Katie stirred in her bonds. She lay there, still hung from the ceiling, still in the swing which, for now, had become her new home, a home where her beautiful body was kept permanently on display and was for the sole usage of whoever today’s client or clients turned out to be.
Of course she wasn’t truly aware of this yet.
It had been twenty minutes since her ordeal with Miss Astbury and her subsequent lapse into unconsciousness. She shifted from left to right, eyes slowly peeling open as her memories flooded back to her in a confused rush of noises – all she had to go on since she was blindfolded for her previous and very first session. Noises of a door sliding open, heels clicking on the floor, a cigarette being lit... and then a true shock as numerous very sharp and strong nails made contact with her nylon clad soles, during a split second of which she distinctly remembered the noise of those fingernails scraping along her soles, very briefly, before her own screams and laughter drowned it out completely.
Oh my god, please... no! Why was I tickled like that? Why am I naked? Who was that tickling me? Where am I? How did I get here? Why am I here? What is happening? I need to find someone I need to get someone here right now!
Needless to say, she had never been so badly tickled in her entire life. She had, on occasion, been tickled whilst held down or sat on – particularly on her feet – but even though such times had been unbearable for her, Katie had never once experienced anything like her previous 2 hours with that clearly evil woman.
She could now see herself and look around the room; part of the cleaner’s job was to, immediately after a session was completed and the room vacated, remove and dispose of the blindfolds many of the girls found themselves wearing, always replacing the blindfold for a tight fitting gag however - an agency policy. The cleaners were almost always merely initiates in the agency and were not trusted 100%. It would not do to have a brand new employee succumb to the constant begging, whining and crying of one of the girls and find himself or herself attempting to release her during a sudden crisis of conscience, would it?
Katie looked down upon herself, she was totally naked except for a pair of white stockings, which had been ripped at the feet and left to hang in shreds around her ankles. She noticed her toenail polish, a rich, deep purple, remained intact. The soles of her feet tingled like hell, she flexed her toes instinctively at a sudden memory of that torturous tickling and found that the skin between them was slick and greasy; at first she assumed from sweat but then realised it had to have been that damned baby oil.
She also noticed that every single hair on her body, barring those on her head, had been removed - another agency policy there; all body hair on newly acquired girls was to be removed completely during her restyling, they were styled to look as different to their regular self as possible; hair styles were totally remade, whatever shades of makeup they had been using prior to their arrival at the agency were never used by the stylists again, the same went for perfumes and deodorant and any broken or otherwise damaged teeth were also dealt with promptly along with false finger and toenails being fitted if their natural length was deemed to be too short or simply too unattractive.
The reasoning behind such a policy was to turn the girls into, basically, living dolls. Existing solely for the entertainment of the agency’s clientele, they would spend the remainder of their natural lives in a fair amount of discomfort for most of their waking hours and at night, during closing hours, be plagued by tormenting dreams of their old lives, freedom and all that came with it.
Finally she noticed the actual bondage she had found herself trapped in... She had seen sex swings before on the internet but had never seen the appeal of them and considering her first experience within one was, what she believed to be, the absolute worst foot tickling in the world, it was unlikely they’d ever rate too highly on her wish list of dream buys. It was, however, surprisingly comfortable and at first didn’t seem as though it would be terribly hard to escape from.
Alas, it was indeed so. For each strap hanging from the ceiling had been woven several times around each of Katie’s limbs before being connected to the mechanism from whence it came. She could wriggle around just fine, but lifting her ankles or arms up and out of the swing was out of the question.
Ok, just wait for someone to come along Katie and you’ll find out soon enough just what the fuck is going on.
The room was empty barring a table and chair in the far corner towards the cell’s sliding door and a candle that sat upon a brass stand in the corner opposite but along the same wall, providing the room’s only source of light - there were no windows, not along the walls nor on the door.
It was deathly silent, the only sounds she could make out being her own breathing and the shifting of her body within its silken prison. Realising the futility of any escape attempt, she relaxed herself as best she could and her head swung back slightly as she closed her eyes and waited for somebody to show.
A sudden wave of helplessness rolled over her, she could not escape, she had to hang there, totally naked until somebody came along. It was a terrifying prospect; anybody could walk in and do whatever they pleased to her. Her legs were held wide apart and, should the next person walking into the room want to tickle her, they would have access to every single inch of her ticklish body. If they wanted something else then, well...
Oh shit, ok seriously... I need to get the fuck out of here right now! Come on get out, now! Come on Katie do you seriously wanna be tickled like that ever again? Get out of this place then!
