trickshotz20
Registered User
- Joined
- Apr 6, 2025
- Messages
- 10
- Points
- 3
Matt slumped in his front-row seat at the dimly lit theater, surrounded by his rowdy work buddies who had dragged him here after a long shift at the construction site. The air smelled of stale popcorn and cheap perfume, and the crowd buzzed with anticipation for the main act. His size 13 boots still carried the grime and sweat from hauling rebar all day, his thick socks clinging damply to his large, meaty feet. He crossed his arms over his broad chest, his skeptical scowl deepening as the stage lights flared to life. Out stepped the magnificent Charlie, a young and strikingly attractive woman with long, loose brown hair cascading over her shoulders like a silken waterfall. Her subtle makeup accentuated her sharp green eyes and full lips, and a tantalizing glimpse of a intricate tattoo peeked from the V-neck of her white shirt—a swirling design of roses and thorns that hinted at hidden depths. She wore a tailored black top hat perched jauntily on her head, paired with a fitted black tailcoat adorned with gleaming metallic buttons that caught the spotlight. Beneath it, a deep red vest hugged her curves, matched by a crisp red bow tie that added a pop of color to her sleek black pants and polished black heeled ankle boots. Her manicured black nails gleamed as she gripped her wand, exuding an air of confident allure that had the audience applauding wildly.
Charlie launched into her show with flair, making cards vanish and reappear, levitating objects with dramatic sweeps of her arms, and even conjuring illusions of fire that danced harmlessly around her. But Matt remained stone-faced, rolling his eyes at each trick. 'Seen it all before,' he muttered to his buddy Jake, who elbowed him to shut up. The rest of the crowd oohed and aahed, but Matt's boredom was palpable, his alpha-male posture screaming disbelief. Charlie's eyes scanned the front row during her patter, landing on Matt's unimpressed glare. A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, but she masked it with a sly smile. 'This one's got manners to learn,' she thought, deciding he'd be perfect for her finale.
For the grand closing act, Charlie's assistants wheeled out the classic sawing cabinet—a tall, wooden box with slots for head and feet to protrude. She paced the stage, her heeled boots clicking sharply, and pointed her wand toward the audience. 'I need a volunteer! Someone brave, someone bold!' Hands shot up everywhere, but her gaze locked on Matt. 'You there, in the front row—the tall one with the skeptical smirk. Yes, you!' Matt's buddies hooted and shoved him, chanting 'Go on, Matt! Don't be a pussy!' Pressure mounting, he grumbled and stood, lumbering onstage amid cheers. 'Fine, whatever. Let's get this cliché over with,' he said, half-heartedly waving as Charlie guided him into the cabinet. She secured the panels around his body, his head poking out one end and his large feet out the other, ankles locked in place. The crowd leaned in, excited.
Charlie leaned down close to Matt's face, her brown hair brushing his cheek, her red bow tie inches from his nose. Her voice was smooth, teasing. 'I get the impression that you don’t believe in my magic, do you?' Matt met her eyes with a cocky grin, his deep voice booming. 'I believe your magic is absolutely bullshit. Let’s just get this over with," while taken a quick look down the magician’s cleavage. If he'd been watching her closely, he might've caught the furrow of indignation in her brow, the way her manicured black nails tightened on her wand. But before he could react, she straightened up with a flourish, addressing the roaring audience. 'Ladies and gentlemen, witness the impossible! This skeptic will be divided and conquered—proving my magic is utterly real!' With theatrical grace, she grabbed his size 13 boots and yanked them off one by one, the heavy leather thudding to the stage. Matt blinked in confusion. 'Hey, what the—?'
