This was based on the amazing lore that DungeonGeist (https://www.deviantart.com/dungeongeist) created
One moment, Cassandra was safe in the hushed silence of the university library, entranced by a forbidden tome. The next, she was dragged through a bleeding portal of ink and shadow, deposited into the rusting, industrial nightmare of Chamber 17.
Now, bound within the suffocating embrace of a Constrictor Gurney and stripped of her defenses, she faces the architect of her new reality: The Hex. A creature of elegant, emaciated bone and sadistic hunger, The Hex demands absolute submission and offers only agonizing sensation in return.
But physical restraint is only the beginning. With the administration of the Draft of Hyperesthesia, the mercy of unconsciousness is stolen away. Her senses amplified to a screaming edge, Cassandra is forced to endure a relentless gauntlet of feathers, claws, and a raspy, predator’s tongue. Denied release and denied escape, she must weather a storm of tickling torture where every touch burns like fire, and the only way out is through the madness.
Word Count: 14,529
F/F | Feet Tickling | Tickle Torture | Explicit | Non-Con | Cunnilingus
The metamorphosis into a Hex—a high-caste Ghoul of the Hellish Realm—was not a biological evolution; it was a violent, warping calcification of the soul, and for the entity standing in the center of Chamber 17, the process was finally complete. The air in the dungeon, heavy with damp grit and the metallic tang of drying rust, tasted different to her now. It tasted of opportunity.
The Hex stood six and a half feet tall, her physique elegantly wasted, the pale, slate-grey skin pulled taut over elongated bones that seemed too sharp for the flesh meant to contain them. Her jaw ached with a dull, throbbing rigidity, the muscles permanently locked to support the skeletal, rictus grin carved into the lower half of her face. It was a grin that promised nothing but consumption. Her eyes, once human, were now sunken pits of burning coal, devoid of eyelids, staring with a hollow, supernatural hunger into the gloom of the torture chamber.
Before her lay the center of her new universe: the Constrictor Gurney.
Strapped deeply within the thick, sweat-stained leather sleepsack was the new arrival, a spoil of war from the surface world. Her name was Cassandra.
Only hours ago, time being a slippery construct in this realm, Cassandra had been sitting in the hushed, sterile safety of her university library. The late-night study session had derailed when she pulled a leather-bound tome from the archives, a book that smelled of ozone and ancient decay. The text was indecipherable, the illustrations grotesque, yet she had been unable to close it. The page had shimmered, the ink swirling into a vortex of absolute black, a tiny portal no larger than a coin that rapidly expanded, swallowing the light of the reading lamp. She remembered the paralysis, the awe, and then the terror as a skeletal, grey hand had shot out from the paper, seized her by the throat, and dragged her bodily into the ink.
Now, the library was a distant dream. The reality was Chamber 17.
Cassandra slept fitfully, her copper-red hair matted to her forehead with cold, feverish sweat. She was still fully dressed in her surface attire, unauthorized fabrics that looked alien against the dungeon’s brutalist architecture: heavy denim jeans that bunched around her trapped legs, a thick wool sweater that was already acting as a suffocating furnace in the dungeon’s humidity, and thick, rubber-soled sneakers tied aggressively tight over ankle socks.
The gurney was designed to be a claustrophobic hell. The heavy leather casing was heavy and suffocatingly constrictive, binding her from her ankles up to her chin. Multiple thick leather straps were buckled tight around the sleepsack, pinning it to the gurney. Her body was utterly immobilized, swaddled in darkness and her own accumulating body heat. At the foot of the gurney, unseen but undeniable, her sneakered feet were clamped immovably into oak stocks, the soles facing the damp stone wall.
To the Hex’s right, sitting on a rusted metal rolling tray, lay the instruments of the evening’s curriculum:
A Vial of Draft of Hyperesthesia, glowing with a toxic, neon green luminescence.
A pair of heavy, rusted industrial shears, the blades pitted but honed to a razor edge.
A bundle of long, stiff feathers, their black-barred quills sharp, their barbs rigid and unforgiving.
The sound of the dungeon was a low, mechanical thrum, punctuated by the rhythmic, wet dripping of condensation from the ceiling pipes. The distant, echoing sound of manic laughter bleeding through the stone walls from the adjacent cells—a jagged, hysterical sound that set the rhythm for the torture to come.
Cassandra stirred. Her eyes dragged open, wide and trembling, struggling to focus in the harsh, flickering light. She took in the warped, ghoul-like visage looming over her—the grey skin, the lidless eyes, the terrifying, fixed grin. She strained against the leather sack, the heavy material creaking loudly, but the Constrictor Gurney allowed for zero torque. She was a statue encased in cowhide.
A muffled whimper escaped her gag—a large, red rubber ball buckled tightly behind her head. It distended her cheeks, forcing her jaw wide, the red sphere glistening with a chaotic mix of saliva and mucous.
"Mmmph... hhugh..."
The heavy iron door of the cell sealed with a thunderous, metallic boom that vibrated through the floor, instantly severing the chaotic auditory assault of the corridor. The shrieks were replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence, broken only by the low hum of the sodium lights and the frantic, wet rasp of Cassandra's breathing through her nose.
The Hex spoke. Her voice, dragging through a throat warped by the Death Feather transformation, sounded like dry leaves skittering over a tombstone.
"Good evening, my dear. Sorry about the transition. The library has such... restricted hours. Here, we have all the time in the world."
The words were sibilant, distorted by the rigid teeth of the Hex, lacking any human warmth.
Cassandra’s eyes fixed on the creature’s face. As the Hex leaned in, the smell of the girl was potent—the bitter tang of fear-sweat saturating the wool of her sweater, the stale, trapped heat leaking from the neck of the leather sleepsack. It was a bouquet of pure distress. Cassandra tried to recoil, her body jerking inside the casing, but the heavy leather barely creaked; it simply held her compressed and immobile.
The Hex extended a hand. The transformation had turned her fingers into elongated, spindly instruments, the grey skin growing tight and translucent over the knuckles, the nails dark and curved like obsidian shards. As she reached out, Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh tear cutting a clean track through the grime on her cheek.
The Hex’s fingertip made contact with the girl's temple. It was corpse-cold against the burning, feverish skin. With a slow, fluid motion that mocked tenderness, the creature hooked a strand of heavy, sweat-dampened copper hair and tucked it behind Cassandra's ear. The girl's skin flinched beneath the touch, rippling with voltage, but she could not pull away.
"Mmph... mmgh!" she whimpered against the gag. Saliva pooled around the red rubber, glistening in the harsh light and dripping down her chin in thick, viscous strings. Her chest heaved beneath the thick layers of her sweater and the leather restraint, rising and falling in short, panicked spasms. She was utterly at the creature's mercy.
The elongated fingers reached behind the back of Cassandra's head, the knuckles brushing against the damp, matted hair at the nape of her neck. The Hex found the buckle of the strap, the leather warm and slippery with the girl's perspiration. With a sharp click, the prong released.
"The intake protocols are so crude," the Hex rasped, her voice hollow and vibrating with an unnatural timbre. "Let us hear you breathe."
She pulled the strap free. Cassandra’s jaw went slack instantly. The Hex gripped the ring of the red rubber ball and pulled. It slid out of the girl's mouth with a wet, obscene, sucking pop, dragging a long, glistening string of viscous saliva with it before the Hex set the slobber-coated instrument on the metal tray with a dull thud.
Cassandra’s reaction was instantaneous and desperate. Her mouth, ringed with red chafe marks and bruised at the corners, fell open. She sucked in a massive, ragged lungful of air, her chest pushed violently against the heavy leather casing. The muscles in her neck strained, cords standing out against her pale throat as she prepared to unleash a wail of pure terror.
"Ah ah," the Hex hissed.
Before the sound could leave Cassandra's throat, the creature pressed a single, bone-hard index finger vertically against her wet, trembling lips.
The scream died in her throat, choking off into a strangled, gurgling gasp. Her eyes, wide and white-rimmed, locked onto the Hex's. She stared into the depth of the hollow sockets and the terrifying permanence of the skeletal grin. The finger felt like a rod of ice against the feverish heat of her mouth.
"Scream, little one, and I will put the gag back in place. I will push it so deep you will choke on your own panic, and I will make you DEEPLY regret the noise. Right now, I am feeling charitable. Pray it lasts."
Cassandra froze. The fight drained out of her, replaced by a paralyzing dread. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing convulsively against the wool collar of her sweater. She breathed in short, shallow hitches through her nose, terrified that even a heavy exhale might be interpreted as disobedience.
"P-please..." she whispered, her voice cracked and dry despite the saliva coating her chin. "Please... I want to go back... let me go back... I don't belong here... please."
Sweat beaded on her upper lip and rolled down to meet the Hex's finger. The Constrictor Gurney was doing its work; the heat inside that bag must have been sweltering, the wool sweater acting as a furnace, trapping every ounce of warmth against her bound torso.
"Oh, you poor dear," the Hex crooned, the mockery in her raspy voice wrapped in a terrifying layer of false comfort. "You are overheated. All these heavy clothes... denim, wool... entirely unsuitable for the climate of Hell."
The Hex lifted the heavy shears from the tray. The metal was pitted and dark, stained with fluids from previous tenants of Chamber 17, but the cutting edges gleamed with a cruel sharpness. In the elongated, Hex grip, they looked enormous. Cassandra’s breath hitched, her eyes crossing slightly as she tried to look down at the blade hovering right below her chin.
"No... don't..." Cassandra mumbled deliriously, her logic fragmenting under the stress.
The Hex slid the tip of the cold steel under the high collar of the wool sweater. The metal rested against the velvet-soft skin of Cassandra's throat for a second, feeling the frantic pulse hammering there, a rapid-fire beat of pure adrenaline
Cruuuunch.
The Hex drove the shears downward with a smooth, relentless force. The blades bit through the heavy sleepsack leather, the thick knit of the wool sweater, and the delicate lace of the brassiere underneath in one continuous motion. The sound was a tapestry of destruction—the groan of leather, the snap of wool yarn, and the tear of silk. Cassandra gasped, her back arching instinctively against the constraints, but she had nowhere to go. She could only lie there, paralyzed, listening to the methodical ruin of her protection.
The Hex cut down to the lower ribs, the shears slicing through the layers like wet paper. The air in the room was suddenly filled with the scent of released heat—a musky, feminine warmth that wafted up from the opened cocoon. It was the scent of a body that had been marinating in its own terror. The Hex withdrew the shears and dropped them onto the tray with a clatter.
With deliberate slowness, the creature reached into the incision. Her cold, grey fingers hooked into the shredded mess of wool and lace.
Rrrrrip.
The fabric gave way. The heavy sweater and the bra cups were peeled back, tucked under the stiffness of the leather sleepsack's cut edges. Cassandra’s chest was laid bare to the dungeon's stagnant air.
Her breasts spilled out, pale and opulent, rising and falling with jagged, terrified breaths. They were flushed pink with the heat she had been enduring, slick with a fine sheen of perspiration that made them gleam like polished marble under the sodium lights. The nipples were currently soft, pale pink rosettes that trembled with every frantic heartbeat.
"Magnificent...," the Hex murmured. Her breath, stale and dry, washed over the exposed skin, causing goosebumps to erupt across Cassandra's chest despite the ambient heat.
"No... don't look..." Cassandra whispered, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes to slide into her ears. "Please... cover me..."
The Hex ignored the pleading; in this realm, pleas were merely seasoning. She extended a single, long index finger. The nail was dark, curved, and hard as obsidian. She lowered it until it barely blushed the skin of Cassandra's left breast.
The contrast was absolute: the grey, dead ugliness of the Hex hand against the soft, living warmth of the girl’s breast.
The Hex began to trace slow, deliberate circles around the areola. The nail didn't scratch, not yet; it merely glided through the film of sweat.
Cassandra bit her lip, her head turning side to side on the thin pillow. Her breath began to shudder. The sensation was confusing—the nerves expecting pain but receiving a ghostly, terrifyingly light touch.
She tried to hold it back, but biology was a traitor. Slowly, agonizingly, the nipple began to respond to the proximity of the threat. It puckered, the skin tightening, the bud hardening and thrusting upward, seeking the touch it feared. The color deepened from a shy pink to a darker, engorged rose.
"P-please stop," she breathed, a sob breaking in her voice. "It... it feels wrong... stop it..."
Her body arched slightly again, her breasts jiggling with the movement, offering themselves up to the Hex's hungry, lidless gaze.
"Oh my... my my my. I barely touched you and look," the Hex rasped, her voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Responded like a bitch in heat. Is this what they teach at the university? How to present yourself?"
The insult landed like a physical slap. A flush of deep crimson shame climbed up Cassandra’s neck, spreading across her exposed chest like a stain.
"I'm not!" she cried out, twisting her head away, squeezing her eyes shut as if that could hide her body's betrayal. "I can't help it! It's cold! Stop it!"
The Hex ignored the feeble protests and moved her hand to the right breast. Again, she traced the agonizingly slow circles with her sharp nail. The reaction was the same—immediate and biological. The soft flesh rippled, goosebumps spreading outward as the areola tightened. The second nipple erected, hardening into a tight, sensitive point that mirrored its twin. They stood stark and accusing against her pale skin, undeniable evidence of her body's hyper-awareness.
They were perfect targets.
The Hex brought both hands up. Her long, spindly thumbs and forefingers hovered for a second, casting shadow claws over the girl's heaving chest. Cassandra’s eyes flew open, wide with panic. She saw the intent. "No! No, please, don't pin—"
Snap.
The Hex clamped down on both nipples simultaneously. The pinch was precise and firm, capturing the entire hardened bud of each nipple between the bone-hard digits.
"AHH!" Cassandra wailed, her head throwing back into the pillow, her throat arching as the tendons stood out.
The Hex twisted. Sharp and quick. A quarter turn of torque applied directly to the most sensitive points on her exposed body.
"Gnnnk!"
The shock convulsed through the student. Her back bowed off the gurney as much as the sleepsack allowed, straining against the heavy leather casing in a desperate attempt to escape the sensation. Her breasts stretched with the pull, the soft fat deforming as the Hex held the nipples captive. It wasn't tearing damage—it was a spike of pure, electrified sensation that landed somewhere between sharp pain and a jolt of overwhelming intensity.
She fell back as the Hex held the twist, panting hard, her face grimacing. "Ah... ah... ah god! Let go! It hurts! It hurts!"
The Hex could feel the heat radiating from the tissue through her fingertips, the pulse throbbing violently inside the trapped nibs. A drop of sweat rolled down Cassandra's sternum, navigating the valley between her breasts, glistening like oil.
"You want me to stop?" the Hex asked, her voice deceptively light, almost conversational, as if asking about the weather.
With a sharp, playful yank, she tugged the nipples upward, stretching the delicate skin of the areolas until they formed little tents. Cassandra gasped, a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth.
Then, the Hex shifted her grip. She pressed the pads of her middle fingers directly down onto the very tips of the throbbing, engorged peaks. She began to rub—fast, tight, agonizingly small circles right on the nerve-dense summits.
"Nnnngh! Ah! Y-yes! Stop! Ahhh!"
Cassandra’s head thrashed from side to side, her copper hair fanning out in a damp halo across the pillow. The friction was intense. The Hex’s skin was rough, dry, and unyielding—like sandpaper grinding against raw silk. The sensation was too much, too focused. It overloaded the nerves instantly, bypassing pleasure and hitting a strata of pure, white-hot overstimulation.
"It’s too much! Ah! Please! It burns!" she sobbed, her exposed chest heaving and twisting violently. Her spine arched off the mattress, trying to pull her torso away from the fingers, but her hips were anchored by the heavy lower straps, turning her body into a strained bow of varying tension. Her restrained feet flexed invisible inside her sneakers at the end of the gurney.
The Hex released her nipples abruptly.
Cassandra slumped back onto the gurney, sucking in huge, desperate lungfuls of air, her chest rising and falling violently. The nipples remained painfully erect, red and irritated, throbbing in the cool air of the dungeon.
"Very well, I'll focus somewhere else, shall I?"
The Hex’s left hand, large and skeletal, descended on Cassandra's left breast like a spider claiming a fly. She squeezed, her long fingers sinking deep into the soft, pale flesh, kneading roughly. It was a coarse, possessive grope that made the student whimper—a low, pathetic sound of violation.
"Mnnh... please... no more..."
The Hex released her with a final, careless pat that shook the soft flesh. She turned away, her interest shifting like the wind in a graveyard. Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the stone floor—click, click, click—as she walked the length of the gurney. Her shadow stretched long and distorted over Cassandra’s immobilized form, a silhouette of hunger.
She stopped at the foot of the gurney.
Locked firmly in the heavy oak stocks were Cassandra’s feet. They were trapped vertically, soles facing the wall, encased in thick white crew socks and battered, dark blue canvas sneakers with thick rubber toe caps. The wood of the stocks was polished smooth by years of use, clamping tight around her ankles just above the malleolus bones, rendering her unable to withdraw or turn her feet.
"Let's see what we have here, shall we? I have a feeling all that excitement built up quite the sweat..."
Cassandra stiffened. She couldn’t see the creature now, only feel the presence looming at her most vulnerable extremity. "What? No! Leave my feet alone! Don't touch them!" Her voice rose in pitch, panic flaring anew. The feet in question twitched, the sneakers wiggling uselessly in the wooden vices.
The Hex stood at the foot of the gurney, her shadow falling long and heavy over the trapped extremities. The sight before her was a delicious anachronism: a pair of dark blue canvas sneakers, heavy with the aesthetic of the modern surface world, clamped ruthlessly into the ancient, polished oak of the dungeon stocks. The wood was stained dark from centuries of sweat and oil, and against it, the white rubber toe caps and the dirty blue canvas looked startlingly bright.
Cassandra’s feet were locked vertically, the soles facing the Hex. The sneakers were twitching, the Hex could see the leather of the sleepsack twisting further up the bed as the girl tried to writhe away from a touch that hadn't even happened yet. The rubber soles were thick, patterned with a worn diamond tread that still held specks of library dust—dirt from a world Cassandra would likely never walk in again.
The Hex reached out. Her grey fingers, contrasting sharply with the dirty canvas, grasped the loop of the right sneaker's laces. They were tied tight, double-knotted—a student's habit, meant to keep the shoes secure during a long day on campus.
She pulled the aglet. Slowly.
Zzzzip.
The sound was small but distinct in the heavy silence. The knot gave way. The tension across the bridge of Cassandra’s foot released slightly.
"Please!" the girl begged from the head of the gurney, craning her neck, straining her muscles to try and see. "Please, I... I hate having my feet touched! They're gross! Please!"
The Hex ignored the cries, treating them as ambient noise. She began to loosen the laces, unthreading them eyelet by eyelet with a terrifying, ritualistic slowness. With every loosening of the cord, the sneaker gaped wider, revealing the white cotton sock underneath. A faint, warm scent—humid and distinctly biological—began to waft from the opening shoe. It was the smell of confinement. Sour, yeasty sweat mingled with the chemical tang of warm rubber and heated canvas.
"Mmmm hmmmm," the Hex hummed, the vibration rattling in her chest. "Quite the bouquet."
She gripped the heel of the right sneaker. Cassandra gasped, a sharp intake of breath, as she felt the shoe slide. With a wet, sticky suction sound—shhh-thuck—the Hex peeled the shoe off the foot. It came away heavily, the insole visibly damp.
Cassandra's right foot was left exposed in the stocks, clad only in a thick, white athletic sock. The cotton was visibly damp, stained slightly yellow at the toes and heel from absorbed perspiration. The fabric clung to her arch and toes, outlining the shape perfectly. Her toes curled instinctively, scrunching the damp sock material into a tight, defensive ball.
The Hex lifted the empty sneaker to her face. The opening, warm and jagged, fit over her skeletal nose and mouth like a mask. She inhaled deeply.
