cosquiheyooo
Registered User
- Joined
- Jan 24, 2022
- Messages
- 17
- Points
- 0
This chapter contains:
This chapter does not contain any characters under 18 years old, nor does any other chapter.
Previous chapter: Ch. 1 Brace Yourself (DA link for this one because it had a ton of formatting in it)
Read on DeviantArt | Support me on Patreon or Buy Me A Coffee
Shining Sea Resort
Chapter 2: Something to Drink?
<music: ‘Motives’ by PLS&TY>
Isabel follows the path until she emerges
at the edge of the dance floor.
She thinks she sees a bar at the other side of the
absolutely enormous room
and decides to start off with a drink
and orient herself.
It doesn’t occur to her to check how long
the monstrous curved wall really is,
nor how many more heads are trapped there.
No, right now, Isabel is captivated by
each new exotic and spectacular person
that brushes against her with every few steps she takes
across the dance floor.
There are so many flashy colors between everyone’s clothes
that she begins to worry that she’s improperly dressed
for a place like this.
Believing that the atmosphere would be more formal than neon,
she had chosen a maroon dress with hoop earrings
and her trusty leather wedges.
In her experience, girls who want to wind up
beneath an older woman
are drawn to a more classic look,
and wedges tastefully frame
a thick, round foot.
An oh-so lovely young woman* passes by Isabel
and instantly breaks her concentration,
mainly because she’s wearing a harness
that holds her hands behind her head
and her elbows up high,
completely exposing her armpits,
which have bright white targets painted on.
On her torso, she wears only a sky-blue chest wrap
decorated with hypnotic spirals
covering her breasts,
and she’s taken advantage of the additional space
by painting the words
“MY ARMPITS REQUIRE YOUR ATTENTION”
on her belly
with arrows pointing to the targets.
Isabel doesn’t want to let her escape,
but she doesn’t muster the courage in time.
“Coming through!” a man in a fedora*
shouts suddenly
moments before splitting the crowd
in front of Isabel,
followed by a small caravan.
Two people are carrying a petite young woman,
a man* in front holding her ankles
“Please! Let me go, please!
Don’t do this, I’m begging youuuu!!”
And after they pass by, just like that,
the young womanwith the harness and the painted armpits
has disappeared into the crowd.
Annoyed, Isabel looks straight ahead
and marches towards the bar with determination.
* oh-so lovely young woman
<name: unknown; gender presentation: feminine; age: 25; hair: dark chestnut, medium-long, straight; skin: olive; height: 5'7" 170 cm; weight: 133 lbs 60 kg; physique: slender, soft features; voice: soprano; nails: aqua blue; feet: size 7 USA 4.5 UK 37.5 EU>
* man with a fedora
<name: unknown; gender presentation: masculine; age: 35; hair: unknown, under a fedora; skin: tan; facial hair: 5 o’clock shadow; height: 6’0" 183 cm; weight: 175 lbs 79 kg; physique: athletic; voice: baritone; nails: plain; feet: size 11 USA 10.5 UK 45 EU>
* petite young woman
<name: unknown; gender presentation: feminine; age: 22; hair: red, medium-long, wavy; skin: medium-brown; height: 5'3" 160 cm; weight: 96 lbs 44 kg; physique: petite; voice: soprano; nails: purple; feet: size 5 USA 2.5 UK 35 EU, with high arches and round toes>
* man in front
<name: unknown; gender presentacion: masculine; age: 30; hair: unknown, under a rainbow squid hat; skin
ale, very hairy, face completely painted with rainbow colors; height: 6’1" 185 cm; weight: 218 lbs 99 kg; physique: tall and stocky; voice: bass; nails: plain; feet: size 14 USA 13.5 UK 50 EU>
* woman in back
<name: unknown; gender presentation: feminine; age:37; hair: jet black, in a long ponytail; skin: dark brown; height: 5’9" 175 cm; weight: 151 lbs 68 kg; physique: average; voice: alto; nails: violet, with French tips; feet: size 8.5 USA 6 UK 39 EU>
The bar has about thirty barstools
under the supervision of five bartenders.
The area beyond the bar is illuminated
by electric-blue lights, and for that reason,
the bar shines like a beacon in the darkness.
The counter is decorated with string lights
of the same color along its edges.
What Isabel had not noticed from a distance
Is that some ten pairs of feet
are protruding upwards from the counter,
one per every three seats.