But Charlie wasn't done. She produced a pair of sharp scissors from her tailcoat pocket, the metallic buttons glinting as she snipped through his thick, sweat-dampened socks. The fabric tore easily, revealing his massive, meaty size 13 feet—bare soles pale and slightly reddened from the day's labor, toes flexing involuntarily in the cool air, a faint sheen of sweat making them glisten under the lights. The crowd gasped and chuckled as the scent of his musky foot sweat wafted faintly. Charlie ran a black-nailed finger along one arch, smirking. 'Oh my, look at these beasts! Size 13 monsters, still dripping with sweat from whatever hard labor kept our volunteer so... grounded. But tonight, they'll dance to my tune!' Matt's face flushed with embarrassment, his buddies in the front row howling with laughter. 'Dude, your feet are huge!' Jake yelled. Mortified, Matt tugged at his restraints, but the cabinet held firm.
Ignoring his protests, Charlie raised her saw high, the blade gleaming. 'Behold the division!' She plunged it down, slicing through the box with precise, grinding strokes. The audience held its breath as the cabinet split open, Matt's body seemingly severed—his head at one end, his wriggling feet at the other, perfectly detached yet alive. Gasps turned to applause; it looked impossibly real. Matt's mouth hung agape in shock, his eyes wide as he stared at his 'severed' lower half. 'What the fuck...?' But Charlie waved off the awe, her voice booming. 'To prove this magic is no illusion, we'll test the volunteer's... sensitivity! Everything you see is real—especially his reactions!' She approached his detached feet, which twitched helplessly, and pulled an ostrich plume feather duster from her vest. The soft, fluffy strands quivered as she dragged it lightly across his right arch.
Matt's reaction was instantaneous. His head snapped back, a guttural howl escaping his lips as laughter exploded from his chest. 'Hahahaha! No—stop that! Fuck, that's—HAHAHA!' The feather duster swirled mercilessly over his hypersensitive soles, teasing the balls of his feet, dipping into the wrinkles of his arches, and fluttering between his long toes. His meaty peds bucked and curled, but the restraints kept them exposed, wriggling futilely. The sensation was electric, sending waves of uncontrollable giggles through his body, his broad frame shaking the cabinet halves. The crowd erupted—thousands of voices blending into a deafening roar of applause, laughter, and jeers. 'Look at him squirm!' someone shouted. 'Big tough guy can't handle a little tickle!' Matt's face burned crimson, his alpha-male pride crumbling under the public scrutiny as he begged through peals of cackling. 'Please—mercy! Hahaha, shit!'
Charlie tried to wrap it up with a bow, but the audience's hype was infectious. 'Encore! More! Make him laugh!' they chanted, refusing to let the moment end. Grinning wickedly, she obliged, waving her wand dramatically. 'As I command, so it appears!' Feathers materialized in her hand—soft, wispy ones that she stroked along his heels and insteps—followed by buzzing electric toothbrushes that she pressed vibrating bristles into the tender undersides of his toes. The whirring heads danced over his sweaty soles, the vibrations amplifying every nerve. Matt thrashed, his howls turning high-pitched and desperate. 'AHAHA! Stop—oh god, the brushes! No more—please!' Then came the hairbrushes, stiff bristles raking roughly across his arches, scratching and prickling in a way that drove him insane. His feet spasmed, toes splaying wide then clenching tight, sweat beading anew as the tools tormented every inch. Charlie ignored his pleas, her laughter light and teasing as she worked the implements with expert precision.
Setting the tools aside, Charlie knelt by his feet, her black-nailed fingers hovering. 'Now, for the personal touch!' She raked her freshly manicured black nails down both soles, spidering them from heel to toe in relentless scratches. The sharp tips dug just enough to ignite his nerves without breaking skin, tracing circles around his arches and flicking under his toes. Matt bucked wildly inside the cabinet, his body bouncing against the wood. 'HAHAHAHA! Not the nails—fuck, that's worse! Let me out!' Charlie threw her head back and laughed, her brown hair swaying. 'Oh, look at you, big man—struggling like a trapped worm! So pathetic, knowing you can't escape a thing. The crowd loves it!' Indeed, the audience was in stitches, pointing and cheering as Matt's deep voice cracked into squeals.
