This is a foot tickling story, a commission by another user. It's all /f foot tickling. No nudity or sexuality, foot tickling with fingers, feathers, tongue, exfoliation devices, electronics, lubrication, bare feet and nylons.
Have you ever thought the hell that exists for you is based on your biggest fears and anxieties? For example, if you were deathly afraid of spiders, you would spend an eternity constantly having 8 legged creatures crawling over you, or if you were terrified of heights, you would constantly need to sleep at the height of a skyscraper on an area smaller than a twin size bed, in constant fear of falling to certain “death”, only you don’t die...you feel all of it and it all starts again the next day. Constant torment of your biggest fears and anxieties….Could you believe that now and throughout history, there have been and are people whose absolute nightmare scenario would be to have their feet tickled? That the sensitivity in their feet brings them such vulnerability that is the act they would most fear and detest, and the second their wicked life is over they discover that is their fate? That is the version of hell we will be exploring. Similar to Dante’s inferno there are several levels these poor souls must endure for all eternity. Join me, why don’t you?
This large, dilapidated, run down building is a facet of hell as a hole. Entering it, brings up visions of an abandoned hotel or asylum of some kind. Cold, far from sterile as there is no maintenance on this. It is in a constant state of decay. Once you enter, even if you weren’t in an inescapable void of damnation, you would not be able to find your way out or where you came from. This building out of a horror film is a constant maze of confusing, dimly lit hallways…..It will be earily quiet one moment, as you walk further there will be an eerie buzzing sound, then, one of the many elevators will clink, moan, and shutter as thy consistently run, moving the damned to different floors of unending torture.
You go down one endless corridor to get a feel for the space. The only illumination for 20 feet is one flickering light that eventually dims and goes out for good. Darkness. In this scenario, this hallway may be pitch black going forward and only lit by the “Movers”. The Movers are Demons assigned to this branch of hell. Servants in their life, they are servants here. All dressed in their uniforms they wore as mortals, Butlers, Maids, Footmen, Cooks, only their faces pale, sullen lifeless, spending their eternity bringing victims from room to room for their scheduled torture. Constantly walking the halls pushing their cart. Which could be a wooden magician’s saw in half box with delicate feet sticking out and some poor soul trapped in their as her next torture is to have a sadistic magician “audition” her, but actually just torment her insanely sensitive feet for hours and hours as howls of laughter go into the void with hope of rescue.
As you go down another corridor, the smell of mildew and mold overpowers you, as you can see somewhat more clear. A Lurch-like butler wheels a rickety Room Service Cart. On the cart, there is a hole cut in the top, and through the hole is a black nylon covered foot, it appears to be on a plate with garnish on it...a perfect meal for the lucky tormenter. Coming out the bottom of the cart with 3 bad wheels is the terrified face of the owner of that foot. Knowing she just left her last torture, just to be in this next twisted scenerio. She spends eternity being taken from twisted fantasy to foot tickling fantasy. The silence feels deafening and is broken by riotous, hysterical laughter coming from a different floor….you try to follow the noise. An elevator becomes available. The door opens, and you get on...wondering if it can hold the weight as it shutters, sputters and brings you down to yet another level of unending floors. It opens...as you walk out, coming from several rooms you hear different laughter….you walk down the corridor and in front of each steel door are a pair of women’s shoes...Shoes of all types from all centuries. A chortel comes out of a room with ballet slippers in front of the door, a loud guffaw comes out of a door with army boots and grey socks….it becomes clear the shoes in front of the doors belong to the victim in that current realm of torture..As you take this in, another rude “Mover” in a torn and tattered French Maid’s uniform, complete with ripped fishnet stockings grunts at you to make room in the hallway. She wheels by a cart with a sleeping bag, only instead a head sticking out, you hear muffled whimpering coming out of the foot area of the sleeping bag, and gorgeous delicate feet sticking out of the head. The maid looks at you and says in a gruff voice “we’re going camping! And cackles an evil laugh as she quickly turns the corner opens the door in the next hallway and you hear a metal door slam, followed by almost immediate muffled screaming and peals of desperate laughter. You make your way down just one floor with several hallways, getting the feeling each floor of this monstrosity of a structure has identical rooms, making room for any soul with the phobia of having their feet tickled. You somehow have access to any room you want to enter, and as if a fly on the wall are able to witness the horrors that go on in each room without being noticed.
Although most of the walls are completely bare, you look up and at the end of each hall is a sign...you can’t make it out so you get closer. In plain letters this sign above the door at the end of the hall simply states “Circle One. Feathers and Fingers”. As the sound of the constant elevator humming goes silent for a second, the sound of muffled, desperate laughs become more clear. It comes together… each “Circle” is a different category of tickle torture punishment...this particular “Circle” or hall is focused on torture through feathers and fingers...what could the other Circles be?
Outside this room lay a gorgeous pair of Pink Pearl Lace Heels, that look like something Marie Antoinette would wear. They belonged to Marguerite. They also have a delicate pair of white silk stockings in them....
Called the cleverest and most beautiful woman in Europe, Marguerite, had married her English husband in the height of the French Revolution in 1792. She is quite tall and blonde with clear blue eyes, although most of her hair is more strawberry blonde. In Paris, she was a celebrated actress at the la Comedie Francaise. Because of the political strife at that time, and the fact that she was engaged to an Englishman, as well as because of her many connections in Paris, she was a prime person to trick into giving crucial information to patriots of the French Republic, currently in danger. In her life, she was tricked to sell someone out, but the interrogation was not at all what it could be. In her version of this hell, she has her worst nightmare played out.
as you enter the room, you notice her laying on a guillotine, not for head removal, but as a bondage device. Her head is through the hole, and she is strapped to the plank face down. She is dressed elegantly wearing a grand court dress, Crimson, and richly decorated with a wide skirt, lace along the neck and sleeves. Her poor, soft bare feet lay off the plank, and secured tightly to it. The candlelit prison cell is right out of a painting from that time as a man dressed in black paces the room in front of her.
That man is Chauvelin, a ruthless amoral patriot who believes his captor's husband and brother are threats to the French Republic. In their human life, there was a brief interrogation, where he tricked her into providing key information, however it ended up not being true or delivering him the result he was looking for...in the afterlife it is payback to ensure she never lives down the fact she didn't provide him the information for his main goal. He stands wearing all black from the waist down, a white flowing shirt, a black and red jacket, a red white and blue sash around his waist, his black hair is pulled back into a ponytail.
"An eternity in hell is worth it if every so often I get payback the way I wanted. For that, this existence is almost heaven."
Already exhausted, Marguerite wimpers ``please Monsieur. I can't handle this. I took such care in my life to protect my feet. I washed them, made sure they were soft so I never needed them handled by anyone else. I knew they would be too sensitive. Please show mercy. You have that power!"
Chauvelin strides and paces holding a single white feather "Ah, but darling, you must pay for your betrayal to me. This cannot be forgiven. Also, I always dreamed of those delicate feet. They were your husband's ,but they should have been mine. I constantly wondered what sounds would escape your lips if touched, and now.... we know..." As he strides across the room brandishing his weapon, a feather, Margueritte shakes violently in her bondage, although completely immobile. her large, flowing curly hair shakes furiously in the hole of the guillotine... he kneels by her feet and simply drags the side of the feather across her arch, causing her to curl her toes and cry out. He does this on her other foot, alternating feet, exploring her wrinkly arches as she whimpers, cries and giggles at something so soft. This wouldn't be so effective on a rougher woman, but her milky white skin had rarely been touched, he puts down the feather and begins gently scribbling his fingernails on her heels and peals of laughter flow out of her body. Her back arches as much as it can, she does everything in her power to escape the evil fingers, and her gorgeous musical soprano voice bellows out full throated laughter. HAHAHA HAHAHA HHAHHA OH OH NO! PLEASE! PLEASE STOP! HAHA HHAH AHAHA HAHHA, her laughs get more and more desperate the longer she realizes it is not going to stop.
Over her desperate laughter, her tormentor chastises her "Poor, poor angel has to live with the devil! oh your poor feet! who would have known this would be your deepest, darkest fear! OH your feet are so delicious, and this is so deserved. You ruined my life! if only you had helped me, we wouldn't be here. His tickling gets more brutal, making his fingers into claws and scrape her arches from heel to toe, causing a blood curdling scream to fly out of her lips, her toes curl to defend herself the best that she can, and he pulls her toes back on one foot, pulling her skin smooth and taught and again, scribbles his fingers devilishly on her immobile arch as desperate screaming and begging continue to echo through the room. It might be time to move on....
You walk out of that room, down the dimly lit hallway and hear the sound of a buzzing radiator at the end of the hall. The moisture in the air would cause glasses to fog up and it is suddenly chilly...a few doors down, there are another set of shoes in front of a steel door...They are vintage t-strap pumps. They have an elegant but fun feeling. They are black leather, with white accents, an adjustable t-strap closure, round toe with a 3 and half inch hee there is also a pair of silk, lightly colored but translucent stockings with garters at the top. As you see the shoes, you begin guessing what this could be...it feels 1920's...you walk in and you are in a cinderblock grey room with a small table in the center of the room. One overhead light illuminates the table itself and a tall stocky policeman appears with a long knee length black policeman's coat, badge and belt, he removes his hat and puts it on the chair revealing slicked back balding hair and he cracks his knuckles.... He clears his throat and begins to talk in a thick Irish accent. This is Officer O'Reilly. He was a Sgt. for the NYPD in 1922, was killed in the same shootout as Miss Abby Jefferson, a flapper, drunk and integral to the bootlegger movement. Her and Officer O'Reilly have a history and were killed in the same police vs mobster shoot out. She was unarmed, but in the wrong place at the wrong time. Had she given him the information he needed in their initial official police interrogation, the meeting that went wrong wouldn't have happened, the shootout wouldn't have happened, and they would have lived. It was her fault they were both in hell...Well, it was her fault they were dead. Officer O'Reilly may have skipped a few of his key confession appointments after having a particularly bloody and corrupt weekend killing innocent punks and thugs that got in his way.
Abby was not long for the world, having only lived 21 years. She had bobbed black hair, wore long eyelashes, blush and bright red lipstick. She had on a red strapless dress that hit a few inches above her knee, which also had fringe flowing off of it, she had a red sparkly headband with a red feather coming out the front and was currently sitting on a steel chair with her arms tied behind her back, her bare feet bound together by rope, and they are resting on the wooden table in front of her. Although deeply fearful, she is doing her best to come off as fearless and with a huge chip on her shoulder. Watching this, it's unclear whether this realm has a "groundhog's day" quality where days repeat themselves so there is no memory of the decades of torture, that way it's not something they get use to or not...so much of this afterlife is beyond explanation. Each scene we watch is as if it's the first time it's happening. The discovery, the fight to keep it together is as if it's never happened. That, or Abby wants to make the Officer believe somehow *this* time, she's ready for it, and maybe the tickling doesn't bother her anymore.
