ElFewja
2nd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Dec 21, 2007
- Messages
- 1,296
- Points
- 38
The Tickle Tax m/f feet
As the cool winds funneled around her, carrying the deep, musty secrets of the earth, and as the water plinked through the scrawling shadows, she recalled the morning sun. She recalled her eagerness as her town nominated her for this years taxation, and her giddiness as the votes were tallied and she was elected. She recalled the white horse and the pearly coach it carried, and she recalled the sound of the wheels as they tore up the road. She recalled the warm breeze and the earthly scents of dirt and crops, the sounds of the wind blowing through the fields and the warm caress of the dawn.
A door clicked behind her and she shuddered, pulling her naked feet at the thick wooden boards that locked them away from her while a smile crept on her face. Deathly winds kissed at her soles and she curled her toes, pointing them as she shifted her wrists, the chains that held them below the chair clinking lightly. The sound of a torch hissed from beyond the black blindfold and she bit her lower lip as she listened to the slow cackle of his majesty's boots.
Never in her wildest dreams did she think that she would have the honor of serving her kingdom, let alone locked deep away in the dungeons. She had expected to be entertainment at the festival, but when the king had set eyes on her, he called his Speaker to his side. He bent over, he whispered secrets to the figure garbed in shadow, and the person raised its arms. She was whisked from the great hall to a narrow, spiraling stairwell, then taken to the furthest room of a long hallway slick with moisture and puddles. Behind a heavy door she was locked into a stockade, her shoes removed and taken from the chamber before a blindfold was wrapped over her eyes.
For a giddy moment as he stepped before her, she wondered if she might remain barefoot forever, serving him as he saw fit. All thought was scrubbed clean of her the moment she felt his smooth hands whisper up her soles. An expert, graceful touch washed over her soft skin and instantly she knew she was beholden to his whims. A hand pressed onto either side of her foot, rubbing up and down and she squealed with forced delight.
Though slow at first, the pace quickened and then his hands were gone. Gasping for air at the sudden loss, she swiftly hopped in her seat as his fingers skittered lightly over her soles. Before long she was dancing in place, shifting her hips and twisting about as her hands shook in their bindings. Her feet, however, fluttered about before his skilled fingers, their tips always matching to her soles no matter how she pointed or flexed her feet. At last she hid one behind the other, clamping her toes into the top of her foot. A chuckle, cool and sharp, rolled around her and she felt a chill up her spine.
As though a spider spun over her, she felt strings weave through her toes, pulling them back. Wiggling them, she felt the boards pull back against her, her skin merely fidgeting in its now defenseless position. The touches came again, raining over her faster than before and she screamed at her new found helplessness.
Taking advantage of her newfound bondage, he plucked at her toes, pinching lightly and running his fingers upward as though stroking the petals of a flower. Shrieking wildly, she flailed and writhed, unable to guard those most sensitive parts of her feet as he carelessly pollinated them. She felt the whisper of flames lick up her toes, the sensation piercing straight into her heart as it began to eclipse before the new found emotion.
For several minutes he toyed with her, his skin meshing against her helpless feet as she bucked about, her ankles growing stiff within their bindings. Desperation began to paint the edges of her lungs as her laughter grew harder, more coarse and pained. The thought of her duty, of her privilege, weighed heavily against her shoulders but she felt doubt needling at her neck, then an oozing certainty as she quickly realized. It was not a fear that she would not last, but rather the knowledge that he would push her past her limits and shatter her, that he would know her far better than she had ever known herself.
As the seconds dragged on she felt her skin become more and more receptive of his touch as he gathered experience of her sensitivity, understanding just how to titillate each part of her skin. Nails on her heels, and at the edges of her sole, then soft brush strokes up her arch and the center of her foot. . Slow, methodical rubbing on her toes, just beneath her nails. A thumb over the ball of her foot, and and the wicked finger tips beneath her toes. As he settled there, digging and digging over and over, she began to howl with the wild laughter of a revenant, a hidden hope that someone – anyone – above ground might hear her and come to her rescue. But she was alone here, and she would not be saved. Somehow this soothed her spirits and she relaxed in her seat, giving in to the suffering.
