RWBY TK: Pyrhha Nikos and Cinder

[oneortheother]

Been a while, eh? I'm back with a few of my latest offerings.

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RWBY TK: Pyrhha Nikos and Cinder, Part 1

Pyrhha Nikos’s heart thumped in her chest as the elevator slowly groaned and screeched its way up to the ceiling. She clenched hard on the bronze sword and shield she bore, anxious to strike the moment the elevator doors opened. She would only get one opportunity for a surprise attack, and against a foe as dangerous as Cinder Fall, she would absolutely need it.

She took a deep breath and adjusted her grip on her weapons. She could feel her palms sweating. Would this be the end for her? She remembered Jaune’s smiling face, how she had sent him away for his own safety. Succeed or die trying, Pyrrha thought as she brushed a lock of dark red hair from her eyes. Cinder had to be stopped, especially if she had vanquished Professor Ozpin like they had all feared.

But the time for all those niggling doubts and fears was past, for the elevator was finishing its accent. As the metal doors slid open with a little metallic ‘ding’ sound, Pyrrha threw her sword with all her strength.

The spinning blade flew through the air… but Cinder dodged it, an easy, contemptuous smile on her comely features. Pyrrha followed up this strike with a shield toss at her foe, though the dark-haired villainess was able to catch it with surprising strength, even when Pyrrha leapt forward to plant both feet on her shield to try to use her entire body weight to smash into her enemy.

Pyrrha leapt back, inhaling deeply through her nose while glaring at the smug-smiling woman opposite her. Her weapons flew back to her hands, which glowed back with telekinetic energy. She narrowed her green eyes into slits as she stared at Cinder Fall properly for the first time.

Cinder had black hair, wild amber eyes, and she wore dark-red, off-the-shoulders, v-neck mini-dress with yellow designs. She levitated in the air with her arms spread, her red-painted fingernails crackling with pyro energy.

A smile, a flash of light from Cinder’s eyes, and a flash of flame scorched towards the shield and sword warrior. Pyrrha was able to dodge the first few fireballs with agile leaps and nimble sidesteps, but they kept coming relentless. A ray of fire game hurtling towards her, and she only able to get her shield up just in time. She gasped under the heat of the intense stream of flame. It was hot that it hurt to breath.

I don’t stand a chance if I’m going to let her take potshots at me from afar, Pyrrha realised, and she moved to bridge the gap between the two combatants. Even as the flames continued to hammer at her shield, she pushed off with her strong legs and exploded towards Cinder. She slashed hard with her blade, but Cinder somehow caught the swing bare-handed. Pyrrha’s green eyes widened in shock as the dark-haired girl flicked the blade away and counter-attacked with a fire blast to her abdomen that sent her crashing into a nearby wall.

Grunting in pain, the redheaded fighter pushed herself to her feet and leapt towards the other woman. She closed the distance quickly and began hacking and slashing at Cinder, though the dark-haired girl proved to be depressingly adept at parries and dodges. Somehow, it seemed that even in close range, there was little advantage for Pyrrha.

Before long, it soon became clear that the playing field was far from equal. Pyrrha’s breathing was wild and ragged, and her muscles were aching from the bumps, burns, and bruises she had accumulated over the several minutes of clashing combat. In contrast, Cinder's smile remained wide and cocksure, and her fire attacks were every bit as devastating and powerful as ever.

A similar train of thought was whistling through Cinder’s mind as the two of them whirled and pirouetted in this fatal dance. Truth be told, this Pyrrha girl was no more than a buzzing fly… irritating enough, but harmless, she thought. And like all flittering flies, Cinder’s patience was quickly dissipating as the redheaded girl slashed and shouted like some spastic fool. The girl even had the audacity to try to put her arms around her, trying to throttle Cinder or cut her throat. It was time to put an end to this silly charade. Cinder put her hands around the girl’s bronze blade, her superheating hands melting the metal with her white-hot grip. And as the girl’s longsword was broken into a pathetic little dagger, Cinder called for her new draconic companion to make a dramatic arrival.

The great Grimm Dragon made its appearance with an earth-rending roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of Beacon Tower. The Pyrrha girl gaped when the horned dragon flapped its way towards the roof top, clearly in awe at such a majestic and malevolent sight. And Cinder could hardly blame her. The Grimm Dragon was a sight to behold with its enormous red bat-like wings, rough black skin with white bone-like spines on its body that made it resemble some kind of skeletal beast. When its six yellow-red eyes glared at you, it was impossible to not feel a rush of trepidation and fear.

The dragon’s massive claws reached down and turned the top floor of the tower to a dusty ruin. Cinder would have thought that would be the end of it, but that persistent pest of a girl still continued, even disarmed of her main offensive weapon. Using her telepathic powers, Pyrrha sent several gears and cogs from the broken tower structure flying towards Cinder, but the black-haired fire powers were enough to blast them away.

Yet the relentless girl still would not give it and acknowledge victory to her betters! Using shield and her power to control objects, Pyrrha continued to throw herself again and again at Cinder. Enough was enough, the black-haired woman decided. She considered using the pair of dust-based dual black glass swords to hack this annoying wretch to pieces, but she quickly decided that piercing her with arrows would be a much more elegant solution. She fired an arrow at Pyrrha’s ankle with the intention of following the disabling blow with a killing one. When the stubborn redhead tried to use her shield to deflect the arrow, Cinder used her weapon reformation ability to meld around it and maintain its forward force. Had Pyrrha cooperated, the arrow would have nailed her right in the ankle — a crippling shot that would have ended this farce. But the pesky girl still had some energy left, and a frantic, desperate twist of her feet meant that the arrow bit off the heel of her boot instead of embedding in the flesh of her leg.

Pyrrha grunted and tried to take a shaky step forward, but found that the destroyed shoe proved more hindrance than a help, so she threw her shoes off, revealing a pair of chalk-white feet. When Cinder saw those dainty little things, she found her concentration wavering for just a moment. They were such lithe, nimble, acrobatic things, Cinder couldn’t help but notice as Pyrrha continued her energetic hopping and dashing in a vain attempt to grasp victory.

From that point on, Cinder found her objective shifting. She no longer attempted to skewer or charbroil this redheaded brat, though that would have been easy enough to do. Now, she aimed her fire blasts and arrows at places where Pyrrha would be able to dodge them — but only barely. It was like one of those western cowboy flicks where a baddie would shoot at the feet of some hapless civilian to make them do a desperate dance to avoid getting shot. Pyrrha was dancing for her, and those flexible, flexing feet were putting on quite the show. Every twist of those strong ankles, every wrinkle that appeared, every beautiful but fleeting moment when those soft-looking soles would appear for just a second or two when Pyrrha did a backflip or something. It was mesmerising, it was mouth-watering, and it was much more than what Cinder had expected from such an uncouth-looking girl.

“There’s more to you than meets the eye,” Cinder said, hovering in the air as the bedraggled and perspiring Pyrrha huffed and puffed. “Who knew you had such beauty in you?”

Her face crinkled up in confusion. “I’ve been told I look good in battle, but I didn’t expect that from you. What are you playing at?” Her shoulders slumped. “I can tell when I’m being toyed with. You haven’t really been trying for the last ten minutes. I thought I could use that to my advantage and defeat you, but…. I guess it’s just not meant to be. End it. Finish me off, like I know you want to.”