The scent was rich and pungent. It was the thick, cheesy aroma of fermented foot sweat, amplified by the stress of the capture and the heat of the dungeon. It smelled of panic. It smelled of entrapment. To the Hex’s transformed senses, it smelled delicious.
"NO!" Cassandra screamed, her voice cracking with humiliation. "Oh god, don't! That's disgusting! Stop it! Don't smell them!"
The Hex lowered the shoe, savoring the aftertaste on her tongue. A thin smile cracked her rigid face. She placed the sneaker on the side of the gurney, right next to Cassandra’s knee, where the smell could waft up just out of range.
"How will the left one be, I wonder?"
She turned her attention to the left foot. She grabbed the laces, her movements practiced. She picked the knot apart. As the laces loosened, the tongue of the shoe popped up slightly, puffing out a fresh cloud of warm, humid air.
"Please don't... please..." Cassandra was sobbing now, a deep, guttural sound of shame. "I'm sweating so much... it's so gross... please just leave them on..."
The Hex slid the second sneaker off. It dragged against the sock, the friction palpable, before popping free.
She brought the second sneaker to her face, burying her nose deep into the heel cup where the concentration of scent was strongest. She groaned aloud, a raspy, shuddering sound of pleasure. The scent here was heavier, thicker—a concentrated musk of enclosed biology and fear. It was heady, almost dizzying to a creature that fed on distress.
She lowered the shoe and turned, stalking back to the head of the gurney with the prize in hand. The floor creaked beneath her weight. Cassandra watched her approach, her eyes wide with horror, tracking the dirty blue canvas object in the creature's hand.
"You must try it," the Hex commanded.
"No... wait..." Cassandra shook her head, tears flying. "What are you—"
The Hex didn't wait. she pressed the opening of the sneaker directly over Cassandra’s nose and mouth. The rubber toe cap dug into the girl's soft cheek; the heel tab pressed against her chin. The Hex sealed it against her face, creating an airtight mask of canvas and stink.
Inside the shoe, Cassandra was engulfed in her own darkness and stench. The heat from the shoe was still radiating, humid and suffocating. She clamped her mouth shut, screwing her eyes tight, trying to hold her breath, trying to reject the foul, concentrated essence of her own two-day sweat.
"Mmph!! Mmmgh!" she protested into the insole, thrashing her head, but the Hex’s grip was iron. She was forced to breathe it in—tasting the sour, cheesy tang of the trapped perspiration.
"Tut tut tut. Breathe, little student. Analyze the composition," the Hex chided.
With her free hand—the left one—the Hex reached down to the girl's exposed torso. She splayed her long, skeletal fingers over the ribcage, right where the shears had stopped cutting earlier. She found the sensitive intercostal spaces between the ribs, the skin tender and flushed.
Lightly, barely using any pressure, the Hex skittered her fingertips across the skin.
Scritch-scratch.
Cassandra’s reaction was instantaneous and violent. Her body jerked in the sleepsack. Her eyes flew open inside the darkness of the shoe. A strangled, choking sound erupted from her throat—half gasp, half suppressed giggle.
"Hrk! Mmh-hmph!"
She was trying desperately to hold it back, engaging every muscle in her core to suppress the laughter, knowing that if she gasped for air to laugh, she would inhale a massive dose of the sneaker's stench.
"Ooooooh good," the Hex crooned, watching the stomach muscles spasm and ripple beneath her touch as Cassandra fought the tickle. "A sensitive pet today. I may not even need the Hyperesthesia yet."
The Hex dug her fingers in a little harder, wiggling them right in the soft spot under the lowest rib on the left side.
"MMMMPH! HEE-HMMPH!"
Cassandra bucked, her large tits bounced, tears squeezing out of her shut eyes, her muffled laughter vibrating into the shoe. She couldn't hold her breath any longer. She gasped—a huge, desperate inhalation right into the depths of the sneaker. She choked on the smell, gagging and laughing simultaneously.
"Mmmmm, smells good, doesn't it?" the Hex whispered, her voice thick with perverse satisfaction. She held the sneaker firmly over the girl's face, feeling the hot, damp puffs of breath warming her hand through the canvas. "Take a big sniff. Identify the notes. Is it Fear? Is it Exhaustion? Or is it just filth?"
The Hex lifted her left hand slowly from the ribs, suspending it in the air like a poised spider, ready to strike again at the slightest sign of resistance. Cassandra’s chest heaved beneath the open flaps of her shredded sweater. Her face was hidden inside the shoe, but her body language screamed of defeat and revulsion.
She choked, coughing slightly into the insole, but the threat of the tickling fingers hovering just inches from her sensitive skin was too great. She surrendered. The Hex could hear the long, shuddering intake of breath as the girl obeyed, dragging the stagnant, cheesy air of the shoe deep into her lungs.
"God..." she whined into the darkness of the footwear, her voice muffled and trembling against the damp insole. "It smells... it smells like... sour cheese... and vinegar..." She gagged again, a wet, wretched sound. "Like... like old gym socks... and onions... oh god, please take it off..."
Her toes, still locked in the stocks at the foot of the bed, curled and uncurled in the damp white socks, writhing in sympathetic embarrassment.
The Hex pulled the shoe away with a sharp tug.
Cassandra’s face was flushed crimson, sweat beading on her forehead. She gasped for the "clean" dungeon air, her eyes wet and pleading. "I did it... I told you... please don't tickle me again... please..."
"Good girl," the Hex purred. She tossed the sneaker back onto the gurney near Cassandra’s feet. She loomed over the girl, her skeletal grin widening. "But now... we have a little problem. The socks. They are hiding the main course."
The Hex turned and walked back to the stocks.
"No... wait... what are you doing?" Cassandra’s breath hitched.
The Hex looked down at the white-socked feet. The cotton was thin, ribbed at the ankle, looking soft and innocent despite the yellowing stains of sweat at the pressure points. The outline of the toes was clearly visible, cramped and curling.
The Hex hooked her sharp nails under the elastic rim of the left sock. The material snapped softly.
"No... no, no, no," Cassandra murmured, her head lifting off the pillow, straining to see past her own exposed chest. "Leave them on... please, I have really ticklish feet... please don't take the socks off..."
The Hex began to peel. Slowly. The white cotton rolled down the ankle, dragging over the skin. It clung stubbornly to the damp flesh, peeling away with a faint fzzzt sound. As she pulled it past the ankle bone, the smell intensified—raw and unfiltered now, sharper than it was in the shoe.
She exposed the heel. It was pink, glistening with a fresh sheen of clammy sweat. The skin was slightly thickened, a pale, yellowish patch of callus at the very back where the shoe had rubbed.
The Hex paused with the sock bunched below the arch, framing the heel. She brought her other hand down. With the tip of her index finger, she began to trace a slow, maddening circle right in the center of that damp, calloused heel.
Swirl... swirl...
Cassandra’s reaction was electric. Her head snapped back onto the pillow with a thud.
"Ah! Nnngh!"
She bit her lip so hard it turned white. Her leg spasmed in the stocks, the muscles in her calf bunching tight like coiled snakes as she tried to jerk her foot away, but the oak clamps held her fast. The sensation of the dry, dead skin moving over her sensitive, sweaty sole sent a jolt straight up her spine.
"D-don't!" she gasped, her eyes squeezing shut again. "It tickles! It tickles so bad! Don't touch the heel! AH!"
"Not the heel?" the Hex mocked, her voice dry as old parchment. "A pity. It is so very responsive."
She tugged the wet cotton again. It slid reluctantly over the slick skin of the arch, peeling away to reveal the bottom half of the foot.
The Hex shifted her hand. Instead of the flat pad of her finger, she deployed the tip of her index nail. She positioned it in the crevace, just above where the heel ended and the arch began.
She began to scratch. Lightly. Back and forth.
Scritch. Scratch. Scritch.
"AAAAH! NO!"
Cassandra screamed, the sound tearing from her throat instantly. Her reaction was violent and reflexive. Her toes—still hidden inside the tip of the sock—curled downward with frantic force, scrunching the white fabric into a tight ball as she tried to create a shield for her sole. Her entire leg jerked in the stock, violently vibrating against the oak wood.
"Hah! Ah-hah-hah! AHH! STOP!"
The laughter burst out of her, unbidden and panicked. It wasn't joyful; it was a spasm of the diaphragm, a vocal rejection of the torture. She threw her head back, her exposed breasts bouncing wildly with her struggles. The sensation of a sharp, dry nail raking lightly over that damp, hyper-sensitive skin was electric agony.
"It’s worse! It’s worse! Don't scratch! Don't scratch there!" she babbled, gasping for air between the sharp, high-pitched yelps. "I can't take it! My arch! Oh god, my arch!"
"Not here either? Quite a demanding little thing, aren't you?" the Hex chided, enjoying the frantic display.
The Hex started pulling the sock up again and stopped just short of the ball of the foot, leaving the toes and the padded metatarsal area still shrouded in the damp white cotton "cap." The arch was now fully exposed—a perfect, pale crescent of sensitive flesh, glistening with sweat droplets that caught the light like morning dew.
The Hex leaned in closer, her eyes fixated on the anatomy. She licked her dry, grey lips, a predator savoring the appetizer.
Then, she struck.
She drove the tip of her index finger deep into the center of the sole, right into the band of the plantar fascia. She didn't scratch this time. She pressed hard, compressing the tense muscle and nerves against the bone structure of the foot.
And then she vibrated her hand. Fast. Supernatural fast.
Buzz-zz-zz-zz.
"SCREEEECH! AAAAAHA-HA-HA-HA!"
Cassandra’s scream was ear-splitting. The sensation blasted through her nervous system like a lightning strike. The deep vibration sent shockwaves through the sensitive tissue of her sole, triggering a convulsive, uncontrollable reaction.
"NO! NOOO! AHA-HA-HA! STOP IT! STOP DOING THAT!"
She convulsed violently against the leather sleepsack, her hips bucking off the gurney, her head whipping side to side so fast her hair flailed like a copper whip. Tears streamed freely down her face now, mixing with the sweat.
"IT'S TOO DEEP! IT'S TOO DEEP! AHA-HA-HA! OH GOD! PLEASE!"
Her foot spasmed wildly in the stock, her quadriceps bunched and spasmed, rippling under the leather, but the legs went nowhere. The Hex’s finger was relentless, digging in and vibrating, turning the arch into a source of pure, overwhelming stimulation. The toes fanned out wide and then crunched down tight, vibrating with the intensity of the feeling.
"Make it stop! Make it stop! I'll do anything! AAAAAH!" she shrieked, her voice breaking into hysterical, weeping laughter.
"Anything?" the Hex asked, her voice slicing through the shrieks.
She bore down harder. Her skeletal finger dug deeper into the soft meat of the arch, finding the tightest knot of nerves. She increased the vibration speed, her hand becoming a blur of motion. The friction generated heat; the sensation for Cassandra must have been blinding—a white-hot overload that blurred the line between tickling and pain.
"YES! YES! AHA-HA-HA! ANYTHING! ANYTHING!" Cassandra wailed, her face turning a blotchy, mottled red. Her mouth hung open, drool spilling from the corner as she gasped for breath between the manic peals of laughter. Her chest heaved violently, her exposed breasts shaking with every convulsion.
"GOD! AHA-HAA! MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE! I CAN'T! I CAN'T BREATHE! AHA-HA-HA!"
She was frantic, her mind shattering under the relentless input. The leather of the gurney creaked loudly as she tested the limits of the restraints, but she was utterly trapped. Her foot was the Hex's playground, and right now, the creature was grinding her sanity into dust through her sole.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?! AHA-HA-HA! TELL ME! TELL ME!"
The Hex lifted her finger.
The relief that crashed over Cassandra was absolute. She fell back against the gurney, her body limp and trembling, sweat soaking the sheets beneath her. She sucked in air like a drowning woman reaching the surface, her eyes tracking the creature warily as the Hex began to prowl back toward her head.
"Simple," the Hex hissed, the word landing like a stone in the pool of Cassandra's silence.
She stood beside the head of the gurney, her height exaggerating the perspective so she seemed to scrape the dungeon ceiling. Her shadow engulfed the student's tear-streaked face. Cassandra looked up, chest heaving, eyes darting from the creature's hollow sockets to the long, grey hands that had just violated the sanctity of her feet. The phantom sensation of the vibration still ghosted through her arch, a persistent neurological echo that made her toes twitch in the stocks.
"You said anything," the Hex reminded her, leaning down. The smell of the creature—ancient dust and formaldehyde—mixed with the lingering stench of the sneaker that lay on the bed. "And I am a creditor who always collects."
"I... I..." Cassandra stammered, her voice wrecked, raw from the screaming. She tried to shrink back into the mattress, but the leather casing held her firm. "I just wanted it to stop. Please... no more tickling. I can't breathe."
"Tickling?" The Hex tilted her head, the movement avian and sharp. "We haven't even begun to tickle, little student. That was merely... calibration."
With a sudden, jarring burst of supernatural agility, the Hex vaulted.
The heavy metal frame of the Constrictor Gurney groaned under the impact as the creature landed gracefully on top of the restraint. Cassandra gasped, the air knocked out of her lungs as the Hex’s weight settled. The creature did not sit on her legs; she straddled Cassandra's upper chest and neck, her knees pinning the girl’s shoulders into the sleepsack.
The Hex towered over her, a nightmare of grey skin and protruding bone. The perspective was terrifying; Cassandra was looking straight up the torso of a monster.
Then, the Hex sank down. She sat back on her heels, lowering her pelvis directly onto Cassandra's face.
The creature’s anatomy was a warped, monstrous echo of what it once was in the human realm. The transformation had stripped away the softness, leaving the pubic mound gaunt, hairless, and slate-grey. The Hex pressed her crotch right against Cassandra’s nose and mouth—a cold, vertical slit of pale, leathery skin. The outer lips were thin and retracted, exposing the dark, wet interior that smelled of stale musk, copper, and old blood.
"Eat me out," the Hex commanded, the words vibrating through her pelvis into the student's cheek. "Prove your devotion. Or I go back to the foot of the stocks, and I will vibrate your soles until your mind cracks in half."
Cassandra froze, her eyes crossing as she stared at the grey flesh smothering her. The heat of her flushed face contrasted sharply with the corpse-like chill of the Hex’s crotch. She could smell the potent, acrid scent of the creature—it wasn't like the biological sweat of the sneakers; it was chemical, ancient, and terrifying.
"W-what?" she mumbled against the Hex's flesh, her lips brushing the rim of the exposed entrance. "Oh god... no... please..."
She tried to turn her head, but the Hex’s thighs locked her in place like a vice. The threat hung heavy in the damp air. The ghost of the sensation on her arch flared up in her mind—the buzzing, the heat, the loss of control. It was a phantom itch that promised madness if the Hex returned to the foot of the bed.
"I... I..." She squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears leaking out to wet the Hex's thighs. She had no choice. Her survival instinct, honed by minutes of torture that felt like hours, overrode her revulsion.
"I'm waiting," the Hex rasped, shifting her weight, grinding slightly against the girl's nose.
Cassandra opened her mouth.
Her tongue, hot and wet, tentatively poked out. It touched the cold grey folds of the Hex’s vulva. Cassandra flinched—an instinctive, biological recoil at the temperature difference—but the memory of the vibrating finger in her arch was a powerful motivator. She pushed forward. She licked, a broad, desperate stroke up the length of the slit.
"Mmph... Is... is this... okay?" she whimpered into the creature's ****, her breath hot mist against the sensitive, mutated flesh. She began to lap at the Hex, her tongue delving into the crevices, tasting the bitter, metallic secretions of a being that no longer consumed normal food.
The Hex sighed, a long, rattling exhalation that vibrated through her pelvis into the girl’s face. It was a sound of profound dissatisfaction.
"I SAID EAT ME OUT!" the Hex roared, her voice cracking with sudden, volatile rage.
She drove her hands down into the opened cavity of the sleepsack. Her long, skeletal claws wrapped around Cassandra’s ribcage, finding the tender flesh between her ribs like heat-seeking missiles. She dug in with all ten nails, sinking them deep into the sides, and began to scratch and knead with savage, frantic speed.
"AAAAAHA-HA-HA-HA! NO! NO! OKAY! OKAY! AHA-HA-HA!"
Cassandra’s body convulsed beneath the creature. The laughter exploded into the Hex’s crotch, vibrating against the sensitive flesh. Her chest heaved violently, her heavy, pale breasts bouncing and smashing against the Hex’s wiry wrists and forearms as the creature mauled her ribs. The soft, sweaty skin of the girl’s torso was hot against the Hex’s cold, grey arms.
"PLEASE! AHA-HA-HA! I'M TRYING! I'M TRYING!"
"THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!" the Hex screamed down at her, grinding her pelvis harder against the girl’s face, forcing her to taste the arousal, to breathe in the musk amidst her panic.
Terrified by the dual assault of the blinding tickle on her ribs and the creature's fury, Cassandra abandoned all hesitation. She opened her mouth wide, her jaw unhinging with desperation. She thrust her tongue out with frantic energy, diving straight into the slit.
Slurp. Schlick.
She buried her face in the Hex. She licked with rapid, terrified strokes, her tongue broad and forceful, sweeping up and down the folds, swirling around the enlarged, stone-hard clitoris. She sucked, creating a vacuum seal against the grey flesh, desperate to please, desperate to make the claws on her ribs stop moving.
"Mmph! Glmph! Mmm-hmm!"
She moaned into the ****, the sound vibrating directly into the Hex’s clit. Her nose drove deep into the hairless mound, inhaling the dust-and-formaldehyde scent as she worked the pussy with a fervor born of absolute terror. She was eating the monster out like her life depended on it—because in her mind, it did.
The Hex lifted her hands abruptly from the ribs, the savage clawing ceasing instantly. Cassandra’s body went limp beneath her once more, though her tongue continued its frantic, rhythmic work without pausing for a second.
"Mmmmm, that's it pet, get right in there," the Hex moaned, the sound thick and lustful as she ground her hips down to meet the fervent ministrations. "I want to feel your hot tongue make me feel good."
Cassandra’s tongue completely filled the creature. She was swirling it expertly now, driven by fear to become a virtuoso. The heat of her mouth was intoxicating against the cold, dead nerves of the Hex form. She lapped at the clitoris, flicking the hard nubbin again and again, sending shoots of pleasure up the creature's spine.
"Mmph-gluck... slurp..." The wet sounds of the feast echoed in the small space between their bodies.
"See, I can be a fair mistress," the Hex cooed.
She moved her hands up to Cassandra’s breasts. Instead of pinching or scratching, she cupped the heavy, pale mounds. Her long fingers spread wide, encapsulating the soft flesh. She began to knead them, squeezing rhythmically in time with the tongue strokes. She massaged the tension out of the tissue, her thumbs passing over the erect nipples with a touch that was firm but no longer agonizing.
She whimpered into the Hex's crotch, a muffled sound of relief mingled with humiliation. She could feel the creature's pleasure building, the way the hips started to buck slightly against her face. She redoubled her efforts, her tongue darting deep inside, then flattening to broad strokes that dragged bitter fluids out of the depths. She swallowed the juices without complaint, terrified to stop.
"Good girl," the Hex gasped, her head tilting back, the skeletal grin stretching even wider. "Use those lips. Suck it."
The Hex hooked her thumbs deep into the soft, yielding flesh of Cassandra’s bosom and hauled upwards. The girl’s heavy breasts were dragged toward her chin, the pale mounds compressing against her jawline. This exposed the vulnerable, sweat-slicked crescent of the underboob—a fold of skin that had been trapping heat against the ribcage for hours. It was raw, pink, and glistening with moisture.
The Hex didn't hesitate. She splayed her long, grey fingers and began to skitter her nails frantically inside that damp crevice.
Scritch-scritch-scritch-scritch.
"Mmmph-hehe-glugh!"