What a delicious appetizer
—though there are only three options left open.
Isabel has lost all patience with hesitation.
She tries hard to evaluate them rapidly
and trusts in her instincts without stopping.
Upon arriving at her chosen seat,
having successfully claimed it,
she takes a moment,with one hand
resting on the back of the barstool,
to look upon her prey* with curious eyes.
As with the heads in the wall before,
the surface of the counter wraps around her ankles
like built-in stocks.
There’s enough space between them
to comfortably have a drink and a meal.
The shapely toes, facing Isabel,
are held in some kind of metal clamp
bolted to the counter
and individually tied with fine wire
at the tip and at the center
to ensure absolute immobility.
The pale soles, framed by
a beautiful darker color at the edges
present a warm, smooth, and inviting surface
to explore.
She doesn’t have time to wonder much
before letting out a small cry of surprise.
Upon pulling the barstool out from the bar,
she finally notices her victim’s* head
protruding from the base of the counter,
facing upwards,
and her victim finally notices Isabel as well
“Oh … hi,” she says deliriously.
Then her eyes suddenly open wider,
and she looks Isabel up and down.
She clears her throat.
“Hello,” she says, this time dreamily. “Sorry, I was daydreaming.”
She has full lips,
charming dimples,
thick eyebrows,
artful eye makeup
with long, audacious curves,
and a constantly peaceful and hypnotic stare.
Above her head appear the words
“PLEASE REARRANGE MY FACE
WITH YOUR FEET”
in bright letters.
<name: unknown, ‘little fairy’ in Isabel’s mind; gender presentation: feminine; age: 27; hair: black, short, sleek, messy ;skin: medium-brown; height: 5'9" 175 cm; weight: 161 lbs 73 kg; physique: androgynous but curvy; voice: alto, quirky; nails: unknown; feet: size 8.5 USA 8 UK 42 EU, shapely and smooth>
“No problem,” Isabel responds rigidly and takes a seat. “I’ll help you wake up.”
“Ah, hmm …” She clears her throat again. “Ah ... yes please,” she says professionally in spite of her visible excitement.
Isabel begins to remove one of her wedges with the other foot. “I don’t know how things usually go around here, but with me, the happier my feet are, the less my playthings suffer. How does that sound?”
“That’s how things usually go.”
Isabel rests her free footagainst her pretty little fairy’s scalp
with wisps of her short, sleek hair between her toes
as she removes her other shoe
against one of the barstool’s legs.
The fairy lets out a sigh,
closes her eyes,
and subconsciously begs with her parted lips.
“And that won’t pose a problem at all, Mistress,” she says eagerly.
“Wonderful.”
The second shoe falls to the floor with a thud,
and Isabel feels the shape of the fairy’s eyebrows and cheeks
as her soles slide against her face
until her silky toes reach the fairy’s chin
and grip it repeatedly.
The sounds that the fairy makes
no longer have a prayer of being heard,
but Isabel feels the heat of a deep breath
radiate outwards under the pads of her feet,
and the fairy’s feet tense up
what little bit they can.
<music: ‘Paper Love’ by Allie X>
Isabel rests her wrists very deliberately
on the fairy’s toes
and conjures two small tornadoes with her nails
that begin a slow trudge
up and down her arches,
scorching the nerves buried beneath.
Isabel feels through her soles
that the fairy has yelled something
and has to increase the amount of force
that she uses to keep her feet down.
Immediately after,
she feels the prick of the first nibble
followed by the warm, disarming tingling
of a tongue going wild in all directions
against the sensitive skin of a foot.
To reward the fairy for her obedience,
Isabel grants her request
and begins rearranging her face.
“Evening ma’am, something to drink?” a bartender asks Isabel.
Isabel didn’t realize that he had approached until just now.
For a brief moment. Isabel looks at him like an animal.
“Ah — yes. A piña colada, extra strong. And one more in ten minutes please.”
“Two piña coladas, extra strong, one in ten minutes. Got it. Would you like anything else?”
Isabel’s feet take turns
absorbing the fairy’s cries
that swing frantically from panic
to delight.
From time to time, the cries fade
and give wayto the vibration of passionate moans
while the fairy scrubs every inch
of Isabel’s textured soles and heels
with those sinful, shameless lips.
“No … nothing else. Thanks much," Isabel manages to say.
“Alright, all good. Be back soon.”