A sly smile spread across Cinder’s features. “I’ve got a better idea. Why don’t I keep you in glass like a pretty butterfly?”

Pyrrha’s eyebrows shot up, but she reacted too slowly to the blast that emanated from Cinder’s fingertips. A block of icy-cold glass encased her from ankles to neck, even encapsulating Pyrrha’s copper shield that had been in her hands. The redheaded girl teetered unsteadily from the weight and then toppled forwards with a grunt.

“Your feet and life are mine now, Pyrhha Nikos,” Cinder said in a voice as cool and calm as a winter chill. “We should have never met.”

“My, my feet? What are you talking about?” Pyrrha said in a raspy croak.

“Why, these lovely little things, of course,” Cinder said. She reached down to Pyrrha’s bare feet, which were a little dusty and dirty from the ground. She slapped the grime off them with her fingers, and even this light sensation was enough to force a quavering giggle from the trapped girl’s lips. “Ticklish? Oh, how wonderful… I think we will most certainly be having a lovely time together.”

“No! Let me go!” Pyrrha wailed. She twisted to and fro, but aside from her neck and her ankles, she could barely budge an inch. She was tall and quite muscular compared to most of the other girls at Beacon Academy, but her physical strength did her little good against the unyielding and implacable bonds that encased her — this glass was not going to crack.

Cinder circled her newfound treasures, cooing to herself. Her high heels clacked on the ground as she admired her prize of battle from every angle. Pyrrha’s feet were pale and shapely, with long, nimble-looking toes. The fleshy balls of the feet were a pink coral colour, and the arches were high, which probably factored into Pyrrha’s explosive manoeuvrability. As befitting a tomboyish sort of girl, the toenails were unpainted. The feet flexed and curled up when their owner felt Cinder’s appraising gaze, imbuing the white skin with a multitude of adorable-looking wrinkles.

The dark-haired girl began rubbing her fingers into those feet to get a feel for them, and her heart thumped with delight when she learned they were as soft as they looked, especially around those delicious wrinkles clustered around the arches and the balls of the feet.

“What’s going on?” Pyrrha asked, her lower lip trembling a bit as Cinder played with her toes.

“What’s there to say?” Cinder said, shrugging. “It seems like a waste to kill such a beauty. It was like watching a ballet dancer in action, seeing them flex and curl with every desperate footstep you took. That little show you gave me is the only reason you’re still alive. It was then I decided I wanted to keep you for myself instead of gutting you.”

As she spoke, her fingers continued to caress the trapped feet in front of her. Cinder explored the contours, the curves, the wrinkles, and she almost lost herself in the soft velvety feel of those soles. It was unfair how her own feet, despite frequent pedicures and pampering weren’t nearly as heavenly as these ones were. They weren’t also nearly as sensitive apparently either, based on the gasps and squeaks that were coming from the redheaded girl as a result of this light foot fondling

“Sensitive, huh?” Cinder asked, purring. “Oh, this will be very enjoyable.” Her fingers went from gentle touches to more forceful teases. Cinder pressed in with her fingers, gliding her nails across the pale, pretty feet before her to see what ticklish spots she could find. And she found plenty.

It was clear Pyrrha had no intention of cooperation and revealing her obviously abundant ticklishness. The redheaded warrior was biting her lower lip, closing her eyes, and shaking her head as Cinder’s fingers began to roam along her feet. Cinder’s focusing her attentions on just the right foot for now, and she chuckled at the way Pyrrha’s left foot came jerking towards its under attack twin in a vain attempt to save it.

Oh, this would be very precious indeed, Cinder realised with a gleeful grin as her fingers stroked along the heel and soft arch, circled the fleshy pink ball of the foot, and nipped around those flailing toes.

“These toes of yours are a fun spot,” Pyrrha observed as she just kept poking and prodding her way through the gaps between those toes with her sharp fingernails over and over again. “But your arch seems fairly receptive to my nails as well.” She demonstrated this receptivity by grabbing Pyrrha’s strong toes, yanking them back, and digging hard into the arch to make Pyrrha unleash her first bona fide ticklish shriek of the day.

Pyrrha was wiggling her toes of her right foot, perhaps to try to get rid of the feeling of fingers picking through them, but while she was trying to dispel the remnants of lingering sensations, Cinder gave her no respite by immediately hopping onto the other foot and starting a fresh assault. And Cinder was exceptionally brutal to Pyrrha’s other foot, and the black-haired girl made keen use of her newfound knowledge regarding the sensitive of those slender arches. While Cinder’s right hand scratched fiercely in those high grooves, her left hand pestered the toes, scratching underneath them or worming around the undersides with frantic abandon.

I could get used to this, Cinder quickly realised as she felt the flood of power of having this other girl at her absolute mercy. All the stress of her daily trials and tribulations were just flowing away as she lost track of time and space in this moment, with the only thing she was cognisant of being the soft flesh of Pyrrha’s supple flesh.

Her long, red-painted fingernails went right and left, right and left, and then both at once, and everywhere there was more laughter and delicious reactions to be found. And these twitching, flying feet were continuing to put on an absolutely mouth-watering show with their pathetic attempts at escape from their glass bondage.

And seeing how the tinkling tickles were having such a strong effect on the ferocious fighting girl was just the icing on the cake. Pyrrha’s flaming-red hair was starting to get tousled and messy from her constant struggling, and the squeals and squeaks that were starting to erupt from her as Cinder became more and more acquainted with her sweet spots (like the one right at the base of her left foot, or that nook in between her big and second toe on her right foot) were positively adorable. They were the giggles of a silly, simpering schoolgirl, not some roman legionnaire wannabe!

But this little nightmare that Cinder had created for Pyrrha was just beginning, for oh, this was just far too pleasurable to stop now, the dark girl thought. As the sight of those squirming pink peds wrinkling and flexing soon proved too alluring for the black-haired, black-hearted woman, and she leant down and brought her lips to the soft-looking soles caught in front of her.

Pyrrha’s first reaction to this new and foreign stimulus was something that pushed away any qualms from Cinder’s mind that this was what she wanted to do. Amidst the low, defiant giggles, a new sound was heard. It was a gasp, a half-moan, an oooh, that suggested a nervous system that had been caught entirely by surprise and utterly off-guard. The pale, pinkish toes spread, and Cinder took this as her all too welcome cue to engulf Pyrrha’s big toes in her mouth. The trapped toe squirmed in Cinder’s mouth, but there was nowhere to escape as Cinder’s tongue lapped and slid across it. Cinder’s closed her eyes and imagined she was sucking away at a lollipop, a sinfully sweet morsel made even more delicious by the fact that every lick and lap was undoubtedly causing havoc and anguish to her trapped foe. The other toes started to wiggle to try to push her feet away, but Cinder pulled them still so nothing could interrupt her moment.

The tongue slid across the pads as the big toe began to tire and seemed to resign to its fate, and Pyrrha cried and grunted as the tongue probed along the gap between the first two toes. A bite along the undersides soon had Pyrrha squeaking and giggling again.