Then came the interrogation, his voice sharp and straight like a needle. He would touch her and then ask a question and her body felt compelled to spill the truth. He asked where it tickled the most, and she told him, icy dread filling her as he then focused on those areas. He asked what tickled worse, and again she told him. As though her feet were puddles of clear water, he managed to reach through her, plucking the secrets of her soul again and again. She felt entirely naked before him despite only the soles of her feet bared before him. Before long he knew her body better than she did, titillating and stroking it in the most perfect of ways so that she was constantly in throes of agony and pleasure, the swift changes between the two preventing her from defending herself.
First her voice left her, her jaw remaining open while a wall of air gagged her. The tears began to come, and she felt her skin growing hot. Then the pulsing, bubbling enigma of energies that swirled within her, that threatened to overtake her and that coursed through her like a river of light. She sensed that he knew the effect of his torture as he slowed, leaving tender, troubling strokes that tickled far worse than the erratic motions from before and withdrew from her raw emotion. Still, she could feel her energies collecting again even as she sharply writhed about, bolting into a form then freezing with each touch as she gasped. The euphoria within her bubbled and gathered to her abdomen, pounding at her, and through the darkness she felt his majesty's evil smile.
The pure torture came again, relentless in scope, and she flailed about, screaming at the top of her lungs as the pulsing star fire overtook her throbbing body. As the hours went on, he asked her in a simple, commanding voice, to say many things and she felt her body more than obey, desiring to please him, desiring everything that he wanted. She felt her voice claw out a hundred times over as she begged to have her feet tickled, begged to be his personal tickle slave and to remain in this dungeon forever, serving him and him alone. Then there was the quiet darkness, and the click of the door as she collapsed in her chair, her weight slipping into the comforts of the wood.
Somewhere inside of her body she knew that the moment she regained her stamina he would return and break her again, that she would truly serve as his personal toy. She sat there, eagerly awaiting the moment where she could handle no more and become a puppet to his needs and as her breath quieted, as the sweat on her body cooled and her feet relaxed, she heard the door knob tremble.
As the cool winds funneled around her, carrying the deep, musty secrets of the earth, and as the water plinked through the scrawling shadows, she recalled the morning sun. She recalled her eagerness as her town nominated her for this years taxation, and her giddiness as the votes were tallied and she was elected. She recalled the white horse and the pearly coach it carried, and she recalled the sound of the wheels as they tore up the road. She recalled the warm breeze and the earthly scents of dirt and crops, the sounds of the wind blowing through the fields and the warm caress of the dawn.
A door clicked behind her and she shuddered, pulling her naked feet at the thick wooden boards that locked them away from her while a smile crept on her face. Deathly winds kissed at her soles and she curled her toes, pointing them as she shifted her wrists, the chains that held them below the chair clinking lightly. The sound of a torch hissed from beyond the black blindfold and she bit her lower lip as she listened to the slow cackle of his majesty's boots.
Never in her wildest dreams did she think that she would have the honor of serving her kingdom, let alone locked deep away in the dungeons. She had expected to be entertainment at the festival, but when the king had set eyes on her, he called his Speaker to his side. He bent over, he whispered secrets to the figure garbed in shadow, and the person raised its arms. She was whisked from the great hall to a narrow, spiraling stairwell, then taken to the furthest room of a long hallway slick with moisture and puddles. Behind a heavy door she was locked into a stockade, her shoes removed and taken from the chamber before a blindfold was wrapped over her eyes.
For a giddy moment as he stepped before her, she wondered if she might remain barefoot forever, serving him as he saw fit. All thought was scrubbed clean of her the moment she felt his smooth hands whisper up her soles. An expert, graceful touch washed over her soft skin and instantly she knew she was beholden to his whims. A hand pressed onto either side of her foot, rubbing up and down and she squealed with forced delight.