Once the bartender has left,
Isabel flicks her nails briskly
over the balls of the fairy’s feet,
scatters her tornado attack
over the whole surface of her soles,
and then moves her own feet to the sides of her face
to look upon the devastation she’s wrought.
She has such a sweet smile.
Her makeup is totally smeared,
and tears have started to run down her cheeks.
“Shit shit shit!” she says, voice trembling,
between fits of giggles and squeals.
“So how have enjoyed your stay so — AHH— so far!?” she manages to shout.
“It’s barely even started,” Isabel responds in an intimidating tone
without lifting her gaze from the fairy’s feet.
“Fantastic! — AHH!!”
Isabel starts to work her nails over her heels
and simultaneously gives a nibble
just under the toes of her left foot.
“Okay! That’s enough! Fuck! Someone help!”
The fairy babbles this kind of nonsense
every time she succeeds in taking a breath.
“You have to stop! You can’t do this to me!
Someone please! She’s evil!!”
“Perfect timing,” says Isabel as the bartender sets her drink between the fairy’s ankles. “It’s been a pleasure talking, dear.”
Her thick feet return to burying the fairy’s face
with enough extra space to rest her heels
in her hair
and dangle her toes in the air
under her chin.
The fairy’s face melts into submission without hesitation.
Isabel knows herself well:
the second piña colada arrives
shortly after she finishes her first.
The fairy receives a fleeting moment of mercy
as Isabel thanks the bartender.
She lifts her right foota tiny bit off of her face,
and the fairy seizes the opportunity:
“Mistress! Mistress, don’t—“ She coughs. “Don’t stop!”
“Oh lord, 'don’t stop?' Seriously? I already think you’re cute without the cliché, little one.”
“No, I mean…” She pants. “Don’t stop until I get out of here. Something like … twenty minutes. My shift ends in twenty minutes. Don’t … fuck … Don’t let anyone else take your place. … Grab my tag as soon as they let me out. Bring me to your suite. Do more ungodly things to me. Do you understand what I’m saying?"
Isabel raises her eyebrows pensively and looks forward
as she takes the first sip of her drink,
startled and tempted.
She’s barely thought about her suite since arriving.
And this pretty little fairy wants Isabel to drag her there
and take advantage of her all night.
Isabel wiggles her toes against her face
in anticipation.
“Deal ... my pretty little fairy.
Good luck down there until then.”
She takes another large sip of her drink
before launching a circle attack with her tongue
over the center of the fairy’s sole.
She lets out an undulating wail,
her feelings swirling and bleeding together.
Something that Isabel has not yet noticed
is that the melodious sounds
that she’s managed to extract from this cutie
have drawn attention and a few glances
from many of the patrons gathered around
the two pairs of feet on either side of Isabel.
She’s also stolen a few glances of her own.
There’s a constant electricity in the air in this place.
The music of domination to her left
combines in her ears
with the symphony of mental obliteration to her right,
and both combine with the continuous roar
of hundreds of victims
and the pounding of the music behind her,
and all of this is turning Isabel
into a conduit in the circuit
more and more with each passing minute.
For that reason, when someone puts their hand
on Isabel’s right shoulder,
although she’s acutely aware of the touch,
she feels safe and relaxed.
“Hello dear. Sorry to interrupt.”
It turns out that the hand on her shoulder
is wearing an emerald-green glove up to her elbow
with a line of extravagant wisps
of bright cyan hair
along its length.
Its owner is wearing an emerald-green dress
with open shoulders
and has her hair dyed emerald-green
to match.
“I saw you working, and I noticed your noobie hat. Otherwise, I’d never have known that you were new. You’ve impressed us over there.”
Isabel turns around to look at this charismatic person face-to-face,
and she’s met with a pair of very angular purple sunglasses.
“I’m flattered,”Isabel responds.
“Would you be interested in some help? I brought tools.”
She takes out two objects that look like brushes from her side bag,
holding one in each hand.
They have perfectly round bases from which
spirals of bristles of different colors and textures
stick straight up.
With an imperceptible squeeze of her fingers,
she makes the bristles spin rapidly
with a shrill whirring
and then stop just as quickly
twice in rapid succession.
The fairy, momentarily forgotten by Isabel,
lets out a nervous groan.
“Oh, wow!” Isabel exlaims and accepts one.
“There are supposed to be a few in every suite, but sometimes the staff forgets. Before long, you’ll have a ton.” The diva offers the other one to Isabel as well. “Keep them.”