Cinder rubbed her mouth. Pyrrha’s soles were still a little damp and a little dusty from their battle across the floor of the ruined rooftop, but aside from that, she found she had no complains about the delectability of those toes. She immediately began feasting on the next few toes in line, simultaneously taking the second and third toe into her mouth since they were smaller. While her mischievous tongue pushed through the gaps between those sensitive digits, Cinder spidered her hands across the rest of the sole, marveling at the ambivalent shout of laughter that burst forth from her captive as she did so. She was the only one supposed to be having a good time, and she had no intention of letting Pyrrha derive any pleasure at all unless that was exactly what she had on the agenda.

After finishing with all the toes, relishing in the sweet, tangy taste of the defeated girl’s feet, Cinder began to explore the rest of the sensitive foot with her naughty, explorative tongue and teeth. The high arches were an especially fun spot to navigate with her probing mouth, as they wandered along the curve of those deep crevasses. It was also incredible the way the texture of that spot could change so rapidly if Pyrrha’s curled her toes to wrinkle up the soles, and Cinder found herself enjoying the rough surface and ripples in the flesh so much that she actively went about ensuring the soles would scrunched as often as possible.

Pyrrha did not always cooperate with this desire, but that was no problem. A few fingers scampering along the toes, the sides, or the insteps were often effective in ensuring that Pyrrha’s flinching feet continue to reflex in a desperate defensive effort. Her feet were spastic, a constant flurry of energetic motion, but there was nowhere to run and nowhere to hide from Cinder’s marauding fingers, and soon enough, those slender feet tired from their fruitless attempts to flee.

“Stahahahap! Stahahap it, you crahahahazy wohohohomahahn!”

The noises that Pyrrha made ranged from irritating and enticing. Sometimes, like right now, she would be wailing and begging with words mangled and twisted by forced laughter. Those were always fun. Other times, she blustered and threatened, declaring she would shove her bronze sword up certain orifices or would do rather humiliating and degrading things to Cinder in the future, but those were more amusing than likely to draw Cinder’s ire. It was not that different from the tantrum of a five-year-old promising to kill you.

Pyrrha’s laughter ranged from musical giggling to boyish cackling, and it drifted everywhere in between as well. The fluctuations of mirth were music, and Cinder adored how responsive her captive was to every flick of her tongue and every wiggle of her sharp fingernails. When the redhaired warrior was trying to resist and tough it out, the laughter would go silent, or it would come out in the form of begrudging grunts. When the tickling had overwhelmed, it spilled and exploded out via wild squeaks and squeals. When the tongue teasing started to nudge the sensations in a more licentious direction, the laughter turned gaspy and breathy, with ooh and aahs aplenty.

Cinder wondered if the redhaired girl was enjoying this predicament. Somehow, she rather doubted that ingrate was getting much pleasure from this, especially as Pyrrha was often shouting about how sick and deranged Cinder was for putting her through this, but that was perfectly fine. It was much better if Pyrrah was suffering and hating herself for whenever those agonising licks brushed across spots that fed her a tantalising tendril of ecstasy. If the tickle torture was torturous, and the erotic tongue torment was torturous, then it was the epitome of a win-win sitation. Cinder herself was enjoying herself enough for the both of them.

Initially, Cinder had considered eliminating this Pyrrha girl once they had finished their fun little moment together, but she was starting to have a change of heart. After all, death was so final, so finite, yet life? Life was full of infinitive possibilities. There were so many delightful avenues that could be explored if Pyrrha lived, and Cinder adopted her as an amusing plaything.

Cinder’s toes curled in her patented high heels at all the delicious hypotheticals. Oh, the thought of breaking this strong-willed woman with tools and torment with intoxication. It would be like having a pet, only far less boring than a goldfish who just swam around in slow circles, an arrogant cat who slept all day, or a jumpy, yappy dog who barked and growled at every tiny little noise.

Fingers and tongue had proven effective enough on her sensitive captive, but that was only a tiny arsenal compared to the armoury that could be unleashed in the colourful art of tickle torture, which Cinder had once read extensively about in her studies. Knowledge was power, and if there was something Cinder loved above all, it was power.

She visualised the proud warrior in a set of wooden stocks with her toes tied back in string. The feet would wiggle and strain against the ropes as Cinder applied itching powder to every inch of those delectable soles. She would make sure to coat the toes to ensure no spot was spared. Before long, Pyrrha would be begging to be tickled.

She fantasied the adorable redhead on a plastic table with all her limbs stretched out as if she were a soaring eagle. But at each limb of this eagle, an attendant inflicted agony of a ticklish variety with long, ruthless fingernails. Two at the feet, one at the armpits, and one straddling the girl’s waist to torment the toned stomach and the bare abdomen. Just to mock her so-called strength, they might not even tie her down. They would just sit on her body and keep her pinned in place with their cumulative body weight, tickling any resistance out of her.

She imagined the defiant girl upside and dangling off a ledge with her body mummified with thick bandages that bound her arms to her side. Her pale, long feet would be bare, of course, and at the top of this perch, Cinder would sit and enjoy herself with the feet in front of her. Pyrrha’s body would wriggle like a worm, wailing and shrieking as the whole litany of tools, feathers, toothbrushes, hair brushes, pipe-cleaners, pinwheels, q-tips, forks, and combs probed and abused her highly sensitive feet.

Oh, the endless possibilities. Cinder would have a difficult time deciding which one she wanted to do first, and who knew? Maybe a new, ever better idea would pop into her mind before long. She would think long and hard about her decision. Till then, she would occupy herself with the very ticklish in front of her…

“Laugh for me, Pyrrha… that’s all you’ll be doing for a very long time.”

RWBY TK: Pyrhha Nikos and Cinder, Part 2

“No… I’m still here.”

Those were the first words that the redheaded student of Beacon Academy heard when she regained consciousness. Her green eyes blinked slowly, and she blew strands of her hair out of her face. The last thing Pyrhha remembered was that intense duel with Cinder, the dangerous and dangerously attractive woman who stood in the cell with her right now. Pyrrha still remembered her heart hammering away in her chest, the blood rushing in her ears, and every whiz, clang, and smash of their pitched battle.

She remembered how close it had been, how hard they had fought, but the only thing that mattered in the end was that she had lost. All her agile and nimble dodging, all her running and evasive manoeuvres, and all her expert parries had ended up in her defeat, had ended up with her in this gruesome situation. Pyrrha had been certain the dark-haired woman had murder glinting in her amber eyes at the final moment of their fight, but Cinder had spared her. It seemed Cinder had not done so out of mercy, however.

Her throat felt so dry and parched that even breathing was rough and uneasy. Pyrrha glanced down at her feet and for the first time noticed how her feet were in a pair of thick, white woollen socks that she definitely hadn’t been wearing before. She still had the rest of her clothing — her brown crop top with bronze plate, her mini-skirt, and her gloves, so at least she still was able to retain her modesty. She could feel the fabric of her clothes under the straightjacket she now wore that kept her arms wrapped across her chest. Perhaps she had been tempting such a ticklish fate with her usual outfit that exposed stomach and armpits…

“Why am I still here?” Pyrrha said in a low, breathy grunt. “Why won’t you let me go?”