The reaction was immediate. Cassandra tried to maintain the rhythm of her tongue, but the sharp, electric sensation of nails raking back and forth across her sensitive underboob overrode her control. A spasm of laughter bubbled up from her diaphragm, travelled up her throat and exploded directly against the wet, exposed vulva.
The vibration was exquisite. The laughter buzzed against the Hex’s clitoris like a tuning fork, a barrage of hot breath and vocal shockwaves that sent jolts of pure electricity straight into her pelvic nerves.
"Mmmmmm fuck yes," the Hex groaned, throwing her head back, the pleasure spiking dangerously high. The combination of the wet tongue and the forced laughter vibrating against her lips was overwhelming. "Laugh for me, bitch!"
She increased the speed of her fingers, digging her nails slightly into the tender skin under the breasts, turning the tickle into a torture of sensation. Cassandra choked, her tongue faltering as she started to gag on her own giggles inside the crotch.
The Hex lifted her hips, breaking the seal. Her wet, glinting slit hovered just inches above the girl’s mouth, dripping fluids onto her nose and lips. Cassandra gasped, her face flushed deep crimson, her eyes wild and wet with tears. She heaved for air, her chest bouncing as the relentless tickling of the underboob continued.
"Tell me you are my tickle slave, my personal tickle slut!" the Hex commanded, staring down at the ruin of the student.
"AHH! HA-HA-HA! I AM! I AM!" Cassandra screamed, unable to stop the laughter as the nails drove her mad. She tried to catch her breath, looking up at the source of her torment. "I'M YOUR TICKLE SLAVE! AHA-HA! I'M YOUR PERSONAL TICKLE SLUT! AHA-HA-HA! PLEASE! IT'S SO SENSITIVE! AHH!"
Her admission floated in the air, pathetic and absolute. The Hex looked down at her, her skeletal chest heaving, release imminent.
"Good," she hissed. "Now finish it."
The Hex slammed her hips back down onto Cassandra's face.
She abandoned the underboob and drove her hands viciously back down to the ribs. She found the spaces between the bones and dug in, her fingers moving in a blur of frantic, skeletal motion. She Spider-walked her fingers up and down the sides, tormenting the most ticklish, unprotected nerves on the torso.
"MMMPH! HEHEHE-GLUCH! AAAAAAAHH!"
Cassandra’s scream was muffled, trapped against the flesh, vibrating through the entire pelvic floor. The sheer force of the panicked laughter, the desperate movement of the tongue trying to accommodate the creature, and the sensation of the head thrashing between the thighs was too much. The pleasure built to a dark, agonizing peak.
"YES! YES! SUFFER FOR ME!" the Hex shrieked, her voice a terrifying rasp.
She clamped her emaciated thighs tight around the skull, locking Cassandra’s head in a vice grip. Her temples were squeezed between the bony knees. The girl could not move. She could not breathe. She could only serve as the receptacle.
The Hex’s hips spasmed violently. A guttural roar tore from her throat as the orgasm hit like a physical blow.
"FUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
Her body arched, rigid and trembling. Deep inside, the warped biology of the Hex released its payload. A torrent of thick, black, oily discharge erupted from the clenching slit. It sprayed directly into Cassandra’s open, working mouth.
"Glllgh! Gaaaack!"
Cassandra choked, her eyes bulging. The fluid was vile—cold, viscous, and tasting of death and rot. It coated her tongue, her palate, filling her throat. She tried to gag, to cough it out, but the thighs held her fast, forcing her to swallow the foul ejection.
The Hex rode out the climax, grinding her hips in sharp, jerky circles against the face, smearing the black slime all over the nose, chin, and cheeks. Her nails continued to twitch reflexively against the ribs, eliciting muffled, gurgling whimpers of forced laughter from beneath her.
The orgasm faded, leaving the Hex twitching and energized with a dark, sadistic vitality. She released the pressure of her thighs and, with a final shudder, hopped off the gurney, landing lightly on the stone floor.
Behind her, Cassandra was destroyed. She rolled her head frantically to the side, her face a mask of black slime and terror. Her body convulsed.
HUUURRRK!
A violent explosion of vomit erupted from her mouth. It was a thick, acidic torrent that splattered loudly onto the cold dungeon floor, mixing with the sweat and grime already there. She retched again and again, coughing and gasping, trying to purge the taste of the Hex discharge from her system. Spit and bile stringed from her lips, pooling next to the puddle of sick.
"Oh god... huuuck... oh god..." she sobbed, wiping her face against the pillow, smearing the black fluid into her hairline.
The Hex stood there, her skeletal chest heaving, watching with cold, dead eyes. The brief flicker of lustful play was gone, replaced by a flat, terrifying void. She looked at the mess on the floor—a stain on her domain. Then she looked back at the tear-streaked, slime-coated face.
She shook her head slowly.
"You will pay for that one," she promised. The voice was low, devoid of humor, vibrating with threat. "You have defiled my sanctum with your weakness."
She turned her back on the weeping student and walked with purposeful strides back to the foot of the gurney. The heavy oak stocks loomed before her, holding the feet captive.
The Hex reached the foot of the gurney. Cassandra’s feet were still securely locked. The left foot was half-exposed, the white sock bunched up around the ball and toes from the previous torture. The right foot was still fully encased in its damp, sweat-stained cotton sheath.
The Hex didn't play games this time. No teasing.
She reached out and pinched the fabric covering the toes of the left foot. With a sharp, violent yank, she ripped the sock free. It came off with a snap, leaving the foot completely bare—pale, high-arched, and vulnerable.
She immediately grabbed the cuff of the right sock. She hauled it down the ankle, dragging it over the heel and off the toes in one smooth, aggressive motion.
Both of Cassandra's bare feet were now exposed in the stocks. They were slender and elegant, the soles flushed pink and glistening with a heavy coat of stress-sweat. The toes curled tight, scrunching together, sensing the change in atmosphere.
The Hex ignored them for now. She turned and marched back to the head of the gurney, clutching the two warm, damp socks in one hand. They were heavy with perspiration, smelling of confinement and fear.
Cassandra saw her coming. Her eyes widened in fresh terror through the mask of black discharge and vomit residue. She tried to shrink back into the mattress. "No... no please... I'm sorry! I couldn't help it! Don't—"
The Hex towered over her. "Open," she commanded.
"No, I—"
The Hex reached down and pinched the nearest nipple, twisting it cruelly.
"AHH!"
When Cassandra screamed, the Hex stuffed the first sock into her mouth.
"Mmph!"
It filled the oral cavity instantly—a thick, cotton wad tasting of her own foot sweat and the faint residue of the dungeon floor. The Hex didn't stop. She crammed the second sock in right behind it, packing the mouth full of the damp, musky fabric until Cassandra’s cheeks bulged outward.
She tried to spit them out, choking and gagging on the material, but the Hex was faster. She picked up the red ball gag and jammed it into place over the socks, shoving it between the stretched lips until the flanges sat against the teeth. She pulled the strap tight behind the head and buckled it with a vicious click.
"MMMMPH!!!"
She was silenced. Effectively, completely silenced. Her eyes bulged, darting wildly. She could taste the intense, concentrated flavor of her own feet, forced down her throat by the gag. The socks absorbed the moisture in her mouth, drying it out while simultaneously flooding her senses with the taste of leather, trapped heat, and sweat.
The Hex stepped back. "Better," she rasped. "Now. Let's really begin."
Chamber 17 seemed to contract around them, its stillness pressing in from all sides. What little sound remained came in broken, smothered bursts from Cassandra, while the Hex’s retreating steps echoed dully across the stone as she returned to the foot of the gurney. The air was thick with the scent of disruption—vomit, sweat, and the lingering, metallic tang of the black fluid now drying on the student’s face.
The Hex stopped at the stocks. Cassandra’s bare feet were pale islands of vulnerability in the gloom. They were beautiful in their distress—high arches convulsing, toes scrunching tightly into the balls of her feet in a pathetic attempt to hide from the coming storm. The soles were flushed pink, glistening with a fresh sheen of perspiration triggered by the sock-gagging.
"Hiding them won't help," the Hex murmured.
She reached out and grabbed the right big toe. It felt hot and slippery in her cool grip. With a sudden, forceful wrench, she pulled it backward, forcing the joint to extend fully. Cassandra’s leg jerked in the stock, a muffled cry vibrating in her throat—Mmmm-hmmm!—but she was powerless against the mechanical strength of the creature.
The Hex picked up a spool of thin, waxed cord from the tray. She looped it tightly around the stem of the big toe, biting into the soft skin. She pulled the cord taut and anchored it to a rusted cleat on the side of the wooden stock frame.
"One," she counted dryly.
She moved to the second toe. The student tried to wiggle it away, but the Hex’s fingers were like steel pincers. Yank. Loop. Tighten.
Systematically, relentlessly, she isolated each digit. The index toe. The middle. The ring. The little toe. She repeated the process on the left foot with the efficiency of a surgeon.
Within moments, Cassandra’s feet were transformed. No longer able to curl or clench in defense, her soles were splayed terrifyingly wide. The skin between the toes—the sensitive, silken webbing—was stretched taut and exposed to the dungeon air. Every inch of her plantar surface was presented to the Hex like a canvas of agony. The tension in the cords forced the soles to bow outwards, maximizing the surface area and exposing the deep, soft valley of the arch.
"There," the Hex hissed, admiring the geometry of the restraint. "Now you cannot hide."
She reached for the tray and picked up the feather.
It was not a soft, fluffy duster. It was a long, stiff black feather. The central quill was rigid, tapering to a sharp point, and the black-barred barbs were firm, almost bristly. The Hex inspected the tip, testing its sharpness against her own grey thumb. It made a dry zip sound.
"You will learn the penalty for defiling my sanctum," she intoned, her voice low and dangerous.
Cassandra watched from the head of the bed, her eyes wide and panic-stricken above the red ball gag. She shook her head violently, tears engaging in a fresh assault on her cheeks. "MMMPH! MMMM-MMMPH!"
The Hex brought the feather down.
She didn't tickle immediately. She touched the pointed tip to the center of the ball of Cassandra's right foot. She dragged it slowly, with deliberate, agonizing lightness, straight down the center line of the sole.
Scrrrritch.
The sensation travelled down the plantar fascia, ghosting over the sensitive arch, and ended at the center of the heel. At the heel, the Hex paused. She executed three tight, focused circles.
Swirl. Swirl. Swirl.
The feather bit slightly, the stiff barbs catching on the ridges of the footprint. Then, she dragged it slowly back up, retracing the line of fire to the splayed toes.
Cassandra’s reaction was explosive. Her body bucked against the straps, her back arching off the shredded remains of her sweater. A high-pitched, strangled squeal erupted from behind the gag—EEEEEEE-HMMPH! Her toes twitched desperately against their cord bindings, turning white with the strain, but they could not curl. Her feet were statues of torment.
The Hex lifted the feather, hovering it in the air.
"Now, how did the nursery rhyme go in your world?" she mused, tapping the quill against her chin as she looked at the trapped toes. "Aaah yes."
She lowered the feather to the trapped right big toe. She placed the sharp tip right on the sensitive pad, just below the nail.
"This little piggie went to the maaaarket."
She flicked the feather rapidly back and forth across the underside of the toe.
Fwit-fwit-fwit-fwit.
"MMM-HMMM-HAAAA!"
The vibration sent a shockwave through the girl’s foot. She jerked her leg, her entire body rigid with the intensity of the localized stimulation. The gag muffled her screams into a continuous, frantic whine. The sensation of the stiff bristles vibrating against the taut skin was electric.
"This little piggie stayed home," the Hex sing-songed, her voice a cracked, ghastly lullaby.
She shifted the feather to the second toe. She braced her hand and danced the stiff bristles rapidly over the sensitive stem, right where the skin was thinnest near the webbing. Cassandra’s foot trembled violently in the stock, the muscles in her ankle cording with the effort to pull away. Her muffled cries rose in pitch—Mnnnngh! Hmmph!
"This little piggie had roast beef," the Hex continued, moving to the middle toe. She placed the tip into the webbing at the base before flicking it up the length of the digit. The sensation was maddening. Cassandra’s hips convulsed against the bindings, the leather sleepsack creaking loudly as she tried to escape the sensation crawling up her leg.
"And this little piggie had none," she chided, her voice dropping to a mock-sympathetic whisper.
She attacked the fourth toe. This one was notoriously sensitive. She brushed the feather continuously against the side, tickling the skin between it and the pinky toe. Cassandra’s eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming down her face, her head throwing back into the pillow. "HMMMPH! HEEEE-GLMPH!" The muffled laughter was desperate, devoid of any humor, purely a reflex to the torture.
The Hex lifted the feather high. She paused. The air in the room was thick with anticipation. Cassandra opened her wet eyes, staring at the instrument of her doom, her chest heaving rapidly beneath the exposed bra cups.
"But... THIS little piggie..."
The Hex lowered the feather slowly. She began to circle the pad of the pinky toe. Just hovering. The anticipation alone made the foot twitch spasmodically. Then she touched it. Lightly. Barely there.
Circle... circle...
Cassandra froze, waiting for the explosion. The suspense was agony.
"Went..."
The Hex waited. One beat. Two beats. Three. Cassandra’s breath hitched in her throat.
"WEE WEE WEE ALL THE WAY HOME!" the Hex shouted, the sudden noise making the student jump in her restraints.
She struck. The feather became a blur on the pinky toe, scrubbing it viciously. Simultaneously, the Hex’s left hand descended like a claw. She used all five sharp, grey nails to rake and dance maniacally over the expanse of the exposed, stretched arch.
Scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch!
"MMMMMMMPH!!!!!"
The scream was muffled but deafening in its intensity. Cassandra convulsed. Her entire body went rigid, bowing upwards against the straps. The dual assault—one focused on the tiny, hyper-sensitive pinky toe, the other ravaging the broad, soft skin of the arch—overloaded her brain instantly.
Behind the gag, she was screaming laughter, a hysterical, unbroken "HEEE-HA-HA-HA-HMMMMPH!" Her face turned a deep, alarming purple. Her feet strained against the cords, the toes pulling so hard against the ties that the skin turned white, but the tickle was inescapable. It was everywhere. It was electric. It was unending.
The Hex watched the sweat pouring off the soles, adding to the slickness that made her nails glide even more agonizingly over the skin.
She stopped abruptly.
The feather halted in mid-air; her hand lifted from the arch. The room fell into a sudden, jarring quiet, broken only by the violent, ragged sounds of Cassandra’s breathing.
The student collapsed back onto the gurney, utterly spent. Her chest heaved with spasmodic jerks as she sucked in desperate lungfuls of air. The oxygen had to fight its way past the ball gag, past the thick, damp mass of socks crammed into her mouth, forcing her to breathe through her nose in whistling, panicked gasps. The taste of the socks must have been overwhelming now—warm, salty, and suffocating.
Tears and sweat mingled on her face, dripping onto the pillow. Her eyes were red-rimmed and pleading as they fixed on the Hex.
The creature waited. She let the silence stretch, let the heart rate slow just enough for the dread to set in.
Then, she held up the feather. The stiff barbs were slightly ruffled from the violence of the last assault.
"So, tell me pet," she asked, her voice silky and cruel. "Would you like me to use the feather on your left foot now?"
Cassandra stared at the feather, then thought about her left foot—splayed, tied, and waiting in the stock. The skin was pale and untouched, trembling in anticipation. She shook her head frantically, her eyes widening. "MMMPH! MMMM-MMMMM!"
It was a desperate, unambiguous NO. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the image of the feather descending on her other sole. Her toes strained against the cords, uselessly trying to curl away from the phantom sensation.
"No? Oooh bad answer pet," the Hex chuckled, the sound harsh and dry like crackling embers.
She dropped the feather onto the metal tray with a clatter. Cassandra’s eyes flew open, a flicker of hope sparking in them—until she saw the hand.
The Hex held it up, palm facing the girl. She flexed her long, grey fingers slowly. The joints popped audibly. The nails were long, curved, and sharp—natural instruments of torture far more precise and invasive than any feather.
"I'll move straight to fingers then."
The hope in Cassandra’s eyes died instantly, strangled by the sight of the Hex’s hand—a skeletal spider flexing its limbs in the dungeon gloom. The trade-off was horrifying: the broad, bristly wash of the feather exchanged for the needle-point precision of the Hex’s grey, bony digits.
Cassandra's left foot was waiting, a masterpiece of forced vulnerability. The toe ties had pulled her digits back to an unnatural angle, stretching the plantar skin tight across the bone structure. The arch was a perfect, pale crescent, glistening with moisture as the adrenaline surged through her system.
The Hex turned her hand palm up, curling her fingers into a relaxed claw.
She brought her hand under the arch.
Lightly, with the barest touch, she began to skitter her nails across the surface.
Click-click-click-click.
She played the skin like a piano. Her nails danced rapidly over the buttery soft flesh, barely depressing the skin but triggering every superficial nerve ending. She roamed from the heel to the ball, focusing relentlessly on the center of the arch where the ticklishness was most concentrated.
"MM-HMMMMPH!!"
Cassandra jolted as if electrified. The sensation of the nails was sharper, more distinct than the feather. It felt like tiny insects scurrying over her skin—an army of tactile static. She tried to jerk her foot away, but the stock held the ankle firm, and the toe ties kept the sole exposed. All she could do was writhe.
"Mmmph! Eeeeee! Hmnnngh!"
The noises behind the gag were pathetic—high-pitched squeals of suppressed laughter and distress. Her body twisted inside the leather sleepsack, seeking an escape that didn't exist. The Hex watched the toes twitch violently against the cords, turning red with the exertion, as her nails continue their maddening, light spider-walk across the sole.
"Bet you wished you asked for the feather now, eh pet?" the Hex cooed, enjoying the frantic dance of the restrained limb.
She shifted her target. Her nails glided upwards, leaving the arch to attack the ball of the foot. Thanks to the toe ties pulling the digits backward, the skin here was stretched incredibly tight, taut as a drumhead. It was firm, smooth, and hyper-sensitive.
She skated her nails over it—light, fast scratches that zipped back and forth across the metatarsal pads.
Zzzzip-zzzzip-zzzzip.
"MMMPH! HMMM-HAAAA!"
Cassandra’s head thrashed on the pillow. The sensation on the stretched skin was excruciatingly sharp. It sent shivering jolts straight up her calf. Her eyes were squeezed shut so tight that stars must be exploding behind her eyelids. She nodded frantically—a desperate, weeping affirmative. Yes. Yes, the feather. Anything but the nails.
But it was too late for bargaining. The Hex dug a little deeper, scratching circles into the pads just below the second and third toes, exploiting the tension of the skin to create a vibration that rattled the bones. The laughter trapped behind the gag became a continuous, gurgling moan of overstimulation.
The Hex’s nails crept higher, inching past the ball of the foot and moving dangerously close to the base of the splayed toes. She reached the tender webbing, the soft, pale skin stretched to its limit between the digits. She lightly grazed the area between the second and third toe.
"MMMPH!! MMMM!!!"
Cassandra went berserk. Her leg kicked violently in the wooden stock, the wood rattling against the frame. Her entire body convulsed in the sleepsack, a wave of pure panic washing over her. The webbing was the danger zone—the point of no return.
"What is it pet? Want me to stop tickling this foot?" the Hex asked innocently, pausing her nails right at the precipice.
Cassandra nodded furiously, her head banging against the pillow. "MMM-HMMM! MMMM!" Tears were flowing freely now, mixing with the sweat and the dried vomit on her cheek. She looked at the creature with desperate, pleading eyes, begging for the torture on her left foot to cease.
"Very well."
The Hex lifted her hand abruptly. The contact broke.
Cassandra slumped back into the pillow, her body going limp with relief. She drew in a deep, shuddering gasp through her nose, the sound wheezing past the obstruction of the socks and gag. For a fraction of a second, she believed she has been granted a reprieve. She closed her eyes, her chest heaving as she tried to regulate her screaming nerves.