“Sure. Thanks so much,”says Isabel sincerely,
studying them fervorously.
The base of the device has two triggers opposite each other
where the fingers and thumb wrap around
for effortless activation
in addition to five buttons in the shape of a starat the center.
Upon squeezing the triggers,
the device vibrates vigorously in the hand instantly,
which delights Isabel.
“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, would you like some help with this one?”
“Well, in a few minutes, I’m about to take her down to my suite for a few hours.”
“Fine by me,” the diva responds and takes out two more brushes from her bag.
Isabel looks down at the fairy
as she takes another pensive sip of her drink.
What would be the use of all of those sophisticated restraints
without also increasing her firepower?
Besides, it looks to Isabel like she could learn a few things
from this bigshot — How could she not?
* owner of the glove
<name: unknown, ‘diva’ in Isabel’s mind; gender presentation: feminine; age: 35; hair: emerald-green, long, top bun with one tastefully loose curl; skin: tan; height: 5'8"173 cm; weight: 141 lbs 64 kg; physique: thin; voice: alto; nails: unknown, covered in gloves with fuzzy fingertips; feet: size 7 USA 4.5 UK 37.5 EU>
“Alright,” says Isabel with a smirk. “Cheers!”
“Cheers!” the diva toasts in response
as she takes a seat next to Isabel.
Isabel moves to the left to make room,
leaving her right foot covering the better part
of the fairy’s face.
“Good evening everyone!” the fairy exclaims in a cheeky tone.
“Hello again, little baby,” Isabel says in a cold voice
and doesn’t hesitate to press one of the brushes
against the pad of her left foot.
She expects it to have a potent effect,
but she doesn’t anticipate just how effective
it turns out to be,
nor the strong sensation of hard grinding
that she feels through the device.
“FUCKING SHIT!” the fairy screams at a high pitch.
She tries to say something punchy,
but she only manages to tickle Isabel’s sole slightly
with her voice.
“Hello dear,” the diva coos
and fires up her two brushes in unison.
Unlike Isabel’s,
they emit a harsh buzz in quick bursts
like a sort of pulsating tattoo gun.
The Diva positions the brush in her left hand
under the fairy’s toes, targeting their top sides,
and the brush in her right hand
against the edge of her sole, near the heel,
pressing in firmly like Isabel
and engaging the solid fins that are
attached to the base and hidden
between the bristles and feathers.
The fairy’s head jerks.
Her laughter rapidly changes in character.
Before, she would regain her breath
every thirty seconds or so.
Now it seems that she really can’t stop the laughter.
All that she manages to muster are euphoric sobs.
“Such a cute little marshmallow, isn’t she?”asks the diva hypnotically. “You can tell from everything about her that she wants to be torn to shreds. Isn’t that right, darling?”
Gradually, the fairy loses the ability to
comprehend and respond to individual jibes
that the two dominants make
to entertain themselves and fluster her,
and time loses meaning for her
in those final minutes
before the bartender returns and says,
“Excuse me, guys, I have to ask you to finish up with this escort now for the shift change. There’ll be another victim here in a few minutes, okay?”
“Of course,”Isabel responds mischievously.
“Thank you guys. Just a few minutes.”
“The lady wants to claim rights to this girl per the Nonviolence Principle,” the diva interjects.
“Understood. I’m glad you’re having such a good time, ma’am,” the bartender says cheerfully before lowering himself to the ground, out of view.
“Wow, much obliged!” Isabel says to the diva, satisfied with her decision to keep her around.
“Don’t worry about it, girl.”
Soon, two sections of the wood restraining the fairy’s ankles
separate and retract into the counter.
After a loud thud,
the metal clamps release her toes,
and she lets out a long sigh
as her feet disappear down the hollow columns.
She looks almost drugged.
“Just let me … grab my things,” she pants,
looking them in the eyes
with an urgency in her voice growing
and overtaking the delirious bliss.
Soon, her head too disappears into the counter
through a similar process.
A few moments later,
she emerges from the floor, pulling on a black bomber jacket,
wearing nothing else but sky-blue underwear.
She makes a sloppy gesture with her hand
and heads for the kitchen doors.
“Here you are,” the bartender says to Isabel
and hands her a small, square device
with very simple screen
containing only an identification number
and the name
Rita.
*** *** ***
To be continued!