Cinder smiled, but it was the kind of small, sly smile that was more a show of teeth than a show of genuine mirth. “You must have forgotten in the heat of the moment. Not that I blame you… our battle was most exhilarating.” She flicked a lock of her ashen-black hair out of her face. “I aimed a shot at your ankle, but it missed and sliced your shoes to pieces. At the time, I cursed your damnable reflexes, but as we danced our deadly dance, I couldn’t help but notice those lovely feet of yours. They were… entrancing. They deserved a far better fate than death.” The dark-haired girl opened and closed her fingers as she spoke, which had nails that were painted a dark-red.

The defeated warrior didn’t want to believe it, but those malevolent, shimmering amber eyes were murderously serious under that violet eye-shadow. “You’re a monster,” she said.

“How are you feeling this morning?” Cinder asked, ignoring what Pyrrha had just said. How about your lovely feet?”

Pyrrha abstained from answering. The truth was her feet felt funny, for a lack of better term. They were trapped inside the thick woollen socks that this evil woman had put on her, and they felt heavy and tingly. She wiggled her toes inside those socks and she could feel the fluffy bristles making her feet itch, which was an ominous sign for her sensitivity.

Cinder giggled at Pyrrha’s stoic response. “Those are no normal socks. Those are gel moisture socks infused with skin softener. You’ve been wearing a fresh pair every few hours, and I’ve had my underlings give you regular pedicures in the intervals. I thought about having your toenails painted, but that didn’t seem to be very in-character for a tough cutie like you. You thought you were sensitive before? Oh, you are in for quite a shock, my dear.”

As the sock was slowly pulled away from her right foot, Pyrrha realized how cool and wet her foot felt in the cold air of the dungeon. Her foot felt unmistakably different. The skin from soles to ankles felt thinner and softer, undoubtedly more sensitive, and she felt a fresh rumble of panic start in her stomach.

Not for the first time, she tried to use her metal powers or her innate strength to burst free, but just like all the previous times, she couldn’t break out of the barriers that the evil Cinder had placed in her path.

“Delicious,” Cinder whispered.

Pyrrha couldn’t see what her soles looked like from this angle, but based on the way the other woman was smacking her lips, they must have been an enticing sight. The insteps and the ankles definitely seemed pinker than she remembered. The redhaired girl could not resist the shivering tremble that went through her body when Cinder lightly pawed at her right foot.

“Let’s see if we can’t make them even softer before we begin in earnest.” The dark woman pulled out a jar of some kind of lotion-y concoction and began rubbing it into Pyrrha’s right foot.

Cinder’s hands were warm and slick with the oily lotion, and Pyrrha gritted her teeth as those fingers began rubbing all over that trapped right foot. She tried to twist or flex her foot away as to make things as difficult as possible for her captor, but Cinder’s nimble hands were strong, and the reality was nowhere to flee to in this glass prison.

And after a while, despite Pyrrha’s valiant vows to keep her mind sharp and concentrated on the matter at hand, there was no denying that it felt nice when those gentle yet firm fingers caressed up and down her foot. She used both hands on the one foot, holding it in place with the fingers while her thumbs pressed into the arches. Firm pressure, circling motions, slowly sliding up and down them… if she had allowed herself to give in to the feeling, it might have felt very relaxing, but Pyrrha bit down hard on her tongue and lip to force herself not to lose her focus.

“Let’s get to the proper pampering now,” Cinder said with a cackle and lifted up a pumice stone. The sight of it made Pyrrha wince. She had been dragged to a salon once with her friends, in what felt like a decade ago, and she had quickly learned how unbearably ticklish she was on her feet when those damnable things were used. And her feet had been tougher back then. Would she be able to handle it now with these dainty, silky-soft things?

She soon got her answer. As her tender, helpless foot twitched in Cinder’s iron grip, the pumice stone brushed and brushed around the smooth pink balls of her right foot. Again and again, it hit that spot on the ball right underneath the toes. And with a growing sense of dread, Pyrrha realized that the infernal woman was taking her sweet time probably because she intended to be so meticulous and thorough with every last inch of her hypersensitive soles! It definitely felt like she took an eon when she cleaned out delicate crevice beneath the toes where they meet the foot.

Wailing, frustrated laughter exploded out of Pyrrha as the pumice worked away. Once the ball of the foot was finished, which prompted another mind-melting massage from Cinder, the pumice stone took to a new spot and began to scrub the skin directly beneath her long toes, all around her toe pads, and especially along the webbing and spots between those wiggling digits. Try as they might to curl and flex away, Cinder’s always grabbed them and held them steady so the pumicing could continue utterly unabated.

Pyrrha wasn’t sure she could ever quantify exactly how ticklish she was, but her receptivity to the heinous tickle torture had definitely been magnified by at least a hundred times since pre-foot treatments. And her feet had been plenty sensitive enough to begin with…

After finishing with each and every one of those slender and immaculate toes, the pumice started working up and down the arch. Her entire foot felt aflame with sensation now, and Pyrrha’s throat was starting to feel raw from the constant shouts of laughter. Cinder’s smile widened as she continued the treatment. Scrubbing and scrubbing away till Pyrrha was certain they must be tinged a bright pink. When she accidentally voiced this thought (prolonged tickling had the effect of melting the barriers between action and thought), Cinder was happy to inform her how pink and plush Pyrrha’s freshly pedicured feet were, and how deliciously creamy white they were in the arches and between the toes.


When Cinder finally seemed satisfied with the pumice stone and the constant slathering of oils and lotions on Pyrrha’s tingling right foot, the dark-haired bitch took a step back to admire her handiwork.

“I can see the results of my hard labour.” She reached out and flicked up and down the foot in a gentle, feather-like stroke.

It was just one finger, just one slender, sharp, red-painted nail, but that alone tickled so intensely that a spike of fear thudded through Pyrrha. If one finger was this bad, how could she possibly handle ten…

That lone finger was lazy and slow, but the sluggish, unhurried meandering of it drove hard the point of just how enhanced her foot’s sensitivity had been from the extended treatment. Pyrrha could feel how that finger sank into the yielding, soft skin as it skittered from heel to arch and back again in a looping pattern.

Cinder seemed to have no problem with Pyrrha’s toes flying and fleeing with every stroke, but before long, she tired of the chase and tied each of the toes of her right foot firmly back so even the ability to scrunch or flail was gone. Pyrrha could still kick and flap with her left foot, which was still socked in the softening gel pack, but the foot was too far away to reach over and protect its besieged partner.

Now, trapped in place, her right foot could merely quiver as the merry fingernail traced its way along the grooves of her deep arch. It felt as though the accursed woman was trying to mark out every single wrinkle on the bottom of her foot, for she was so meticulous with her scratching, probing finger.

Pyrrha was already gnashing her teeth to prevent herself from screaming, but this resolve soon broke when the finger terrorising her foot was met by its compatriots, and ten fingers flew all over her taut, flawless foot. With one hand scratching right at the base of the arch while the other hand glided across her toes to wiggle under them as well as around the tender spaces in between, she could barely even play at resistance, especially not with her newfound baby-soft sole. And with her foot still coated in a plethora of oils and lotions, the fingers were able to fly across the foot with ease.

“Now your feet are nice and lady-like,” Cinder said with a cruel laugh. “Soft and delicate to the touch. Now, let’s see how they taste.”