To amp up the humiliation, Charlie turned to the crowd, her top hat tilting playfully. 'Shall we make this interactive? Everyone, join in—chant with me: Everybody say, 'Tickle, tickle, tickle! Cootchie cootchie coo!'' The theater echoed with the rhythmic chant, hands clapping in unison as laughter swelled. Matt's ears burned, his head shaking side to side. 'No—don't you dare!' But Charlie waved volunteers onstage one by one. First, two single drunk women in tight dresses, giggling as they stumbled up. The blonde grabbed a feather and swept it between his toes, while the brunette used her long nails to scribble on his left sole. 'He's so sensitive!' the blonde slurred, making Matt shriek. Next, a very old woman with wrinkled hands and a mischievous grin shuffled forward, her gnarled fingers poking and prodding his arches slowly but firmly. 'Tickly boy, aren't ya?' she cackled, drawing wheezes from Matt.
Then came a flamboyant gay man in a sparkly shirt, eyes lighting up. 'Oh honey, I couldn't resist!' He knelt and ran his fingers lightly over Matt's soles, then leaned in, planting soft kisses on the balls of his feet before licking teasingly along the arches. His tongue was warm and wet, swirling around toes that Matt couldn't curl away from. 'Mmm, salty from all that sweat—delicious!' Matt's laughter mixed with horrified gasps, his body arching. 'Get off—haha—fucking hell!' A couple of Matt's work colleagues followed, Jake first, using an electric toothbrush with glee. 'Payback for doubting the show, bro!' More strangers joined—a burly guy with rough fingers, a giggling teen with a hairbrush—each taking turns tormenting his trapped, ticklish soles. Matt couldn't see a thing from his end of the cabinet, blind to the faces but feeling every stroke, scratch, lick, and buzz on his hypersensitive feet. His muscles ached from straining, tears streaming from laughter, pride shattered.
Charlie was about to call it when a thud echoed from inside the cabinet. Curious, she opened a small shaft panel just above Matt's groin. There, bulging obscenely through his work pants, was a massive tent—his cock rock-hard and throbbing, a dark wet spot of pre-cum soaking the fabric. Matt's face went from red to purple, mortified. 'Oh god—no...' he whimpered between residual giggles. Charlie's eyes sparkled with triumph. 'Ladies and gentlemen, for the grand finale—proof of magic's true power!' She unzipped his pants slowly, the crowd hushing in anticipation, then tugged them down to expose his thick, veiny cock—fully erect, the tip glistening with pre-cum, balls tight and heavy. It twitched in the open air, betraying his arousal amid the torment.
Waving her wand once more, Charlie summoned feathers and an electric toothbrush to the stage. She dragged the soft plumes up and down his shaft, teasing the sensitive underside and circling the swollen head, while the toothbrush buzzed against his tip, vibrations sending shocks through his length. At the same time, her black nails returned to his feet, raking furiously over soles and toes. The dual assault overwhelmed Matt—tickling madness below clashing with stroking pleasure above. 'AHAHA—oh fuck! Stop—can't—gonna...' He could barely form words, his body convulsing, hips bucking involuntarily. The feathers flicked his frenulum, the brush hummed on his slit, and nails scratched his arches relentlessly. Pressure built unbearably, and with a strangled cry, Matt exploded—cum erupting in thick ropes like a fountain, splattering across his shirt and the stage. The crowd went berserk, applauding thunderously, some whistling, others cheering the erotic spectacle.
Delirious and spent, Matt panted and giggled from phantom tickles still prickling his arches and toes, his cock softening in the aftermath. He barely registered Charlie taking her bow, the curtain falling amid wild acclaim. Assistants carted the reassembled cabinet—now whole, magic intact—offstage to the theater basement. The cool, dimly lit space smelled of dust and old props as they wheeled him in. Charlie followed, locking the door with a click. Matt, freed but too exhausted to stand, slumped against the wall, chest heaving. 'What the hell was that? You crazy bitch—'
But Charlie knelt beside him, her tailcoat brushing the floor, a predatory smile on her lips. She opened a large chest nearby, revealing a terrifying arsenal: feathers of every size, vibrating wands, brushes, lotions for sensitizing skin, restraints, and more—tools designed for endless tickle torment. 'Oh, Matt, you're a natural. No volunteer's ever riled the crowd to such a fever pitch. That erection? The way you came like a geyser? Pure magic.' She traced a nail along his bare sole, making him flinch and giggle weakly. 'Join me for the tour. Travel with me—I'll teach you to crave it, every stroke, every laugh. Admit it: my magic's real.' Matt shivered, the aftershocks stirring unwanted tingles. Resistance crumbled under her gaze, the humiliation morphing into reluctant thrill. 'Fine... it's real. Fuck, it's real. Just... don't stop?'