Next chapter: coming soon
- footdom / foot smothering – F/F
- intense tickle torture - F/F, FF/F (real), MMF/F (implied)
- extreme bondage
- instances of dubious consent (but everyone has a good time) – see the foreword to the series for a full description of what this means
- excellent music recommendations
This chapter does not contain any characters under 18 years old, nor does any other chapter.
Previous chapter: Ch. 1 Brace Yourself (DA link for this one because it had a ton of formatting in it)
Read on DeviantArt | Support me on Patreon or Buy Me A Coffee
Shining Sea Resort
Chapter 2: Something to Drink?
<music: ‘Motives’ by PLS&TY>
Isabel follows the path until she emerges
at the edge of the dance floor.
She thinks she sees a bar at the other side of the
absolutely enormous room
and decides to start off with a drink
and orient herself.
It doesn’t occur to her to check how long
the monstrous curved wall really is,
nor how many more heads are trapped there.
No, right now, Isabel is captivated by
each new exotic and spectacular person
that brushes against her with every few steps she takes
across the dance floor.
There are so many flashy colors between everyone’s clothes
that she begins to worry that she’s improperly dressed
for a place like this.
Believing that the atmosphere would be more formal than neon,
she had chosen a maroon dress with hoop earrings
and her trusty leather wedges.
In her experience, girls who want to wind up
beneath an older woman
are drawn to a more classic look,
and wedges tastefully frame
a thick, round foot.
An oh-so lovely young woman* passes by Isabel
and instantly breaks her concentration,
mainly because she’s wearing a harness
that holds her hands behind her head
and her elbows up high,
completely exposing her armpits,
which have bright white targets painted on.
On her torso, she wears only a sky-blue chest wrap
decorated with hypnotic spirals
covering her breasts,
and she’s taken advantage of the additional space
by painting the words
“MY ARMPITS REQUIRE YOUR ATTENTION”
on her belly
with arrows pointing to the targets.
Isabel doesn’t want to let her escape,
but she doesn’t muster the courage in time.
“Coming through!” a man in a fedora*
shouts suddenly
moments before splitting the crowd
in front of Isabel,
followed by a small caravan.
Two people are carrying a petite young woman,
a man* in front holding her ankles
“Please! Let me go, please!
Don’t do this, I’m begging youuuu!!”
And after they pass by, just like that,
the young womanwith the harness and the painted armpits
has disappeared into the crowd.
Annoyed, Isabel looks straight ahead
and marches towards the bar with determination.
* oh-so lovely young woman
<name: unknown; gender presentation: feminine; age: 25; hair: dark chestnut, medium-long, straight; skin: olive; height: 5'7" 170 cm; weight: 133 lbs 60 kg; physique: slender, soft features; voice: soprano; nails: aqua blue; feet: size 7 USA 4.5 UK 37.5 EU>
* man with a fedora
<name: unknown; gender presentation: masculine; age: 35; hair: unknown, under a fedora; skin: tan; facial hair: 5 o’clock shadow; height: 6’0" 183 cm; weight: 175 lbs 79 kg; physique: athletic; voice: baritone; nails: plain; feet: size 11 USA 10.5 UK 45 EU>
* petite young woman
<name: unknown; gender presentation: feminine; age: 22; hair: red, medium-long, wavy; skin: medium-brown; height: 5'3" 160 cm; weight: 96 lbs 44 kg; physique: petite; voice: soprano; nails: purple; feet: size 5 USA 2.5 UK 35 EU, with high arches and round toes>
* man in front
<name: unknown; gender presentacion: masculine; age: 30; hair: unknown, under a rainbow squid hat; skin
ale, very hairy, face completely painted with rainbow colors; height: 6’1" 185 cm; weight: 218 lbs 99 kg; physique: tall and stocky; voice: bass; nails: plain; feet: size 14 USA 13.5 UK 50 EU>* woman in back
<name: unknown; gender presentation: feminine; age:37; hair: jet black, in a long ponytail; skin: dark brown; height: 5’9" 175 cm; weight: 151 lbs 68 kg; physique: average; voice: alto; nails: violet, with French tips; feet: size 8.5 USA 6 UK 39 EU>
The bar has about thirty barstools
under the supervision of five bartenders.
The area beyond the bar is illuminated
by electric-blue lights, and for that reason,
the bar shines like a beacon in the darkness.
The counter is decorated with string lights
of the same color along its edges.
What Isabel had not noticed from a distance
Is that some ten pairs of feet
are protruding upwards from the counter,
one per every three seats.
