JinxTickles
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- Nov 7, 2025
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This was written a while ago for a friend of mine that I had planned to session with, I asked his permission to post it here for y'all to hopefully enjoy.
Her mind raced, the pace of her breathing having heightened and hitched over the past half an hour she’d been laying on this table. The man she had met up with was mostly silent, the grim determination on his face apparent as he sealed her further and further into her chosen fate.
Chosen.
It had an almost morbid sense of irony to it now, after being placed in a heavy leather bag where only her well-cared for soles and neck upwards were exposed. Her body was held tight to the plush, padded surface of the table by what felt like a million and one straps in this moment, thick leather belts being buckled and tested by this man she’d signed her fate away to. Her nostrils flared slightly with each breath, trying to steady herself as she was heavily gagged and couldn’t even move her head to see what her captor was doing next. Thoughts drifted through her mind, teasing and taunting her for the decisions that had led to this moment.
You asked him to strap you down so tight you couldn’t move.
You wanted him to gag you so all your screams were just for him.
He asked you for a time limit. You didn’t give him one.
The restrained girl’s thoughts had wandered too far, it seemed, swiftly brought back to the present by a sudden and gentle electric shock running from her feet up her spine. She felt the man spidering his fingers just barely around the edges of her feet, starting from her completely tied toes and working his way maliciously down the pampered sides. She could tell he was taking his time, toying with her, taking every tiny piece of information she had given even offhandedly and stored it for this moment. Besides, why wouldn’t he take all the time he wanted testing the waters? He knew that she was trapped until he felt finished with his work.
Giggles began to flow, her chest shaking and heart beating hard as the tickling finally started. She had been waiting months for this and every minute spent fantasizing had made her that much more susceptible. As his well-trained fingers began drifting inwards towards her soles, scraping at her arches at just the right angle, she felt her body try to leap or shake. The only feedback she felt from struggling was the belts holding her taut and the padded headrest holding her feet barely rattle. The gag worked wonders, any words she could even attempt to formulate came through as muffled whimpering or quiet giggling. The pitiful noises never stopped, never ceased, exactly as her captor wanted.
There was something beautiful about the sensations for her, especially as he began to increase the pressure and use just a hint more of his nails instead of fingertips. In all of their talks, all of their discussions, he had wanted every reaction of hers to be genuine. And for the first time in a while, she felt no need to put on a show. She had no reason to pretend the teasing sensations were worse or more effective than they were because each touch was exactly what he wanted to inflict at any given moment. Every sharp laugh or dull shriek as he scraped down her soles with all ten fingers was because every nerve on her restrained feet was suddenly alight. Every kick and struggle attempted against the horrifically tight bondage was because he had found a nerve and dug in with just enough force that he was making her squeal with just one finger.
Time had lost meaning, or was never given one to begin with; the lack of a time limit, the thick blindfold over her pleading eyes, all of it contributed to a sense of eternity with his torture. She knew they were somewhere near the beginning, in theory. He was still testing her soles with his fingers, occasionally a slightly sharper poke or scribble as he marked particularly heinous spots with a pen to remind himself where to return to later. But this exploration had been going for ages, at least in her mind. There was nothing for her attention to turn to other than begging on ears that might as well be deaf or the wriggling fingers circling just under her toes.
Then finally came the feathers; expertly wielded, the fine hairs teased and brushed away at nerves that had already begun to increase in sensitivity. All of the torment from the fingers had only served to make her soles more receptive, as if the tight bondage and multiple applications of lotion the day before weren’t doing enough. But this is what she wanted, she had to remind herself, even as the feelings grew in dire intensity. She had given up her defenseless feet knowing what they would face. Underneath the thick gag, a bright pink blush painted her soft cheeks, a forced smile hidden behind layers of tape and foam. The man switched avidly between the hard stem to scratch and poke, drawing small designs just under her forcibly spread toes before slowly, almost achingly dragging the brutal softness between the struggling digits.
At first it was just one, but he was not content to just have her laughter fill the room. He had wanted to overwhelm her, and thought back to her enthusiasm when she begged desperately for such to happen. She had written such pretty descriptions to him, detailing how she would whine and plead for more. It was almost unfortunate that he had to gag her so thoroughly to ensure no further… unwanted visitors would arrive. Almost.
The second feather joined in on the girl’s torment, showcasing that skill and finesse are worth far more than just rampant scribbling. Keeping just enough out of rhythm between the pen of the feather and the twirling bristles between her toes, each slow drag caused a rabid shriek to erupt from her. Her back arched, legs kicking, her body involuntarily tensing from head to spread toes with each gentle motion of a pair of simple feathers. To her mind, both feathers were a thousand feet long and made of the softest silky hairs with how long and painful the torment was. The mental static of her own giggling and ticklish nature continued to build up, where even the scant few moments without him touching her there were still low laughs coming from the panting girl.