Strike.
In the exact moment of her exhale, the Hex lunged.
Her left hand dived for the right foot—the one she had tortured with the feather earlier. She jammed her sharp nails ruthlessly deep into the sensitive webbing between the toes. She didn't scratch; she wiggled them frantically, digging into the soft crevices.
Simultaneously, her right hand descended on the arch of the same foot. She skated her nails wildly over the damp, sweaty curve, scratching hard and fast.
"MMMMMMMPH!!!!!!"
The scream that tore from Cassandra's throat was muffled but horrific. The shock of the renewed assault—on the foot she thought was safe, with double the intensity—shattered her composure instantly.
Her spine snapped into a high, rigid bow, peeling her upper back off the mattress while the lower leather casing creaked ominously, absorbing the brute force of her trapped struggle. Her eyes bulged open, wide with betrayal and agony. The sensation was overwhelming: sharp nails digging into the tender webbing while others ravaged the arch. It was a sensory overload on a single limb.
"HMMPH-HEEE-HAAA-HAAAA!!"
Her laughter was a breathless, frantic shriek behind the gag. Her right foot spasmed uncontrollably in the stock, the toes yanking against the ties, but the Hex’s hands were relentless. She was grinding the sensation into the girl, exploiting every nerve ending in the exhausted sole. Cassandra shook her head wildly, begging silently, but the Hex was lost in the rhythm of the torture, a blur of grey hands and cruelty.
The Hex continued the assault for minutes that must have felt like hours to the student. She was relentless, her nails digging, scratching, and tormenting the soft, yielding flesh of the right foot until the skin was red and inflamed. Cassandra’s screams and forced laughter merged into a continuous, exhausting drone of misery, vibrating through the damp socks stuffed in her mouth. She was drowning in sensation, trapped in a feedback loop of sweat, taste, and agony.
Then, just as abruptly as it began, the Hex stopped.
She pulled her hands away. Cassandra’s leg fell limp in the stock, twitching with aftershocks. She was gasping, her chest heaving violently, sounds of weak, whimpering distress leaking from behind the gag.
The Hex walked to the head of the gurney. Cassandra tracked her with dull, terrified eyes. She looked broken, her face a mess of fluids.
The creature reached behind the head and undid the buckle. Click.
She pulled the strap free. The red ball popped out of the mouth, followed immediately by the two socks. She hooked a finger and fished them out. They emerged wet, heavy, and compressed, dripping with saliva and the essence of the fear.
Cassandra’s mouth fell open. She sucked in a massive, ragged breath of air, coughing and spluttering.
"Hah... hah... oh god... cough... oh god..." Her voice was raw, shredded by the screaming. "Please... please no more... I can't... I can't take it..."
She lolled her head to the side, spitting out the remaining taste of the socks. "It hurts... it tickles... please..."
The Hex turned to the metal tray and picked up a dusty glass carafe filled with a clear, innocent-looking liquid. Beside it sat a simple glass tumbler. She poured the water; it sparkled under the harsh sodium lights, looking like the most precious substance on earth. The sound of the liquid hitting the glass was crisp and cool in the stifling dungeon air.
"Would you like a drink?" the Hex asked, holding the glass out, the condensation already forming on the rim.
Cassandra looked at the water, and a desperate craving washed over her face. Her throat was raw, her mouth tasted of dirty socks and vomit, and she was dehydrated from the intense sweating.
"Yes... yes, please," she rasped, trying to lift her head toward the glass. "Please... I'm so thirsty."
The Hex set the carafe and the glass down with a deliberate clink, keeping them in Cassandra's eyeline. She turned back to the tray, her long fingers bypassing the water and grasping the small, ominous vial filled with glowing green liquid.
The Draft of Hyperesthesia.
She held the vial up to the light. The liquid swirled with an unnatural viscosity, shimmering with an electric malice.
"I will give you water, right after you drink this, dear," she said, her voice smooth and non-negotiable.
Cassandra stared at the vial, her eyes widening in horror as she sensed the danger radiating from the small bottle. The promise of water was a powerful lure, but the threat of the green potion was terrifying.
"No..." she whispered, shrinking back into the pillow. "What is that? No... please, just the water... I'll do anything else... don't make me drink that..."
She looked between the cool, clear water and the glowing green neon in the creature's hand, trapped in a cruel dilemma. Her tongue darted out to wet her cracked lips, the thirst warring with her fear.
"Make you?" the Hex asked, feigning hurt. "I am merely offering a deal. The choice is yours, Cassandra."
"You are saying you don't want the water?" The Hex asked as she lifted the glass of water high, positioning it directly between her skeletal face and the girl's. The light refracted through the clear liquid, magnifying the cool promise of relief. She swirled it gently. The water sloshed, a tantalizing sound of hydration.
"It looks so crisp... so refreshing," she murmured from behind the glass. "Imagine how it would feel washing away that nasty taste in your mouth. Cooling your throat."
She tilted the glass slightly, letting a single drop spill over the lip. It fell, landing with a tiny splash on Cassandra's cheek.
The student flinched at the coolness, her eyes tracking the drop as it rolled down her skin. She was parched. Her body was screaming for it.
Then the Hex pulled the glass back and tipped it onto the floor. "of course if you don't want it..." she said, reaching for the carafe.
"NO!" Cassandra screamed, watching the Hex lift the carafe.
"No? So you do want the water then?" The Hex asked.
"I... I do..." she sobbed, her resolve crumbling under the weight of her biological needs. "I want it... please..."
She looked at the green vial in the Hex's other hand with dread, but hunger and thirst were primal forces. "Just... just a little sip... then the water? You promise?"
"Of course," the Hex assured her, a smile spreading across her skeletal features that Cassandra could not fully see through her tears.
The Hex brought the green vial to the trembling lips. Cassandra opened her mouth hesitantly, flinching as the glass rim touched her teeth. The Hex tilted it with precision.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Three glowing green drops fell onto Cassandra’s tongue. They sizzled slightly as they hit the saliva, releasing a microscopic puff of vapor that smelled of ozone and crushed mint. She swallowed convulsively, her face contorting at the taste—bitter, metallic, like licking the terminals of a leaking battery.
"Gah... ugh..." she sputtered, squeezing her eyes shut.
Immediately, the Hex swapped the vial for the carafe. She was true to her word, a devil keeping a contract. She tilted the carafe and poured the cool, clear water into the student's open mouth.
Cassandra gulped it down greedily. "Gulp... gulp... ahh..." Water spilled down her chin, washing away the vomit residue, soaking the frayed collar of the leather sleepsack and spilling over her exposed chest. She drank and drank, draining half the carafe in seconds, desperate to wash away the electric taste of the potion and quench her raging thirst.
"Thank you... thank you..." she gasped between swallows, closing her eyes in momentary bliss.
But even as the water hit her stomach, the Draft of Hyperesthesia began to work. It bypassed digestion, entering her bloodstream instantly. Deep in her nervous system, the barriers were dissolving. Her skin resistance dropped to zero. Every nerve ending in her body woke up, amplified, screaming for input. The sensation of the water coolly sliding down her throat suddenly felt intensely cold, almost burning—like swallowing liquid nitrogen. The rough texture of the wool sweater scraps under the sleepsack began to feel like sandpaper rubbing against raw flesh. The leather of the sack felt heavier, tighter, crushing her.
She lowered her head, panting. "It... it tastes weird..." she whispered, her eyes fluttering open.
She looked at the Hex. Her pupils dilated rapidly, swallowing the green of her irises until her eyes were black pools. The world sharpened. She could see the individual pores on the Hex’s grey skin. She could hear the hum of the sodium lights as a deafening roar.
"Why... why does the air feel so... loud?" she whimpered, shrinking back.
The Hex placed the empty carafe on the tray. Clink.
To Cassandra, the sound was a gunshot. She flinched violently, a high-pitched "Eeep!" escaping her lips.
"The volume is set to maximum, my dear," the Hex whispered. Even the whisper sounded like a rock slide in Cassandra’s ears.
The creature walked back to the foot of the gurney. The sound of her footsteps echoed like thunderclaps—BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—against the stone floor. Cassandra flinched with every impact, her breath coming in short, terrified gasps. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, pressing against her exposed skin like a physical weight.
The Hex reached the stocks. She picked up the black feather from the tray, twirling it ominously in her fingers. Cassandra let out a whimper, the sound vibrating in her own throat with terrifying clarity.
"Please..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "My skin... it feels... prickly. Like... like static electricity is crawling on me."
The Hex ignored her. She leaned down, bringing her skeletal face uncomfortably close to the right foot. The toes were splayed wide by the cords, exposing the tender, pink webbing between the second and third digits—the exact spot the Hex had ravaged moments ago.
The creature didn't use the feather. Not yet.
Instead, she pursed her dry, grey lips. She aimed carefully at the damp, stretched skin of the webbing.
She blew. A soft, steady stream of air.
Whooooo.
"IYAAAAAAAIEEEEEEEE!!!!"
The reaction was catastrophic. Cassandra screamed a sound that wasn't human—it was a shrill, piercing shriek of pure sensory overload.
Her body spasmed with such violent, hydrostatic force that the heavy leather casing let out a deafening, dry shriek, stretching to its absolute physical limit. The iron buckles groaned under the sudden torque, straining against the bolts, but the Constrictor held her fast. She was vibrating so hard she blurred.
"IT BURNS! IT BURNS! WHAT DID YOU DO?! AHA-HA-HA! IT'S TOO MUCH!"
She convulsed against the bindings wildly, her head whipping back and forth on the pillow with blinding speed. That simple puff of air, amplified a thousand times by the Hyperesthesia, didn't feel like wind. To her potion-ravaged nerves, it felt like a belt sander made of ice and electricity grinding directly into her raw nerves. The sensation shooting up her leg was blinding, white-hot, and unbearable.
"MAKE IT STOP! THE AIR! THE AIR IS HURTING ME! AHA-HA-HA! PLEASE!"
She was sobbing and laughing hysterically, her chest heaving as even the friction of her own clothes against her skin became an agonizing tickle. Her foot vibrated in the stock, every tendon standing out like a steel cable as she tried to retract her toes from the "pain" of the Hex's breath.
"Mmmmm, I love this bit," the Hex murmured against the sole of the foot. The vibration of her voice alone traveled through the skin like a jackhammer, causing the toes to twitch violently in their bindings.
The Hex extended her tongue. The transformation had changed this part of her, too; it was long, grey, and coated in rough, enlarged papillae, like the tongue of a large predatory cat or coarse sandpaper.
She pressed the flat of her tongue against the center of Cassandra’s heel.
Ssssshhhhlick.
She dragged it slowly, ruthlessly upward.
"GYAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
Cassandra’s head slammed back into the gurney with a sickening thud. Her eyes rolled back into her head, showing only whites. To her hyper-sensitized nerves, the tongue did not feel like flesh. It felt like a rasp made of hot iron and wet gravel being dragged slowly up the length of her foot. The texture caught on every microscopic ridge of her skin, sending blinding, white-hot bolts of ticklish agony shooting straight up her sciatic nerve.
"IT'S PEELING! IT FEELS LIKE YOU'RE PEELING ME! AHA-HA-HA-HA-HA! STOP! STOP!"
The Hex ignored the shrieks, enjoying the salty tang of the hyper-produced sweat. She reached the ball of the foot, swirling her tongue over the pads, before targeting the toes.
She wrapped her lips around the big toe and sucked.
Pop.
"HNGGGGH-HEEE-HEEE!"
The Hex lapped at it, swirling her rough tongue around the circumference of the digit. Then the next. And the next. She treated the toes like lollipops, slobbering and grinding her textured tongue into the webs and under the joints.
Cassandra was disintegrating. The sensation of the wet suction combined with the sandpaper texture was beyond endurance. Her body was rigid, vibrating at a frequency that blurred her outline. Urine flooded the sleepsack—she had lost bladder control from the sheer intensity of the sensory overload.
"KILL ME! JUST KILL ME! I CAN'T TAKE IT! AHA-HA-HA-HA! PLEASE! IT'S TOO MUCH! IT'S EVERYWHERE!"
She was laughing, but it was the sound of a mind fracturing. It was a high, continuous, weeping shriek that barely paused for breath. Her splayed toes were pulling against the cords with enough force to threaten dislocation, but the Hex just kept lapping, slurping, and tasting the absolute ruin of her composure.
The Hex glided to the left side of the stocks, her movements fluid and predatory. Cassandra’s left foot hung there, pale and glistening, the toes stretched wide by the cruel cords. She saw the creature move, her chest hitching in anticipation, but her eyes were glassy, dilated pupils swallowing the iris as the potion re-wired her brain.
The Hex leaned in. She pressed her broad, sandpaper-rough tongue against the base of the left heel.
Rrrrasp.
She dragged it slowly, heavily up the arch.
"AAAAHH—uhhhnnngh!"
The sound was different this time. It pierced the hysterical laughter, a deep, guttural moan that bubbled up from Cassandra's chest. The Hyperesthesia had stripped away the barriers between pain, tickle, and arousal. To her overloaded nerves, the sensation of the warm, wet, rough muscle gliding over her sole was agonizingly intense, but it was also overwhelmingly intimate. It felt hot. It felt wet. It felt violating in a way that sparked a dark, confused fire in her belly.
The Hex felt reaction through the foot. The ankle didn't just jerk away in pain; it flexed, pressing down into the tongue for a split second before pulling back. Cassandra's hips were locked in a frantic, localized vibration, grinding wetly against the urine-soaked leather in a desperate, microscopic rhythm that went nowhere.
"Oh? What was that sound, pet?" the Hex teased, vibrating her voice against the sole.
She reached the ball of the foot and swirled her tongue flat against the pads. Then, she engulfed the big toe. She sucked hard, her cheeks hollowing as she created a tight vacuum.
Schllluck. Pop.
"OH GOD! HNNG! AHA-HA-HA! IT FEELS SO WEIRD! PLEASE!"
Cassandra threw her head back, biting her lip until it bled. The sensation of the tongue swirling around her toe sent lightning bolts straight to her groin. Her body was betraying her completely. The tickle was so intense it edged into a blinding, white-hot pleasure that she vividly hated but cannot stop.
The Hex moved to the webbing. She darted her tip in and out, flickering like a snake.
Lick-lick-lick-lick.
"AAH! HAA-HAA-HAAA! OOOOH! STOP! NO! MORE!"
Her words were a jumbled mess of contradictions. She was weeping with shame, tears streaming down her face, but her body arched, her breasts heaved, her pelvis snapped upward with every flick of the tongue. The Hex was systematically breaking her, turning her own nervous system into a traitor that confused torture with ecstasy.
The Hex was vibrating with the energy of the feed. She could taste the chemical fire of the Hyperesthesia radiating off Cassandra’s skin—a spicy, electric tang that mixed with the salty, fermented sweetness of foot sweat.
She buried her face into the arch of the left foot again. Her rough, sandpaper tongue flattened out, covering the entire width of the sole. She pressed down hard, engaging the deep muscles, and swirled.
Slurp-rrrasp-schhhlick.
"AAH! OH GOD! IT'S TOO WET! IT'S HOT! AHA-HA-HA!"
Cassandra’s hips locked into a blur of isometric tension against the leather straps. She was trying to buck, but the restraint turned the movement into a frantic, grinding vibration against the mattress. The sensation was a paradox that her potion-addled brain couldn't solve: the Hex’s tongue was an abrasive file stripping her nerves bare, yet the wet heat of it mirrored an intimate oral act. The tickle was so intense it wrapped all the way around the spectrum to a blinding, thumping arousal.
"Please! Please let me... I need to..." Cassandra sobbed, her words disjointed. Her pelvis ground frantically into the mattress, seeking friction, seeking release from the tension coiling in her belly. "I need to... Haaa-ha! Cum! Let me cum!"
The Hex pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her grey lip to the girl’s heel. She looked up along the length of the straining body, her coal-pit eyes narrowing.
"Cum?" she repeated, the word dripping with mockery. "You wish to find relief in the midst of my punishment? You wish to turn this into a little orgasm to dump the tension?"
She moved her mouth to the big toe. She didn't suck this time. She opened her jaws and clamped her hexagonal, translucent front teeth gently onto the sensitive pad of the toe. She bit down. Not to pierce, but to pinch the nerve cluster tight.
"NEEEEE-YAAAGH!"
Cassandra’s leg went rigid, the muscle definition carving out stark shadows in the dungeon light.
"Satisfaction is a currency," the Hex hissed, the vibration traveling through the toe bone. "And you are bankrupt."
She released the toe and dragged her chin—sharp and bony—down the length of the sole, scraping the sensitive skin.
"No escape," she whispered.
The Hex raised her hand. Her nails were long, curved shards of glass-hard keratin. She let them hover over the glistening, slobber-covered sole of the right foot. The skin was softened by the saliva, pink and pulsing with blood.
She struck.
She didn't use the tips. She used the backs of her fingernails, dragging them slowly from the toes down to the heel.
Squee-eee-eee-eee.
"SCREEEEAM! AHA-HA-HA-HA! NO! NOT THE NAILS! NOT THE NAILS!"
The sensation was excruciatingly specific. The Hyperesthesia took the light tactile input and amplified it into a jagged, electric saw. Cassandra felt every ridge of the Hex’s nails, every microscopic vibration as they skated over her dermatoglyphics.
"It’s too sharp! It’s slicing me! AHA-HA-HA! STOP!"
Cassandra’s head thrashed so violently that her vision began to swim. The dungeon ceiling—the rust, the pipes, the flickering sodium bulb—began to blur into a grey smear. A welcoming darkness encroached on the edges of her vision. Her brain, unable to process the overload of the tickle, the arousal, and the terror, initiated its emergency shutdown protocol. Faint, it whispered. Just go to sleep.
Her eyelids fluttered. Her head lolled. The screaming stopped for a microsecond as the grey fog of unconsciousness rolled in to save her.
ZZZ-ZAP.
The Draft of Hyperesthesia slammed into her brain stem like a chemical defibrillator.
"GASSSSP!"
Cassandra’s eyes snapped open, flying wide, the pupils blown huge. The potion denied her the mercy of the void. It flooded her system with a jagged, artificial lucidity. The grey borders of her vision vanished, replaced by a clarity that was terrifyingly high-definition.
She could feel the dust motes settling on her eyelashes. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears like a roaring waterfall. She was awake. Horribly, painfully, surgically awake.
"Oh no... oh no, no, no..." she whimpered, realizing what had happened. "I can't... I can't pass out. Why can't I pass out?"
The Hex chuckled, a dry sound like rattling bones. She was watching the internal struggle with fascination.
"The Draft binds you to the waking world, little student," the Hex explained, returning her nails to the arch of the foot. She began to scratch circles, digging in slightly. Scritch-scratch. "It effectively removes the 'off' switch. You will experience every single millisecond of this. There will be no fading. There will be no drifting away."
"AHA-HA-HA! PLEASE! LET ME SLEEP! JUST LET ME SLEEP!"
Cassandra wept hysterically, the laughter bubbling up through the sobs as the scratching intensified. She was trapped in a cage of her own heightened senses, forced to be a witness to her own unraveling.
The Hex stopped scratching for a moment. She stood up to her full, looming height. She looked down at the convulsing, sweating, hyper-aware wreckage of the girl.
"Sleep?" the Hex mused, glancing at an hourglass on the far wall that hadn't even begun to turn.
She leaned down, her skeletal grin inches from Cassandra’s trembling feet.
"We have barely broken the seal on the evening, my dear. The potion has a half-life of six hours."
Cassandra’s scream was cut off by a fresh wave of hysterical laughter as the Hex’s fingers descended once more, locking onto the tender nerves of her soles.
"And I intend to use every... single... minute."
One moment, Cassandra was safe in the hushed silence of the university library, entranced by a forbidden tome. The next, she was dragged through a bleeding portal of ink and shadow, deposited into the rusting, industrial nightmare of Chamber 17.