What a delicious appetizer
—though there are only three options left open.
Isabel has lost all patience with hesitation.
She tries hard to evaluate them rapidly
and trusts in her instincts without stopping.
Upon arriving at her chosen seat,
having successfully claimed it,
she takes a moment,with one hand
resting on the back of the barstool,
to look upon her prey* with curious eyes.
As with the heads in the wall before,
the surface of the counter wraps around her ankles
like built-in stocks.
There’s enough space between them
to comfortably have a drink and a meal.
The shapely toes, facing Isabel,
are held in some kind of metal clamp
bolted to the counter
and individually tied with fine wire
at the tip and at the center
to ensure absolute immobility.
The pale soles, framed by
a beautiful darker color at the edges
present a warm, smooth, and inviting surface
to explore.
She doesn’t have time to wonder much
before letting out a small cry of surprise.
Upon pulling the barstool out from the bar,
she finally notices her victim’s* head
protruding from the base of the counter,
facing upwards,
and her victim finally notices Isabel as well
“Oh … hi,” she says deliriously.
Then her eyes suddenly open wider,
and she looks Isabel up and down.
She clears her throat.
“Hello,” she says, this time dreamily. “Sorry, I was daydreaming.”
She has full lips,
charming dimples,
thick eyebrows,
artful eye makeup
with long, audacious curves,
and a constantly peaceful and hypnotic stare.
Above her head appear the words
“PLEASE REARRANGE MY FACE
WITH YOUR FEET”
in bright letters.
<name: unknown, ‘little fairy’ in Isabel’s mind; gender presentation: feminine; age: 27; hair: black, short, sleek, messy ;skin: medium-brown; height: 5'9" 175 cm; weight: 161 lbs 73 kg; physique: androgynous but curvy; voice: alto, quirky; nails: unknown; feet: size 8.5 USA 8 UK 42 EU, shapely and smooth>
“No problem,” Isabel responds rigidly and takes a seat. “I’ll help you wake up.”
“Ah, hmm …” She clears her throat again. “Ah ... yes please,” she says professionally in spite of her visible excitement.
Isabel begins to remove one of her wedges with the other foot. “I don’t know how things usually go around here, but with me, the happier my feet are, the less my playthings suffer. How does that sound?”
“That’s how things usually go.”
Isabel rests her free footagainst her pretty little fairy’s scalp
with wisps of her short, sleek hair between her toes
as she removes her other shoe
against one of the barstool’s legs.
The fairy lets out a sigh,
closes her eyes,
and subconsciously begs with her parted lips.
“And that won’t pose a problem at all, Mistress,” she says eagerly.
“Wonderful.”
The second shoe falls to the floor with a thud,
and Isabel feels the shape of the fairy’s eyebrows and cheeks
as her soles slide against her face
until her silky toes reach the fairy’s chin
and grip it repeatedly.
The sounds that the fairy makes
no longer have a prayer of being heard,
but Isabel feels the heat of a deep breath
radiate outwards under the pads of her feet,
and the fairy’s feet tense up
what little bit they can.
<music: ‘Paper Love’ by Allie X>
Isabel rests her wrists very deliberately
on the fairy’s toes
and conjures two small tornadoes with her nails
that begin a slow trudge
up and down her arches,
scorching the nerves buried beneath.
Isabel feels through her soles
that the fairy has yelled something
and has to increase the amount of force
that she uses to keep her feet down.
Immediately after,
she feels the prick of the first nibble
followed by the warm, disarming tingling
of a tongue going wild in all directions
against the sensitive skin of a foot.
To reward the fairy for her obedience,
Isabel grants her request
and begins rearranging her face.
“Evening ma’am, something to drink?” a bartender asks Isabel.
Isabel didn’t realize that he had approached until just now.
For a brief moment. Isabel looks at him like an animal.
“Ah — yes. A piña colada, extra strong. And one more in ten minutes please.”
“Two piña coladas, extra strong, one in ten minutes. Got it. Would you like anything else?”
Isabel’s feet take turns
absorbing the fairy’s cries
that swing frantically from panic
to delight.
From time to time, the cries fade
and give wayto the vibration of passionate moans
while the fairy scrubs every inch
of Isabel’s textured soles and heels
with those sinful, shameless lips.
“No … nothing else. Thanks much," Isabel manages to say.
“Alright, all good. Be back soon.”