That couldn't be further from the truth. Abby grew up on a farm in Upstate New York, and was maybe the only farm girl she knew that didn't run through the fields of grass barefoot...her feet couldn't handle it. She had done everything she could to avoid having her feet touched, or tickled, but yet, a few drunk gentlemen she encountered did end up finding out and completely exploited this much to her horror.
The officer, who was about 55 when he died, remembers early in his career, secretly they would use tickling as an interrogation tactic, as any abusive NY cop will tell you, tickling and phone books don't leave bruises. He takes this opportunity to do to Abby what he wasn't able to do in life, knowing this is a nightmare for her as she pretends this won't affect her. She looks at him with a smart ass look and smirk on his face, calling his bluff as he sits on a steel chair on the other end of the table. "well, let's see what we have here!" He holds her ankle securely to the table, and starts fluttering his fat fingers on her arches, he has just enough fingernails to really send her almost flying off her chair. She has zero opportunity to fake it.
Quick, high pitched gasping breaths escape her wide smiling lips as her sputtering laugh rests a bit lower in her naturally low voice. Even her laugh has a slightly obnoxious New York accent. Every few seconds is hearty. raspy, low pitched laughing, a high scream with escape, "AH! AH AHHHHHHH!" followed by a high cackle, back to a low desperate giggle where she says "OH MY GAWD, you need stahp!" (Oh my God, you need to stop). Stop already? he just started! Through more low pitched desperate giggles she continues "Stahp, pleeheheehhease." then lets out another high pitched quick few screams and loud cackles. She breathlessly pleads "OH My God... Please. Please" he teases "you're not going to find him here, precious. Maybe if you were a good girl." He digs his fingers in and lets the flicker faster causing her to bounce and buck in her chair letting out high pitched screams and cackles... the sound is deafening...it's clear her plight will only get more and more desperate. Screams, High pitched desperate laughing with her head thrown back routinely turns into low pitched sultry laughs and begs, always the same "Oh my God...please. you have to stoahahahaahp this' '. As you walk out the door to the next room, he ignores her pleas, smiles focuses on his work and continues to torture her for hours...essentially until there is a knock that her next room is available.
You walk by a few other rooms, some that have holes in the wall that you are able to peak into without actually going in, so you come across some that you can peer into without entering. A door with a pair of worn moccasins belongs to inside, a girl who appears to have lived around 1969. It turns out she was a drug addict who ended up overdosing at a music festival in her VW van. During her trip, she imagined demons tickling her feet. Whatever she was on elaborated on some of her fantasies as well as worst fears. The nightmare she went through during her overdose seems to be something that she must endure periodically along with other tortures throughout history...The room is lit with light peering into and being filtered by various colorful fabrics and sheets over what appears to be the inside of a smoke filled inside of a van where Cherry, the victim, is stoned out of her mind while rolling around on the shag carpet inside the van, trying with everything she has to defend her feet, but the black devil like demons she has hallucinated are doing their worst on her. 2 of them, horrifying winged creatures, hold her ankles down, sit on her bell bottom blue jeans with daisies embroidered on them, while the 2 others run their evil, specifically designed by the devil for tickling fingers all over her dirty feet as she bucks up and down as if doing sit ups reaching her hemp jewelry covered arms trying to stop the madness as her face turns red, she goes into silent laughter and her wild, long, wavy blonde hair flies all over the place, over her face, beginning to stick to her face as sweat rolls down her forehead, partly from the cardio work out of defending herself from the tickling, as well as from the lack of ventilation in her hotbox of a van. Her laugh is insane, as she has no control over her body her torso, covered by a white puffy peasant style shirt rolls around on the floor as her legs are completely immobile. wild cackling, guffawing, and shorting echoes through the tiny, dimly lit, colorful space as retro music plays in the background.
You leave the room, and make your way to the end of the hallway, down yet another dingy hallway in this convoluted maze of hallways...you walk to the end of the hall to see if there is a similar sign...there is. While the sigh “feathers and fingers” seemed to be written in almost vintage writing, this one looks a bit more modern. It says the word “Exfoliation”. To explain, this circle has everything to do with the ticklish torture that could be applied to to the feet with the application of pedicure tools, brushes, attempts to keep the feet smooth, and as you continue to learn, each level is in order. The victims go through each level constantly through their eternity. Starting at the beginning, going through the end, and taken back to the top floor where it all started. Over and over, different tickle scenarios, a constant state of the worst torture they personally could imagine.
Your next room is chosen for you as a shout comes out a room down the hall. You follow it, remembering this is the "exfoliation" hall. "Let me out of this, damn you!" is shouted in a fiery Irish accent. As you reach the door, you look down and in front of the door sit a pair of leather boots with very intricate laces. inside, a pair of woven stockings. "I demand you unleash me, you dirty pig!" she screamed and the sound her spitting made was heard. You are imagining a horrid, ugly worn looking hag, you enter, and she is far from that. A gorgeous beauty that does not belong among such rough men who somehow stowed away on the ship in 16th century Ireland passing for a man until discovered at Sea. It's a good thing her father was the captain of the ship, so she was protected. Her name is Grainne, and she is tied to the mast of the ship she was on in life.
Ropes tie her securely to the mast of the ship around her waist, and ankles. She wears a white flowing shirt...a "pirate shirt" for lack of a better description. Her breasts and cleavage plunge as she is almost falling out of it, wearing no bra, and you can see through the shirt a bit, revealing her hard nipples. She also has a large black belt around her waist, a black vest, long flowing red skirt, her feet have been barred and are secured and vulnerable. She also has a celtic knot necklace, and several earrings. She is gorgeous....the only makeup she wears is dark black eyeliner....she most likely wears this to look scary, however it only accentuates her gorgeous light blue eyes. Her long wavy red hair is devilishly feminine, although not cared for...it's perfect. She kicks her feet as much as she can as she demands to be released.
Her captor is Sir Richard Bingham...a very close confidant of Queen Elizabeth I. He was charged to capture the pirates, particularly her, but constantly failed the cat and mouse game for years. This is finally his opportunity for revenge for her treason against his queen. He has long slicked back greying hair, an elaborate mustache and goatee, he wears a typical 6th century grey doublet with Red and yellow accents as well as a floor length green coat with fur lining on the collar.
"My, my Miss O'Malley. here we are again, and yet I've caught ye. What do I have to say for yourself before I commence with your brutal punishment?", he speaks, walks and behaves so properly, and so very British which is distinctly different from her rough brogue. "Do your worst, you sniveling British lap dog! We are both in this hellhole, who's to say I won't get my revenge." The thought of the unpredictability of the afterlife doesn't evade his thoughts, but he ignores this. and moves on. "Very well." He searches the room for a tool, not use to being without a full dungeon of torture tools, he picks up a scrub brush, made for scrubbing the deck of the ship, dips it in the cold water in the wooden bucket on the floor. A slight gasp comes out of Grainne's lips, not expecting him to find such an effective tickle tool in such a barren room. A nightmare scenario for her, having her sensitive feet completely immobilized, vulnerable and primed for the humiliation of her certain to be strong reactions in front of the one person on Earth she wants to appear stoic and strong.
Before setting out the torture, he dramatically proclaims "This is for God and Country, and for your treasonist acts! long live the Queen in heaven! He reaches up and holds her toes back as the wooden scrub brush in his other hand drips slightly with water. He begins vigorously running it along the ball of her foot as she lets out a scream and a cackle. With how ticklish she is, there's really no hiding or faking it. For her, it's more about survival and getting through it. She screams and throws her head forward and back letting out an earthy unabashed screaming cackle. A high pitched scream would erupt into defiant, angry and completely unrestrained scream. She moves her body as much as she can in her limited ability. Again, it's not about hiding the ticklishness or trying to block it. For her, reacting and moving as much as possible helps her cope with the extreme feeling she is going through.
"Oh Grainne, please do sing your pirate song for me, your voice is gorgeous!" Bingham teases as he makes his way onto her arch, then her heel, which unexpectedly takes things to a new, desperate level for her. Not having a lot of experience having her feet touched, she is not very aware of what parts are more sensitive than others, and it surprises both of them at how affected she is as her face turns red, she gasps, screams and this spot, and his attention to it, causes her to go into silent laughter where her mouth is just open in a wide smile, her eyes clamped shut, and all you hear are a few breaths, screams, and returns back to the silent laughter. As he dips the brush again in the water, she manages to talk and catch her breath...
"Let me go, ya bastard! I vow to see you in a deeper circle of hell and cut ye fecking throat!" he quips "my, my, that certainly is not very ladylike. What would your father say? It's no wonder no man wanted you, and you were cast off" through her screams and cackles she manages to get out "You're still mournin' the fact no man wanted YOU, YA POOF!". The truth of that insensitive statement forces a humiliated, furious gasp out of Bingham. "Why I NEVER" and scrubs her feet with more unrelenting torture than ever before. As you leave the room, and go down the hall, her laugh echoes strongly, maybe more so than a laugh you've heard. Her presence is so strong, so defiant, there is no way she is going down without a fight.
You are suddenly whisked out of that room, and in the same almost pushed in front of the room, the next door, the next bit of horror.
Susan Headley was a very active and outspoken activist soon in the early 2000's. Constantly in time square, LA, San Fran and Chicago with a Megaphone and a crowd of people, she certainly stirred controversy, and had stirred many divisions based on her rhetoric. She was loud, outspoken, brash, and always seemed to be wanting to pick a fight. Even if it wasn't about an agenda she was trying to push, that was always her way. Highly anxious, paranoid and constantly finding things to scream about. She remained single in her 33 years of life, having been shot by someone who deeply disagreed with her views. Whether or not you believed her views, she was draining to listen to, and exhausting to be around. She also wasn't a particularly generous person. Her soul was tainted by being very harsh, critical and pushy. She also was not particularly kind or generous to the service community.
She would go shopping and drop clothes on the floor and walk away, sending back food, even if it was exactly the way she ordered it, An owner of her neighborhood nail salon found her particularly difficult. There was one time she attempted to get a pedicure, but the owner, Kim, couldn't do it at all, because she was instructed exactly what to do through every step, and that is just not sustainable. Susan essentially wanted her polish removed and new polish put on without actually touching her feet. She wouldn't say why. After that one time proved extremely frustrating for all involved, she opted to just not get pedicures from then on...period. This caused issues for Kim, who's salon was going through some financial strain, and had very little treatments to upsell that didn't involve feet, and knowing that Susan did not believe in tipping, the fact that she would only come in for the most basic manicure, but also took up twice the amount of time as a typical customer because of her demanding, aggressive, "helicopter client" nature, her coming into her salon was a net loss. Just once she wanted the opportunity to get after those feet and give that loud bitch the tickling she deserved. That HAD to be the reason she was so defiant in not getting a pedicure. Well, the time came. They found each other in this realm for the first time when Kim passed away, and this was a wish she had, to be able to get revenge on a client that was so difficult for so many years, and would have protests right outside her store.