Charlie laughed, pulling him into the chest's shadow. 'Good boy. Now, let's practice your submission.'
Charlie launched into her show with flair, making cards vanish and reappear, levitating objects with dramatic sweeps of her arms, and even conjuring illusions of fire that danced harmlessly around her. But Matt remained stone-faced, rolling his eyes at each trick. 'Seen it all before,' he muttered to his buddy Jake, who elbowed him to shut up. The rest of the crowd oohed and aahed, but Matt's boredom was palpable, his alpha-male posture screaming disbelief. Charlie's eyes scanned the front row during her patter, landing on Matt's unimpressed glare. A flicker of annoyance crossed her face, but she masked it with a sly smile. 'This one's got manners to learn,' she thought, deciding he'd be perfect for her finale.
For the grand closing act, Charlie's assistants wheeled out the classic sawing cabinet—a tall, wooden box with slots for head and feet to protrude. She paced the stage, her heeled boots clicking sharply, and pointed her wand toward the audience. 'I need a volunteer! Someone brave, someone bold!' Hands shot up everywhere, but her gaze locked on Matt. 'You there, in the front row—the tall one with the skeptical smirk. Yes, you!' Matt's buddies hooted and shoved him, chanting 'Go on, Matt! Don't be a pussy!' Pressure mounting, he grumbled and stood, lumbering onstage amid cheers. 'Fine, whatever. Let's get this cliché over with,' he said, half-heartedly waving as Charlie guided him into the cabinet. She secured the panels around his body, his head poking out one end and his large feet out the other, ankles locked in place. The crowd leaned in, excited.
Charlie leaned down close to Matt's face, her brown hair brushing his cheek, her red bow tie inches from his nose. Her voice was smooth, teasing. 'I get the impression that you don’t believe in my magic, do you?' Matt met her eyes with a cocky grin, his deep voice booming. 'I believe your magic is absolutely bullshit. Let’s just get this over with," while taken a quick look down the magician’s cleavage. If he'd been watching her closely, he might've caught the furrow of indignation in her brow, the way her manicured black nails tightened on her wand. But before he could react, she straightened up with a flourish, addressing the roaring audience. 'Ladies and gentlemen, witness the impossible! This skeptic will be divided and conquered—proving my magic is utterly real!' With theatrical grace, she grabbed his size 13 boots and yanked them off one by one, the heavy leather thudding to the stage. Matt blinked in confusion. 'Hey, what the—?'
But Charlie wasn't done. She produced a pair of sharp scissors from her tailcoat pocket, the metallic buttons glinting as she snipped through his thick, sweat-dampened socks. The fabric tore easily, revealing his massive, meaty size 13 feet—bare soles pale and slightly reddened from the day's labor, toes flexing involuntarily in the cool air, a faint sheen of sweat making them glisten under the lights. The crowd gasped and chuckled as the scent of his musky foot sweat wafted faintly. Charlie ran a black-nailed finger along one arch, smirking. 'Oh my, look at these beasts! Size 13 monsters, still dripping with sweat from whatever hard labor kept our volunteer so... grounded. But tonight, they'll dance to my tune!' Matt's face flushed with embarrassment, his buddies in the front row howling with laughter. 'Dude, your feet are huge!' Jake yelled. Mortified, Matt tugged at his restraints, but the cabinet held firm.