Once the bartender has left,
Isabel flicks her nails briskly
over the balls of the fairy’s feet,
scatters her tornado attack
over the whole surface of her soles,
and then moves her own feet to the sides of her face
to look upon the devastation she’s wrought.
She has such a sweet smile.
Her makeup is totally smeared,
and tears have started to run down her cheeks.
“Shit shit shit!” she says, voice trembling,
between fits of giggles and squeals.
“So how have enjoyed your stay so — AHH— so far!?” she manages to shout.
“It’s barely even started,” Isabel responds in an intimidating tone
without lifting her gaze from the fairy’s feet.
“Fantastic! — AHH!!”
Isabel starts to work her nails over her heels
and simultaneously gives a nibble
just under the toes of her left foot.
“Okay! That’s enough! Fuck! Someone help!”
The fairy babbles this kind of nonsense
every time she succeeds in taking a breath.
“You have to stop! You can’t do this to me!
Someone please! She’s evil!!”
“Perfect timing,” says Isabel as the bartender sets her drink between the fairy’s ankles. “It’s been a pleasure talking, dear.”
Her thick feet return to burying the fairy’s face
with enough extra space to rest her heels
in her hair
and dangle her toes in the air
under her chin.
The fairy’s face melts into submission without hesitation.
Isabel knows herself well:
the second piña colada arrives
shortly after she finishes her first.
The fairy receives a fleeting moment of mercy
as Isabel thanks the bartender.
She lifts her right foota tiny bit off of her face,
and the fairy seizes the opportunity:
“Mistress! Mistress, don’t—“ She coughs. “Don’t stop!”
“Oh lord, 'don’t stop?' Seriously? I already think you’re cute without the cliché, little one.”
“No, I mean…” She pants. “Don’t stop until I get out of here. Something like … twenty minutes. My shift ends in twenty minutes. Don’t … fuck … Don’t let anyone else take your place. … Grab my tag as soon as they let me out. Bring me to your suite. Do more ungodly things to me. Do you understand what I’m saying?"
Isabel raises her eyebrows pensively and looks forward
as she takes the first sip of her drink,
startled and tempted.
She’s barely thought about her suite since arriving.
And this pretty little fairy wants Isabel to drag her there
and take advantage of her all night.
Isabel wiggles her toes against her face
in anticipation.
“Deal ... my pretty little fairy.
Good luck down there until then.”
She takes another large sip of her drink
before launching a circle attack with her tongue
over the center of the fairy’s sole.
She lets out an undulating wail,
her feelings swirling and bleeding together.
Something that Isabel has not yet noticed
is that the melodious sounds
that she’s managed to extract from this cutie
have drawn attention and a few glances
from many of the patrons gathered around
the two pairs of feet on either side of Isabel.
She’s also stolen a few glances of her own.
There’s a constant electricity in the air in this place.
The music of domination to her left
combines in her ears
with the symphony of mental obliteration to her right,
and both combine with the continuous roar
of hundreds of victims
and the pounding of the music behind her,
and all of this is turning Isabel
into a conduit in the circuit
more and more with each passing minute.
For that reason, when someone puts their hand
on Isabel’s right shoulder,
although she’s acutely aware of the touch,
she feels safe and relaxed.
“Hello dear. Sorry to interrupt.”
It turns out that the hand on her shoulder
is wearing an emerald-green glove up to her elbow
with a line of extravagant wisps
of bright cyan hair
along its length.
Its owner is wearing an emerald-green dress
with open shoulders
and has her hair dyed emerald-green
to match.
“I saw you working, and I noticed your noobie hat. Otherwise, I’d never have known that you were new. You’ve impressed us over there.”
Isabel turns around to look at this charismatic person face-to-face,
and she’s met with a pair of very angular purple sunglasses.
“I’m flattered,”Isabel responds.
“Would you be interested in some help? I brought tools.”
She takes out two objects that look like brushes from her side bag,
holding one in each hand.
They have perfectly round bases from which
spirals of bristles of different colors and textures
stick straight up.
With an imperceptible squeeze of her fingers,
she makes the bristles spin rapidly
with a shrill whirring
and then stop just as quickly
twice in rapid succession.
The fairy, momentarily forgotten by Isabel,
lets out a nervous groan.
“Oh, wow!” Isabel exlaims and accepts one.
“There are supposed to be a few in every suite, but sometimes the staff forgets. Before long, you’ll have a ton.” The diva offers the other one to Isabel as well. “Keep them.”