Now, bound within the suffocating embrace of a Constrictor Gurney and stripped of her defenses, she faces the architect of her new reality: The Hex. A creature of elegant, emaciated bone and sadistic hunger, The Hex demands absolute submission and offers only agonizing sensation in return.
But physical restraint is only the beginning. With the administration of the Draft of Hyperesthesia, the mercy of unconsciousness is stolen away. Her senses amplified to a screaming edge, Cassandra is forced to endure a relentless gauntlet of feathers, claws, and a raspy, predator’s tongue. Denied release and denied escape, she must weather a storm of tickling torture where every touch burns like fire, and the only way out is through the madness.
Word Count: 14,529
F/F | Feet Tickling | Tickle Torture | Explicit | Non-Con | Cunnilingus
The metamorphosis into a Hex—a high-caste Ghoul of the Hellish Realm—was not a biological evolution; it was a violent, warping calcification of the soul, and for the entity standing in the center of Chamber 17, the process was finally complete. The air in the dungeon, heavy with damp grit and the metallic tang of drying rust, tasted different to her now. It tasted of opportunity.
The Hex stood six and a half feet tall, her physique elegantly wasted, the pale, slate-grey skin pulled taut over elongated bones that seemed too sharp for the flesh meant to contain them. Her jaw ached with a dull, throbbing rigidity, the muscles permanently locked to support the skeletal, rictus grin carved into the lower half of her face. It was a grin that promised nothing but consumption. Her eyes, once human, were now sunken pits of burning coal, devoid of eyelids, staring with a hollow, supernatural hunger into the gloom of the torture chamber.
Before her lay the center of her new universe: the Constrictor Gurney.
Strapped deeply within the thick, sweat-stained leather sleepsack was the new arrival, a spoil of war from the surface world. Her name was Cassandra.
Only hours ago, time being a slippery construct in this realm, Cassandra had been sitting in the hushed, sterile safety of her university library. The late-night study session had derailed when she pulled a leather-bound tome from the archives, a book that smelled of ozone and ancient decay. The text was indecipherable, the illustrations grotesque, yet she had been unable to close it. The page had shimmered, the ink swirling into a vortex of absolute black, a tiny portal no larger than a coin that rapidly expanded, swallowing the light of the reading lamp. She remembered the paralysis, the awe, and then the terror as a skeletal, grey hand had shot out from the paper, seized her by the throat, and dragged her bodily into the ink.
Now, the library was a distant dream. The reality was Chamber 17.
Cassandra slept fitfully, her copper-red hair matted to her forehead with cold, feverish sweat. She was still fully dressed in her surface attire, unauthorized fabrics that looked alien against the dungeon’s brutalist architecture: heavy denim jeans that bunched around her trapped legs, a thick wool sweater that was already acting as a suffocating furnace in the dungeon’s humidity, and thick, rubber-soled sneakers tied aggressively tight over ankle socks.
The gurney was designed to be a claustrophobic hell. The heavy leather casing was heavy and suffocatingly constrictive, binding her from her ankles up to her chin. Multiple thick leather straps were buckled tight around the sleepsack, pinning it to the gurney. Her body was utterly immobilized, swaddled in darkness and her own accumulating body heat. At the foot of the gurney, unseen but undeniable, her sneakered feet were clamped immovably into oak stocks, the soles facing the damp stone wall.
To the Hex’s right, sitting on a rusted metal rolling tray, lay the instruments of the evening’s curriculum:
A Vial of Draft of Hyperesthesia, glowing with a toxic, neon green luminescence.
A pair of heavy, rusted industrial shears, the blades pitted but honed to a razor edge.
A bundle of long, stiff feathers, their black-barred quills sharp, their barbs rigid and unforgiving.
The sound of the dungeon was a low, mechanical thrum, punctuated by the rhythmic, wet dripping of condensation from the ceiling pipes. The distant, echoing sound of manic laughter bleeding through the stone walls from the adjacent cells—a jagged, hysterical sound that set the rhythm for the torture to come.
Cassandra stirred. Her eyes dragged open, wide and trembling, struggling to focus in the harsh, flickering light. She took in the warped, ghoul-like visage looming over her—the grey skin, the lidless eyes, the terrifying, fixed grin. She strained against the leather sack, the heavy material creaking loudly, but the Constrictor Gurney allowed for zero torque. She was a statue encased in cowhide.
A muffled whimper escaped her gag—a large, red rubber ball buckled tightly behind her head. It distended her cheeks, forcing her jaw wide, the red sphere glistening with a chaotic mix of saliva and mucous.
"Mmmph... hhugh..."
The heavy iron door of the cell sealed with a thunderous, metallic boom that vibrated through the floor, instantly severing the chaotic auditory assault of the corridor. The shrieks were replaced by a heavy, suffocating silence, broken only by the low hum of the sodium lights and the frantic, wet rasp of Cassandra's breathing through her nose.
The Hex spoke. Her voice, dragging through a throat warped by the Death Feather transformation, sounded like dry leaves skittering over a tombstone.
"Good evening, my dear. Sorry about the transition. The library has such... restricted hours. Here, we have all the time in the world."
The words were sibilant, distorted by the rigid teeth of the Hex, lacking any human warmth.
Cassandra’s eyes fixed on the creature’s face. As the Hex leaned in, the smell of the girl was potent—the bitter tang of fear-sweat saturating the wool of her sweater, the stale, trapped heat leaking from the neck of the leather sleepsack. It was a bouquet of pure distress. Cassandra tried to recoil, her body jerking inside the casing, but the heavy leather barely creaked; it simply held her compressed and immobile.
The Hex extended a hand. The transformation had turned her fingers into elongated, spindly instruments, the grey skin growing tight and translucent over the knuckles, the nails dark and curved like obsidian shards. As she reached out, Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut, a fresh tear cutting a clean track through the grime on her cheek.
The Hex’s fingertip made contact with the girl's temple. It was corpse-cold against the burning, feverish skin. With a slow, fluid motion that mocked tenderness, the creature hooked a strand of heavy, sweat-dampened copper hair and tucked it behind Cassandra's ear. The girl's skin flinched beneath the touch, rippling with voltage, but she could not pull away.
"Mmph... mmgh!" she whimpered against the gag. Saliva pooled around the red rubber, glistening in the harsh light and dripping down her chin in thick, viscous strings. Her chest heaved beneath the thick layers of her sweater and the leather restraint, rising and falling in short, panicked spasms. She was utterly at the creature's mercy.
The elongated fingers reached behind the back of Cassandra's head, the knuckles brushing against the damp, matted hair at the nape of her neck. The Hex found the buckle of the strap, the leather warm and slippery with the girl's perspiration. With a sharp click, the prong released.
"The intake protocols are so crude," the Hex rasped, her voice hollow and vibrating with an unnatural timbre. "Let us hear you breathe."
She pulled the strap free. Cassandra’s jaw went slack instantly. The Hex gripped the ring of the red rubber ball and pulled. It slid out of the girl's mouth with a wet, obscene, sucking pop, dragging a long, glistening string of viscous saliva with it before the Hex set the slobber-coated instrument on the metal tray with a dull thud.
Cassandra’s reaction was instantaneous and desperate. Her mouth, ringed with red chafe marks and bruised at the corners, fell open. She sucked in a massive, ragged lungful of air, her chest pushed violently against the heavy leather casing. The muscles in her neck strained, cords standing out against her pale throat as she prepared to unleash a wail of pure terror.
"Ah ah," the Hex hissed.
Before the sound could leave Cassandra's throat, the creature pressed a single, bone-hard index finger vertically against her wet, trembling lips.
The scream died in her throat, choking off into a strangled, gurgling gasp. Her eyes, wide and white-rimmed, locked onto the Hex's. She stared into the depth of the hollow sockets and the terrifying permanence of the skeletal grin. The finger felt like a rod of ice against the feverish heat of her mouth.
"Scream, little one, and I will put the gag back in place. I will push it so deep you will choke on your own panic, and I will make you DEEPLY regret the noise. Right now, I am feeling charitable. Pray it lasts."
Cassandra froze. The fight drained out of her, replaced by a paralyzing dread. She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing convulsively against the wool collar of her sweater. She breathed in short, shallow hitches through her nose, terrified that even a heavy exhale might be interpreted as disobedience.
"P-please..." she whispered, her voice cracked and dry despite the saliva coating her chin. "Please... I want to go back... let me go back... I don't belong here... please."
Sweat beaded on her upper lip and rolled down to meet the Hex's finger. The Constrictor Gurney was doing its work; the heat inside that bag must have been sweltering, the wool sweater acting as a furnace, trapping every ounce of warmth against her bound torso.
"Oh, you poor dear," the Hex crooned, the mockery in her raspy voice wrapped in a terrifying layer of false comfort. "You are overheated. All these heavy clothes... denim, wool... entirely unsuitable for the climate of Hell."
The Hex lifted the heavy shears from the tray. The metal was pitted and dark, stained with fluids from previous tenants of Chamber 17, but the cutting edges gleamed with a cruel sharpness. In the elongated, Hex grip, they looked enormous. Cassandra’s breath hitched, her eyes crossing slightly as she tried to look down at the blade hovering right below her chin.
"No... don't..." Cassandra mumbled deliriously, her logic fragmenting under the stress.
The Hex slid the tip of the cold steel under the high collar of the wool sweater. The metal rested against the velvet-soft skin of Cassandra's throat for a second, feeling the frantic pulse hammering there, a rapid-fire beat of pure adrenaline
Cruuuunch.
The Hex drove the shears downward with a smooth, relentless force. The blades bit through the heavy sleepsack leather, the thick knit of the wool sweater, and the delicate lace of the brassiere underneath in one continuous motion. The sound was a tapestry of destruction—the groan of leather, the snap of wool yarn, and the tear of silk. Cassandra gasped, her back arching instinctively against the constraints, but she had nowhere to go. She could only lie there, paralyzed, listening to the methodical ruin of her protection.
The Hex cut down to the lower ribs, the shears slicing through the layers like wet paper. The air in the room was suddenly filled with the scent of released heat—a musky, feminine warmth that wafted up from the opened cocoon. It was the scent of a body that had been marinating in its own terror. The Hex withdrew the shears and dropped them onto the tray with a clatter.
With deliberate slowness, the creature reached into the incision. Her cold, grey fingers hooked into the shredded mess of wool and lace.
Rrrrrip.
The fabric gave way. The heavy sweater and the bra cups were peeled back, tucked under the stiffness of the leather sleepsack's cut edges. Cassandra’s chest was laid bare to the dungeon's stagnant air.
Her breasts spilled out, pale and opulent, rising and falling with jagged, terrified breaths. They were flushed pink with the heat she had been enduring, slick with a fine sheen of perspiration that made them gleam like polished marble under the sodium lights. The nipples were currently soft, pale pink rosettes that trembled with every frantic heartbeat.
"Magnificent...," the Hex murmured. Her breath, stale and dry, washed over the exposed skin, causing goosebumps to erupt across Cassandra's chest despite the ambient heat.
"No... don't look..." Cassandra whispered, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes to slide into her ears. "Please... cover me..."
The Hex ignored the pleading; in this realm, pleas were merely seasoning. She extended a single, long index finger. The nail was dark, curved, and hard as obsidian. She lowered it until it barely blushed the skin of Cassandra's left breast.
The contrast was absolute: the grey, dead ugliness of the Hex hand against the soft, living warmth of the girl’s breast.
The Hex began to trace slow, deliberate circles around the areola. The nail didn't scratch, not yet; it merely glided through the film of sweat.
Cassandra bit her lip, her head turning side to side on the thin pillow. Her breath began to shudder. The sensation was confusing—the nerves expecting pain but receiving a ghostly, terrifyingly light touch.
She tried to hold it back, but biology was a traitor. Slowly, agonizingly, the nipple began to respond to the proximity of the threat. It puckered, the skin tightening, the bud hardening and thrusting upward, seeking the touch it feared. The color deepened from a shy pink to a darker, engorged rose.
"P-please stop," she breathed, a sob breaking in her voice. "It... it feels wrong... stop it..."
Her body arched slightly again, her breasts jiggling with the movement, offering themselves up to the Hex's hungry, lidless gaze.
"Oh my... my my my. I barely touched you and look," the Hex rasped, her voice dripping with cruel amusement. "Responded like a bitch in heat. Is this what they teach at the university? How to present yourself?"
The insult landed like a physical slap. A flush of deep crimson shame climbed up Cassandra’s neck, spreading across her exposed chest like a stain.
"I'm not!" she cried out, twisting her head away, squeezing her eyes shut as if that could hide her body's betrayal. "I can't help it! It's cold! Stop it!"
The Hex ignored the feeble protests and moved her hand to the right breast. Again, she traced the agonizingly slow circles with her sharp nail. The reaction was the same—immediate and biological. The soft flesh rippled, goosebumps spreading outward as the areola tightened. The second nipple erected, hardening into a tight, sensitive point that mirrored its twin. They stood stark and accusing against her pale skin, undeniable evidence of her body's hyper-awareness.
They were perfect targets.
The Hex brought both hands up. Her long, spindly thumbs and forefingers hovered for a second, casting shadow claws over the girl's heaving chest. Cassandra’s eyes flew open, wide with panic. She saw the intent. "No! No, please, don't pin—"
Snap.
The Hex clamped down on both nipples simultaneously. The pinch was precise and firm, capturing the entire hardened bud of each nipple between the bone-hard digits.
"AHH!" Cassandra wailed, her head throwing back into the pillow, her throat arching as the tendons stood out.
The Hex twisted. Sharp and quick. A quarter turn of torque applied directly to the most sensitive points on her exposed body.
"Gnnnk!"
The shock convulsed through the student. Her back bowed off the gurney as much as the sleepsack allowed, straining against the heavy leather casing in a desperate attempt to escape the sensation. Her breasts stretched with the pull, the soft fat deforming as the Hex held the nipples captive. It wasn't tearing damage—it was a spike of pure, electrified sensation that landed somewhere between sharp pain and a jolt of overwhelming intensity.
She fell back as the Hex held the twist, panting hard, her face grimacing. "Ah... ah... ah god! Let go! It hurts! It hurts!"
The Hex could feel the heat radiating from the tissue through her fingertips, the pulse throbbing violently inside the trapped nibs. A drop of sweat rolled down Cassandra's sternum, navigating the valley between her breasts, glistening like oil.
"You want me to stop?" the Hex asked, her voice deceptively light, almost conversational, as if asking about the weather.
With a sharp, playful yank, she tugged the nipples upward, stretching the delicate skin of the areolas until they formed little tents. Cassandra gasped, a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth.
Then, the Hex shifted her grip. She pressed the pads of her middle fingers directly down onto the very tips of the throbbing, engorged peaks. She began to rub—fast, tight, agonizingly small circles right on the nerve-dense summits.
"Nnnngh! Ah! Y-yes! Stop! Ahhh!"
Cassandra’s head thrashed from side to side, her copper hair fanning out in a damp halo across the pillow. The friction was intense. The Hex’s skin was rough, dry, and unyielding—like sandpaper grinding against raw silk. The sensation was too much, too focused. It overloaded the nerves instantly, bypassing pleasure and hitting a strata of pure, white-hot overstimulation.
"It’s too much! Ah! Please! It burns!" she sobbed, her exposed chest heaving and twisting violently. Her spine arched off the mattress, trying to pull her torso away from the fingers, but her hips were anchored by the heavy lower straps, turning her body into a strained bow of varying tension. Her restrained feet flexed invisible inside her sneakers at the end of the gurney.
The Hex released her nipples abruptly.
Cassandra slumped back onto the gurney, sucking in huge, desperate lungfuls of air, her chest rising and falling violently. The nipples remained painfully erect, red and irritated, throbbing in the cool air of the dungeon.
"Very well, I'll focus somewhere else, shall I?"
The Hex’s left hand, large and skeletal, descended on Cassandra's left breast like a spider claiming a fly. She squeezed, her long fingers sinking deep into the soft, pale flesh, kneading roughly. It was a coarse, possessive grope that made the student whimper—a low, pathetic sound of violation.
"Mnnh... please... no more..."
The Hex released her with a final, careless pat that shook the soft flesh. She turned away, her interest shifting like the wind in a graveyard. Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the stone floor—click, click, click—as she walked the length of the gurney. Her shadow stretched long and distorted over Cassandra’s immobilized form, a silhouette of hunger.
She stopped at the foot of the gurney.
Locked firmly in the heavy oak stocks were Cassandra’s feet. They were trapped vertically, soles facing the wall, encased in thick white crew socks and battered, dark blue canvas sneakers with thick rubber toe caps. The wood of the stocks was polished smooth by years of use, clamping tight around her ankles just above the malleolus bones, rendering her unable to withdraw or turn her feet.
"Let's see what we have here, shall we? I have a feeling all that excitement built up quite the sweat..."
Cassandra stiffened. She couldn’t see the creature now, only feel the presence looming at her most vulnerable extremity. "What? No! Leave my feet alone! Don't touch them!" Her voice rose in pitch, panic flaring anew. The feet in question twitched, the sneakers wiggling uselessly in the wooden vices.
The Hex stood at the foot of the gurney, her shadow falling long and heavy over the trapped extremities. The sight before her was a delicious anachronism: a pair of dark blue canvas sneakers, heavy with the aesthetic of the modern surface world, clamped ruthlessly into the ancient, polished oak of the dungeon stocks. The wood was stained dark from centuries of sweat and oil, and against it, the white rubber toe caps and the dirty blue canvas looked startlingly bright.
Cassandra’s feet were locked vertically, the soles facing the Hex. The sneakers were twitching, the Hex could see the leather of the sleepsack twisting further up the bed as the girl tried to writhe away from a touch that hadn't even happened yet. The rubber soles were thick, patterned with a worn diamond tread that still held specks of library dust—dirt from a world Cassandra would likely never walk in again.
The Hex reached out. Her grey fingers, contrasting sharply with the dirty canvas, grasped the loop of the right sneaker's laces. They were tied tight, double-knotted—a student's habit, meant to keep the shoes secure during a long day on campus.
She pulled the aglet. Slowly.
Zzzzip.
The sound was small but distinct in the heavy silence. The knot gave way. The tension across the bridge of Cassandra’s foot released slightly.
"Please!" the girl begged from the head of the gurney, craning her neck, straining her muscles to try and see. "Please, I... I hate having my feet touched! They're gross! Please!"
The Hex ignored the cries, treating them as ambient noise. She began to loosen the laces, unthreading them eyelet by eyelet with a terrifying, ritualistic slowness. With every loosening of the cord, the sneaker gaped wider, revealing the white cotton sock underneath. A faint, warm scent—humid and distinctly biological—began to waft from the opening shoe. It was the smell of confinement. Sour, yeasty sweat mingled with the chemical tang of warm rubber and heated canvas.
"Mmmm hmmmm," the Hex hummed, the vibration rattling in her chest. "Quite the bouquet."
She gripped the heel of the right sneaker. Cassandra gasped, a sharp intake of breath, as she felt the shoe slide. With a wet, sticky suction sound—shhh-thuck—the Hex peeled the shoe off the foot. It came away heavily, the insole visibly damp.
Cassandra's right foot was left exposed in the stocks, clad only in a thick, white athletic sock. The cotton was visibly damp, stained slightly yellow at the toes and heel from absorbed perspiration. The fabric clung to her arch and toes, outlining the shape perfectly. Her toes curled instinctively, scrunching the damp sock material into a tight, defensive ball.
The Hex lifted the empty sneaker to her face. The opening, warm and jagged, fit over her skeletal nose and mouth like a mask. She inhaled deeply.
The scent was rich and pungent. It was the thick, cheesy aroma of fermented foot sweat, amplified by the stress of the capture and the heat of the dungeon. It smelled of panic. It smelled of entrapment. To the Hex’s transformed senses, it smelled delicious.