Ignoring his protests, Charlie raised her saw high, the blade gleaming. 'Behold the division!' She plunged it down, slicing through the box with precise, grinding strokes. The audience held its breath as the cabinet split open, Matt's body seemingly severed—his head at one end, his wriggling feet at the other, perfectly detached yet alive. Gasps turned to applause; it looked impossibly real. Matt's mouth hung agape in shock, his eyes wide as he stared at his 'severed' lower half. 'What the fuck...?' But Charlie waved off the awe, her voice booming. 'To prove this magic is no illusion, we'll test the volunteer's... sensitivity! Everything you see is real—especially his reactions!' She approached his detached feet, which twitched helplessly, and pulled an ostrich plume feather duster from her vest. The soft, fluffy strands quivered as she dragged it lightly across his right arch.
Matt's reaction was instantaneous. His head snapped back, a guttural howl escaping his lips as laughter exploded from his chest. 'Hahahaha! No—stop that! Fuck, that's—HAHAHA!' The feather duster swirled mercilessly over his hypersensitive soles, teasing the balls of his feet, dipping into the wrinkles of his arches, and fluttering between his long toes. His meaty peds bucked and curled, but the restraints kept them exposed, wriggling futilely. The sensation was electric, sending waves of uncontrollable giggles through his body, his broad frame shaking the cabinet halves. The crowd erupted—thousands of voices blending into a deafening roar of applause, laughter, and jeers. 'Look at him squirm!' someone shouted. 'Big tough guy can't handle a little tickle!' Matt's face burned crimson, his alpha-male pride crumbling under the public scrutiny as he begged through peals of cackling. 'Please—mercy! Hahaha, shit!'
Charlie tried to wrap it up with a bow, but the audience's hype was infectious. 'Encore! More! Make him laugh!' they chanted, refusing to let the moment end. Grinning wickedly, she obliged, waving her wand dramatically. 'As I command, so it appears!' Feathers materialized in her hand—soft, wispy ones that she stroked along his heels and insteps—followed by buzzing electric toothbrushes that she pressed vibrating bristles into the tender undersides of his toes. The whirring heads danced over his sweaty soles, the vibrations amplifying every nerve. Matt thrashed, his howls turning high-pitched and desperate. 'AHAHA! Stop—oh god, the brushes! No more—please!' Then came the hairbrushes, stiff bristles raking roughly across his arches, scratching and prickling in a way that drove him insane. His feet spasmed, toes splaying wide then clenching tight, sweat beading anew as the tools tormented every inch. Charlie ignored his pleas, her laughter light and teasing as she worked the implements with expert precision.
Setting the tools aside, Charlie knelt by his feet, her black-nailed fingers hovering. 'Now, for the personal touch!' She raked her freshly manicured black nails down both soles, spidering them from heel to toe in relentless scratches. The sharp tips dug just enough to ignite his nerves without breaking skin, tracing circles around his arches and flicking under his toes. Matt bucked wildly inside the cabinet, his body bouncing against the wood. 'HAHAHAHA! Not the nails—fuck, that's worse! Let me out!' Charlie threw her head back and laughed, her brown hair swaying. 'Oh, look at you, big man—struggling like a trapped worm! So pathetic, knowing you can't escape a thing. The crowd loves it!' Indeed, the audience was in stitches, pointing and cheering as Matt's deep voice cracked into squeals.
To amp up the humiliation, Charlie turned to the crowd, her top hat tilting playfully. 'Shall we make this interactive? Everyone, join in—chant with me: Everybody say, 'Tickle, tickle, tickle! Cootchie cootchie coo!'' The theater echoed with the rhythmic chant, hands clapping in unison as laughter swelled. Matt's ears burned, his head shaking side to side. 'No—don't you dare!' But Charlie waved volunteers onstage one by one. First, two single drunk women in tight dresses, giggling as they stumbled up. The blonde grabbed a feather and swept it between his toes, while the brunette used her long nails to scribble on his left sole. 'He's so sensitive!' the blonde slurred, making Matt shriek. Next, a very old woman with wrinkled hands and a mischievous grin shuffled forward, her gnarled fingers poking and prodding his arches slowly but firmly. 'Tickly boy, aren't ya?' she cackled, drawing wheezes from Matt.