She struggled with all her might to get free of the silk ropes holding her fast but, it was no use. They held tight, unrelenting in their grip. Frustrated, she sagged back in her bonds and tried to steel herself for whatever was to come, difficult when she had no idea what or even if anything at all would come.
As if on cue, the door to her cell whooshed open. A figure, feminine, walked through, temporarily blocking most of the light entering the cell from the opened doorway.
Katie lifted her head suddenly and began screaming into her gag at the newcomer. Loud, muffled nonsense of course but she had to try at least. Barely audible versions of; ‘’HELP!’’, ‘’get me the fuck out of here!’’, ‘’please let me out’’. But the newcomer seemed to be paying her no heed at all.
Katie glared at her, her eyes never leaving this woman for one moment. A look of helplessness and desperation slowly replacing the determination she had felt moments beforehand as the door slid shut and locked in place. She was once again locked in this room, with another woman... perhaps the same one; she was unable to tell having never actually seen the last one to drop by.
Oh my fucking god! My feet! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit not again!!
She watched this woman intently. She had dirty blonde hair that reached halfway down her back; she wore a rather tight fitting black dress, the skirt of which reached maybe 5 inches down past her hips.
Tart.
At the ends of those beautiful bare legs were a set of silver stiletto heels that glimmered in the candlelight, and what appeared to be black specks at the end of her toes, seemingly jet black varnish.
The woman set down her bag upon the table and took from it what appeared to be a travel sized wash bag, before turning and walking towards her. Katie tensed, every nerve ending in her body completely on edge, her bare feet feeling more and more vulnerable with each step this new woman took towards her bound body.
From the small bag she carried, the woman brought out two socks, very tight looking and shiny, the likes of which Katie had never seen before. With them she held an equally small, unbranded bottle of cream. It was whilst noticing these things that Katie realised the woman was wearing black gloves that stopped an inch above the wrist.
Click. The bottle had been opened, Katie peered down along her body towards the woman’s hands, then to her face; still paying Katie no attention, instead focused intently on the cream she had begun pouring into her gloved hands. It didn’t seem even slightly unusual... just regular white cream.
Maybe to make my feet feel normal again after what that bitch did to me earlier...
It was indeed for her feet. It was applied lovingly to the ball of her left foot, slid between her toes before being liberally coated along the remainder of her sole, the top of her foot and her ankle too. It felt so cool and soothing that Katie momentarily forgot she was being held as some sort of captive in a place she knew nothing about.
Her right foot was similarly treated and those small socks, unusually shiny due to being, Katie discovered, made of latex, were slipped onto her size 7 feet with ease. Having been treated so very well by this woman Katie expected her to say something, but instead she simply stood back, sighing contentedly with her work and turned to leave the room, heading towards her bag and the door.
Katie tried to scream for her to come back, to explain what was happening here, to just say anything at all! Alas, the woman totally ignored her, and with another whoosh and snap of a lock Katie was alone once more.
Great. Fucking great. The first person I have a chance of speaking to just massages my fucking feet instead! What is this? Oh come the fuck on. And what is it with my feet here! Why so much attention?
She tilted her head back, closed her eyes and tried to focus on how much her icy cool feet were tingling, for it was a most soothing sensation, nothing like the anger and helplessness she felt when she kept thinking about how trapped and ignorant she was being kept.
* * *
She awoke with a start, dreams of her feet being abused, fondled, and played with against her will. To find that she was alone once more but, oh my god, in a new room.
She was seated. Upper body encased in a straight jacket, arms tied tight she was forced into a position that felt like she was hugging herself. Straps criss-crossed over her chest and stomach, along with two travelling diagonally downwards next to her chest, restraining her shoulder pinning them to the back of this chair. Her head also had its own strap, running sideways across her forehead, rendering it immobile.
Katie found that she was sitting bolt upright in what reminded her of a dentist chair, the lower half of which had been partly removed and replaced with a metal block into which had been fed her legs, with hundreds of tiny suction caps along the holes encompassing her thighs, clinging on to the skin making slipping out of the box impossible. Also, she felt, there was a similar situation down at her ankles.
All in all, thoroughly helpless. Movement was impossible, besides a small amount of foot wriggling. During such movement she realised she was still wearing the latex socks. She was not gagged now, however.
Ok this cannot be fucking good... who would tie someone like this? And why, what is gonna happen this time?!
''HELP, HELP ME! SOMEBODY GET ME OUT OF HERE! I NEED TO GET OUT NOW PLEASE SOMEBODY!’’