Though slow at first, the pace quickened and then his hands were gone. Gasping for air at the sudden loss, she swiftly hopped in her seat as his fingers skittered lightly over her soles. Before long she was dancing in place, shifting her hips and twisting about as her hands shook in their bindings. Her feet, however, fluttered about before his skilled fingers, their tips always matching to her soles no matter how she pointed or flexed her feet. At last she hid one behind the other, clamping her toes into the top of her foot. A chuckle, cool and sharp, rolled around her and she felt a chill up her spine.
As though a spider spun over her, she felt strings weave through her toes, pulling them back. Wiggling them, she felt the boards pull back against her, her skin merely fidgeting in its now defenseless position. The touches came again, raining over her faster than before and she screamed at her new found helplessness.
Taking advantage of her newfound bondage, he plucked at her toes, pinching lightly and running his fingers upward as though stroking the petals of a flower. Shrieking wildly, she flailed and writhed, unable to guard those most sensitive parts of her feet as he carelessly pollinated them. She felt the whisper of flames lick up her toes, the sensation piercing straight into her heart as it began to eclipse before the new found emotion.
For several minutes he toyed with her, his skin meshing against her helpless feet as she bucked about, her ankles growing stiff within their bindings. Desperation began to paint the edges of her lungs as her laughter grew harder, more coarse and pained. The thought of her duty, of her privilege, weighed heavily against her shoulders but she felt doubt needling at her neck, then an oozing certainty as she quickly realized. It was not a fear that she would not last, but rather the knowledge that he would push her past her limits and shatter her, that he would know her far better than she had ever known herself.
As the seconds dragged on she felt her skin become more and more receptive of his touch as he gathered experience of her sensitivity, understanding just how to titillate each part of her skin. Nails on her heels, and at the edges of her sole, then soft brush strokes up her arch and the center of her foot. . Slow, methodical rubbing on her toes, just beneath her nails. A thumb over the ball of her foot, and and the wicked finger tips beneath her toes. As he settled there, digging and digging over and over, she began to howl with the wild laughter of a revenant, a hidden hope that someone – anyone – above ground might hear her and come to her rescue. But she was alone here, and she would not be saved. Somehow this soothed her spirits and she relaxed in her seat, giving in to the suffering.
Then came the interrogation, his voice sharp and straight like a needle. He would touch her and then ask a question and her body felt compelled to spill the truth. He asked where it tickled the most, and she told him, icy dread filling her as he then focused on those areas. He asked what tickled worse, and again she told him. As though her feet were puddles of clear water, he managed to reach through her, plucking the secrets of her soul again and again. She felt entirely naked before him despite only the soles of her feet bared before him. Before long he knew her body better than she did, titillating and stroking it in the most perfect of ways so that she was constantly in throes of agony and pleasure, the swift changes between the two preventing her from defending herself.
First her voice left her, her jaw remaining open while a wall of air gagged her. The tears began to come, and she felt her skin growing hot. Then the pulsing, bubbling enigma of energies that swirled within her, that threatened to overtake her and that coursed through her like a river of light. She sensed that he knew the effect of his torture as he slowed, leaving tender, troubling strokes that tickled far worse than the erratic motions from before and withdrew from her raw emotion. Still, she could feel her energies collecting again even as she sharply writhed about, bolting into a form then freezing with each touch as she gasped. The euphoria within her bubbled and gathered to her abdomen, pounding at her, and through the darkness she felt his majesty's evil smile.
The pure torture came again, relentless in scope, and she flailed about, screaming at the top of her lungs as the pulsing star fire overtook her throbbing body. As the hours went on, he asked her in a simple, commanding voice, to say many things and she felt her body more than obey, desiring to please him, desiring everything that he wanted. She felt her voice claw out a hundred times over as she begged to have her feet tickled, begged to be his personal tickle slave and to remain in this dungeon forever, serving him and him alone. Then there was the quiet darkness, and the click of the door as she collapsed in her chair, her weight slipping into the comforts of the wood.
Somewhere inside of her body she knew that the moment she regained her stamina he would return and break her again, that she would truly serve as his personal toy. She sat there, eagerly awaiting the moment where she could handle no more and become a puppet to his needs and as her breath quieted, as the sweat on her body cooled and her feet relaxed, she heard the door knob tremble.