"NO!" Cassandra screamed, her voice cracking with humiliation. "Oh god, don't! That's disgusting! Stop it! Don't smell them!"
The Hex lowered the shoe, savoring the aftertaste on her tongue. A thin smile cracked her rigid face. She placed the sneaker on the side of the gurney, right next to Cassandra’s knee, where the smell could waft up just out of range.
"How will the left one be, I wonder?"
She turned her attention to the left foot. She grabbed the laces, her movements practiced. She picked the knot apart. As the laces loosened, the tongue of the shoe popped up slightly, puffing out a fresh cloud of warm, humid air.
"Please don't... please..." Cassandra was sobbing now, a deep, guttural sound of shame. "I'm sweating so much... it's so gross... please just leave them on..."
The Hex slid the second sneaker off. It dragged against the sock, the friction palpable, before popping free.
She brought the second sneaker to her face, burying her nose deep into the heel cup where the concentration of scent was strongest. She groaned aloud, a raspy, shuddering sound of pleasure. The scent here was heavier, thicker—a concentrated musk of enclosed biology and fear. It was heady, almost dizzying to a creature that fed on distress.
She lowered the shoe and turned, stalking back to the head of the gurney with the prize in hand. The floor creaked beneath her weight. Cassandra watched her approach, her eyes wide with horror, tracking the dirty blue canvas object in the creature's hand.
"You must try it," the Hex commanded.
"No... wait..." Cassandra shook her head, tears flying. "What are you—"
The Hex didn't wait. she pressed the opening of the sneaker directly over Cassandra’s nose and mouth. The rubber toe cap dug into the girl's soft cheek; the heel tab pressed against her chin. The Hex sealed it against her face, creating an airtight mask of canvas and stink.
Inside the shoe, Cassandra was engulfed in her own darkness and stench. The heat from the shoe was still radiating, humid and suffocating. She clamped her mouth shut, screwing her eyes tight, trying to hold her breath, trying to reject the foul, concentrated essence of her own two-day sweat.
"Mmph!! Mmmgh!" she protested into the insole, thrashing her head, but the Hex’s grip was iron. She was forced to breathe it in—tasting the sour, cheesy tang of the trapped perspiration.
"Tut tut tut. Breathe, little student. Analyze the composition," the Hex chided.
With her free hand—the left one—the Hex reached down to the girl's exposed torso. She splayed her long, skeletal fingers over the ribcage, right where the shears had stopped cutting earlier. She found the sensitive intercostal spaces between the ribs, the skin tender and flushed.
Lightly, barely using any pressure, the Hex skittered her fingertips across the skin.
Scritch-scratch.
Cassandra’s reaction was instantaneous and violent. Her body jerked in the sleepsack. Her eyes flew open inside the darkness of the shoe. A strangled, choking sound erupted from her throat—half gasp, half suppressed giggle.
"Hrk! Mmh-hmph!"
She was trying desperately to hold it back, engaging every muscle in her core to suppress the laughter, knowing that if she gasped for air to laugh, she would inhale a massive dose of the sneaker's stench.
"Ooooooh good," the Hex crooned, watching the stomach muscles spasm and ripple beneath her touch as Cassandra fought the tickle. "A sensitive pet today. I may not even need the Hyperesthesia yet."
The Hex dug her fingers in a little harder, wiggling them right in the soft spot under the lowest rib on the left side.
"MMMMPH! HEE-HMMPH!"
Cassandra bucked, her large tits bounced, tears squeezing out of her shut eyes, her muffled laughter vibrating into the shoe. She couldn't hold her breath any longer. She gasped—a huge, desperate inhalation right into the depths of the sneaker. She choked on the smell, gagging and laughing simultaneously.
"Mmmmm, smells good, doesn't it?" the Hex whispered, her voice thick with perverse satisfaction. She held the sneaker firmly over the girl's face, feeling the hot, damp puffs of breath warming her hand through the canvas. "Take a big sniff. Identify the notes. Is it Fear? Is it Exhaustion? Or is it just filth?"
The Hex lifted her left hand slowly from the ribs, suspending it in the air like a poised spider, ready to strike again at the slightest sign of resistance. Cassandra’s chest heaved beneath the open flaps of her shredded sweater. Her face was hidden inside the shoe, but her body language screamed of defeat and revulsion.
She choked, coughing slightly into the insole, but the threat of the tickling fingers hovering just inches from her sensitive skin was too great. She surrendered. The Hex could hear the long, shuddering intake of breath as the girl obeyed, dragging the stagnant, cheesy air of the shoe deep into her lungs.
"God..." she whined into the darkness of the footwear, her voice muffled and trembling against the damp insole. "It smells... it smells like... sour cheese... and vinegar..." She gagged again, a wet, wretched sound. "Like... like old gym socks... and onions... oh god, please take it off..."
Her toes, still locked in the stocks at the foot of the bed, curled and uncurled in the damp white socks, writhing in sympathetic embarrassment.
The Hex pulled the shoe away with a sharp tug.
Cassandra’s face was flushed crimson, sweat beading on her forehead. She gasped for the "clean" dungeon air, her eyes wet and pleading. "I did it... I told you... please don't tickle me again... please..."
"Good girl," the Hex purred. She tossed the sneaker back onto the gurney near Cassandra’s feet. She loomed over the girl, her skeletal grin widening. "But now... we have a little problem. The socks. They are hiding the main course."
The Hex turned and walked back to the stocks.
"No... wait... what are you doing?" Cassandra’s breath hitched.
The Hex looked down at the white-socked feet. The cotton was thin, ribbed at the ankle, looking soft and innocent despite the yellowing stains of sweat at the pressure points. The outline of the toes was clearly visible, cramped and curling.
The Hex hooked her sharp nails under the elastic rim of the left sock. The material snapped softly.
"No... no, no, no," Cassandra murmured, her head lifting off the pillow, straining to see past her own exposed chest. "Leave them on... please, I have really ticklish feet... please don't take the socks off..."
The Hex began to peel. Slowly. The white cotton rolled down the ankle, dragging over the skin. It clung stubbornly to the damp flesh, peeling away with a faint fzzzt sound. As she pulled it past the ankle bone, the smell intensified—raw and unfiltered now, sharper than it was in the shoe.
She exposed the heel. It was pink, glistening with a fresh sheen of clammy sweat. The skin was slightly thickened, a pale, yellowish patch of callus at the very back where the shoe had rubbed.
The Hex paused with the sock bunched below the arch, framing the heel. She brought her other hand down. With the tip of her index finger, she began to trace a slow, maddening circle right in the center of that damp, calloused heel.
Swirl... swirl...
Cassandra’s reaction was electric. Her head snapped back onto the pillow with a thud.
"Ah! Nnngh!"
She bit her lip so hard it turned white. Her leg spasmed in the stocks, the muscles in her calf bunching tight like coiled snakes as she tried to jerk her foot away, but the oak clamps held her fast. The sensation of the dry, dead skin moving over her sensitive, sweaty sole sent a jolt straight up her spine.
"D-don't!" she gasped, her eyes squeezing shut again. "It tickles! It tickles so bad! Don't touch the heel! AH!"
"Not the heel?" the Hex mocked, her voice dry as old parchment. "A pity. It is so very responsive."
She tugged the wet cotton again. It slid reluctantly over the slick skin of the arch, peeling away to reveal the bottom half of the foot.
The Hex shifted her hand. Instead of the flat pad of her finger, she deployed the tip of her index nail. She positioned it in the crevace, just above where the heel ended and the arch began.
She began to scratch. Lightly. Back and forth.
Scritch. Scratch. Scritch.
"AAAAH! NO!"
Cassandra screamed, the sound tearing from her throat instantly. Her reaction was violent and reflexive. Her toes—still hidden inside the tip of the sock—curled downward with frantic force, scrunching the white fabric into a tight ball as she tried to create a shield for her sole. Her entire leg jerked in the stock, violently vibrating against the oak wood.
"Hah! Ah-hah-hah! AHH! STOP!"
The laughter burst out of her, unbidden and panicked. It wasn't joyful; it was a spasm of the diaphragm, a vocal rejection of the torture. She threw her head back, her exposed breasts bouncing wildly with her struggles. The sensation of a sharp, dry nail raking lightly over that damp, hyper-sensitive skin was electric agony.
"It’s worse! It’s worse! Don't scratch! Don't scratch there!" she babbled, gasping for air between the sharp, high-pitched yelps. "I can't take it! My arch! Oh god, my arch!"
"Not here either? Quite a demanding little thing, aren't you?" the Hex chided, enjoying the frantic display.
The Hex started pulling the sock up again and stopped just short of the ball of the foot, leaving the toes and the padded metatarsal area still shrouded in the damp white cotton "cap." The arch was now fully exposed—a perfect, pale crescent of sensitive flesh, glistening with sweat droplets that caught the light like morning dew.
The Hex leaned in closer, her eyes fixated on the anatomy. She licked her dry, grey lips, a predator savoring the appetizer.
Then, she struck.
She drove the tip of her index finger deep into the center of the sole, right into the band of the plantar fascia. She didn't scratch this time. She pressed hard, compressing the tense muscle and nerves against the bone structure of the foot.
And then she vibrated her hand. Fast. Supernatural fast.
Buzz-zz-zz-zz.
"SCREEEECH! AAAAAHA-HA-HA-HA!"
Cassandra’s scream was ear-splitting. The sensation blasted through her nervous system like a lightning strike. The deep vibration sent shockwaves through the sensitive tissue of her sole, triggering a convulsive, uncontrollable reaction.
"NO! NOOO! AHA-HA-HA! STOP IT! STOP DOING THAT!"
She convulsed violently against the leather sleepsack, her hips bucking off the gurney, her head whipping side to side so fast her hair flailed like a copper whip. Tears streamed freely down her face now, mixing with the sweat.
"IT'S TOO DEEP! IT'S TOO DEEP! AHA-HA-HA! OH GOD! PLEASE!"
Her foot spasmed wildly in the stock, her quadriceps bunched and spasmed, rippling under the leather, but the legs went nowhere. The Hex’s finger was relentless, digging in and vibrating, turning the arch into a source of pure, overwhelming stimulation. The toes fanned out wide and then crunched down tight, vibrating with the intensity of the feeling.
"Make it stop! Make it stop! I'll do anything! AAAAAH!" she shrieked, her voice breaking into hysterical, weeping laughter.
"Anything?" the Hex asked, her voice slicing through the shrieks.
She bore down harder. Her skeletal finger dug deeper into the soft meat of the arch, finding the tightest knot of nerves. She increased the vibration speed, her hand becoming a blur of motion. The friction generated heat; the sensation for Cassandra must have been blinding—a white-hot overload that blurred the line between tickling and pain.
"YES! YES! AHA-HA-HA! ANYTHING! ANYTHING!" Cassandra wailed, her face turning a blotchy, mottled red. Her mouth hung open, drool spilling from the corner as she gasped for breath between the manic peals of laughter. Her chest heaved violently, her exposed breasts shaking with every convulsion.
"GOD! AHA-HAA! MAKE IT STOP! PLEASE! I CAN'T! I CAN'T BREATHE! AHA-HA-HA!"
She was frantic, her mind shattering under the relentless input. The leather of the gurney creaked loudly as she tested the limits of the restraints, but she was utterly trapped. Her foot was the Hex's playground, and right now, the creature was grinding her sanity into dust through her sole.
"WHAT DO YOU WANT?! AHA-HA-HA! TELL ME! TELL ME!"
The Hex lifted her finger.
The relief that crashed over Cassandra was absolute. She fell back against the gurney, her body limp and trembling, sweat soaking the sheets beneath her. She sucked in air like a drowning woman reaching the surface, her eyes tracking the creature warily as the Hex began to prowl back toward her head.
"Simple," the Hex hissed, the word landing like a stone in the pool of Cassandra's silence.
She stood beside the head of the gurney, her height exaggerating the perspective so she seemed to scrape the dungeon ceiling. Her shadow engulfed the student's tear-streaked face. Cassandra looked up, chest heaving, eyes darting from the creature's hollow sockets to the long, grey hands that had just violated the sanctity of her feet. The phantom sensation of the vibration still ghosted through her arch, a persistent neurological echo that made her toes twitch in the stocks.
"You said anything," the Hex reminded her, leaning down. The smell of the creature—ancient dust and formaldehyde—mixed with the lingering stench of the sneaker that lay on the bed. "And I am a creditor who always collects."
"I... I..." Cassandra stammered, her voice wrecked, raw from the screaming. She tried to shrink back into the mattress, but the leather casing held her firm. "I just wanted it to stop. Please... no more tickling. I can't breathe."
"Tickling?" The Hex tilted her head, the movement avian and sharp. "We haven't even begun to tickle, little student. That was merely... calibration."
With a sudden, jarring burst of supernatural agility, the Hex vaulted.
The heavy metal frame of the Constrictor Gurney groaned under the impact as the creature landed gracefully on top of the restraint. Cassandra gasped, the air knocked out of her lungs as the Hex’s weight settled. The creature did not sit on her legs; she straddled Cassandra's upper chest and neck, her knees pinning the girl’s shoulders into the sleepsack.
The Hex towered over her, a nightmare of grey skin and protruding bone. The perspective was terrifying; Cassandra was looking straight up the torso of a monster.
Then, the Hex sank down. She sat back on her heels, lowering her pelvis directly onto Cassandra's face.
The creature’s anatomy was a warped, monstrous echo of what it once was in the human realm. The transformation had stripped away the softness, leaving the pubic mound gaunt, hairless, and slate-grey. The Hex pressed her crotch right against Cassandra’s nose and mouth—a cold, vertical slit of pale, leathery skin. The outer lips were thin and retracted, exposing the dark, wet interior that smelled of stale musk, copper, and old blood.
"Eat me out," the Hex commanded, the words vibrating through her pelvis into the student's cheek. "Prove your devotion. Or I go back to the foot of the stocks, and I will vibrate your soles until your mind cracks in half."
Cassandra froze, her eyes crossing as she stared at the grey flesh smothering her. The heat of her flushed face contrasted sharply with the corpse-like chill of the Hex’s crotch. She could smell the potent, acrid scent of the creature—it wasn't like the biological sweat of the sneakers; it was chemical, ancient, and terrifying.
"W-what?" she mumbled against the Hex's flesh, her lips brushing the rim of the exposed entrance. "Oh god... no... please..."
She tried to turn her head, but the Hex’s thighs locked her in place like a vice. The threat hung heavy in the damp air. The ghost of the sensation on her arch flared up in her mind—the buzzing, the heat, the loss of control. It was a phantom itch that promised madness if the Hex returned to the foot of the bed.
"I... I..." She squeezed her eyes shut, fresh tears leaking out to wet the Hex's thighs. She had no choice. Her survival instinct, honed by minutes of torture that felt like hours, overrode her revulsion.
"I'm waiting," the Hex rasped, shifting her weight, grinding slightly against the girl's nose.
Cassandra opened her mouth.
Her tongue, hot and wet, tentatively poked out. It touched the cold grey folds of the Hex’s vulva. Cassandra flinched—an instinctive, biological recoil at the temperature difference—but the memory of the vibrating finger in her arch was a powerful motivator. She pushed forward. She licked, a broad, desperate stroke up the length of the slit.
"Mmph... Is... is this... okay?" she whimpered into the creature's ****, her breath hot mist against the sensitive, mutated flesh. She began to lap at the Hex, her tongue delving into the crevices, tasting the bitter, metallic secretions of a being that no longer consumed normal food.
The Hex sighed, a long, rattling exhalation that vibrated through her pelvis into the girl’s face. It was a sound of profound dissatisfaction.
"I SAID EAT ME OUT!" the Hex roared, her voice cracking with sudden, volatile rage.
She drove her hands down into the opened cavity of the sleepsack. Her long, skeletal claws wrapped around Cassandra’s ribcage, finding the tender flesh between her ribs like heat-seeking missiles. She dug in with all ten nails, sinking them deep into the sides, and began to scratch and knead with savage, frantic speed.
"AAAAAHA-HA-HA-HA! NO! NO! OKAY! OKAY! AHA-HA-HA!"
Cassandra’s body convulsed beneath the creature. The laughter exploded into the Hex’s crotch, vibrating against the sensitive flesh. Her chest heaved violently, her heavy, pale breasts bouncing and smashing against the Hex’s wiry wrists and forearms as the creature mauled her ribs. The soft, sweaty skin of the girl’s torso was hot against the Hex’s cold, grey arms.
"PLEASE! AHA-HA-HA! I'M TRYING! I'M TRYING!"
"THIS IS YOUR LAST CHANCE!" the Hex screamed down at her, grinding her pelvis harder against the girl’s face, forcing her to taste the arousal, to breathe in the musk amidst her panic.
Terrified by the dual assault of the blinding tickle on her ribs and the creature's fury, Cassandra abandoned all hesitation. She opened her mouth wide, her jaw unhinging with desperation. She thrust her tongue out with frantic energy, diving straight into the slit.
Slurp. Schlick.
She buried her face in the Hex. She licked with rapid, terrified strokes, her tongue broad and forceful, sweeping up and down the folds, swirling around the enlarged, stone-hard clitoris. She sucked, creating a vacuum seal against the grey flesh, desperate to please, desperate to make the claws on her ribs stop moving.
"Mmph! Glmph! Mmm-hmm!"
She moaned into the ****, the sound vibrating directly into the Hex’s clit. Her nose drove deep into the hairless mound, inhaling the dust-and-formaldehyde scent as she worked the pussy with a fervor born of absolute terror. She was eating the monster out like her life depended on it—because in her mind, it did.
The Hex lifted her hands abruptly from the ribs, the savage clawing ceasing instantly. Cassandra’s body went limp beneath her once more, though her tongue continued its frantic, rhythmic work without pausing for a second.
"Mmmmm, that's it pet, get right in there," the Hex moaned, the sound thick and lustful as she ground her hips down to meet the fervent ministrations. "I want to feel your hot tongue make me feel good."
Cassandra’s tongue completely filled the creature. She was swirling it expertly now, driven by fear to become a virtuoso. The heat of her mouth was intoxicating against the cold, dead nerves of the Hex form. She lapped at the clitoris, flicking the hard nubbin again and again, sending shoots of pleasure up the creature's spine.
"Mmph-gluck... slurp..." The wet sounds of the feast echoed in the small space between their bodies.
"See, I can be a fair mistress," the Hex cooed.
She moved her hands up to Cassandra’s breasts. Instead of pinching or scratching, she cupped the heavy, pale mounds. Her long fingers spread wide, encapsulating the soft flesh. She began to knead them, squeezing rhythmically in time with the tongue strokes. She massaged the tension out of the tissue, her thumbs passing over the erect nipples with a touch that was firm but no longer agonizing.
She whimpered into the Hex's crotch, a muffled sound of relief mingled with humiliation. She could feel the creature's pleasure building, the way the hips started to buck slightly against her face. She redoubled her efforts, her tongue darting deep inside, then flattening to broad strokes that dragged bitter fluids out of the depths. She swallowed the juices without complaint, terrified to stop.
"Good girl," the Hex gasped, her head tilting back, the skeletal grin stretching even wider. "Use those lips. Suck it."
The Hex hooked her thumbs deep into the soft, yielding flesh of Cassandra’s bosom and hauled upwards. The girl’s heavy breasts were dragged toward her chin, the pale mounds compressing against her jawline. This exposed the vulnerable, sweat-slicked crescent of the underboob—a fold of skin that had been trapping heat against the ribcage for hours. It was raw, pink, and glistening with moisture.
The Hex didn't hesitate. She splayed her long, grey fingers and began to skitter her nails frantically inside that damp crevice.
Scritch-scritch-scritch-scritch.
"Mmmph-hehe-glugh!"
The reaction was immediate. Cassandra tried to maintain the rhythm of her tongue, but the sharp, electric sensation of nails raking back and forth across her sensitive underboob overrode her control. A spasm of laughter bubbled up from her diaphragm, travelled up her throat and exploded directly against the wet, exposed vulva.