There was no time to brace herself, no moment to brace herself for the return fo that icky, disgusting feeling of a tongue slithering and slurping across her foot. Her green eyes brimmed with tears, so much that the flickering light in her jail cell blurred till it became a strobe light. Worse of all, her newly-pampered feet were so much more receptive that the warmth of the tongue, the slow way it lap and slid across her foot, and the tender kisses and nibbles Pyrrha would play on choice spots began to induce a polarising response to the bound and trapped girl.

To an extent, the way that tongue moved and probed was not unlike that of an exotic, sensual massage, and compared to the wanton foot brutality of brushes, pumice stones, and fingers? At the end of the day, it was infinitely preferable, and pleasure surged through Pyrrha’s body as a result of it, though Pyrrha shook her head, gritted her teeth, and swore to choke down every gasp and moan that threatened to escape her lips as a result of the lingering sensations. That tongue tickled terribly, truth to be told, and she despised how cool her assaulted right foot was feeling as a result of persistent licks. She didn’t enjoy it, she continually told herself, she didn’t, didn’t, didn’t. It was just less bad than some of the other stuff—the least bitter poison on offer.

Cinder finished with a kiss to Pyrrha’s clenched big toe and wiped her lips. “Well, wasn’t that fun?”

“No.”

“Well, maybe next time, then. I still have another foot to soften and savour.”

She tugged at the toe of the thick woollen sock which still contained Pyrrha’s left foot, pulling it off so a few inches of pale, glistening sole were visible. She teased the flesh that had revealed itself with light, spidering motions, as Pyrrha’s laughter started up again.

A few more seconds of tormenting the heel and she reached for the sock again. She tugged the top of it again till Pyrrha’s pale, high arch was visible and set to running her nails all over the freshly-exposed areas.

It seemed the diabolical woman had found a way to turn even the rudimentary act of sock-removal into another spot, another form of anxious anticipation where Pyrrha had to sit there and dread what was due to occur. After all, this could be thought of nothing more than a warm-up. The actual treatment hadn’t even begun yet… Such thinking did Pyrrha no favours as she waited, impatient and perturbed, for Cinder to hurry up.

After there were still three more tugs of the sock to go. First, the ball of the foot was hit next, then the base of the toes, and finally the sock itself was removed, they were finished. Of course, only in the sense that it had merely begun. The pumicing began again.

Time slowed to a limping, crawling gait in this room, and Pyrrha’s second foot treatment with the pumice stone, oils, and lotions were no exception. Beneath the tightly-laced straitjacket, Pyrrha could feel perspiration all over her body, especially under her arms, her neck, and along the small of her neck. If she were unlucky, she had a feeling that Cinder might opt to clean her scrub brushes and soap, naturally paying the closest of attentions to all the vulnerable, ticklish spots.

Panting for breath, Cinder tried to steer her tattered, tired mind to thoughts of escape as Cinder’s treatment began their slow, ominous escalation on her poor left foot. Oils were smeared and rubbed into her foot with slow massaging motions that strained Pyrrha’s concentrations. Her toes were spread and played with one at a time as lotion was applied to every inch of them, from their rosy tips to the paler bases and the webbing between them. But Pyrrha refused to let such things get her down. All she needed was a weapon, an opportunity, a mistake from her cruel captor.

Pyrrha imagined vanquishing her accursed foe, pummelling the dark-haired woman into the ground and cheering with victory. And for the first time in ages, a smile that was not been forced upon her by heinous tickling appeared on her lips.

She had always been a strong girl, but somehow, the straitjacket around her arms seemed resistant to her strength, probably because of the way her arms were wrapped around her chest so she could not create the leverage to rip free. The nullification of her natural ability over metal was more perplexing. She saw metal everywhere in her cell, from the lightbulb above her, the metal buckles in her jacket, and even the tell-tale shimmering glint of metal in some of the tools Cinder had in her arsenal. But whenever Pyrrha try to sing to them, to summon them to her aid, she found the objects were cold and unresponsive. Was there some magical force in place that blocked her powers? The muscles in her arms, legs, and neck ached, her eyes were bleary and tired, and her head was constantly pounding, which made her wonder if she had somehow been drugged or dosed. Had Cinder been injecting her with some inhumane chemical cocktail that blocked out powers? Did such a thing even exist? Or was she simply unable to use her abilities because of how much physical and mental anguish Cinder had proven capable of inflicting on her terribly ticklish feet? The torture had been more than she would have believed possible considering it involved something so trivial.

She could be tormented in every way under the sun, but the evil woman would only be able to take her wits away if she let her. Her mental sanity was something that could never been taken away from her, though the repeated tickle attacks were proving that it could be frayed and cracked by such monstrous assaults on her sensitive body.

Forcing her mind to consider all hypotheticals, Pyrrha zoned in on those two possibilities. It was far better to focus on these distant thoughts rather than how relentless Cinder was scrubbing her left foot with the pumice stone—the arch was her main target at the moment, and she kept on applying a fresh layer of white, creamy lotion every minute or so to serve as lubricant for her brutal pumicing. If her powers had been neutralised by some chemical, all she had to do was to not eat any food or drink given to her. If she was being injected unbeknownst to her, then she would have to be patient and wait for her body to acclimatise and the effects of the toxin because less potent.

She just had to bide for time. Besides, there was always a chance that Cinder might get bored with her and leave her alone after a while. Pyrrha tried not to dwell on the possibility that Cinder might decide to dispose of her in a rather permeant manner. But until that moment or until escape became possible, there was no denying that her pale feet were apparently no longer hers.

“There, now both your feet are as soft as a princess’s,” Cinder said as she put down the pumice stone. “But then again, they aren’t really your feet anymore, are they? They are my property, now and forever.”

Her words made Pyrrha’s shiver and her heart beat with a fresh burst of wild fear. It was as if the dark-haired villain had read her mind somehow.

“I must say, I’m quite proud of my work,” she said, fluttering her fingers lightly up one foot then the other to make Pyrrha scrunch up her face in a frustrated, forced smile. “Your scrumptious feet are now a work of art.”

“I disagree,” Pyrrha muttered and blew a lock of her red hair that had gotten in her face. The merciless wannabe pedicurist had finished with the left foot a few minutes ago, but she seemed to decide she had not been thorough enough on the other foot, and she had revisited a few choice spots to get them a few touch-ups with a fresh squirt of oil and vigorous application of the pumice stone. Naturally, the spots that she targeted invariably seemed to be all the hellish ticklish spots on those pale feet. But now, it seemed she had finally finished her treatment with tools and ointment on both of Pyrrha’s soles.

“It’s time we began tickling in earnest.” Without letting Pyrrha contemplate what exactly she meant by those words, she cracked her knuckles and dug in right way. With a lick of her red, pouty lips, Cinder tore straight into those soft-as-butter soles, quickly scribbling and scratching up and down both of the trapped feet at once. The prolonged foot treatment torture had eradicated almost all of Pyrrha’s warrior resistance, and she could only hold for a second or two before the harsh belly laughter exploded out of her.

Even if her toes weren’t tied back to force her sole taut, this extended tickling session, which had gone on for at least an hour already, had sapped her strength. The world seemed to darken as nothing existed aside from her slick, oiled-up feet and those fingers dancing up and down them.