Nothing for a few, long moments. But then a response.
A deep humming sound, gradually becoming quieter and a subsequent click, the lights went off; she was left in total darkness. Another clicking noise and she saw orange light emitting from somewhere towards the base of this evil chair, somewhere around her feet. Sufficient light to allow her to look around a bit, but nowhere near enough to bring light back to the whole room. She couldn’t be sure but she didn’t remember seeing anyone, or any movement, even out the corner of her eye in this room.
She was totally alone.
Probably best this way really, imagine if that bitch tickler found me like this, holy fuck!
As she began to relax in her new, extra inescapable bonds, the cool tingling of her feet was slowly being replaced by... intense warmth. Her eyes darted down towards the orange glow near her feet. She wriggled her toes against each other, finding they were still slick with that cream the woman had massaged into them but now becoming warmer and warmer by the second. She felt sure those odd socks she was forced to wear had some special part to play here but could not be certain as to what that part might actually be.
Oh my god, my feet are gonna be burnt! Get out; get out of here now, now Katie! Come on!
Crying once more for help achieved the same result as before. Nobody came to her aid and she didn’t really believe they would have done anyway. She tried to bounce up and down, rock from side to side, anything to begin wriggling free, but nothing worked. She was held fast. Wriggling her feet yielded similar results, getting nowhere except into an increasingly frustrated state.
She held her breath, awaiting the first agonizing stab of pain as her feet were slowly cooked.
But it never came. The heat remained at a temperature beyond which would have left her truly uncomfortable. Overwhelmed with relief, she tried to relax again. It wasn’t so awful after all, almost as soothing as the cream itself had been earlier. She shut her eyes once more.
This can’t be it... why restrain someone this crazily for a simple... what, foot warming??
The heat bathed her feet, enveloped them completely and held them there in it’s delicious embrace. Unknown to Katie, this entire process was the beginning of her compulsory twice-weekly pedicure, and this was merely phase one.
* * *
Seated at the very back of the pedicure lab, concealed by darkness, sat one of the agencies many stylists. Miss Porteous.
Her responsibility was the preparation of each new girls’ feet, the agency demanded absolute perfection and the machine Katie had found herself trapped within had been developed to achieve just that.
It was against the rules to leave a girl alone in the room during a pedicure, their heart and breathing rates had to be monitored closely at all times. It was a well known fact, amongst staff, clients and the girls, that the pedicure was shockingly ticklish, so much so that one girl – given to the agency by her older step sister – had actually been tickled literally to death shortly into the 3rd phase of the pedicure. Ever since that fateful day, rules were strictly enforced regarding the presence of at least one agency staff member at each and every pedicure session. It was not the deaths of the girls and any ensuing scandal that worried the agency chiefs, more the fact that a dead girl is a useless girl.
Well, nearly at least, but those tales were kept strictly confidential.
Truth be told, there was no need for this much fuss to be made over a simple pedicure, but the show it provided was an absolute hit amongst certain clients and proved to be an excellent money maker. 3 box-rooms were found at each side of the pedicure lab, 6 in total. Each had a window, one-way glass of course, and a reclining leather chair next to a table the height of the chair’s arms on which was placed a drinks tray, ensuring the clients could sit in perfect comfort and privacy as they waited for the ‘’real’’ show to start.
Miss Porteous glanced at the laptop screen before her. 27 minutes. Indicating that there were but 3 more minutes until the brushing phase began. She adored these moments, the calm before the storm she would think to herself. She never grew tired of it, the sudden terrified scream as the first brush made contact with the super slick, heated sole of whichever girl found herself sitting in the pedicure chair. Many brushes would make their presence felt during phase 2, all different shapes, sizes and textures; some like tiny paintbrushes to pay special attention to the crevices between each toe, others much larger, large enough to engulf the inside edge of the foot’s ball, brushing and buffing it to be as smooth and shiny as possible.
29 minutes.
Her hands became cold and tingly, the base of her stomach feeling as if it was about to melt, she knew any moment now the poor girl would be screaming for her life, willing to do anything just to make it stop.
I wonder if they ever pray for death during these beauty sessions... a tad rude really if they do. Who wouldn’t want their feet to look just as ravishing as the rest of their body? And for free too!
Doesn’t matter though, death will never come, not these days at least.
Privately, Miss Porteous would admit that she thoroughly got off on the idea of tickling these girls to death. Locking them in the chair, leaving the entire pedicure cycle on repeat, pulling up a chair to sit comfortably down by their restrained legs and revel in the beauty of the lady receiving her pedicure, rubbing herself the whole time and climaxing at the moment the girl drew her last, desperate breath.