We walk to her door in the hall, and outside are a pair of Coach leather riding boots. They are made from fine brown leather, a zip closure, and go up to just below the knee. Inside them are a pair of orange tights. You enter the door, and Susan is still passed out from her previous torture and just starts to rouse. She is dressed for fall in New York City with a denim shirt, brown vest and knee length brown skirt. She has pale skin, large green eyes, and wavy blonde hair that goes just past her chin. In this realm, she is in the salon that she frequented, and Kim is sitting in front of her...Only instead of being at the manicure station, she is in the pedicure chair, barefoot, ready for a pedicure. As she wakes up, her eyes shoot open and she gasps at the fact. She darts her head around, knowing what is about to happen. "NO! NO! Get me outta here!" She tries to move, but without traditional bondage it appears she is suctioned to the pedicure chair, she is essentially able to move from the waist up, she is able to move her legs, but her butt and lower back are attached to the pedicure chair. "Fuck! NO!" She screams, as without anything being explained, she knows full well what is in store for her as she tries to hide her feet by curling her toes on the footpad. Kim, pulls belts out of the foot pad and secures Susan's ankles to it. "I don't have these in the salon, but sometimes I wish I had. You'd be surprised how many times I've been kicked in the face. That's not just an expression people joke about." She begins to get her tools ready as Susan pleads and begs, something she's never been seen to do in her life "Please, Please. I know we've had...a complicated customer/business relationship. I know I have made things difficult for you. I do...but you need to understand just WHY I have never consented to a pedicure. If you tickle my feet, I will go absolutely nuts. it's really not an option for me to get a pedicure. I'm sure you understand that some people just can't consent to that!" Kim holds a pumice stone, ready to use it as a weapon. "Yes, but you almost sunk my business with your speeches RIGHT outside! How dare you. This is payback."
Before Susan can say more, the scrubbing starts. Kim holds her foot still, even though it technically is bound, and begins scrubbing Susan's ball going horizontally with much fury, not giving any mercy, as she would normally do for her kind patrons. Susan stares at the pumice in horrified disbelief, not understanding how something so small, so innocent looking could cause such torture. She grips the armrest, throws her head back and howls with laughter. She bounces in her seat, throws her head back and forth and when hitting a difficult spot will jolt and scream, and then go into continued laughter. Her Foot contorts as she has her toes tortured, and she cackles when the heel is hit. She throws her body forward and covers her face with her hands, and then shakes them, as if to "shake off the feeling." then desperately runs her hands through her hair as Kim gets more and more relentless and lets out one long scream and cry as the scrubbing continues mercilessly." She is never someone who is at a loss for words, but she literally cannot speak, as Kim squirts picks up a sponge, squirts some lubricant on it and begins exfoliating Susan's poor feet, which sends her into a renewed burst of laughter as the feeling of a new tool is put on her other foot that hasn't had attention yet. She stares at the various tools that are available to be used on her....different brushes with a variety of different bristles, different sponges, different battery powered items, and she just begins to cry through her silent laughter as she contemplates her life, her choices, and her plight.
You’ve seen enough of that room, and you’re not sure if your ears can handle any more. That may have been the loudest of the torture rooms...at least so far...you walk slowly through another dark hallway, and make another turn. At this point, you’re not sure if you’re following any kind of order. You are just exploring. The same sign at the same place in the new hallway says “Mouth and Tongue” and there is a cartoon of goats licking a milk maid’s feet and she has a horrified look on her face...It’s clear what this floor is all about.
The next room in this hall has a simple pair of ancient sandals. They belong to Amneris, an Egyptian princess. The daughter of the Pharaoh, she had a great deal of power and influence on her people. She was betrothed to an Egyptian Captain of the Army, son of High Priest Zoser, who was trying desperately to overthrow the Pharaoh through poisoning him. For months, the evidence of this was ignored until it was finally discovered. However through this, it was also discovered that his son, her betrothed had fallen in love with someone else and was having an affair. She had the power to forgive him and either marry him to increase his status or what she did was sentence him and his lover to death. Not only to death, but a very slow death. She sentenced them to be buried alive in the same tomb.
Zoser was also executed at her order for attempting to poison her father. Now meeting in hell, he the method of bondage she has only fits the crime she has committed, sending his son to be buried alive. She lays on a table, barefoot and naked, wrapped up as a mummy, with glue and plaster completely immobilizing her, except for her bare feet and her head. Her arms are secured at her waist, and her legs are bound together. She is completely immobile and her poor, sensitive feet are completely on display for torture.
Amneris is painfully beautiful with long, soft black hair with a serpent crown, perfect skin, as she was constantly caring for herself, creating the first spa in the palace. She was constantly surrounded by admirers, constantly being taken care of. If she wasn't sleeping several hours a day, or in her spa or pool, she was sitting on her throne, and if she needed to be taken to another place, palace guards would carry her. This made her feet extremely vulnerable, essentially building no calluses. The softest touch of a feather or tongue would have sent her into a fit of giggles without ability to control. She adored physical attention, but never on her feet. All of her courtesans, and those that pampered her in the spa had been explicitly told they were not to go near her feet. The decree was so serious, it's possible someone would be put to death for touching her feet.
In this realm of hell, she lays completely immobile as the high priest Zoser stands at her feet holding and petting a cat. In their culture, cats were worshipped, however this cat will be her demise, as it has been trained specifically on how to lick and nibble feet for maximum ticklishness. To help with this, Zoser takes a bowl of honey, dips his fingers in and begins spreading it on her right foot, from her heel, arch, ball toes, and in between her toes. Just this gentle massaging causes sputtering, desperate, silly sounding giggles explode out of her as she curls her toes to defend them. Getting the sense that her toes might be a particularly sensitive area, he makes sure there is an ample amount of honey between them and under them which causes more shrieking giggles to escape, the actual tickling not really starting...to make her feet even more enticing to the cat, he sprinkles sugar and cinnamon on them as well.
She begs him to please not go forward with this, trying to work a political game as usual, but in this scenario of the afterlife, there really isn't much she can offer him as she did on Earth. The cat is placed on the table and begins doing it's work.
It starts gently licking the ball of her feet, which causes her toes to wiggle and immediately giggle. Then, going to every toe where there is honey and licking each individually, laughter gets particularly more desperate as the second and third toes are licked as well as when the tongue goes in between her toes. The cat also gently nibbles the toes, which sends her into hysterics. These devilish cats are not the animals that were worshipped in ancient Egypt, but essentially demonic tickling machines. Begging does not work, as the minutes go on, each toe is licked and the arch is thoroughly explored by the tongue. Her toes continue to gently wiggle, as that is about the only thing that can wiggle at this point. More honey and sugar are applied, and Zoser also licks her other foot. The difference of having a human mouth and tongue on her sends her into more hysterics, throwing her head from side to side, completely unable to move. The fact that her feet are so on display and something so gentle, the licking and kissing of her feet are affecting her more because how aware she is that she is truly trapped. Zoser takes long tongue strokes up her arches, this sends her into desperate hysterical peels of laughter, he begins biting her toes and sticking his tongue in between each toe, which produces a desperate scream each time it happens. He notices this tends to work more than the gentle licking so he and his fellow tickler focus on the toes, gently nibbling them, and sticking tongues in between the toes. She defensively curls them and continues to laugh hysterically. In life, she certainly had her feet worshipped before, but never to this extent, and whenever it began to tickle she ordered for it to stop. He licks the sides of her feet, and this causes her feet to tense and shake as she begs for the madness to stop. Her toes splay and her feet shake, tears roll down her face as such a sensitive area on her feet are completely discovered, and there's no going back. Her laugh is high pitched, breathy and when a new spot is discovered such as when he bites her heel, it is "all over" again and involuntary screams escape her, completely exposing her.
After going back out into the hallway, A “Mover” walks by again, exiting one of the rooms with a blonde hippy protester wearing a white flowing dress is being rolled down the hall on a cart to the next hall. You follow them, you notice she has tears rolling down her face, her feet are also soaked with the saliva of whatever lead actor in the nightmare she just left. The sign in the hall she goes into says “Stocks and Racks” in medieval writing. While all rooms have some form of bondage, there is nothing more intimidating than to have your feet imobile in stocks or on a rack. The hippy girl whimpers “no” as the door is opened, and you can see what looks like a dark dungeon in that room. You start to follow, but you hear a witch’s cackle coming from the room directly to your right...You decide to investigate and go in.
In front of the first room in this hall are a pair of pointy black heels with black and white striped stockings in them, As you enter the room, you are taken to a dungeon from the middle ages. On a rack, Gertrude, an evil witch that lives in the outside of the kingdom that had been causing evil mischief by casting spells and sabotaging nearly every aspect of what would be needed to keep the kingdom in good standing. She was finally discovered, quickly tried and burned at the stake. As she burned she screamed and cackled, vowing revenge in the afterlife. She had no such luck and was sent directly to hell. Her body lay on a rack with metal shackles on her ankles, her knees, one going tightly around her waist, one on her neck, 2 on each wrist over her head, and along her elbows, She screams bloody murder as her spells have no power in the afterlife. She is as powerless as any human, and has to pay for what she has done. A line of peasant farmers, laborers, and nobility from her kingdom are gathered in the dungeon, finally able to get sweet sweet revenge.
All of them shout at her for what she did to ruin their lives. There is not a clear way to discern what individuals are saying. It is merely a cacophony of sound as Gertrude screams "SILENCE MORTALS I command you! SILENCE!" her screams have no power.
Matilde, a villager comes forward and slathers some oil over her feet, which causes a jolt and ticklish response, "AHHHHH! NOOOO! DON'T YOU DARE!" Matilde dumps the entire bowl over her feet, now glistening with slippery oil. Matilde's husband Martin, and his best friend Arnoud both move forward both with metal prickly devices that resemble an early version of a Wartenberg wheel and begin dragging it letting it roll over her sole. Not much effort is needed to cause an extreme ticklish response with this. The tool does most of the work itself as it rolls over her oiled arches with ease. She thrashes her head back and forth screaming bloody murder and cursing them as the audience of other torturers wait in line for their turn and cheer and taunt her mercilessly as she lays, completely helpless and immobile, finally paying a true price for her years of tormenting them. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA CURSES TO ALL OF YOU!! BWAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA IS THAT ALL YA GOT??? *PANTING* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Her cackles, while satisfying, as it shows her suffering, which is all they want, her voice pierces through the air almost overpowering their taunting. She closes her eyes shut as screams for an extended period of time.
while this is happening, Matilde and her friend Bertrande walk forward, and while their husband run the wheel over her heels and arches, causing her toes to splay and curl, the ladies dip their fingers in more oil and begin playfully but brutally massaging her toes with the oiled up hands, causing her to cackle and scream, moreso completely mortified that she has been taken over, is so vulnerable and all of this is happening in front of those that always feared her, was under her power. The power dynamic within this long dead village has completely changed as 2 more villagers come forward as the ladies take their oil soaked hands and begin scratching the ball of her foot, the men continue to "wheel" her heel, and the other 2 villagers begin biting her. This sends her into a complete frenzy, She very nearly injures herself trying to escape her metal binds, but she is now in complete sensory overload with 2 tongues, several teeth, 10 fingers and 2 wheels on her feet. She screams louder than ever before. There is no thing such as giggling or silent laughter for her. Her ticklish reactions when it comes to her feet are full of cackles and it's time to go as your ears are overwhelmed.