The vibration was exquisite. The laughter buzzed against the Hex’s clitoris like a tuning fork, a barrage of hot breath and vocal shockwaves that sent jolts of pure electricity straight into her pelvic nerves.
"Mmmmmm fuck yes," the Hex groaned, throwing her head back, the pleasure spiking dangerously high. The combination of the wet tongue and the forced laughter vibrating against her lips was overwhelming. "Laugh for me, bitch!"
She increased the speed of her fingers, digging her nails slightly into the tender skin under the breasts, turning the tickle into a torture of sensation. Cassandra choked, her tongue faltering as she started to gag on her own giggles inside the crotch.
The Hex lifted her hips, breaking the seal. Her wet, glinting slit hovered just inches above the girl’s mouth, dripping fluids onto her nose and lips. Cassandra gasped, her face flushed deep crimson, her eyes wild and wet with tears. She heaved for air, her chest bouncing as the relentless tickling of the underboob continued.
"Tell me you are my tickle slave, my personal tickle slut!" the Hex commanded, staring down at the ruin of the student.
"AHH! HA-HA-HA! I AM! I AM!" Cassandra screamed, unable to stop the laughter as the nails drove her mad. She tried to catch her breath, looking up at the source of her torment. "I'M YOUR TICKLE SLAVE! AHA-HA! I'M YOUR PERSONAL TICKLE SLUT! AHA-HA-HA! PLEASE! IT'S SO SENSITIVE! AHH!"
Her admission floated in the air, pathetic and absolute. The Hex looked down at her, her skeletal chest heaving, release imminent.
"Good," she hissed. "Now finish it."
The Hex slammed her hips back down onto Cassandra's face.
She abandoned the underboob and drove her hands viciously back down to the ribs. She found the spaces between the bones and dug in, her fingers moving in a blur of frantic, skeletal motion. She Spider-walked her fingers up and down the sides, tormenting the most ticklish, unprotected nerves on the torso.
"MMMPH! HEHEHE-GLUCH! AAAAAAAHH!"
Cassandra’s scream was muffled, trapped against the flesh, vibrating through the entire pelvic floor. The sheer force of the panicked laughter, the desperate movement of the tongue trying to accommodate the creature, and the sensation of the head thrashing between the thighs was too much. The pleasure built to a dark, agonizing peak.
"YES! YES! SUFFER FOR ME!" the Hex shrieked, her voice a terrifying rasp.
She clamped her emaciated thighs tight around the skull, locking Cassandra’s head in a vice grip. Her temples were squeezed between the bony knees. The girl could not move. She could not breathe. She could only serve as the receptacle.
The Hex’s hips spasmed violently. A guttural roar tore from her throat as the orgasm hit like a physical blow.
"FUUUUUUUUUUCK!"
Her body arched, rigid and trembling. Deep inside, the warped biology of the Hex released its payload. A torrent of thick, black, oily discharge erupted from the clenching slit. It sprayed directly into Cassandra’s open, working mouth.
"Glllgh! Gaaaack!"
Cassandra choked, her eyes bulging. The fluid was vile—cold, viscous, and tasting of death and rot. It coated her tongue, her palate, filling her throat. She tried to gag, to cough it out, but the thighs held her fast, forcing her to swallow the foul ejection.
The Hex rode out the climax, grinding her hips in sharp, jerky circles against the face, smearing the black slime all over the nose, chin, and cheeks. Her nails continued to twitch reflexively against the ribs, eliciting muffled, gurgling whimpers of forced laughter from beneath her.
The orgasm faded, leaving the Hex twitching and energized with a dark, sadistic vitality. She released the pressure of her thighs and, with a final shudder, hopped off the gurney, landing lightly on the stone floor.
Behind her, Cassandra was destroyed. She rolled her head frantically to the side, her face a mask of black slime and terror. Her body convulsed.
HUUURRRK!
A violent explosion of vomit erupted from her mouth. It was a thick, acidic torrent that splattered loudly onto the cold dungeon floor, mixing with the sweat and grime already there. She retched again and again, coughing and gasping, trying to purge the taste of the Hex discharge from her system. Spit and bile stringed from her lips, pooling next to the puddle of sick.
"Oh god... huuuck... oh god..." she sobbed, wiping her face against the pillow, smearing the black fluid into her hairline.
The Hex stood there, her skeletal chest heaving, watching with cold, dead eyes. The brief flicker of lustful play was gone, replaced by a flat, terrifying void. She looked at the mess on the floor—a stain on her domain. Then she looked back at the tear-streaked, slime-coated face.
She shook her head slowly.
"You will pay for that one," she promised. The voice was low, devoid of humor, vibrating with threat. "You have defiled my sanctum with your weakness."
She turned her back on the weeping student and walked with purposeful strides back to the foot of the gurney. The heavy oak stocks loomed before her, holding the feet captive.
The Hex reached the foot of the gurney. Cassandra’s feet were still securely locked. The left foot was half-exposed, the white sock bunched up around the ball and toes from the previous torture. The right foot was still fully encased in its damp, sweat-stained cotton sheath.
The Hex didn't play games this time. No teasing.
She reached out and pinched the fabric covering the toes of the left foot. With a sharp, violent yank, she ripped the sock free. It came off with a snap, leaving the foot completely bare—pale, high-arched, and vulnerable.
She immediately grabbed the cuff of the right sock. She hauled it down the ankle, dragging it over the heel and off the toes in one smooth, aggressive motion.
Both of Cassandra's bare feet were now exposed in the stocks. They were slender and elegant, the soles flushed pink and glistening with a heavy coat of stress-sweat. The toes curled tight, scrunching together, sensing the change in atmosphere.
The Hex ignored them for now. She turned and marched back to the head of the gurney, clutching the two warm, damp socks in one hand. They were heavy with perspiration, smelling of confinement and fear.
Cassandra saw her coming. Her eyes widened in fresh terror through the mask of black discharge and vomit residue. She tried to shrink back into the mattress. "No... no please... I'm sorry! I couldn't help it! Don't—"
The Hex towered over her. "Open," she commanded.
"No, I—"
The Hex reached down and pinched the nearest nipple, twisting it cruelly.
"AHH!"
When Cassandra screamed, the Hex stuffed the first sock into her mouth.
"Mmph!"
It filled the oral cavity instantly—a thick, cotton wad tasting of her own foot sweat and the faint residue of the dungeon floor. The Hex didn't stop. She crammed the second sock in right behind it, packing the mouth full of the damp, musky fabric until Cassandra’s cheeks bulged outward.
She tried to spit them out, choking and gagging on the material, but the Hex was faster. She picked up the red ball gag and jammed it into place over the socks, shoving it between the stretched lips until the flanges sat against the teeth. She pulled the strap tight behind the head and buckled it with a vicious click.
"MMMMPH!!!"
She was silenced. Effectively, completely silenced. Her eyes bulged, darting wildly. She could taste the intense, concentrated flavor of her own feet, forced down her throat by the gag. The socks absorbed the moisture in her mouth, drying it out while simultaneously flooding her senses with the taste of leather, trapped heat, and sweat.
The Hex stepped back. "Better," she rasped. "Now. Let's really begin."
Chamber 17 seemed to contract around them, its stillness pressing in from all sides. What little sound remained came in broken, smothered bursts from Cassandra, while the Hex’s retreating steps echoed dully across the stone as she returned to the foot of the gurney. The air was thick with the scent of disruption—vomit, sweat, and the lingering, metallic tang of the black fluid now drying on the student’s face.
The Hex stopped at the stocks. Cassandra’s bare feet were pale islands of vulnerability in the gloom. They were beautiful in their distress—high arches convulsing, toes scrunching tightly into the balls of her feet in a pathetic attempt to hide from the coming storm. The soles were flushed pink, glistening with a fresh sheen of perspiration triggered by the sock-gagging.
"Hiding them won't help," the Hex murmured.
She reached out and grabbed the right big toe. It felt hot and slippery in her cool grip. With a sudden, forceful wrench, she pulled it backward, forcing the joint to extend fully. Cassandra’s leg jerked in the stock, a muffled cry vibrating in her throat—Mmmm-hmmm!—but she was powerless against the mechanical strength of the creature.
The Hex picked up a spool of thin, waxed cord from the tray. She looped it tightly around the stem of the big toe, biting into the soft skin. She pulled the cord taut and anchored it to a rusted cleat on the side of the wooden stock frame.
"One," she counted dryly.
She moved to the second toe. The student tried to wiggle it away, but the Hex’s fingers were like steel pincers. Yank. Loop. Tighten.
Systematically, relentlessly, she isolated each digit. The index toe. The middle. The ring. The little toe. She repeated the process on the left foot with the efficiency of a surgeon.
Within moments, Cassandra’s feet were transformed. No longer able to curl or clench in defense, her soles were splayed terrifyingly wide. The skin between the toes—the sensitive, silken webbing—was stretched taut and exposed to the dungeon air. Every inch of her plantar surface was presented to the Hex like a canvas of agony. The tension in the cords forced the soles to bow outwards, maximizing the surface area and exposing the deep, soft valley of the arch.
"There," the Hex hissed, admiring the geometry of the restraint. "Now you cannot hide."
She reached for the tray and picked up the feather.
It was not a soft, fluffy duster. It was a long, stiff black feather. The central quill was rigid, tapering to a sharp point, and the black-barred barbs were firm, almost bristly. The Hex inspected the tip, testing its sharpness against her own grey thumb. It made a dry zip sound.
"You will learn the penalty for defiling my sanctum," she intoned, her voice low and dangerous.
Cassandra watched from the head of the bed, her eyes wide and panic-stricken above the red ball gag. She shook her head violently, tears engaging in a fresh assault on her cheeks. "MMMPH! MMMM-MMMPH!"
The Hex brought the feather down.
She didn't tickle immediately. She touched the pointed tip to the center of the ball of Cassandra's right foot. She dragged it slowly, with deliberate, agonizing lightness, straight down the center line of the sole.
Scrrrritch.
The sensation travelled down the plantar fascia, ghosting over the sensitive arch, and ended at the center of the heel. At the heel, the Hex paused. She executed three tight, focused circles.
Swirl. Swirl. Swirl.
The feather bit slightly, the stiff barbs catching on the ridges of the footprint. Then, she dragged it slowly back up, retracing the line of fire to the splayed toes.
Cassandra’s reaction was explosive. Her body bucked against the straps, her back arching off the shredded remains of her sweater. A high-pitched, strangled squeal erupted from behind the gag—EEEEEEE-HMMPH! Her toes twitched desperately against their cord bindings, turning white with the strain, but they could not curl. Her feet were statues of torment.
The Hex lifted the feather, hovering it in the air.
"Now, how did the nursery rhyme go in your world?" she mused, tapping the quill against her chin as she looked at the trapped toes. "Aaah yes."
She lowered the feather to the trapped right big toe. She placed the sharp tip right on the sensitive pad, just below the nail.
"This little piggie went to the maaaarket."
She flicked the feather rapidly back and forth across the underside of the toe.
Fwit-fwit-fwit-fwit.
"MMM-HMMM-HAAAA!"
The vibration sent a shockwave through the girl’s foot. She jerked her leg, her entire body rigid with the intensity of the localized stimulation. The gag muffled her screams into a continuous, frantic whine. The sensation of the stiff bristles vibrating against the taut skin was electric.
"This little piggie stayed home," the Hex sing-songed, her voice a cracked, ghastly lullaby.
She shifted the feather to the second toe. She braced her hand and danced the stiff bristles rapidly over the sensitive stem, right where the skin was thinnest near the webbing. Cassandra’s foot trembled violently in the stock, the muscles in her ankle cording with the effort to pull away. Her muffled cries rose in pitch—Mnnnngh! Hmmph!
"This little piggie had roast beef," the Hex continued, moving to the middle toe. She placed the tip into the webbing at the base before flicking it up the length of the digit. The sensation was maddening. Cassandra’s hips convulsed against the bindings, the leather sleepsack creaking loudly as she tried to escape the sensation crawling up her leg.
"And this little piggie had none," she chided, her voice dropping to a mock-sympathetic whisper.
She attacked the fourth toe. This one was notoriously sensitive. She brushed the feather continuously against the side, tickling the skin between it and the pinky toe. Cassandra’s eyes were squeezed shut, tears streaming down her face, her head throwing back into the pillow. "HMMMPH! HEEEE-GLMPH!" The muffled laughter was desperate, devoid of any humor, purely a reflex to the torture.
The Hex lifted the feather high. She paused. The air in the room was thick with anticipation. Cassandra opened her wet eyes, staring at the instrument of her doom, her chest heaving rapidly beneath the exposed bra cups.
"But... THIS little piggie..."
The Hex lowered the feather slowly. She began to circle the pad of the pinky toe. Just hovering. The anticipation alone made the foot twitch spasmodically. Then she touched it. Lightly. Barely there.
Circle... circle...
Cassandra froze, waiting for the explosion. The suspense was agony.
"Went..."
The Hex waited. One beat. Two beats. Three. Cassandra’s breath hitched in her throat.
"WEE WEE WEE ALL THE WAY HOME!" the Hex shouted, the sudden noise making the student jump in her restraints.
She struck. The feather became a blur on the pinky toe, scrubbing it viciously. Simultaneously, the Hex’s left hand descended like a claw. She used all five sharp, grey nails to rake and dance maniacally over the expanse of the exposed, stretched arch.
Scritch-scratch-scritch-scratch!
"MMMMMMMPH!!!!!"
The scream was muffled but deafening in its intensity. Cassandra convulsed. Her entire body went rigid, bowing upwards against the straps. The dual assault—one focused on the tiny, hyper-sensitive pinky toe, the other ravaging the broad, soft skin of the arch—overloaded her brain instantly.
Behind the gag, she was screaming laughter, a hysterical, unbroken "HEEE-HA-HA-HA-HMMMMPH!" Her face turned a deep, alarming purple. Her feet strained against the cords, the toes pulling so hard against the ties that the skin turned white, but the tickle was inescapable. It was everywhere. It was electric. It was unending.
The Hex watched the sweat pouring off the soles, adding to the slickness that made her nails glide even more agonizingly over the skin.
She stopped abruptly.
The feather halted in mid-air; her hand lifted from the arch. The room fell into a sudden, jarring quiet, broken only by the violent, ragged sounds of Cassandra’s breathing.
The student collapsed back onto the gurney, utterly spent. Her chest heaved with spasmodic jerks as she sucked in desperate lungfuls of air. The oxygen had to fight its way past the ball gag, past the thick, damp mass of socks crammed into her mouth, forcing her to breathe through her nose in whistling, panicked gasps. The taste of the socks must have been overwhelming now—warm, salty, and suffocating.
Tears and sweat mingled on her face, dripping onto the pillow. Her eyes were red-rimmed and pleading as they fixed on the Hex.
The creature waited. She let the silence stretch, let the heart rate slow just enough for the dread to set in.
Then, she held up the feather. The stiff barbs were slightly ruffled from the violence of the last assault.
"So, tell me pet," she asked, her voice silky and cruel. "Would you like me to use the feather on your left foot now?"
Cassandra stared at the feather, then thought about her left foot—splayed, tied, and waiting in the stock. The skin was pale and untouched, trembling in anticipation. She shook her head frantically, her eyes widening. "MMMPH! MMMM-MMMMM!"
It was a desperate, unambiguous NO. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the image of the feather descending on her other sole. Her toes strained against the cords, uselessly trying to curl away from the phantom sensation.
"No? Oooh bad answer pet," the Hex chuckled, the sound harsh and dry like crackling embers.
She dropped the feather onto the metal tray with a clatter. Cassandra’s eyes flew open, a flicker of hope sparking in them—until she saw the hand.
The Hex held it up, palm facing the girl. She flexed her long, grey fingers slowly. The joints popped audibly. The nails were long, curved, and sharp—natural instruments of torture far more precise and invasive than any feather.
"I'll move straight to fingers then."
The hope in Cassandra’s eyes died instantly, strangled by the sight of the Hex’s hand—a skeletal spider flexing its limbs in the dungeon gloom. The trade-off was horrifying: the broad, bristly wash of the feather exchanged for the needle-point precision of the Hex’s grey, bony digits.
Cassandra's left foot was waiting, a masterpiece of forced vulnerability. The toe ties had pulled her digits back to an unnatural angle, stretching the plantar skin tight across the bone structure. The arch was a perfect, pale crescent, glistening with moisture as the adrenaline surged through her system.
The Hex turned her hand palm up, curling her fingers into a relaxed claw.
She brought her hand under the arch.
Lightly, with the barest touch, she began to skitter her nails across the surface.
Click-click-click-click.
She played the skin like a piano. Her nails danced rapidly over the buttery soft flesh, barely depressing the skin but triggering every superficial nerve ending. She roamed from the heel to the ball, focusing relentlessly on the center of the arch where the ticklishness was most concentrated.
"MM-HMMMMPH!!"
Cassandra jolted as if electrified. The sensation of the nails was sharper, more distinct than the feather. It felt like tiny insects scurrying over her skin—an army of tactile static. She tried to jerk her foot away, but the stock held the ankle firm, and the toe ties kept the sole exposed. All she could do was writhe.
"Mmmph! Eeeeee! Hmnnngh!"
The noises behind the gag were pathetic—high-pitched squeals of suppressed laughter and distress. Her body twisted inside the leather sleepsack, seeking an escape that didn't exist. The Hex watched the toes twitch violently against the cords, turning red with the exertion, as her nails continue their maddening, light spider-walk across the sole.
"Bet you wished you asked for the feather now, eh pet?" the Hex cooed, enjoying the frantic dance of the restrained limb.
She shifted her target. Her nails glided upwards, leaving the arch to attack the ball of the foot. Thanks to the toe ties pulling the digits backward, the skin here was stretched incredibly tight, taut as a drumhead. It was firm, smooth, and hyper-sensitive.
She skated her nails over it—light, fast scratches that zipped back and forth across the metatarsal pads.
Zzzzip-zzzzip-zzzzip.
"MMMPH! HMMM-HAAAA!"
Cassandra’s head thrashed on the pillow. The sensation on the stretched skin was excruciatingly sharp. It sent shivering jolts straight up her calf. Her eyes were squeezed shut so tight that stars must be exploding behind her eyelids. She nodded frantically—a desperate, weeping affirmative. Yes. Yes, the feather. Anything but the nails.
But it was too late for bargaining. The Hex dug a little deeper, scratching circles into the pads just below the second and third toes, exploiting the tension of the skin to create a vibration that rattled the bones. The laughter trapped behind the gag became a continuous, gurgling moan of overstimulation.
The Hex’s nails crept higher, inching past the ball of the foot and moving dangerously close to the base of the splayed toes. She reached the tender webbing, the soft, pale skin stretched to its limit between the digits. She lightly grazed the area between the second and third toe.
"MMMPH!! MMMM!!!"
Cassandra went berserk. Her leg kicked violently in the wooden stock, the wood rattling against the frame. Her entire body convulsed in the sleepsack, a wave of pure panic washing over her. The webbing was the danger zone—the point of no return.
"What is it pet? Want me to stop tickling this foot?" the Hex asked innocently, pausing her nails right at the precipice.
Cassandra nodded furiously, her head banging against the pillow. "MMM-HMMM! MMMM!" Tears were flowing freely now, mixing with the sweat and the dried vomit on her cheek. She looked at the creature with desperate, pleading eyes, begging for the torture on her left foot to cease.
"Very well."
The Hex lifted her hand abruptly. The contact broke.
Cassandra slumped back into the pillow, her body going limp with relief. She drew in a deep, shuddering gasp through her nose, the sound wheezing past the obstruction of the socks and gag. For a fraction of a second, she believed she has been granted a reprieve. She closed her eyes, her chest heaving as she tried to regulate her screaming nerves.