“Sure. Thanks so much,”says Isabel sincerely,
studying them fervorously.
The base of the device has two triggers opposite each other
where the fingers and thumb wrap around
for effortless activation
in addition to five buttons in the shape of a starat the center.
Upon squeezing the triggers,
the device vibrates vigorously in the hand instantly,
which delights Isabel.
“Don’t worry about it. Anyway, would you like some help with this one?”
“Well, in a few minutes, I’m about to take her down to my suite for a few hours.”
“Fine by me,” the diva responds and takes out two more brushes from her bag.
Isabel looks down at the fairy
as she takes another pensive sip of her drink.
What would be the use of all of those sophisticated restraints
without also increasing her firepower?
Besides, it looks to Isabel like she could learn a few things
from this bigshot — How could she not?
* owner of the glove
<name: unknown, ‘diva’ in Isabel’s mind; gender presentation: feminine; age: 35; hair: emerald-green, long, top bun with one tastefully loose curl; skin: tan; height: 5'8"173 cm; weight: 141 lbs 64 kg; physique: thin; voice: alto; nails: unknown, covered in gloves with fuzzy fingertips; feet: size 7 USA 4.5 UK 37.5 EU>
“Alright,” says Isabel with a smirk. “Cheers!”
“Cheers!” the diva toasts in response
as she takes a seat next to Isabel.
Isabel moves to the left to make room,
leaving her right foot covering the better part
of the fairy’s face.
“Good evening everyone!” the fairy exclaims in a cheeky tone.
“Hello again, little baby,” Isabel says in a cold voice
and doesn’t hesitate to press one of the brushes
against the pad of her left foot.
She expects it to have a potent effect,
but she doesn’t anticipate just how effective
it turns out to be,
nor the strong sensation of hard grinding
that she feels through the device.
“FUCKING SHIT!” the fairy screams at a high pitch.
She tries to say something punchy,
but she only manages to tickle Isabel’s sole slightly
with her voice.
“Hello dear,” the diva coos
and fires up her two brushes in unison.
Unlike Isabel’s,
they emit a harsh buzz in quick bursts
like a sort of pulsating tattoo gun.
The Diva positions the brush in her left hand
under the fairy’s toes, targeting their top sides,
and the brush in her right hand
against the edge of her sole, near the heel,
pressing in firmly like Isabel
and engaging the solid fins that are
attached to the base and hidden
between the bristles and feathers.
The fairy’s head jerks.
Her laughter rapidly changes in character.
Before, she would regain her breath
every thirty seconds or so.
Now it seems that she really can’t stop the laughter.
All that she manages to muster are euphoric sobs.
“Such a cute little marshmallow, isn’t she?”asks the diva hypnotically. “You can tell from everything about her that she wants to be torn to shreds. Isn’t that right, darling?”
Gradually, the fairy loses the ability to
comprehend and respond to individual jibes
that the two dominants make
to entertain themselves and fluster her,
and time loses meaning for her
in those final minutes
before the bartender returns and says,
“Excuse me, guys, I have to ask you to finish up with this escort now for the shift change. There’ll be another victim here in a few minutes, okay?”
“Of course,”Isabel responds mischievously.
“Thank you guys. Just a few minutes.”
“The lady wants to claim rights to this girl per the Nonviolence Principle,” the diva interjects.
“Understood. I’m glad you’re having such a good time, ma’am,” the bartender says cheerfully before lowering himself to the ground, out of view.
“Wow, much obliged!” Isabel says to the diva, satisfied with her decision to keep her around.
“Don’t worry about it, girl.”
Soon, two sections of the wood restraining the fairy’s ankles
separate and retract into the counter.
After a loud thud,
the metal clamps release her toes,
and she lets out a long sigh
as her feet disappear down the hollow columns.
She looks almost drugged.
“Just let me … grab my things,” she pants,
looking them in the eyes
with an urgency in her voice growing
and overtaking the delirious bliss.
Soon, her head too disappears into the counter
through a similar process.
A few moments later,
she emerges from the floor, pulling on a black bomber jacket,
wearing nothing else but sky-blue underwear.
She makes a sloppy gesture with her hand
and heads for the kitchen doors.
“Here you are,” the bartender says to Isabel
and hands her a small, square device
with very simple screen
containing only an identification number
and the name
Rita.
*** *** ***
To be continued!
Next chapter: coming soon