That cackle will haunt your dreams, it’s something like you’ve never heard. You exit, going down yet another hall. In modern writing, “Electronics and Vibration”. You imagine what this realm has to do with anything to do with foot tickling using modern technology. It must be so alarming for these souls who died long before these advances had to be introduced to these tools that they never dreamed in their lives of feeling.
Jessa and Brittany were girls that really had no place. Being of a more gothic persuasion and fiercely different and anything other than ordinary, they found every opportunity to do that. So After school in their senior year, they had no after school activities. Their activities involved drugs and finding ways to get blacked out or completely high...but where to do that? They had tried each of their houses, smoking and drinking in the basement, but would always get caught. They would sneak roaches behind the sign of their neighborhood or would find houses that were being built, but never felt totally safe. They found safety in what they thought was an abandoned factory...They would sneak in there daily once it was discovered. It seemed like it had been completely abandoned for years. but that was not the case. While it was not actively being used in the hours they were there, and maybe wasn't the most upkeep building ever, it indeed was being used. Mr. Whitman was the owner of this facility, and he was continually using it. Many of his workers were working third shift, and sometimes he would be in his office during the day...other days not, depending on what was required. One day he sits in his office at about 4 pm, and hears some rustling in an area by the front door...did an animal get in? Is there a customer that needed to talk to him, but didn't understand this isn't an office to visit? There are various fumes and vapors that need to be considered. It's Jess and Brittany. They show up wearing black T shirts over grey and blue long sleeve T shirts, blue jeans, black and white socks, and sneakers and boots, respectively. They come with their stash of pot. They light their lighter and ....kaboom....the two of them, and Mr. Whitman as well as the entire factory are gone.
Instantly, they are in the afterlife, in what would be a replica of just where they were left, but now their shoes and socks are off, and left outside the door, as said before, a pair of Vans and white socks and a pair of Doc Martens and black socks are set outside the door, and the two girls, with long black and brown hair, and both with dark eyeliner and various facial piercings are barefoot... Jessa's right foot and Brittany's left foot are secured together with zip ties and their wrists are handcuffed above their head. They are truly Trapped. Mr. Whitman, who was also killed in the blast approaches them as the smoke clears "So it wasYOU assholes that destroyed my factory and killed us all with your pot smoking...you deadbeats. Now it's time for you to pay...."
In the afterlife, he is aware of the ticklishness of their feet, the fear of having their feet tickled and delightfully enjoys the fact that he has at his disposal 2 sets of young, extraordinarily ticklish feet tied together for him to torture at his pleasure. It wouldn't be an innovative modern factory if that didn't include the tickle tool used for this. In this scenario, he has taken a power drill, and fashioned at the end of it instead of a drill bit a spinning brush on one, and a spinning sponge on the other.
The two girls squirm in their bindings as they consider the torture they are both about to go through. Between the two of them, the ticklishness hasn't been discovered or discussed, but in their own private thoughts and anxieties, it was at the forefront.
*vrooooom vroooom( goes the spinning drills as they move closer to the girls feet. They begin squealing and clenching their toes before contact is made until suddenly it is an absolute screaming, laughing, hysterics flying out of both of them. They both fall back onto their backs cackling, unable to move their feet, as they are secured together, and they are also handcuffed. Just the instant touch of these tools on their feet teach them the lesson they needed to be taught. As their wiggling and struggling goes against each other. Possibly, they are surprised the other is as ticklish as the other friend is, and this is truly the worst nightmare for the both of them, but this is where they are together....forever.
You now notice you don’t have to go through the doors, but for you the walls are something you can just walk through, you walk through room after room of poor soles being tortured by a number of different devices. They wouldn’t be here in this circle of hell if their feet were not completely vulnerable to the tickle of what should be relaxing like a massager….their sensitivity completely betrays them. You do finally hit a wall, and need to go out in the hall, where you find you have traveled to yet another circle. “Lubrication and heightened sensitivity.” Again, this is an aspect of foot tickling that would be completely foreign to centuries of victims that they are now fully aware of….the feeling of having finger glide over silky nylons or having a hair brush fly over lotioned and oiled soles….these victims are fully aware of the effects of something that seems so simple.
The next room we discover is in the realm of heightening sensitivity. Outside the door are a pair of dainty grey high heel shoes with a pair of silk stockings in them. Inside the room, is Daisey Bringsby, a protestor for the Women's vote in the early 20th century in England. While her forceful protesting may have been for a good cause at the time, like other protesters, her influence and ability to bring change had not always been for the good in her life. She sat in what looked like her home living room, on a light blue sofa, laying on her side, with her ankles tied together and placed on an ottoman. She wore a light blue dress and matching jacket that hit just above her ankle, a white shirt as well as a matching blue hat. She also had a sash on her that stated "Votes for Women!". As she came to realize where she was moments after her death, she noticed a few things. For one, her wrists and ankles were tied together, and her shoes are missing...Another thing... her feet felt particularly soft..softer than she has ever felt. This is because before waking up in her condition, her feet have been oiled, lotioned to make truly soft and sensitive before being put in nylon stockings...something not invented in the time of her lifetime, and therefore she is unaware of the effect they will have on the ticklishness of her feet....something she doesn't need assistance with. Never has she had true attention paid to her feet, but all through her life she has been intensely aware that her feet are very much more sensitive, vulnerable to a tickling response than was fair for someone who was so serious about her agenda and someone who desperately wanted to be bulletproof to any sort of interrogation or abuse.
She notices nylon stockings, beyond her time are on her legs and feet. She notices something, what is the extra spandex. They lift and shape everything that includes the curves of her feet in way stockings of her time just don't. She notices her feet are hugged and stimulated, making the sense that her feet are "ready" for any additional stimulation. Everything feels sucked in and tightened up. The nerves in her feet feel extra energized in these nylons. They feel like they are boosting the stimulation and energy in her feet before they are touched. Her nerve endings are much more primed than she has ever noticed before, simply because of the lubrication her feet went through before, and now, the nylons, which she has not been introduced to before. Her husband, Daniel, who was fiercely against her protesting or the women getting the vote enters the room in his black suit, grey necktie and brown mustache, matching his thinning hair. He knows what must be done to her in order for her to learn her lesson. He died within that year, so his eyes had not been opened to progressive ideas that seem basic now.
All it takes is a touch of his fingers on her nylon covered arches to set her nerve endings further in panic. Just the lightest touch creates shivers and giggles. The best way to describe the sensitivity is that if normally you go from zero to 60, with the nylons on, you start at 30 and the second the feet are touched you are gunning it to 100. Everything is amplified. Every poor soul will experience this stage in the afterlife for the first time and experience it. As the tickling makes her shake and laugh hysterically, she feels electricity running over her skin, increasing the tickle sensors. She can't believe how ticklish she is as her husband taunts her whether all of this was worth it, she pounds her bound fists on the couch with a wide smile and closed eyes, not feeling as ticklish and vulnerable as she had in many years. She thought she was able to get over anything but how wrong she was...even with a strong mind and goal, some things are completely beyond control.
We have reached what seems to be the end.. After hours of traveling in this realm, it seems we’ve reached the last new hallway...The sign simply says “the final realm”. What is found out is in this realm, so much of what was in the past 6 areas are put together. There is extreme bondage of the stocks, there is exfoliation done to the feet to get them soft, sensitivity heightening oil is put on the feet, they are heated up with a hair dryer, put in soft silky, slippery nylons, and are tortured with all of the tickle tools until they reach the level of exhaustion where pass out...from there.
This last realm is where each individual tormented soul must visit before going to the start again. It is the ultimate torture taking everything they have endured into account. We find Susan, the protestor we met in the pedicure salon reaching this point, having gone through every stage we have discussed in some way. She has had her feet tickled with hands and fingers, her feet licked, her feet exfoliated in some way, and endured and experienced what it is to have feet more sensitive due to having the exfoliated, lubricated and put into nylons that almost certainly make them more sensitive. Don't be fooled. if for some reason the nylons have a different effect on the poor soul, and bare feet make them more ticklish, they will endure that...whatever is most difficult to endure. For Susan, it is certainly with nylons. She first noticed this at her senior prom. She had grown up not wearing nylons, tights etc, simply because of her style, but had heard that nylons would be difficult for her if she was ticklish, but didn't imagine how that could be true. She put them on, went into the bathroom to get ready...a few seconds after she had left her bathroom, she was on the floor giggling. It was her own fault, having "skated", dragging her feet on the carpet. The message was certainly given...her feet were much more ticklish when she was wearing nylons...well combine that with already having them tickled with feathers and fingers, licked to find exactly where she is the most vulnerable, exfoliated with a variety of tools, placed on a very constricting piece of bondage and completely tickle tortured, and having her feet tickled while having a variety of sensitivity boosting measures such as lotion on her feet, oil on her feet, nylons on her feet, her feet put back into her boots and warmed up...she endured all of this as well as mental games where discussions were done about how ticklish her feet were before they were touched, but essentially, this realm was the culmination of all of the realms, and would not stop until the victim passes out from exhaustion or simply from being overwhelmed where they are swiftly taken back to the first station by the "movers" where it starts all over again....and again...and again.....and again...for all eternity until something more advanced is added to the rotation.
Susan lays on the racks that come from the middle ages, her neck, arms, wrists, waist, knees, and ankles securely bolted to the rack. She has already endured foot tickling with fingers and feathers to her breaking point as well as tickling done by well trained tongues and teeth as well as evil scrub brushes.. Her feet are swiftly lubricated and softened with oil and lotion, put in sensitivity enhancing nylons, returned to her boots and her feet are warmed up, in her boots, they get used to being protected and are finally exposed. Several ticklers from her life descend upon her, telling her everything that she did to deserve this plight. they pick out whatever tools they want to use. Similar to a bunch of props in a photobooth, SO many foot tickle tools are completely at their disposal.... if a tickler has nothing to do, and are waiting for the lee for their room, they are always welcome to attend this final realm. Another main difference with this realm is instead of tickling until the victim has passed out, the victim is ensured to be kept awake. Everything is done to be kept them awake, and essentially they don't escape from this realm until they "die" from being tickled....I know that is confusing since they are already dead, but essentially go through what would kill them as a living human....Susan lays there, completely bound, sensitive, nyloned and vulnerable as several ticklers descend on her with fingers, teeth, tickle tools and psychological tricks. She begs for them to please provide her mercy as they descend on her. The second her feet are touched under these conditions horrifying screams escape her lips and she cackles in desperation.
After witnessing what you believe must be every realm of the foot tickle hell...without confirmation, you are collected, taken on the elevator, brought back to the top floor, and once they are awake it all starts again. A complete nightmare scenario for someone with the foot sensitivity of these poor souls...the halls are endless…..endless stories and victims to witness.