Cinder revisited one of the particularly bad spots she had taken care to map out during her probing investigations of Pyrrha’s feet, scratching with two fingernails at the very centre of the pale arch. She hit that same spot on the left foot, then the right, then both at once, chuckling at the way Pyrrha’s hysterical laughter would rise and drop in pitch with every change in target.

When she finally pulled her fingers away, Pyrrhawas a mess. She felt sweat dripping down her face despite the chill of the room, getting into her eyes and trickling down her cheeks. Or were they tears? It was hard to tell. Every muscle in her body was sore and aching from her endless and fruitless struggles from her strait-jacket and the string restraining her toes. Her feet felt as hot as if they had been lying out in the sun for hours, and she wished badly that her feet could move a bit so they could scratch each other to dispel a bit of residual ticklish sensations.

“Now, let’s see what we can with your enhanced sensitivity,” Cinder said, twirling a white and grey goose finger in her slender, red-painted fingers. “I would never have imagined a tough girl like you would be feather ticklish, but let’s see what we can do with this, eh?”

At the sight of the feather, Pyrrha almost allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. While Cinder used a cloth to wipe away traces of oil so the feather would not get damp, Pyrrha thought on how the soft, dainty thing looked infinitely gentler and less gruesome than the sharp, quick fingernails and rough, scratchy pumice stone that had been inflicted upon her feet thus far. Maybe she wouldn’t be reduced to a shrieking, squealing wreck this time. Maybe she would be able to sort of hold it together instead of turning into a madwoman.

Such thinking did not endure even one sweep of the goose feather. Ten fingernails were bad, as was one big pumice stone because of how a fairly decently large surface area, but the feather had dozens and dozens of bristly hairs. When these thin, fine fibres sawed back and forth against her arch, she felt each one of them all too acutely, on account of the ramped-up sensitivity her new feet boasted. The stiff feather also proved itself capable of reaching deep spots that were hard to otherwise get at, as Cinder happily demonstrated when she explored the nooks between each toe, slowly and one at a time.

Sometimes, she would rip the feather through those gaps with quick, tearing motions so the bristles of the feather scrapped the undersides like a fuzzy comb, and other times she would pull the feather in and out of that highly-sensitive area in a slow, tedious way that was somehow worse because the constant, sustained teasing of such a rarely touched spot. Before long, Cinder procured another feather and sent poor Pyrrha down to the depths of another tickling hell with two feathers spinning and spiralling all over her soft soles for another eternity.

When the feathers finally ceased their brushing, Pyrrha was breathless and in the throes of ticklish agony once more as sweat and tears trickled down her cheeks and her muscles screamed in helpless fury.

“Good night, my pet,” Cinder said as she leaned over and kissed Pyrrha on the forehead. “See you in the morning. Don’t miss me too much…”

RWBY TK: Pyrhha Nikos and Cinder, Part 3

Pyrrha Nikos wanted to whoop for joy, to hop up and down, to raise both arms like a champion, and scream out her joy for all the world to hear. But she knew she couldn’t risk it. Crawling on her hands and knees, she slowly made her way through an overhead ventilation shaft. The frigid air sent chills on her bare skin, and her feet tingled under the chilly sensation of the metal, but she knew she had to keep her cool, or Cinder Fall would have her straight back in that strait jacket, and things would get even worse for Pyrrha and those sensitive feet of hers.

During the routine of foot treatment pampering and tickling that had taken place over the weeks and weeks as Cinder’s pet and plaything, Pyrrha had more than once believed that things couldn’t possibly get worse. Every minute, every second made her skin itch and every single fibre of her being want to escape. Her mind was a scrambled mess trying to compute the endless barrage of sensations inflicted on her hyper-ticklish bare feet and surging through her nervous system. As bad as it had been, however, Pyrrha knew that if that beautiful, devious, insane woman Cinder put her mind to it, she would find a way to make it ever worse. If anyone could turn suffering to infinite plus one, it was her.

But Pyrrha tried to push all that from her mind as she focused on her movements. Slow, steady, and perfectly balanced, she crawled forward. After a few minutes of this tedious loping movement, and Pyrrha’s shoulders and neck began to ache, she wondered how fast she could go if she stopped with this charade and just charged forward as fast as she could. Would it be worth it to sacrifice the stealth for speed? It was so tempting to scramble forward on her hands and knees despite the thundering clangour it would make especially as Pyrrha thought to the empty cell she knew would be discovered at any moment. She had to, had to, had to be as far away from this damnable place as quickly as possible when that happened, for she knew Cinder had invested far too much time and effort into making her plaything as responsive as possible to just let her go now.

Freedom was a sweet, delicious draught, and Pyrrha had absolutely no intention of merely getting a brief taste of it, especially considering the pains and anguish it had taken to reach this stage. She closed her eyes, took in the smell of fried oil and grease that suggested she must be near the kitchens, and took a deep breath. Every minute or so, Pyrrha tried to conjure up her powers of telekinesis, which would have been such a boon in her current situation. After all, she was unarmed, her muscles were weak from their extended captivity, and the lightest touch on her bare feet could reduce her to a giggling wreck, so it was imperative she try to seek every advantage possible. Right now, she couldn’t honestly say she liked her chances in a combat situation with just about anyone.

So she did the only thing she could do. She continued squeezing her way through the narrow shaft and itched towards escape.

But she soon felt a sense of gnawing unease in the pit of her stomach, the feeling that something was watching her or perhaps creeping up on her. Initially, she had jumped and flinched at every creak or echo in the shaft, convinced that every noise was Cinder discovering her, but she had grown to ignore most of the minor groans and squeaks that came with such a ventilation system. But this clanking, slithering noise she had begun to notice a few minutes ago was more persistent, unlike the other noises she heard. It always seemed to be coming from behind her, and perhaps this was merely a fearful imagination playing cruel pranks on her, but the noise seemed to be getting closer and louder with each passing moment.

She tried squinting and looking behind her, but the dim light and warm, stifling air made her eyes water, and she could not make out anything distinctive. Despite her murmured reassurances that she was just being jittery and silly and it was probably nothing, sweat trickled down her brow and her heart continued to pound so hard in her chest she was convinced everyone in the building must have heard it reverberating through the shaft.

But after a few more minutes of this, the gurgling wurble Pyrrha heard from behind her was impossible to ignore, nor was the sensation of something cold and slimy brushing her ankle. She turned back and gasped. The black pooling creature behind her could only be a Grimm! The Grimm must have been attracted to all the negativity that spawned from a hellish facility such as this, especially with a leader like Cinder Fall who enjoyed torturing innocent damsels in her spare time, as Pyrrha knew too well. The limited light meant it was difficult to identify what particular animal this Grimm had taken form as, but it seemed to be some kind of octopus or squid beast, based on the way it was slithering towards her and the slender, flexible appendages it had. From what Pyrrha could tell from feel and from what the faint light showed her, these tentacles ranged in size from being as thick as pencils to as thick as her arm. One of these larger limbs was wrapped around her bare right foot.

Her first reaction was to yank her foot back, but the tendril that had ensnared her was as strong as a vice-grip. Stomping down on her mysterious assailant did little as well, aside from the fact that now both her were hopelessly entangled in the wet, tentacled creature. From what Pyrrha could tell, the beast was about the size of a dog, which meant she ought to have had enough strength to dislodge it, but it seemed her time in captivity had sapped far too much of her power.