Then came a flamboyant gay man in a sparkly shirt, eyes lighting up. 'Oh honey, I couldn't resist!' He knelt and ran his fingers lightly over Matt's soles, then leaned in, planting soft kisses on the balls of his feet before licking teasingly along the arches. His tongue was warm and wet, swirling around toes that Matt couldn't curl away from. 'Mmm, salty from all that sweat—delicious!' Matt's laughter mixed with horrified gasps, his body arching. 'Get off—haha—fucking hell!' A couple of Matt's work colleagues followed, Jake first, using an electric toothbrush with glee. 'Payback for doubting the show, bro!' More strangers joined—a burly guy with rough fingers, a giggling teen with a hairbrush—each taking turns tormenting his trapped, ticklish soles. Matt couldn't see a thing from his end of the cabinet, blind to the faces but feeling every stroke, scratch, lick, and buzz on his hypersensitive feet. His muscles ached from straining, tears streaming from laughter, pride shattered.
Charlie was about to call it when a thud echoed from inside the cabinet. Curious, she opened a small shaft panel just above Matt's groin. There, bulging obscenely through his work pants, was a massive tent—his cock rock-hard and throbbing, a dark wet spot of pre-cum soaking the fabric. Matt's face went from red to purple, mortified. 'Oh god—no...' he whimpered between residual giggles. Charlie's eyes sparkled with triumph. 'Ladies and gentlemen, for the grand finale—proof of magic's true power!' She unzipped his pants slowly, the crowd hushing in anticipation, then tugged them down to expose his thick, veiny cock—fully erect, the tip glistening with pre-cum, balls tight and heavy. It twitched in the open air, betraying his arousal amid the torment.
Waving her wand once more, Charlie summoned feathers and an electric toothbrush to the stage. She dragged the soft plumes up and down his shaft, teasing the sensitive underside and circling the swollen head, while the toothbrush buzzed against his tip, vibrations sending shocks through his length. At the same time, her black nails returned to his feet, raking furiously over soles and toes. The dual assault overwhelmed Matt—tickling madness below clashing with stroking pleasure above. 'AHAHA—oh fuck! Stop—can't—gonna...' He could barely form words, his body convulsing, hips bucking involuntarily. The feathers flicked his frenulum, the brush hummed on his slit, and nails scratched his arches relentlessly. Pressure built unbearably, and with a strangled cry, Matt exploded—cum erupting in thick ropes like a fountain, splattering across his shirt and the stage. The crowd went berserk, applauding thunderously, some whistling, others cheering the erotic spectacle.
Delirious and spent, Matt panted and giggled from phantom tickles still prickling his arches and toes, his cock softening in the aftermath. He barely registered Charlie taking her bow, the curtain falling amid wild acclaim. Assistants carted the reassembled cabinet—now whole, magic intact—offstage to the theater basement. The cool, dimly lit space smelled of dust and old props as they wheeled him in. Charlie followed, locking the door with a click. Matt, freed but too exhausted to stand, slumped against the wall, chest heaving. 'What the hell was that? You crazy bitch—'
But Charlie knelt beside him, her tailcoat brushing the floor, a predatory smile on her lips. She opened a large chest nearby, revealing a terrifying arsenal: feathers of every size, vibrating wands, brushes, lotions for sensitizing skin, restraints, and more—tools designed for endless tickle torment. 'Oh, Matt, you're a natural. No volunteer's ever riled the crowd to such a fever pitch. That erection? The way you came like a geyser? Pure magic.' She traced a nail along his bare sole, making him flinch and giggle weakly. 'Join me for the tour. Travel with me—I'll teach you to crave it, every stroke, every laugh. Admit it: my magic's real.' Matt shivered, the aftershocks stirring unwanted tingles. Resistance crumbled under her gaze, the humiliation morphing into reluctant thrill. 'Fine... it's real. Fuck, it's real. Just... don't stop?'
Charlie laughed, pulling him into the chest's shadow. 'Good boy. Now, let's practice your submission.'