Have you ever thought the hell that exists for you is based on your biggest fears and anxieties? For example, if you were deathly afraid of spiders, you would spend an eternity constantly having 8 legged creatures crawling over you, or if you were terrified of heights, you would constantly need to sleep at the height of a skyscraper on an area smaller than a twin size bed, in constant fear of falling to certain “death”, only you don’t die...you feel all of it and it all starts again the next day. Constant torment of your biggest fears and anxieties….Could you believe that now and throughout history, there have been and are people whose absolute nightmare scenario would be to have their feet tickled? That the sensitivity in their feet brings them such vulnerability that is the act they would most fear and detest, and the second their wicked life is over they discover that is their fate? That is the version of hell we will be exploring. Similar to Dante’s inferno there are several levels these poor souls must endure for all eternity. Join me, why don’t you?
This large, dilapidated, run down building is a facet of hell as a hole. Entering it, brings up visions of an abandoned hotel or asylum of some kind. Cold, far from sterile as there is no maintenance on this. It is in a constant state of decay. Once you enter, even if you weren’t in an inescapable void of damnation, you would not be able to find your way out or where you came from. This building out of a horror film is a constant maze of confusing, dimly lit hallways…..It will be earily quiet one moment, as you walk further there will be an eerie buzzing sound, then, one of the many elevators will clink, moan, and shutter as thy consistently run, moving the damned to different floors of unending torture.
You go down one endless corridor to get a feel for the space. The only illumination for 20 feet is one flickering light that eventually dims and goes out for good. Darkness. In this scenario, this hallway may be pitch black going forward and only lit by the “Movers”. The Movers are Demons assigned to this branch of hell. Servants in their life, they are servants here. All dressed in their uniforms they wore as mortals, Butlers, Maids, Footmen, Cooks, only their faces pale, sullen lifeless, spending their eternity bringing victims from room to room for their scheduled torture. Constantly walking the halls pushing their cart. Which could be a wooden magician’s saw in half box with delicate feet sticking out and some poor soul trapped in their as her next torture is to have a sadistic magician “audition” her, but actually just torment her insanely sensitive feet for hours and hours as howls of laughter go into the void with hope of rescue.
As you go down another corridor, the smell of mildew and mold overpowers you, as you can see somewhat more clear. A Lurch-like butler wheels a rickety Room Service Cart. On the cart, there is a hole cut in the top, and through the hole is a black nylon covered foot, it appears to be on a plate with garnish on it...a perfect meal for the lucky tormenter. Coming out the bottom of the cart with 3 bad wheels is the terrified face of the owner of that foot. Knowing she just left her last torture, just to be in this next twisted scenerio. She spends eternity being taken from twisted fantasy to foot tickling fantasy. The silence feels deafening and is broken by riotous, hysterical laughter coming from a different floor….you try to follow the noise. An elevator becomes available. The door opens, and you get on...wondering if it can hold the weight as it shutters, sputters and brings you down to yet another level of unending floors. It opens...as you walk out, coming from several rooms you hear different laughter….you walk down the corridor and in front of each steel door are a pair of women’s shoes...Shoes of all types from all centuries. A chortel comes out of a room with ballet slippers in front of the door, a loud guffaw comes out of a door with army boots and grey socks….it becomes clear the shoes in front of the doors belong to the victim in that current realm of torture..As you take this in, another rude “Mover” in a torn and tattered French Maid’s uniform, complete with ripped fishnet stockings grunts at you to make room in the hallway. She wheels by a cart with a sleeping bag, only instead a head sticking out, you hear muffled whimpering coming out of the foot area of the sleeping bag, and gorgeous delicate feet sticking out of the head. The maid looks at you and says in a gruff voice “we’re going camping! And cackles an evil laugh as she quickly turns the corner opens the door in the next hallway and you hear a metal door slam, followed by almost immediate muffled screaming and peals of desperate laughter. You make your way down just one floor with several hallways, getting the feeling each floor of this monstrosity of a structure has identical rooms, making room for any soul with the phobia of having their feet tickled. You somehow have access to any room you want to enter, and as if a fly on the wall are able to witness the horrors that go on in each room without being noticed.
Although most of the walls are completely bare, you look up and at the end of each hall is a sign...you can’t make it out so you get closer. In plain letters this sign above the door at the end of the hall simply states “Circle One. Feathers and Fingers”. As the sound of the constant elevator humming goes silent for a second, the sound of muffled, desperate laughs become more clear. It comes together… each “Circle” is a different category of tickle torture punishment...this particular “Circle” or hall is focused on torture through feathers and fingers...what could the other Circles be?
Outside this room lay a gorgeous pair of Pink Pearl Lace Heels, that look like something Marie Antoinette would wear. They belonged to Marguerite. They also have a delicate pair of white silk stockings in them....
Called the cleverest and most beautiful woman in Europe, Marguerite, had married her English husband in the height of the French Revolution in 1792. She is quite tall and blonde with clear blue eyes, although most of her hair is more strawberry blonde. In Paris, she was a celebrated actress at the la Comedie Francaise. Because of the political strife at that time, and the fact that she was engaged to an Englishman, as well as because of her many connections in Paris, she was a prime person to trick into giving crucial information to patriots of the French Republic, currently in danger. In her life, she was tricked to sell someone out, but the interrogation was not at all what it could be. In her version of this hell, she has her worst nightmare played out.
as you enter the room, you notice her laying on a guillotine, not for head removal, but as a bondage device. Her head is through the hole, and she is strapped to the plank face down. She is dressed elegantly wearing a grand court dress, Crimson, and richly decorated with a wide skirt, lace along the neck and sleeves. Her poor, soft bare feet lay off the plank, and secured tightly to it. The candlelit prison cell is right out of a painting from that time as a man dressed in black paces the room in front of her.
That man is Chauvelin, a ruthless amoral patriot who believes his captor's husband and brother are threats to the French Republic. In their human life, there was a brief interrogation, where he tricked her into providing key information, however it ended up not being true or delivering him the result he was looking for...in the afterlife it is payback to ensure she never lives down the fact she didn't provide him the information for his main goal. He stands wearing all black from the waist down, a white flowing shirt, a black and red jacket, a red white and blue sash around his waist, his black hair is pulled back into a ponytail.
"An eternity in hell is worth it if every so often I get payback the way I wanted. For that, this existence is almost heaven."
Already exhausted, Marguerite wimpers ``please Monsieur. I can't handle this. I took such care in my life to protect my feet. I washed them, made sure they were soft so I never needed them handled by anyone else. I knew they would be too sensitive. Please show mercy. You have that power!"
Chauvelin strides and paces holding a single white feather "Ah, but darling, you must pay for your betrayal to me. This cannot be forgiven. Also, I always dreamed of those delicate feet. They were your husband's ,but they should have been mine. I constantly wondered what sounds would escape your lips if touched, and now.... we know..." As he strides across the room brandishing his weapon, a feather, Margueritte shakes violently in her bondage, although completely immobile. her large, flowing curly hair shakes furiously in the hole of the guillotine... he kneels by her feet and simply drags the side of the feather across her arch, causing her to curl her toes and cry out. He does this on her other foot, alternating feet, exploring her wrinkly arches as she whimpers, cries and giggles at something so soft. This wouldn't be so effective on a rougher woman, but her milky white skin had rarely been touched, he puts down the feather and begins gently scribbling his fingernails on her heels and peals of laughter flow out of her body. Her back arches as much as it can, she does everything in her power to escape the evil fingers, and her gorgeous musical soprano voice bellows out full throated laughter. HAHAHA HAHAHA HHAHHA OH OH NO! PLEASE! PLEASE STOP! HAHA HHAH AHAHA HAHHA, her laughs get more and more desperate the longer she realizes it is not going to stop.
Over her desperate laughter, her tormentor chastises her "Poor, poor angel has to live with the devil! oh your poor feet! who would have known this would be your deepest, darkest fear! OH your feet are so delicious, and this is so deserved. You ruined my life! if only you had helped me, we wouldn't be here. His tickling gets more brutal, making his fingers into claws and scrape her arches from heel to toe, causing a blood curdling scream to fly out of her lips, her toes curl to defend herself the best that she can, and he pulls her toes back on one foot, pulling her skin smooth and taught and again, scribbles his fingers devilishly on her immobile arch as desperate screaming and begging continue to echo through the room. It might be time to move on....
You walk out of that room, down the dimly lit hallway and hear the sound of a buzzing radiator at the end of the hall. The moisture in the air would cause glasses to fog up and it is suddenly chilly...a few doors down, there are another set of shoes in front of a steel door...They are vintage t-strap pumps. They have an elegant but fun feeling. They are black leather, with white accents, an adjustable t-strap closure, round toe with a 3 and half inch hee there is also a pair of silk, lightly colored but translucent stockings with garters at the top. As you see the shoes, you begin guessing what this could be...it feels 1920's...you walk in and you are in a cinderblock grey room with a small table in the center of the room. One overhead light illuminates the table itself and a tall stocky policeman appears with a long knee length black policeman's coat, badge and belt, he removes his hat and puts it on the chair revealing slicked back balding hair and he cracks his knuckles.... He clears his throat and begins to talk in a thick Irish accent. This is Officer O'Reilly. He was a Sgt. for the NYPD in 1922, was killed in the same shootout as Miss Abby Jefferson, a flapper, drunk and integral to the bootlegger movement. Her and Officer O'Reilly have a history and were killed in the same police vs mobster shoot out. She was unarmed, but in the wrong place at the wrong time. Had she given him the information he needed in their initial official police interrogation, the meeting that went wrong wouldn't have happened, the shootout wouldn't have happened, and they would have lived. It was her fault they were both in hell...Well, it was her fault they were dead. Officer O'Reilly may have skipped a few of his key confession appointments after having a particularly bloody and corrupt weekend killing innocent punks and thugs that got in his way.
Abby was not long for the world, having only lived 21 years. She had bobbed black hair, wore long eyelashes, blush and bright red lipstick. She had on a red strapless dress that hit a few inches above her knee, which also had fringe flowing off of it, she had a red sparkly headband with a red feather coming out the front and was currently sitting on a steel chair with her arms tied behind her back, her bare feet bound together by rope, and they are resting on the wooden table in front of her. Although deeply fearful, she is doing her best to come off as fearless and with a huge chip on her shoulder. Watching this, it's unclear whether this realm has a "groundhog's day" quality where days repeat themselves so there is no memory of the decades of torture, that way it's not something they get use to or not...so much of this afterlife is beyond explanation. Each scene we watch is as if it's the first time it's happening. The discovery, the fight to keep it together is as if it's never happened. That, or Abby wants to make the Officer believe somehow *this* time, she's ready for it, and maybe the tickling doesn't bother her anymore.