God, what was this thing even doing here? Pyrrha thought, her lips pursed in a thin, frustrated line. It was just her luck to stumble upon some kind of creature like this here. It would probably drag her straight back to her cell to await some ‘disciplining’ from Cinder. Was she really so unlucky or was this some kind of security system in place? Well, if this Grimm was placed her on purpose, she was doomed either way, but it was just happenstance that it was here, then maybe there was still hope.

She closed her eyes and began talking long, slow breaths. Grimm were drawn to malevolence, suffering, and stress, so perhaps if she was in a state of calm, it would lose interest and wander away in search of more entertaining prey.

All hopes of creating a serene and blissful sense of being, however, were promptly dashed when the slick tendrils began to slide along the bottom of Pyrrha’s trapped feet. The thin, stringy tentacles were explorative at first, like a dog sniffing an outstretched hand, but even this initial investigation was enough to send spasms of ticklishness shooting through her body. The tendrils had cocooned firmly around her ankles and now half a dozen of the small worm-like appendages were probing along the long, pale bare feet with slow, ethereal strokes that proved absolutely maddening. A few chance touches against the undersides of her toes almost made Pyrrha scream right then and there, so she had to keep her feet curled at all times, but that took effort, and effort was continually being leeched from her as the nimble tendrils traced up and down her wrinkled arches, flicked at her heels, or teased along the tops and sides, which were blessedly not as sensitive as her soles, but the different levels of sensation meant she had to focus even more to keep her reactions under control.

Her feet and legs tensed up at once, and Pyrrha balled her hands up into fists and fought even harder to pull herself free. Her nightmarishly ticklish feet had been softened and pampered by so many treatments that even this was fast proving unbearable! How had the Grimm known about her vulnerability? How? Pyrrha would dearly have liked to know the answer, but her brain had no energy left for hypotheticals. All her energy was now devoted to being as soundless as possible so she did not alert the others in the building with the sounds of laughter and struggle. She tried pushing her way forwards, but found her legs shaky and nonresponsive, and pushing way backwards proved equally ineffective, as she was unable to dislodge the monster behind her without sufficient leverage from her legs. Sadly, this was impossible because of the way her muscles were turning to jelly with every lazy flick along her soles.

And as Pyrrha’s distress became more obvious from her white knuckles, gnashing teeth, pale face, shaking body, and grunts of supressed laughter, the Grimm started tickling even harder, having confirmed that this method was an effective way of coaxing more dread from its target.

Thin serpent-like tendrils wormed between her toes, wiggling and snaking their way through the gaps where Pyrrha despised being touched, even before all of this. They congregated all around that spot from the base of the toes to their rosy tips and rummaging all over those areas with their squishy, icky touch that made Pyrrha feel almost as if a hundred cold, tiny tongues were slathering all over her tender digits. With a true warrior’s heart, Pyrrha fought those damn things every step of the way,

Naturally, the tendrils exploring the rest of her sole were far from idle during this all-out attack on her toes. Several continued to flick up and down her arches. Some were slow and some were speedy, and the variation within the attack was effective in drawing more spasms and flinches as she held her hand tightly over her mouth and made choking sounds. The fact the Grimm was starting to show more intelligence regarding its ticklish assault was a worrying development that Pyrrha would have given a great deal of thought to had her energy not entirely been consumed with keeping her body’s innate reactions under control. Her eyes were tiny slits as she fought the urge to pound her fist on the floor of the metal shaft.

Being tied down and immobilised was its own kind of powerless sort of frustration, but perhaps because of the freedom and autonomy of her current position, this was proving to be equally unbearable. Was it worse to be unable to move, or to be able to move but you must restrain yourself from doing so? With every second that passed, the urge to just damn stealth and damn the consequences was growing stronger. She was already being tickled horrendously, the very thing she had been striving so hard to avoid!

With Cinder, at least she could shout her laughter out instead of allowing it to linger in her chest like a bad case of flu. Her hands and toes already felt sore and tired from the extended bout of clenching as a result of her efforts in keeping her mirth under control. It reminded her of when she was doing a plank in the gym. Sometimes, it was actually easier to do a few high-intensive reps as opposed to holding a stationery position for a long period of time, and the same was true for tickle torture, it seemed.

And she was fast reaching the limit of this endurance, too. And when the thin tentacles began slowly sliding along her ankles, creeping up her shins, and starting to tease the backs of her knees, it all became too much, especially when it was clear they would slowly scuttle their way till the monster had her entire body wracked with helpless hysterics. It was a thin, fragile hope, but she had to try. Gasping for breath, she scrabbled forward, straining with her entire body. Every inch the Grimm fought her, but by pawing her fingers on the metal for purchase regardless of the noise it made, she was able to make progress.

The monster did not like her attempt to escape, as evidenced by the gurgling growl it made. It tried to yank her back, but proved unable to do so once Pyrrha used her arms as leverage to push her way forward (and making a clanging din in the process).

Eventually, it coiled up like a panther and pounced on her. Shouting with surprise, Pyrrha elbowed and punched the creature in what passed for its head, but only got her arm entangled by wet, sticky tendrils for her trouble. Further gyrations and twisting manoeuvring attempts to kick or headbutt the creature only got her more tightly wound up in the beast’s grasp. Before long, her limbs were stretched out in all directions and unable to move, as if she had been playing a particularly competitive game of Twister. The Grimm took this as its cue to hone in on the buffet of sensitive spots that had presented themselves. A pair of tendrils came prodding into her pale, bare armpits, digging right in the very centre of them to make her arms wobble and shake. A smaller tendril lapped along the collarbones and her neck, zipping to one side and then the other every time she tried to snap her neck away to avoid its slimy lick.

A wave of six or seven tendrils brushed from her side to belly, one after the other like a duckling following its mother, each sensitive being swiped at by one tendril after the other. These tendrils were a steady loop circuiting from the highest rib down to the bottom of her belly, and they always made Pyrrha squeak when the staggered, repeated attack brushed past her navel. After a while, one worm-like tentacle crept into her belly button and stayed there permanently, slowly circling that hellishly sensitive little spot over and over again. Two tendrils traced slow figure-eights on her inner thighs, while another pair nestled under her knees to sweep along that weak spot continuously.

The tendrils at her feet had not stopped, of course, though there were fewer there, just two on each foot to pester the toes and arches respectively, as most of the Grimm’s resources were committed to voyaging across the rest of Pyrrha’s sensitive body to uncork more agony from the redheaded girl.

Laughter blasted out of Pyrrha—she had been laughing steadily during the entire struggle, in fact, even before things had gotten from bad to awful to awfully, incredibly bad. It was only by allowing herself to succumb to laughter that she had found the reservoir of energy to burst free initially before she had gotten her whole body engulfed by the Grimm’s embrace, though it had ended up with her in this current mess.

It was not in Pyrrha’s spirit to give up despite setbacks, however, especially when a date with Cinder awaited her if she failed her. Maybe it was just her mad imaginings, but she felt like she could her Cinder’s smug voice echoing all around her… she had to get out of this sticky predicament. She threw her body around as best as she could, even as the tickling drew more and more energy from her. The metal of the vent groaned and shuddered. It had never been designed to handle air and dust mites, and Pyrrha and the Grimm tumbling around in the shaft was causing its rusted screws and bolts to screech in protest.