He returned to his fingers for a while after that. Even as the events began swimming and she slipped into a space of ticklish, blissful hell, she knew some time had passed. His fingers became the way she counted seconds, each tap advancing the ticking clock, each raucous pour of laughter from tickled-pink soles the chime of the hour. And it very well could have been an hour, for the pair had gotten lost in the experience. She was being subjected to a total lack of mercy without any end in sight, and he had before him someone who wanted… needed him to let loose all of his punishing designs. It was a match made in hell, as he had said many times before, and the girl certainly felt that way.
While he couldn’t see it, her eyes went wide, face almost shock white when she heard the click and buzz of a familiar tool. She had watched his application of these monstrosities on countless others, never shying away from mentioning how effective they were on her.
“Keep your toes spread.” He ordered, a soft but stern voice that she couldn’t help but obey. Her toes spread and stayed stuck there of her own volition even as the first brush was placed between her toes. The buzzing and vibrating bristles made her want to clench shut, to shake it off, but the craving in her for more fought hard to keep her soles steady. He took his time with taping the brush in place, knowing this whimpering battle was taking place, and did the same with each of the other brushes placed between her toes. The stem vibrated between each digit, the bristles resting at the perfect angle to rapidly tease the ball just under her toes. Her laughter rose, shrieking and muffled pleading becoming more frequent as the nerves were overwhelmed. She had begged to see how much she could take and it was quickly becoming apparent she might not be able to handle everything he could dish out… but there was no way out for her. She was forced to settle into this idea, that she may have met her limit, and the more that idea sunk the more her mood floated higher.
For a moment, she thought she had managed to become more ticklish, but it was in fact the hard spikes of an infamous dryer ball twisting between her restrained soles and assaulting her arches that turned her light, airy laughter into hard groans. She had confessed the most sensitive spot on her feet was the arches, and he had threatened her with this marvel of engineering more than once since then. But to finally feel it twisting around, pressed into her hypersensitive skin, it almost banished her into whatever tickling dimension this demon came from. She endured, barely, for some time with it twisting and turning, but her tormentor was smart. He knew just how much to give and when, just how much to pull away. The brushes were turned off but not removed, and the dryer ball thunked to the floor.
“Why’d you stop?” was unintelligible through the gag, but her tone of sadness and disappointment was clear. He gave her no verbal answer, but began spreading cool oil on her soles. It poured and rushed over the tortured nerves, granting them a small reprieve and refresh from the torment over the past hour and a half. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light when the blindfold was pulled up, then they went wide with fear. Her captor waved hello with both a malicious grin… and a black glove.
Her mind raced, the pace of her breathing having heightened and hitched over the past half an hour she’d been laying on this table. The man she had met up with was mostly silent, the grim determination on his face apparent as he sealed her further and further into her chosen fate.
Chosen.
It had an almost morbid sense of irony to it now, after being placed in a heavy leather bag where only her well-cared for soles and neck upwards were exposed. Her body was held tight to the plush, padded surface of the table by what felt like a million and one straps in this moment, thick leather belts being buckled and tested by this man she’d signed her fate away to. Her nostrils flared slightly with each breath, trying to steady herself as she was heavily gagged and couldn’t even move her head to see what her captor was doing next. Thoughts drifted through her mind, teasing and taunting her for the decisions that had led to this moment.
You asked him to strap you down so tight you couldn’t move.
You wanted him to gag you so all your screams were just for him.
He asked you for a time limit. You didn’t give him one.
The restrained girl’s thoughts had wandered too far, it seemed, swiftly brought back to the present by a sudden and gentle electric shock running from her feet up her spine. She felt the man spidering his fingers just barely around the edges of her feet, starting from her completely tied toes and working his way maliciously down the pampered sides. She could tell he was taking his time, toying with her, taking every tiny piece of information she had given even offhandedly and stored it for this moment. Besides, why wouldn’t he take all the time he wanted testing the waters? He knew that she was trapped until he felt finished with his work.
Giggles began to flow, her chest shaking and heart beating hard as the tickling finally started. She had been waiting months for this and every minute spent fantasizing had made her that much more susceptible. As his well-trained fingers began drifting inwards towards her soles, scraping at her arches at just the right angle, she felt her body try to leap or shake. The only feedback she felt from struggling was the belts holding her taut and the padded headrest holding her feet barely rattle. The gag worked wonders, any words she could even attempt to formulate came through as muffled whimpering or quiet giggling. The pitiful noises never stopped, never ceased, exactly as her captor wanted.
There was something beautiful about the sensations for her, especially as he began to increase the pressure and use just a hint more of his nails instead of fingertips. In all of their talks, all of their discussions, he had wanted every reaction of hers to be genuine. And for the first time in a while, she felt no need to put on a show. She had no reason to pretend the teasing sensations were worse or more effective than they were because each touch was exactly what he wanted to inflict at any given moment. Every sharp laugh or dull shriek as he scraped down her soles with all ten fingers was because every nerve on her restrained feet was suddenly alight. Every kick and struggle attempted against the horrifically tight bondage was because he had found a nerve and dug in with just enough force that he was making her squeal with just one finger.