That couldn't be further from the truth. Abby grew up on a farm in Upstate New York, and was maybe the only farm girl she knew that didn't run through the fields of grass barefoot...her feet couldn't handle it. She had done everything she could to avoid having her feet touched, or tickled, but yet, a few drunk gentlemen she encountered did end up finding out and completely exploited this much to her horror.
The officer, who was about 55 when he died, remembers early in his career, secretly they would use tickling as an interrogation tactic, as any abusive NY cop will tell you, tickling and phone books don't leave bruises. He takes this opportunity to do to Abby what he wasn't able to do in life, knowing this is a nightmare for her as she pretends this won't affect her. She looks at him with a smart ass look and smirk on his face, calling his bluff as he sits on a steel chair on the other end of the table. "well, let's see what we have here!" He holds her ankle securely to the table, and starts fluttering his fat fingers on her arches, he has just enough fingernails to really send her almost flying off her chair. She has zero opportunity to fake it.
Quick, high pitched gasping breaths escape her wide smiling lips as her sputtering laugh rests a bit lower in her naturally low voice. Even her laugh has a slightly obnoxious New York accent. Every few seconds is hearty. raspy, low pitched laughing, a high scream with escape, "AH! AH AHHHHHHH!" followed by a high cackle, back to a low desperate giggle where she says "OH MY GAWD, you need stahp!" (Oh my God, you need to stop). Stop already? he just started! Through more low pitched desperate giggles she continues "Stahp, pleeheheehhease." then lets out another high pitched quick few screams and loud cackles. She breathlessly pleads "OH My God... Please. Please" he teases "you're not going to find him here, precious. Maybe if you were a good girl." He digs his fingers in and lets the flicker faster causing her to bounce and buck in her chair letting out high pitched screams and cackles... the sound is deafening...it's clear her plight will only get more and more desperate. Screams, High pitched desperate laughing with her head thrown back routinely turns into low pitched sultry laughs and begs, always the same "Oh my God...please. you have to stoahahahaahp this' '. As you walk out the door to the next room, he ignores her pleas, smiles focuses on his work and continues to torture her for hours...essentially until there is a knock that her next room is available.
You walk by a few other rooms, some that have holes in the wall that you are able to peak into without actually going in, so you come across some that you can peer into without entering. A door with a pair of worn moccasins belongs to inside, a girl who appears to have lived around 1969. It turns out she was a drug addict who ended up overdosing at a music festival in her VW van. During her trip, she imagined demons tickling her feet. Whatever she was on elaborated on some of her fantasies as well as worst fears. The nightmare she went through during her overdose seems to be something that she must endure periodically along with other tortures throughout history...The room is lit with light peering into and being filtered by various colorful fabrics and sheets over what appears to be the inside of a smoke filled inside of a van where Cherry, the victim, is stoned out of her mind while rolling around on the shag carpet inside the van, trying with everything she has to defend her feet, but the black devil like demons she has hallucinated are doing their worst on her. 2 of them, horrifying winged creatures, hold her ankles down, sit on her bell bottom blue jeans with daisies embroidered on them, while the 2 others run their evil, specifically designed by the devil for tickling fingers all over her dirty feet as she bucks up and down as if doing sit ups reaching her hemp jewelry covered arms trying to stop the madness as her face turns red, she goes into silent laughter and her wild, long, wavy blonde hair flies all over the place, over her face, beginning to stick to her face as sweat rolls down her forehead, partly from the cardio work out of defending herself from the tickling, as well as from the lack of ventilation in her hotbox of a van. Her laugh is insane, as she has no control over her body her torso, covered by a white puffy peasant style shirt rolls around on the floor as her legs are completely immobile. wild cackling, guffawing, and shorting echoes through the tiny, dimly lit, colorful space as retro music plays in the background.
You leave the room, and make your way to the end of the hallway, down yet another dingy hallway in this convoluted maze of hallways...you walk to the end of the hall to see if there is a similar sign...there is. While the sigh “feathers and fingers” seemed to be written in almost vintage writing, this one looks a bit more modern. It says the word “Exfoliation”. To explain, this circle has everything to do with the ticklish torture that could be applied to to the feet with the application of pedicure tools, brushes, attempts to keep the feet smooth, and as you continue to learn, each level is in order. The victims go through each level constantly through their eternity. Starting at the beginning, going through the end, and taken back to the top floor where it all started. Over and over, different tickle scenarios, a constant state of the worst torture they personally could imagine.
Your next room is chosen for you as a shout comes out a room down the hall. You follow it, remembering this is the "exfoliation" hall. "Let me out of this, damn you!" is shouted in a fiery Irish accent. As you reach the door, you look down and in front of the door sit a pair of leather boots with very intricate laces. inside, a pair of woven stockings. "I demand you unleash me, you dirty pig!" she screamed and the sound her spitting made was heard. You are imagining a horrid, ugly worn looking hag, you enter, and she is far from that. A gorgeous beauty that does not belong among such rough men who somehow stowed away on the ship in 16th century Ireland passing for a man until discovered at Sea. It's a good thing her father was the captain of the ship, so she was protected. Her name is Grainne, and she is tied to the mast of the ship she was on in life.
Ropes tie her securely to the mast of the ship around her waist, and ankles. She wears a white flowing shirt...a "pirate shirt" for lack of a better description. Her breasts and cleavage plunge as she is almost falling out of it, wearing no bra, and you can see through the shirt a bit, revealing her hard nipples. She also has a large black belt around her waist, a black vest, long flowing red skirt, her feet have been barred and are secured and vulnerable. She also has a celtic knot necklace, and several earrings. She is gorgeous....the only makeup she wears is dark black eyeliner....she most likely wears this to look scary, however it only accentuates her gorgeous light blue eyes. Her long wavy red hair is devilishly feminine, although not cared for...it's perfect. She kicks her feet as much as she can as she demands to be released.
Her captor is Sir Richard Bingham...a very close confidant of Queen Elizabeth I. He was charged to capture the pirates, particularly her, but constantly failed the cat and mouse game for years. This is finally his opportunity for revenge for her treason against his queen. He has long slicked back greying hair, an elaborate mustache and goatee, he wears a typical 6th century grey doublet with Red and yellow accents as well as a floor length green coat with fur lining on the collar.
"My, my Miss O'Malley. here we are again, and yet I've caught ye. What do I have to say for yourself before I commence with your brutal punishment?", he speaks, walks and behaves so properly, and so very British which is distinctly different from her rough brogue. "Do your worst, you sniveling British lap dog! We are both in this hellhole, who's to say I won't get my revenge." The thought of the unpredictability of the afterlife doesn't evade his thoughts, but he ignores this. and moves on. "Very well." He searches the room for a tool, not use to being without a full dungeon of torture tools, he picks up a scrub brush, made for scrubbing the deck of the ship, dips it in the cold water in the wooden bucket on the floor. A slight gasp comes out of Grainne's lips, not expecting him to find such an effective tickle tool in such a barren room. A nightmare scenario for her, having her sensitive feet completely immobilized, vulnerable and primed for the humiliation of her certain to be strong reactions in front of the one person on Earth she wants to appear stoic and strong.
Before setting out the torture, he dramatically proclaims "This is for God and Country, and for your treasonist acts! long live the Queen in heaven! He reaches up and holds her toes back as the wooden scrub brush in his other hand drips slightly with water. He begins vigorously running it along the ball of her foot as she lets out a scream and a cackle. With how ticklish she is, there's really no hiding or faking it. For her, it's more about survival and getting through it. She screams and throws her head forward and back letting out an earthy unabashed screaming cackle. A high pitched scream would erupt into defiant, angry and completely unrestrained scream. She moves her body as much as she can in her limited ability. Again, it's not about hiding the ticklishness or trying to block it. For her, reacting and moving as much as possible helps her cope with the extreme feeling she is going through.
"Oh Grainne, please do sing your pirate song for me, your voice is gorgeous!" Bingham teases as he makes his way onto her arch, then her heel, which unexpectedly takes things to a new, desperate level for her. Not having a lot of experience having her feet touched, she is not very aware of what parts are more sensitive than others, and it surprises both of them at how affected she is as her face turns red, she gasps, screams and this spot, and his attention to it, causes her to go into silent laughter where her mouth is just open in a wide smile, her eyes clamped shut, and all you hear are a few breaths, screams, and returns back to the silent laughter. As he dips the brush again in the water, she manages to talk and catch her breath...
"Let me go, ya bastard! I vow to see you in a deeper circle of hell and cut ye fecking throat!" he quips "my, my, that certainly is not very ladylike. What would your father say? It's no wonder no man wanted you, and you were cast off" through her screams and cackles she manages to get out "You're still mournin' the fact no man wanted YOU, YA POOF!". The truth of that insensitive statement forces a humiliated, furious gasp out of Bingham. "Why I NEVER" and scrubs her feet with more unrelenting torture than ever before. As you leave the room, and go down the hall, her laugh echoes strongly, maybe more so than a laugh you've heard. Her presence is so strong, so defiant, there is no way she is going down without a fight.
You are suddenly whisked out of that room, and in the same almost pushed in front of the room, the next door, the next bit of horror.
Susan Headley was a very active and outspoken activist soon in the early 2000's. Constantly in time square, LA, San Fran and Chicago with a Megaphone and a crowd of people, she certainly stirred controversy, and had stirred many divisions based on her rhetoric. She was loud, outspoken, brash, and always seemed to be wanting to pick a fight. Even if it wasn't about an agenda she was trying to push, that was always her way. Highly anxious, paranoid and constantly finding things to scream about. She remained single in her 33 years of life, having been shot by someone who deeply disagreed with her views. Whether or not you believed her views, she was draining to listen to, and exhausting to be around. She also wasn't a particularly generous person. Her soul was tainted by being very harsh, critical and pushy. She also was not particularly kind or generous to the service community.
She would go shopping and drop clothes on the floor and walk away, sending back food, even if it was exactly the way she ordered it, An owner of her neighborhood nail salon found her particularly difficult. There was one time she attempted to get a pedicure, but the owner, Kim, couldn't do it at all, because she was instructed exactly what to do through every step, and that is just not sustainable. Susan essentially wanted her polish removed and new polish put on without actually touching her feet. She wouldn't say why. After that one time proved extremely frustrating for all involved, she opted to just not get pedicures from then on...period. This caused issues for Kim, who's salon was going through some financial strain, and had very little treatments to upsell that didn't involve feet, and knowing that Susan did not believe in tipping, the fact that she would only come in for the most basic manicure, but also took up twice the amount of time as a typical customer because of her demanding, aggressive, "helicopter client" nature, her coming into her salon was a net loss. Just once she wanted the opportunity to get after those feet and give that loud bitch the tickling she deserved. That HAD to be the reason she was so defiant in not getting a pedicure. Well, the time came. They found each other in this realm for the first time when Kim passed away, and this was a wish she had, to be able to get revenge on a client that was so difficult for so many years, and would have protests right outside her store.