With a crashing splutter after a particularly violent slam of Pyrrha’s body against the Grimm, the ventilation shaft tore open and dumped both shrieking girl and cooing Grimm onto the room beneath them.

Coincidentally, this room was where Cinder and her associates were having a meeting. Cinder, who had been leading a spirited discussion on a variety of topics, such as the long-term goals of Salem, and performance reviews for some of her underlings.

Initially, she had dismissed the strange creaks and groans from the ventilation shaft as rats or perhaps the strange echoes that resulted from this old building, but when the half-naked Pyrrha erupted from the ceiling, locked in a ticklish embrace with a glomping Grimm.

“How nice of you to join us, Pyrrha,” Cinder said. She saw the flurry of limbs, the sound of throaty, hectic laughter she that had become her lullaby, and she quickly pushed aside her cold fury and replaced it with a smile sweet with the promise of future retribution.

“What the hell is that Grimm doing here?” asked one of her officers beside her.

“You know how those beasts are,” Cinder said in a dismissive voice that hid most of the anger that was bubbling away within. How had Pyrrha gotten out of her cell, out of her straitjacket? This had been a close thing indeed, if that Grimm hadn’t been there, who knew what might’ve happened… “They pop up everywhere. This one must have skulked around in the vents and came across our favourite girl,” Cinder said. “What brings you here, Pyrrha? Did you miss me?”

Pyrrha being here could only mean one thing—an escape attempt. So, she was tired of her company, was she? She did not appreciate all the loving attentions that she had ravished on her? Well, if that was the case, then so be it. Cinder would just have to stop being so damn nice.

“Stahahahap, nohohoho!” Pyrrha wailed, though whether she was speaking to the Grimm, Cinder, the assorted officers, or simply expressing a general sense of outrage to the world was unclear.

“How’s your little prison break going, hmm? Need some assistance?” A snap of her red-painted fingers, and the Grimm reared back from the sudden burst of flames that followed. She tapped her foot as she waited for Pyrrha to reply. After a few seconds, when it appeared Pyrrha had no intention of replying, Cinder gave a big shrug of her bony shoulders and beckoned to the Grimm. “Hold her in place, Grimm, and I won’t charbroil your brains.” Her tone was low and full of murderous intent, and her fingers crackled with pyrokinetic energy in case the mindless creature did not get the point.

Yet somehow, the beast understood! It grabbed the squirming, shouting Pyrrha by the wrists and ankles and spread her till she was sprawled on her belly, her limbs and head resembling a star. The made a quiet, submissive-sounding gurgle and wiggled a few of its thin, weedy tendrils in the air. Was that a request for permission to tickle? Cinder laughed. Perhaps this Grimm might be worth keeping around after all. Perhaps it could be a new pet, or a new jailer for her beloved Pyrrha. It would certainly prove effective in entertained the redhead when Cinder’s duties kept her too busy to visit.

“Grimm, I permit you to tickle her armpits as you see fit. But stay away from her feet. They are mine. The rest of you, don’t just stand there!” Cinder waved an impatient hand at her subordinates. “Either get out and do your business, or assist in the disciplining of this naughty prisoner.”

Her peons scrambled to obey. Cinder reached up and began dragging her sharp nails across Pyrrha’s right foot. It was less pretty than she had remembered, as it was covered in dust from the vents and a some of the Grimm’s slimy fluids, but it still was soft to the touch and highly responsive, based on the way the toes flexed and curled with every stroke of her fingers. She dug into he left foot, cooing and giggling to herself as fond memories came swarming back to here. Pyrrha’s feet were too filthy to give them the tongue treatment they deserved, but there would be time for that later. Cleaning Pyrrha’s grubby feet with scrub brush, soap, sponges, toothbrushes to really get into the nooks and crannies… that would be fun too.

While Cinder had her way with the feet and the Grimm drilled its tendrils into the armpits, the rest of her officers took whatever ticklish spots were available. Some of them, especially the prettier women, had experienced Cinder’s infatuation with feet and tickling before, and they were keen to be on the doling out end instead of the receiving one, as evidenced by the gusto and vigour in which they tore into Pyrrha’s sensitive body with their gloved hands. They scampered their fingers under the knees, squeezed along the kneecaps, and poked around the upper body, particularly along the ribs and sides.

Pyrrha’s struggles and laughter soon starting growing weaker and weaker from all these repeated attacks. She had been tickled too hard for too long…. As unconsciousness grabbed her in white-hot pincers, Pyrrha found herself floating through dreamland. Through her mind’s eye, she saw Cinder Fall in the position had been for so long.

A part of her recognised this was a fantasy, recognised that none of this was real, but so what of it? Did her tattered mind not deserve some relief? Even if it was false, she would relish and derive as much pleasure as she could from this fleeting moment as was humanly possible, for she knew in the grimdark real world, only suffering awaited her. She didn’t want to go back.

Not when here was Cinder’s pale, slender feet were firmly trapped in place, her red-painted toes were bent back, the ice gripping the insteps and the tops of the toes so the soles were taut and vulnerable. The arches, sides, heels, the balls of the feet, and the undersides of the toes were all on full display, and Pyrrha did not intend on neglecting a single spot. The creamy soles shone with slick lotion that had been firmly rubbed in to ensure the flesh was as soft, supple, and sensitive as possible. Cinder’s expression was a different kind of ecstasy for the abused Pyrrha. Her golden eyes glowered in fury, and her long black hair was a tangled mess. A hard ball gag had been shoved in her mouth to silence her, for undoubtedly, she would want to make a great deal of insults or threats in this position, but Pyrrha didn’t want to hear any of it. The only she wanted was to see the desperation in her eyes, the same desperate agony that she knew so intimately. In her hand was a silver pinwheel and a pink hairbrush, for she couldn’t decide which tool to use for, so she used them both. The metal tines of the pinwheel rolled up and down the high, majestic arch of Cinder’s right foot, while the multitude of tiny plastic prickles on the hairbrush unleashed a fierce scrubbing on toes of the left foot.

After a while, Pyrrha switched feet, so each foot could have a taste of the other had been sampling. Curiosity struck her as she wondered if one foot was perhaps more sensitive to a particular tool, and her investigations were never short of meticulous. She worked her tools even harder after these change, till Cinder’s pale feet were pink and warm to the touch.

Pyrrha then abandoned her toys and started using her nimble fingers to try to find every single last ticklish spot on her cruel captor’s beautiful feet. A fresh layer of oil, and her nails skated across the baby-soft soles with a slick, sick glee. A wiggle of her toes here, a scratch down her arch there, a skitter of her nails on the sides just on that spot… oh, the sounds and sensations was a drug of the highest, purest calibre. She would close her eyes, letting her fingers scratch and stroke the flesh based on touch alone.

Even as Cinder’s face grew darker, her struggles more frantic, and her grunts into the gag more feral, Pyrrha kept on tickling harder and harder. She had to keep going, had to tickle harder, had to make the most of this. It would be her turn again soon, she knew…