Time had lost meaning, or was never given one to begin with; the lack of a time limit, the thick blindfold over her pleading eyes, all of it contributed to a sense of eternity with his torture. She knew they were somewhere near the beginning, in theory. He was still testing her soles with his fingers, occasionally a slightly sharper poke or scribble as he marked particularly heinous spots with a pen to remind himself where to return to later. But this exploration had been going for ages, at least in her mind. There was nothing for her attention to turn to other than begging on ears that might as well be deaf or the wriggling fingers circling just under her toes.
Then finally came the feathers; expertly wielded, the fine hairs teased and brushed away at nerves that had already begun to increase in sensitivity. All of the torment from the fingers had only served to make her soles more receptive, as if the tight bondage and multiple applications of lotion the day before weren’t doing enough. But this is what she wanted, she had to remind herself, even as the feelings grew in dire intensity. She had given up her defenseless feet knowing what they would face. Underneath the thick gag, a bright pink blush painted her soft cheeks, a forced smile hidden behind layers of tape and foam. The man switched avidly between the hard stem to scratch and poke, drawing small designs just under her forcibly spread toes before slowly, almost achingly dragging the brutal softness between the struggling digits.
At first it was just one, but he was not content to just have her laughter fill the room. He had wanted to overwhelm her, and thought back to her enthusiasm when she begged desperately for such to happen. She had written such pretty descriptions to him, detailing how she would whine and plead for more. It was almost unfortunate that he had to gag her so thoroughly to ensure no further… unwanted visitors would arrive. Almost.
The second feather joined in on the girl’s torment, showcasing that skill and finesse are worth far more than just rampant scribbling. Keeping just enough out of rhythm between the pen of the feather and the twirling bristles between her toes, each slow drag caused a rabid shriek to erupt from her. Her back arched, legs kicking, her body involuntarily tensing from head to spread toes with each gentle motion of a pair of simple feathers. To her mind, both feathers were a thousand feet long and made of the softest silky hairs with how long and painful the torment was. The mental static of her own giggling and ticklish nature continued to build up, where even the scant few moments without him touching her there were still low laughs coming from the panting girl.
He returned to his fingers for a while after that. Even as the events began swimming and she slipped into a space of ticklish, blissful hell, she knew some time had passed. His fingers became the way she counted seconds, each tap advancing the ticking clock, each raucous pour of laughter from tickled-pink soles the chime of the hour. And it very well could have been an hour, for the pair had gotten lost in the experience. She was being subjected to a total lack of mercy without any end in sight, and he had before him someone who wanted… needed him to let loose all of his punishing designs. It was a match made in hell, as he had said many times before, and the girl certainly felt that way.
While he couldn’t see it, her eyes went wide, face almost shock white when she heard the click and buzz of a familiar tool. She had watched his application of these monstrosities on countless others, never shying away from mentioning how effective they were on her.
“Keep your toes spread.” He ordered, a soft but stern voice that she couldn’t help but obey. Her toes spread and stayed stuck there of her own volition even as the first brush was placed between her toes. The buzzing and vibrating bristles made her want to clench shut, to shake it off, but the craving in her for more fought hard to keep her soles steady. He took his time with taping the brush in place, knowing this whimpering battle was taking place, and did the same with each of the other brushes placed between her toes. The stem vibrated between each digit, the bristles resting at the perfect angle to rapidly tease the ball just under her toes. Her laughter rose, shrieking and muffled pleading becoming more frequent as the nerves were overwhelmed. She had begged to see how much she could take and it was quickly becoming apparent she might not be able to handle everything he could dish out… but there was no way out for her. She was forced to settle into this idea, that she may have met her limit, and the more that idea sunk the more her mood floated higher.
For a moment, she thought she had managed to become more ticklish, but it was in fact the hard spikes of an infamous dryer ball twisting between her restrained soles and assaulting her arches that turned her light, airy laughter into hard groans. She had confessed the most sensitive spot on her feet was the arches, and he had threatened her with this marvel of engineering more than once since then. But to finally feel it twisting around, pressed into her hypersensitive skin, it almost banished her into whatever tickling dimension this demon came from. She endured, barely, for some time with it twisting and turning, but her tormentor was smart. He knew just how much to give and when, just how much to pull away. The brushes were turned off but not removed, and the dryer ball thunked to the floor.
“Why’d you stop?” was unintelligible through the gag, but her tone of sadness and disappointment was clear. He gave her no verbal answer, but began spreading cool oil on her soles. It poured and rushed over the tortured nerves, granting them a small reprieve and refresh from the torment over the past hour and a half. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the light when the blindfold was pulled up, then they went wide with fear. Her captor waved hello with both a malicious grin… and a black glove.