We walk to her door in the hall, and outside are a pair of Coach leather riding boots. They are made from fine brown leather, a zip closure, and go up to just below the knee. Inside them are a pair of orange tights. You enter the door, and Susan is still passed out from her previous torture and just starts to rouse. She is dressed for fall in New York City with a denim shirt, brown vest and knee length brown skirt. She has pale skin, large green eyes, and wavy blonde hair that goes just past her chin. In this realm, she is in the salon that she frequented, and Kim is sitting in front of her...Only instead of being at the manicure station, she is in the pedicure chair, barefoot, ready for a pedicure. As she wakes up, her eyes shoot open and she gasps at the fact. She darts her head around, knowing what is about to happen. "NO! NO! Get me outta here!" She tries to move, but without traditional bondage it appears she is suctioned to the pedicure chair, she is essentially able to move from the waist up, she is able to move her legs, but her butt and lower back are attached to the pedicure chair. "Fuck! NO!" She screams, as without anything being explained, she knows full well what is in store for her as she tries to hide her feet by curling her toes on the footpad. Kim, pulls belts out of the foot pad and secures Susan's ankles to it. "I don't have these in the salon, but sometimes I wish I had. You'd be surprised how many times I've been kicked in the face. That's not just an expression people joke about." She begins to get her tools ready as Susan pleads and begs, something she's never been seen to do in her life "Please, Please. I know we've had...a complicated customer/business relationship. I know I have made things difficult for you. I do...but you need to understand just WHY I have never consented to a pedicure. If you tickle my feet, I will go absolutely nuts. it's really not an option for me to get a pedicure. I'm sure you understand that some people just can't consent to that!" Kim holds a pumice stone, ready to use it as a weapon. "Yes, but you almost sunk my business with your speeches RIGHT outside! How dare you. This is payback."
Before Susan can say more, the scrubbing starts. Kim holds her foot still, even though it technically is bound, and begins scrubbing Susan's ball going horizontally with much fury, not giving any mercy, as she would normally do for her kind patrons. Susan stares at the pumice in horrified disbelief, not understanding how something so small, so innocent looking could cause such torture. She grips the armrest, throws her head back and howls with laughter. She bounces in her seat, throws her head back and forth and when hitting a difficult spot will jolt and scream, and then go into continued laughter. Her Foot contorts as she has her toes tortured, and she cackles when the heel is hit. She throws her body forward and covers her face with her hands, and then shakes them, as if to "shake off the feeling." then desperately runs her hands through her hair as Kim gets more and more relentless and lets out one long scream and cry as the scrubbing continues mercilessly." She is never someone who is at a loss for words, but she literally cannot speak, as Kim squirts picks up a sponge, squirts some lubricant on it and begins exfoliating Susan's poor feet, which sends her into a renewed burst of laughter as the feeling of a new tool is put on her other foot that hasn't had attention yet. She stares at the various tools that are available to be used on her....different brushes with a variety of different bristles, different sponges, different battery powered items, and she just begins to cry through her silent laughter as she contemplates her life, her choices, and her plight.
You’ve seen enough of that room, and you’re not sure if your ears can handle any more. That may have been the loudest of the torture rooms...at least so far...you walk slowly through another dark hallway, and make another turn. At this point, you’re not sure if you’re following any kind of order. You are just exploring. The same sign at the same place in the new hallway says “Mouth and Tongue” and there is a cartoon of goats licking a milk maid’s feet and she has a horrified look on her face...It’s clear what this floor is all about.
The next room in this hall has a simple pair of ancient sandals. They belong to Amneris, an Egyptian princess. The daughter of the Pharaoh, she had a great deal of power and influence on her people. She was betrothed to an Egyptian Captain of the Army, son of High Priest Zoser, who was trying desperately to overthrow the Pharaoh through poisoning him. For months, the evidence of this was ignored until it was finally discovered. However through this, it was also discovered that his son, her betrothed had fallen in love with someone else and was having an affair. She had the power to forgive him and either marry him to increase his status or what she did was sentence him and his lover to death. Not only to death, but a very slow death. She sentenced them to be buried alive in the same tomb.
Zoser was also executed at her order for attempting to poison her father. Now meeting in hell, he the method of bondage she has only fits the crime she has committed, sending his son to be buried alive. She lays on a table, barefoot and naked, wrapped up as a mummy, with glue and plaster completely immobilizing her, except for her bare feet and her head. Her arms are secured at her waist, and her legs are bound together. She is completely immobile and her poor, sensitive feet are completely on display for torture.
Amneris is painfully beautiful with long, soft black hair with a serpent crown, perfect skin, as she was constantly caring for herself, creating the first spa in the palace. She was constantly surrounded by admirers, constantly being taken care of. If she wasn't sleeping several hours a day, or in her spa or pool, she was sitting on her throne, and if she needed to be taken to another place, palace guards would carry her. This made her feet extremely vulnerable, essentially building no calluses. The softest touch of a feather or tongue would have sent her into a fit of giggles without ability to control. She adored physical attention, but never on her feet. All of her courtesans, and those that pampered her in the spa had been explicitly told they were not to go near her feet. The decree was so serious, it's possible someone would be put to death for touching her feet.
In this realm of hell, she lays completely immobile as the high priest Zoser stands at her feet holding and petting a cat. In their culture, cats were worshipped, however this cat will be her demise, as it has been trained specifically on how to lick and nibble feet for maximum ticklishness. To help with this, Zoser takes a bowl of honey, dips his fingers in and begins spreading it on her right foot, from her heel, arch, ball toes, and in between her toes. Just this gentle massaging causes sputtering, desperate, silly sounding giggles explode out of her as she curls her toes to defend them. Getting the sense that her toes might be a particularly sensitive area, he makes sure there is an ample amount of honey between them and under them which causes more shrieking giggles to escape, the actual tickling not really starting...to make her feet even more enticing to the cat, he sprinkles sugar and cinnamon on them as well.
She begs him to please not go forward with this, trying to work a political game as usual, but in this scenario of the afterlife, there really isn't much she can offer him as she did on Earth. The cat is placed on the table and begins doing it's work.
It starts gently licking the ball of her feet, which causes her toes to wiggle and immediately giggle. Then, going to every toe where there is honey and licking each individually, laughter gets particularly more desperate as the second and third toes are licked as well as when the tongue goes in between her toes. The cat also gently nibbles the toes, which sends her into hysterics. These devilish cats are not the animals that were worshipped in ancient Egypt, but essentially demonic tickling machines. Begging does not work, as the minutes go on, each toe is licked and the arch is thoroughly explored by the tongue. Her toes continue to gently wiggle, as that is about the only thing that can wiggle at this point. More honey and sugar are applied, and Zoser also licks her other foot. The difference of having a human mouth and tongue on her sends her into more hysterics, throwing her head from side to side, completely unable to move. The fact that her feet are so on display and something so gentle, the licking and kissing of her feet are affecting her more because how aware she is that she is truly trapped. Zoser takes long tongue strokes up her arches, this sends her into desperate hysterical peels of laughter, he begins biting her toes and sticking his tongue in between each toe, which produces a desperate scream each time it happens. He notices this tends to work more than the gentle licking so he and his fellow tickler focus on the toes, gently nibbling them, and sticking tongues in between the toes. She defensively curls them and continues to laugh hysterically. In life, she certainly had her feet worshipped before, but never to this extent, and whenever it began to tickle she ordered for it to stop. He licks the sides of her feet, and this causes her feet to tense and shake as she begs for the madness to stop. Her toes splay and her feet shake, tears roll down her face as such a sensitive area on her feet are completely discovered, and there's no going back. Her laugh is high pitched, breathy and when a new spot is discovered such as when he bites her heel, it is "all over" again and involuntary screams escape her, completely exposing her.
After going back out into the hallway, A “Mover” walks by again, exiting one of the rooms with a blonde hippy protester wearing a white flowing dress is being rolled down the hall on a cart to the next hall. You follow them, you notice she has tears rolling down her face, her feet are also soaked with the saliva of whatever lead actor in the nightmare she just left. The sign in the hall she goes into says “Stocks and Racks” in medieval writing. While all rooms have some form of bondage, there is nothing more intimidating than to have your feet imobile in stocks or on a rack. The hippy girl whimpers “no” as the door is opened, and you can see what looks like a dark dungeon in that room. You start to follow, but you hear a witch’s cackle coming from the room directly to your right...You decide to investigate and go in.
In front of the first room in this hall are a pair of pointy black heels with black and white striped stockings in them, As you enter the room, you are taken to a dungeon from the middle ages. On a rack, Gertrude, an evil witch that lives in the outside of the kingdom that had been causing evil mischief by casting spells and sabotaging nearly every aspect of what would be needed to keep the kingdom in good standing. She was finally discovered, quickly tried and burned at the stake. As she burned she screamed and cackled, vowing revenge in the afterlife. She had no such luck and was sent directly to hell. Her body lay on a rack with metal shackles on her ankles, her knees, one going tightly around her waist, one on her neck, 2 on each wrist over her head, and along her elbows, She screams bloody murder as her spells have no power in the afterlife. She is as powerless as any human, and has to pay for what she has done. A line of peasant farmers, laborers, and nobility from her kingdom are gathered in the dungeon, finally able to get sweet sweet revenge.
All of them shout at her for what she did to ruin their lives. There is not a clear way to discern what individuals are saying. It is merely a cacophony of sound as Gertrude screams "SILENCE MORTALS I command you! SILENCE!" her screams have no power.
Matilde, a villager comes forward and slathers some oil over her feet, which causes a jolt and ticklish response, "AHHHHH! NOOOO! DON'T YOU DARE!" Matilde dumps the entire bowl over her feet, now glistening with slippery oil. Matilde's husband Martin, and his best friend Arnoud both move forward both with metal prickly devices that resemble an early version of a Wartenberg wheel and begin dragging it letting it roll over her sole. Not much effort is needed to cause an extreme ticklish response with this. The tool does most of the work itself as it rolls over her oiled arches with ease. She thrashes her head back and forth screaming bloody murder and cursing them as the audience of other torturers wait in line for their turn and cheer and taunt her mercilessly as she lays, completely helpless and immobile, finally paying a true price for her years of tormenting them. "HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA CURSES TO ALL OF YOU!! BWAA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA IS THAT ALL YA GOT??? *PANTING* HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! Her cackles, while satisfying, as it shows her suffering, which is all they want, her voice pierces through the air almost overpowering their taunting. She closes her eyes shut as screams for an extended period of time.
while this is happening, Matilde and her friend Bertrande walk forward, and while their husband run the wheel over her heels and arches, causing her toes to splay and curl, the ladies dip their fingers in more oil and begin playfully but brutally massaging her toes with the oiled up hands, causing her to cackle and scream, moreso completely mortified that she has been taken over, is so vulnerable and all of this is happening in front of those that always feared her, was under her power. The power dynamic within this long dead village has completely changed as 2 more villagers come forward as the ladies take their oil soaked hands and begin scratching the ball of her foot, the men continue to "wheel" her heel, and the other 2 villagers begin biting her. This sends her into a complete frenzy, She very nearly injures herself trying to escape her metal binds, but she is now in complete sensory overload with 2 tongues, several teeth, 10 fingers and 2 wheels on her feet. She screams louder than ever before. There is no thing such as giggling or silent laughter for her. Her ticklish reactions when it comes to her feet are full of cackles and it's time to go as your ears are overwhelmed.