Strike.
In the exact moment of her exhale, the Hex lunged.
Her left hand dived for the right foot—the one she had tortured with the feather earlier. She jammed her sharp nails ruthlessly deep into the sensitive webbing between the toes. She didn't scratch; she wiggled them frantically, digging into the soft crevices.
Simultaneously, her right hand descended on the arch of the same foot. She skated her nails wildly over the damp, sweaty curve, scratching hard and fast.
"MMMMMMMPH!!!!!!"
The scream that tore from Cassandra's throat was muffled but horrific. The shock of the renewed assault—on the foot she thought was safe, with double the intensity—shattered her composure instantly.
Her spine snapped into a high, rigid bow, peeling her upper back off the mattress while the lower leather casing creaked ominously, absorbing the brute force of her trapped struggle. Her eyes bulged open, wide with betrayal and agony. The sensation was overwhelming: sharp nails digging into the tender webbing while others ravaged the arch. It was a sensory overload on a single limb.
"HMMPH-HEEE-HAAA-HAAAA!!"
Her laughter was a breathless, frantic shriek behind the gag. Her right foot spasmed uncontrollably in the stock, the toes yanking against the ties, but the Hex’s hands were relentless. She was grinding the sensation into the girl, exploiting every nerve ending in the exhausted sole. Cassandra shook her head wildly, begging silently, but the Hex was lost in the rhythm of the torture, a blur of grey hands and cruelty.
The Hex continued the assault for minutes that must have felt like hours to the student. She was relentless, her nails digging, scratching, and tormenting the soft, yielding flesh of the right foot until the skin was red and inflamed. Cassandra’s screams and forced laughter merged into a continuous, exhausting drone of misery, vibrating through the damp socks stuffed in her mouth. She was drowning in sensation, trapped in a feedback loop of sweat, taste, and agony.
Then, just as abruptly as it began, the Hex stopped.
She pulled her hands away. Cassandra’s leg fell limp in the stock, twitching with aftershocks. She was gasping, her chest heaving violently, sounds of weak, whimpering distress leaking from behind the gag.
The Hex walked to the head of the gurney. Cassandra tracked her with dull, terrified eyes. She looked broken, her face a mess of fluids.
The creature reached behind the head and undid the buckle. Click.
She pulled the strap free. The red ball popped out of the mouth, followed immediately by the two socks. She hooked a finger and fished them out. They emerged wet, heavy, and compressed, dripping with saliva and the essence of the fear.
Cassandra’s mouth fell open. She sucked in a massive, ragged breath of air, coughing and spluttering.
"Hah... hah... oh god... cough... oh god..." Her voice was raw, shredded by the screaming. "Please... please no more... I can't... I can't take it..."
She lolled her head to the side, spitting out the remaining taste of the socks. "It hurts... it tickles... please..."
The Hex turned to the metal tray and picked up a dusty glass carafe filled with a clear, innocent-looking liquid. Beside it sat a simple glass tumbler. She poured the water; it sparkled under the harsh sodium lights, looking like the most precious substance on earth. The sound of the liquid hitting the glass was crisp and cool in the stifling dungeon air.
"Would you like a drink?" the Hex asked, holding the glass out, the condensation already forming on the rim.
Cassandra looked at the water, and a desperate craving washed over her face. Her throat was raw, her mouth tasted of dirty socks and vomit, and she was dehydrated from the intense sweating.
"Yes... yes, please," she rasped, trying to lift her head toward the glass. "Please... I'm so thirsty."
The Hex set the carafe and the glass down with a deliberate clink, keeping them in Cassandra's eyeline. She turned back to the tray, her long fingers bypassing the water and grasping the small, ominous vial filled with glowing green liquid.
The Draft of Hyperesthesia.
She held the vial up to the light. The liquid swirled with an unnatural viscosity, shimmering with an electric malice.
"I will give you water, right after you drink this, dear," she said, her voice smooth and non-negotiable.
Cassandra stared at the vial, her eyes widening in horror as she sensed the danger radiating from the small bottle. The promise of water was a powerful lure, but the threat of the green potion was terrifying.
"No..." she whispered, shrinking back into the pillow. "What is that? No... please, just the water... I'll do anything else... don't make me drink that..."
She looked between the cool, clear water and the glowing green neon in the creature's hand, trapped in a cruel dilemma. Her tongue darted out to wet her cracked lips, the thirst warring with her fear.
"Make you?" the Hex asked, feigning hurt. "I am merely offering a deal. The choice is yours, Cassandra."
"You are saying you don't want the water?" The Hex asked as she lifted the glass of water high, positioning it directly between her skeletal face and the girl's. The light refracted through the clear liquid, magnifying the cool promise of relief. She swirled it gently. The water sloshed, a tantalizing sound of hydration.
"It looks so crisp... so refreshing," she murmured from behind the glass. "Imagine how it would feel washing away that nasty taste in your mouth. Cooling your throat."
She tilted the glass slightly, letting a single drop spill over the lip. It fell, landing with a tiny splash on Cassandra's cheek.
The student flinched at the coolness, her eyes tracking the drop as it rolled down her skin. She was parched. Her body was screaming for it.
Then the Hex pulled the glass back and tipped it onto the floor. "of course if you don't want it..." she said, reaching for the carafe.
"NO!" Cassandra screamed, watching the Hex lift the carafe.
"No? So you do want the water then?" The Hex asked.
"I... I do..." she sobbed, her resolve crumbling under the weight of her biological needs. "I want it... please..."
She looked at the green vial in the Hex's other hand with dread, but hunger and thirst were primal forces. "Just... just a little sip... then the water? You promise?"
"Of course," the Hex assured her, a smile spreading across her skeletal features that Cassandra could not fully see through her tears.
The Hex brought the green vial to the trembling lips. Cassandra opened her mouth hesitantly, flinching as the glass rim touched her teeth. The Hex tilted it with precision.
Drip. Drip. Drip.
Three glowing green drops fell onto Cassandra’s tongue. They sizzled slightly as they hit the saliva, releasing a microscopic puff of vapor that smelled of ozone and crushed mint. She swallowed convulsively, her face contorting at the taste—bitter, metallic, like licking the terminals of a leaking battery.
"Gah... ugh..." she sputtered, squeezing her eyes shut.
Immediately, the Hex swapped the vial for the carafe. She was true to her word, a devil keeping a contract. She tilted the carafe and poured the cool, clear water into the student's open mouth.
Cassandra gulped it down greedily. "Gulp... gulp... ahh..." Water spilled down her chin, washing away the vomit residue, soaking the frayed collar of the leather sleepsack and spilling over her exposed chest. She drank and drank, draining half the carafe in seconds, desperate to wash away the electric taste of the potion and quench her raging thirst.
"Thank you... thank you..." she gasped between swallows, closing her eyes in momentary bliss.
But even as the water hit her stomach, the Draft of Hyperesthesia began to work. It bypassed digestion, entering her bloodstream instantly. Deep in her nervous system, the barriers were dissolving. Her skin resistance dropped to zero. Every nerve ending in her body woke up, amplified, screaming for input. The sensation of the water coolly sliding down her throat suddenly felt intensely cold, almost burning—like swallowing liquid nitrogen. The rough texture of the wool sweater scraps under the sleepsack began to feel like sandpaper rubbing against raw flesh. The leather of the sack felt heavier, tighter, crushing her.
She lowered her head, panting. "It... it tastes weird..." she whispered, her eyes fluttering open.
She looked at the Hex. Her pupils dilated rapidly, swallowing the green of her irises until her eyes were black pools. The world sharpened. She could see the individual pores on the Hex’s grey skin. She could hear the hum of the sodium lights as a deafening roar.
"Why... why does the air feel so... loud?" she whimpered, shrinking back.
The Hex placed the empty carafe on the tray. Clink.
To Cassandra, the sound was a gunshot. She flinched violently, a high-pitched "Eeep!" escaping her lips.
"The volume is set to maximum, my dear," the Hex whispered. Even the whisper sounded like a rock slide in Cassandra’s ears.
The creature walked back to the foot of the gurney. The sound of her footsteps echoed like thunderclaps—BOOM, BOOM, BOOM—against the stone floor. Cassandra flinched with every impact, her breath coming in short, terrified gasps. The air in the room felt thick, heavy, pressing against her exposed skin like a physical weight.
The Hex reached the stocks. She picked up the black feather from the tray, twirling it ominously in her fingers. Cassandra let out a whimper, the sound vibrating in her own throat with terrifying clarity.
"Please..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "My skin... it feels... prickly. Like... like static electricity is crawling on me."
The Hex ignored her. She leaned down, bringing her skeletal face uncomfortably close to the right foot. The toes were splayed wide by the cords, exposing the tender, pink webbing between the second and third digits—the exact spot the Hex had ravaged moments ago.
The creature didn't use the feather. Not yet.
Instead, she pursed her dry, grey lips. She aimed carefully at the damp, stretched skin of the webbing.
She blew. A soft, steady stream of air.
Whooooo.
"IYAAAAAAAIEEEEEEEE!!!!"
The reaction was catastrophic. Cassandra screamed a sound that wasn't human—it was a shrill, piercing shriek of pure sensory overload.
Her body spasmed with such violent, hydrostatic force that the heavy leather casing let out a deafening, dry shriek, stretching to its absolute physical limit. The iron buckles groaned under the sudden torque, straining against the bolts, but the Constrictor held her fast. She was vibrating so hard she blurred.
"IT BURNS! IT BURNS! WHAT DID YOU DO?! AHA-HA-HA! IT'S TOO MUCH!"
She convulsed against the bindings wildly, her head whipping back and forth on the pillow with blinding speed. That simple puff of air, amplified a thousand times by the Hyperesthesia, didn't feel like wind. To her potion-ravaged nerves, it felt like a belt sander made of ice and electricity grinding directly into her raw nerves. The sensation shooting up her leg was blinding, white-hot, and unbearable.
"MAKE IT STOP! THE AIR! THE AIR IS HURTING ME! AHA-HA-HA! PLEASE!"
She was sobbing and laughing hysterically, her chest heaving as even the friction of her own clothes against her skin became an agonizing tickle. Her foot vibrated in the stock, every tendon standing out like a steel cable as she tried to retract her toes from the "pain" of the Hex's breath.
"Mmmmm, I love this bit," the Hex murmured against the sole of the foot. The vibration of her voice alone traveled through the skin like a jackhammer, causing the toes to twitch violently in their bindings.
The Hex extended her tongue. The transformation had changed this part of her, too; it was long, grey, and coated in rough, enlarged papillae, like the tongue of a large predatory cat or coarse sandpaper.
She pressed the flat of her tongue against the center of Cassandra’s heel.
Ssssshhhhlick.
She dragged it slowly, ruthlessly upward.
"GYAAAAAAAAAAH!!!"
Cassandra’s head slammed back into the gurney with a sickening thud. Her eyes rolled back into her head, showing only whites. To her hyper-sensitized nerves, the tongue did not feel like flesh. It felt like a rasp made of hot iron and wet gravel being dragged slowly up the length of her foot. The texture caught on every microscopic ridge of her skin, sending blinding, white-hot bolts of ticklish agony shooting straight up her sciatic nerve.
"IT'S PEELING! IT FEELS LIKE YOU'RE PEELING ME! AHA-HA-HA-HA-HA! STOP! STOP!"
The Hex ignored the shrieks, enjoying the salty tang of the hyper-produced sweat. She reached the ball of the foot, swirling her tongue over the pads, before targeting the toes.
She wrapped her lips around the big toe and sucked.
Pop.
"HNGGGGH-HEEE-HEEE!"
The Hex lapped at it, swirling her rough tongue around the circumference of the digit. Then the next. And the next. She treated the toes like lollipops, slobbering and grinding her textured tongue into the webs and under the joints.
Cassandra was disintegrating. The sensation of the wet suction combined with the sandpaper texture was beyond endurance. Her body was rigid, vibrating at a frequency that blurred her outline. Urine flooded the sleepsack—she had lost bladder control from the sheer intensity of the sensory overload.
"KILL ME! JUST KILL ME! I CAN'T TAKE IT! AHA-HA-HA-HA! PLEASE! IT'S TOO MUCH! IT'S EVERYWHERE!"
She was laughing, but it was the sound of a mind fracturing. It was a high, continuous, weeping shriek that barely paused for breath. Her splayed toes were pulling against the cords with enough force to threaten dislocation, but the Hex just kept lapping, slurping, and tasting the absolute ruin of her composure.
The Hex glided to the left side of the stocks, her movements fluid and predatory. Cassandra’s left foot hung there, pale and glistening, the toes stretched wide by the cruel cords. She saw the creature move, her chest hitching in anticipation, but her eyes were glassy, dilated pupils swallowing the iris as the potion re-wired her brain.
The Hex leaned in. She pressed her broad, sandpaper-rough tongue against the base of the left heel.
Rrrrasp.
She dragged it slowly, heavily up the arch.
"AAAAHH—uhhhnnngh!"
The sound was different this time. It pierced the hysterical laughter, a deep, guttural moan that bubbled up from Cassandra's chest. The Hyperesthesia had stripped away the barriers between pain, tickle, and arousal. To her overloaded nerves, the sensation of the warm, wet, rough muscle gliding over her sole was agonizingly intense, but it was also overwhelmingly intimate. It felt hot. It felt wet. It felt violating in a way that sparked a dark, confused fire in her belly.
The Hex felt reaction through the foot. The ankle didn't just jerk away in pain; it flexed, pressing down into the tongue for a split second before pulling back. Cassandra's hips were locked in a frantic, localized vibration, grinding wetly against the urine-soaked leather in a desperate, microscopic rhythm that went nowhere.
"Oh? What was that sound, pet?" the Hex teased, vibrating her voice against the sole.
She reached the ball of the foot and swirled her tongue flat against the pads. Then, she engulfed the big toe. She sucked hard, her cheeks hollowing as she created a tight vacuum.
Schllluck. Pop.
"OH GOD! HNNG! AHA-HA-HA! IT FEELS SO WEIRD! PLEASE!"
Cassandra threw her head back, biting her lip until it bled. The sensation of the tongue swirling around her toe sent lightning bolts straight to her groin. Her body was betraying her completely. The tickle was so intense it edged into a blinding, white-hot pleasure that she vividly hated but cannot stop.
The Hex moved to the webbing. She darted her tip in and out, flickering like a snake.
Lick-lick-lick-lick.
"AAH! HAA-HAA-HAAA! OOOOH! STOP! NO! MORE!"
Her words were a jumbled mess of contradictions. She was weeping with shame, tears streaming down her face, but her body arched, her breasts heaved, her pelvis snapped upward with every flick of the tongue. The Hex was systematically breaking her, turning her own nervous system into a traitor that confused torture with ecstasy.
The Hex was vibrating with the energy of the feed. She could taste the chemical fire of the Hyperesthesia radiating off Cassandra’s skin—a spicy, electric tang that mixed with the salty, fermented sweetness of foot sweat.
She buried her face into the arch of the left foot again. Her rough, sandpaper tongue flattened out, covering the entire width of the sole. She pressed down hard, engaging the deep muscles, and swirled.
Slurp-rrrasp-schhhlick.
"AAH! OH GOD! IT'S TOO WET! IT'S HOT! AHA-HA-HA!"
Cassandra’s hips locked into a blur of isometric tension against the leather straps. She was trying to buck, but the restraint turned the movement into a frantic, grinding vibration against the mattress. The sensation was a paradox that her potion-addled brain couldn't solve: the Hex’s tongue was an abrasive file stripping her nerves bare, yet the wet heat of it mirrored an intimate oral act. The tickle was so intense it wrapped all the way around the spectrum to a blinding, thumping arousal.
"Please! Please let me... I need to..." Cassandra sobbed, her words disjointed. Her pelvis ground frantically into the mattress, seeking friction, seeking release from the tension coiling in her belly. "I need to... Haaa-ha! Cum! Let me cum!"
The Hex pulled back, a string of saliva connecting her grey lip to the girl’s heel. She looked up along the length of the straining body, her coal-pit eyes narrowing.
"Cum?" she repeated, the word dripping with mockery. "You wish to find relief in the midst of my punishment? You wish to turn this into a little orgasm to dump the tension?"
She moved her mouth to the big toe. She didn't suck this time. She opened her jaws and clamped her hexagonal, translucent front teeth gently onto the sensitive pad of the toe. She bit down. Not to pierce, but to pinch the nerve cluster tight.
"NEEEEE-YAAAGH!"
Cassandra’s leg went rigid, the muscle definition carving out stark shadows in the dungeon light.
"Satisfaction is a currency," the Hex hissed, the vibration traveling through the toe bone. "And you are bankrupt."
She released the toe and dragged her chin—sharp and bony—down the length of the sole, scraping the sensitive skin.
"No escape," she whispered.
The Hex raised her hand. Her nails were long, curved shards of glass-hard keratin. She let them hover over the glistening, slobber-covered sole of the right foot. The skin was softened by the saliva, pink and pulsing with blood.
She struck.
She didn't use the tips. She used the backs of her fingernails, dragging them slowly from the toes down to the heel.
Squee-eee-eee-eee.
"SCREEEEAM! AHA-HA-HA-HA! NO! NOT THE NAILS! NOT THE NAILS!"
The sensation was excruciatingly specific. The Hyperesthesia took the light tactile input and amplified it into a jagged, electric saw. Cassandra felt every ridge of the Hex’s nails, every microscopic vibration as they skated over her dermatoglyphics.
"It’s too sharp! It’s slicing me! AHA-HA-HA! STOP!"
Cassandra’s head thrashed so violently that her vision began to swim. The dungeon ceiling—the rust, the pipes, the flickering sodium bulb—began to blur into a grey smear. A welcoming darkness encroached on the edges of her vision. Her brain, unable to process the overload of the tickle, the arousal, and the terror, initiated its emergency shutdown protocol. Faint, it whispered. Just go to sleep.
Her eyelids fluttered. Her head lolled. The screaming stopped for a microsecond as the grey fog of unconsciousness rolled in to save her.
ZZZ-ZAP.
The Draft of Hyperesthesia slammed into her brain stem like a chemical defibrillator.
"GASSSSP!"
Cassandra’s eyes snapped open, flying wide, the pupils blown huge. The potion denied her the mercy of the void. It flooded her system with a jagged, artificial lucidity. The grey borders of her vision vanished, replaced by a clarity that was terrifyingly high-definition.
She could feel the dust motes settling on her eyelashes. She could hear the blood rushing in her ears like a roaring waterfall. She was awake. Horribly, painfully, surgically awake.
"Oh no... oh no, no, no..." she whimpered, realizing what had happened. "I can't... I can't pass out. Why can't I pass out?"
The Hex chuckled, a dry sound like rattling bones. She was watching the internal struggle with fascination.
"The Draft binds you to the waking world, little student," the Hex explained, returning her nails to the arch of the foot. She began to scratch circles, digging in slightly. Scritch-scratch. "It effectively removes the 'off' switch. You will experience every single millisecond of this. There will be no fading. There will be no drifting away."
"AHA-HA-HA! PLEASE! LET ME SLEEP! JUST LET ME SLEEP!"
Cassandra wept hysterically, the laughter bubbling up through the sobs as the scratching intensified. She was trapped in a cage of her own heightened senses, forced to be a witness to her own unraveling.
The Hex stopped scratching for a moment. She stood up to her full, looming height. She looked down at the convulsing, sweating, hyper-aware wreckage of the girl.
"Sleep?" the Hex mused, glancing at an hourglass on the far wall that hadn't even begun to turn.
She leaned down, her skeletal grin inches from Cassandra’s trembling feet.
"We have barely broken the seal on the evening, my dear. The potion has a half-life of six hours."
Cassandra’s scream was cut off by a fresh wave of hysterical laughter as the Hex’s fingers descended once more, locking onto the tender nerves of her soles.
"And I intend to use every... single... minute."
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