narrow doorframe hugging the backpack which contained all her belongings. The dorm room, her dorm room now, was cramped and musty, with a high ceiling that felt somehow ominous. There were two bunk beds jammed against the walls, and sitting on top of one of them was a slight girl with caramel skin and hair dyed a reddish brown. She was pretty, in a plain sort of way, and still had a few pimples on her face – remnants of her recent youth. She looked up from her phone and gave Jeon a once-over.
“Jeon, this is your dorm-mate for now – Zeynep. Zeynep, Jeon here is new – take care of her will you?”
Principal Astrid gave Zeynep a curt look, turned on her heels and strode away. Zeynep unfroze as the sound of heels faded down the corridor and resumed chewing her gum.
“Is that… gum?” Jeon asked tentatively. Zeynep gave only a flat stare in response.
“And how did you get your phone back? They took mine away when I got here.”
Zeynep gave a knowing smirk.
“It’s Jeon, right? What are you Korean or something? How about I call you J. Don’t worry J, stick with me and you might just survive this place.”
II.
Jeon was still awake when the bell rang to start the day. She hadn’t been able to sleep much with the portal boots still fastened securely to her feet. She was ushered into her homeroom class, where a baby-faced woman with streaks of grey in her hair introduced herself to the class as Mrs. Bentley.
“Ok sweeties, we have a new student among us today. Everybody, this is Jeon – please make her feel welcome.”
Jeon nodded shyly as the girls in the class turned and acknowledged.
“First, as always – attendance.”
Mrs. Bentley leaned under her desk and took out a plain wooden box with metal clasps.
“Alana Hale.”
Jeon watched as a thin, ethnically ambiguous girl with coffee colored skin wordless stood and approached the front of the room. Meanwhile, Mrs. Bentley rifled through a massive keychain to find a key, then opened the box on her desk ceremoniously.
“Oh Alana” She cooed. “These monkey toes seem to get longer every time I see them.”
Alana, evidently used to this humiliating display, stood with hunched shoulders, gaze fixed blankly to the floor. Curious, Jeon stood a little from her seat at the back of the class. Inside the box, she could just make out a pair of slender feet resting inside of a red satin cushion. They were tanned on the tops, the same coffee color as the rest of Alana, but their soles abruptly transitioned to a lighter, almost sandy shade. Sure enough, they ended with unusually long toes, curled tightly with finger-like dexterity.
“Well, these are obviously your feet – but it would only be prudent to double check.”
Mrs. Bentley raised a pudgy hand and stroked her fingers gently across the tops of the long toes which were curled defensively to protect their undersides, trailing her fingers across the nail beds. Alana jumped as if electrocuted, but remained standing, her large eyes squeezed shut and her mouth set in a rigid line.
“Aww, are these toesies trying to hide?” Mrs. Bentley cooed. As she spoke, she rhythmically stroked a single finger across the tops of Alana’s toes, alternating between her feet. Alana shook with effort, her breathing now bordering on hyperventilation, until evidently, she couldn’t take any more. As soon as her toes uncurled to protect their tops, Mrs. Bentley dove in with both hands to dig her fingers into their tender undersides. Jeon watched, rapt, as Alana’s knees buckled and she fell to the floor, her booted legs kicking senselessly as her brain struggled to compute the sensations it was receiving. Still, she did not laugh, instead letting out a series of frantic gasps punctuated by squeals. When Mrs. Bentley removed her fingers after just a few seconds, the damage had already been done and Alana lay panting, her hair and uniform in disarray.
“You can’t hide from me.” Mrs. Bentley sung sweetly.
Alana stood and collected her box from Mrs. Bentley, bringing it back to her table. Jeon turned to Zeynep with questioning eyes.
Zeynep leaned in to whisper an explanation. “They give us our boxes during the day to bring to our various classes - but they keep the keys.”
One by one, Mrs. Bentley called up the girls in the class, all no older than their early twenties. She seemed to have a map of their most sensitive spots. For most, she targeted the arches of their feet. Other girls were more sensitive on their toes, like Alana, or in some rarer cases their heels. For Jessica, an athletic blonde who looked like a volleyball player, Mrs. Bentley took a boar bristle brush to her wide soles, eliciting a piercing shriek. Jeon was dismayed to see even Zeynep’s tough façade crumble into helpless giggles as Mrs. Bentley scribbled the sharp end of a feather across the tender balls of her feet, as though signing ownership of her soles. When a disheveled and beet red Zeynep returned to her seat, she refused to meet Jeon’s eyes.
When finally it was Jeon’s turn, she approached the front of the class apprehensively.
“Now, lets see what we have here,” Mrs. Bentley said with relish. She unlocked the box and lifted the lid, revealing a pair of feet nestled in a blue satin cushion. They were pale and small, almost doll-like in their proportions, with a light pink blush on their undersides.
“Such delicate little feet.” Mrs. Bentley breathed. “Are they ticklish?”
She darted a hand and fluttered her fingers against the ball of one foot for what must have been only a fraction of a second. Jeon squealed and clasped her hands to her mouth, her back ramrod straight.
“My, you’re a sensitive one aren’t you? Is it just the balls of your feet?”
A scurry of fingers across the ball of Jeon’s other foot had her twisting on the spot.
“What about these arches?”
A sole fingernail trailed a tortuous path down one pale arch and circled Jeon’s pointed heel, tracing the pretty creases that formed when Jeon’s foot curled reflexively. Jeon squeezed her eyes shut, hands flapping wildly as if swatting imaginary flies.
“Oh yes.” Mrs. Bentley said in delight. “Definitely on the arches.”
By now Jeon’s hyperventilating was interspersed with a kind of desperate, neurotic giggling. Next, Mrs. Bentley’s wandering fingers moved upwards to lightly trace the tops of Jeon’s clenched toes, circling the nail beds and prodding their exposed pads. Jeon wanted nothing more than to wiggle her toes evasively, anything to stop the unbearable tickling, but she knew from watching Alana that she could not afford to expose their tender undersides. Tears welled up in her eyes as she willed her toes to stay clenched. At last, Mrs. Bentley paused.
“I’m going to need you to unclench those toes for me Jeon.”
Jeon stood frozen, her heart pounding in her chest as every instinct screamed at her to protect her feet. In the box, her feet did not move.
“Jeon,” Mrs. Bentley repeated, her voice sharp and commanding. “Unclench your toes. Now.”
“I—I can’t,” Jeon stammered, her voice hoarse from laughter. Her toes remained stubbornly curled, her feet trembling in the box. The thought of exposing the tender undersides to Mrs. Bentley’s probing fingers was unthinkable. Even if she had wanted to, it was like her feet had a mind of their own.
Mrs. Bentley’s lips curled into a thin smile, though her eyes remained cold. “In that case… you’ll be seeing me after class.”
To be continued, probably.