That cackle will haunt your dreams, it’s something like you’ve never heard. You exit, going down yet another hall. In modern writing, “Electronics and Vibration”. You imagine what this realm has to do with anything to do with foot tickling using modern technology. It must be so alarming for these souls who died long before these advances had to be introduced to these tools that they never dreamed in their lives of feeling.
Jessa and Brittany were girls that really had no place. Being of a more gothic persuasion and fiercely different and anything other than ordinary, they found every opportunity to do that. So After school in their senior year, they had no after school activities. Their activities involved drugs and finding ways to get blacked out or completely high...but where to do that? They had tried each of their houses, smoking and drinking in the basement, but would always get caught. They would sneak roaches behind the sign of their neighborhood or would find houses that were being built, but never felt totally safe. They found safety in what they thought was an abandoned factory...They would sneak in there daily once it was discovered. It seemed like it had been completely abandoned for years. but that was not the case. While it was not actively being used in the hours they were there, and maybe wasn't the most upkeep building ever, it indeed was being used. Mr. Whitman was the owner of this facility, and he was continually using it. Many of his workers were working third shift, and sometimes he would be in his office during the day...other days not, depending on what was required. One day he sits in his office at about 4 pm, and hears some rustling in an area by the front door...did an animal get in? Is there a customer that needed to talk to him, but didn't understand this isn't an office to visit? There are various fumes and vapors that need to be considered. It's Jess and Brittany. They show up wearing black T shirts over grey and blue long sleeve T shirts, blue jeans, black and white socks, and sneakers and boots, respectively. They come with their stash of pot. They light their lighter and ....kaboom....the two of them, and Mr. Whitman as well as the entire factory are gone.
Instantly, they are in the afterlife, in what would be a replica of just where they were left, but now their shoes and socks are off, and left outside the door, as said before, a pair of Vans and white socks and a pair of Doc Martens and black socks are set outside the door, and the two girls, with long black and brown hair, and both with dark eyeliner and various facial piercings are barefoot... Jessa's right foot and Brittany's left foot are secured together with zip ties and their wrists are handcuffed above their head. They are truly Trapped. Mr. Whitman, who was also killed in the blast approaches them as the smoke clears "So it wasYOU assholes that destroyed my factory and killed us all with your pot smoking...you deadbeats. Now it's time for you to pay...."
In the afterlife, he is aware of the ticklishness of their feet, the fear of having their feet tickled and delightfully enjoys the fact that he has at his disposal 2 sets of young, extraordinarily ticklish feet tied together for him to torture at his pleasure. It wouldn't be an innovative modern factory if that didn't include the tickle tool used for this. In this scenario, he has taken a power drill, and fashioned at the end of it instead of a drill bit a spinning brush on one, and a spinning sponge on the other.
The two girls squirm in their bindings as they consider the torture they are both about to go through. Between the two of them, the ticklishness hasn't been discovered or discussed, but in their own private thoughts and anxieties, it was at the forefront.
*vrooooom vroooom( goes the spinning drills as they move closer to the girls feet. They begin squealing and clenching their toes before contact is made until suddenly it is an absolute screaming, laughing, hysterics flying out of both of them. They both fall back onto their backs cackling, unable to move their feet, as they are secured together, and they are also handcuffed. Just the instant touch of these tools on their feet teach them the lesson they needed to be taught. As their wiggling and struggling goes against each other. Possibly, they are surprised the other is as ticklish as the other friend is, and this is truly the worst nightmare for the both of them, but this is where they are together....forever.
You now notice you don’t have to go through the doors, but for you the walls are something you can just walk through, you walk through room after room of poor soles being tortured by a number of different devices. They wouldn’t be here in this circle of hell if their feet were not completely vulnerable to the tickle of what should be relaxing like a massager….their sensitivity completely betrays them. You do finally hit a wall, and need to go out in the hall, where you find you have traveled to yet another circle. “Lubrication and heightened sensitivity.” Again, this is an aspect of foot tickling that would be completely foreign to centuries of victims that they are now fully aware of….the feeling of having finger glide over silky nylons or having a hair brush fly over lotioned and oiled soles….these victims are fully aware of the effects of something that seems so simple.
The next room we discover is in the realm of heightening sensitivity. Outside the door are a pair of dainty grey high heel shoes with a pair of silk stockings in them. Inside the room, is Daisey Bringsby, a protestor for the Women's vote in the early 20th century in England. While her forceful protesting may have been for a good cause at the time, like other protesters, her influence and ability to bring change had not always been for the good in her life. She sat in what looked like her home living room, on a light blue sofa, laying on her side, with her ankles tied together and placed on an ottoman. She wore a light blue dress and matching jacket that hit just above her ankle, a white shirt as well as a matching blue hat. She also had a sash on her that stated "Votes for Women!". As she came to realize where she was moments after her death, she noticed a few things. For one, her wrists and ankles were tied together, and her shoes are missing...Another thing... her feet felt particularly soft..softer than she has ever felt. This is because before waking up in her condition, her feet have been oiled, lotioned to make truly soft and sensitive before being put in nylon stockings...something not invented in the time of her lifetime, and therefore she is unaware of the effect they will have on the ticklishness of her feet....something she doesn't need assistance with. Never has she had true attention paid to her feet, but all through her life she has been intensely aware that her feet are very much more sensitive, vulnerable to a tickling response than was fair for someone who was so serious about her agenda and someone who desperately wanted to be bulletproof to any sort of interrogation or abuse.
She notices nylon stockings, beyond her time are on her legs and feet. She notices something, what is the extra spandex. They lift and shape everything that includes the curves of her feet in way stockings of her time just don't. She notices her feet are hugged and stimulated, making the sense that her feet are "ready" for any additional stimulation. Everything feels sucked in and tightened up. The nerves in her feet feel extra energized in these nylons. They feel like they are boosting the stimulation and energy in her feet before they are touched. Her nerve endings are much more primed than she has ever noticed before, simply because of the lubrication her feet went through before, and now, the nylons, which she has not been introduced to before. Her husband, Daniel, who was fiercely against her protesting or the women getting the vote enters the room in his black suit, grey necktie and brown mustache, matching his thinning hair. He knows what must be done to her in order for her to learn her lesson. He died within that year, so his eyes had not been opened to progressive ideas that seem basic now.
All it takes is a touch of his fingers on her nylon covered arches to set her nerve endings further in panic. Just the lightest touch creates shivers and giggles. The best way to describe the sensitivity is that if normally you go from zero to 60, with the nylons on, you start at 30 and the second the feet are touched you are gunning it to 100. Everything is amplified. Every poor soul will experience this stage in the afterlife for the first time and experience it. As the tickling makes her shake and laugh hysterically, she feels electricity running over her skin, increasing the tickle sensors. She can't believe how ticklish she is as her husband taunts her whether all of this was worth it, she pounds her bound fists on the couch with a wide smile and closed eyes, not feeling as ticklish and vulnerable as she had in many years. She thought she was able to get over anything but how wrong she was...even with a strong mind and goal, some things are completely beyond control.
We have reached what seems to be the end.. After hours of traveling in this realm, it seems we’ve reached the last new hallway...The sign simply says “the final realm”. What is found out is in this realm, so much of what was in the past 6 areas are put together. There is extreme bondage of the stocks, there is exfoliation done to the feet to get them soft, sensitivity heightening oil is put on the feet, they are heated up with a hair dryer, put in soft silky, slippery nylons, and are tortured with all of the tickle tools until they reach the level of exhaustion where pass out...from there.
This last realm is where each individual tormented soul must visit before going to the start again. It is the ultimate torture taking everything they have endured into account. We find Susan, the protestor we met in the pedicure salon reaching this point, having gone through every stage we have discussed in some way. She has had her feet tickled with hands and fingers, her feet licked, her feet exfoliated in some way, and endured and experienced what it is to have feet more sensitive due to having the exfoliated, lubricated and put into nylons that almost certainly make them more sensitive. Don't be fooled. if for some reason the nylons have a different effect on the poor soul, and bare feet make them more ticklish, they will endure that...whatever is most difficult to endure. For Susan, it is certainly with nylons. She first noticed this at her senior prom. She had grown up not wearing nylons, tights etc, simply because of her style, but had heard that nylons would be difficult for her if she was ticklish, but didn't imagine how that could be true. She put them on, went into the bathroom to get ready...a few seconds after she had left her bathroom, she was on the floor giggling. It was her own fault, having "skated", dragging her feet on the carpet. The message was certainly given...her feet were much more ticklish when she was wearing nylons...well combine that with already having them tickled with feathers and fingers, licked to find exactly where she is the most vulnerable, exfoliated with a variety of tools, placed on a very constricting piece of bondage and completely tickle tortured, and having her feet tickled while having a variety of sensitivity boosting measures such as lotion on her feet, oil on her feet, nylons on her feet, her feet put back into her boots and warmed up...she endured all of this as well as mental games where discussions were done about how ticklish her feet were before they were touched, but essentially, this realm was the culmination of all of the realms, and would not stop until the victim passes out from exhaustion or simply from being overwhelmed where they are swiftly taken back to the first station by the "movers" where it starts all over again....and again...and again.....and again...for all eternity until something more advanced is added to the rotation.
Susan lays on the racks that come from the middle ages, her neck, arms, wrists, waist, knees, and ankles securely bolted to the rack. She has already endured foot tickling with fingers and feathers to her breaking point as well as tickling done by well trained tongues and teeth as well as evil scrub brushes.. Her feet are swiftly lubricated and softened with oil and lotion, put in sensitivity enhancing nylons, returned to her boots and her feet are warmed up, in her boots, they get used to being protected and are finally exposed. Several ticklers from her life descend upon her, telling her everything that she did to deserve this plight. they pick out whatever tools they want to use. Similar to a bunch of props in a photobooth, SO many foot tickle tools are completely at their disposal.... if a tickler has nothing to do, and are waiting for the lee for their room, they are always welcome to attend this final realm. Another main difference with this realm is instead of tickling until the victim has passed out, the victim is ensured to be kept awake. Everything is done to be kept them awake, and essentially they don't escape from this realm until they "die" from being tickled....I know that is confusing since they are already dead, but essentially go through what would kill them as a living human....Susan lays there, completely bound, sensitive, nyloned and vulnerable as several ticklers descend on her with fingers, teeth, tickle tools and psychological tricks. She begs for them to please provide her mercy as they descend on her. The second her feet are touched under these conditions horrifying screams escape her lips and she cackles in desperation.
After witnessing what you believe must be every realm of the foot tickle hell...without confirmation, you are collected, taken on the elevator, brought back to the top floor, and once they are awake it all starts again. A complete nightmare scenario for someone with the foot sensitivity of these poor souls...the halls are endless…..endless stories and victims to witness.