Well, with pleasure comes pain, life is all about balance after all.
She jumped in her seat slightly as an ear splitting scream rang out across the pedicure lab.
Whipping round in her chair to face in the direction of that scream, she was greeted with a truly gorgeous sight.
* * *
The girl in the chair, ‘’Katie’’ as indicated by her notes to Miss Porteous, was screaming at the top of her lungs, mouth opened as wide as it could go, a desperate, crazed look in her eyes as the full effect of the brushes took hold of her. She watched in rapt fascination as scream after scream spewed forth from the girl’s mouth, whilst her body was held perfectly still, except for those feet...
The press of a button on her laptop caused 10 metallic fingers to extend from the base of the pedicure chair, each with a suction cup at its end. They silently poised themselves above Katie’s wildly flexing toes before clamping down like undersized plungers onto the tips of each toe, before withdrawing almost completely back into the base, pulling the toes back and immobilizing them as they went.
* * *
‘‘Stop!’’ screamed Katie as the brushes continued their work on her bare, sensitized feet. This was unreal. Absolute immobility and the worst foot tickling ever.
Somebody kill me, now!
She knew this would carry on for a long time if her previous session of foot tickling was anything to go by. But this was so much worse. The total inability to move even an inch, not even her head, her hands or her feet!
Let my fucking feet go, NOW!
She had many thoughts and opinions she wanted so badly to express, but even without the gag she realised she was powerless to voice any of them, and even if she had not been... who was there to hear her?
She felt so silly, bound so tightly and forced to laugh, out loud... for either nobody or the entire world to hear, all the while squealing like a little girl as her bare feet were brushed and buffed, over and over and over. The forced laughter, the forced crazed facial expressions, the removal of her ability to speak, to form any real thoughts... all brought on by some foot tickling.
The seat directly beneath her suddenly felt wet and warm, adding to her shame. She would have felt truly degraded at that point, if she could focus on what it meant to wet herself as a woman in her thirties, from having her feet brushed, had she not been screaming and screaming and straining her voice and every single muscle in her body during her attempts to get free.
The tickling was so intense she could barely breathe. It took her breath away when it started and each spin of a brush and every drag of a soft bristle plunged her deeper and deeper into the depths of breathlessness and madness.
I can’t do this. I can’t breathe! Make it stop; make it fucking stop, now! I’m going to die, stop it now let me go! Somebody help me for god’s sake! Argh why the fuck am I tied so tight?! I need to fucking move! Please! PLEASE!
Miss Porteous sat back, deeply enjoying the show. She glanced at her monitor and saw there was still 19 minutes of this phase left. Best not to let her know that though, makes them think it’s never going to stop. That’s the best way... make them think it’s gonna kill them.
Katie had broken. The brushes would not stop their assault on her bare, slick soles. They worked over every inch of them from the base of her heels right up to the balls of her feet and in between and underneath every single toe.
She couldn’t laugh anymore. Every time she had the breath available to make any noise it was released as a broken scream. She hadn’t been able to shut her mouth since that first brush began its work and her mouth was as dry as it ever had been in her life, her jaw ached like hell and a notable amount of the tears and sweat rolling down her face trickled straight into her mouth unimpeded. Of course Katie didn’t notice this; her entire world was her feet right now and the sensations raging through them, burning through her soles, shooting along her legs right into her stomach. Gripping her tight with feelings of panic, desperation, and sheer insanity.
On top of this, the assault on Katie’s feet had every pore on her body sweating profusely what with being trapped within the confines of the straight jacket and the curious box that housed her legs. She itched like crazy. From her neck, down along her spine and right in between her ass cheeks, all down the back of her thighs, and her sides particularly the skin underneath her arms where she hugged herself.
Unable to see, think, hear anything besides her own screams and pounding heartbeat, Katie’s mind finally snapped.
No longer did she simply scream. She wailed. Guttural, crackly tones escaped her throat as she wailed, saliva coursing down one side of her bright red face.
Every muscle in her frame ached, she felt as though she had pulled every single one of them with the effort of trying to escape. Her throat was burning and raw, mouth almost parched completely, she desperately needed a drink of some kind.
But still the brushes spun and spun and spun against those soles.
She began to hate her feet, having nobody and nothing else to direct her hatred towards at the moment. If it weren’t for them, she wouldn’t be in so much damn discomfort.
Pulling with all her might to get free, even if it meant ripping her feet off in the process, Katie made one final desperate bid to escape. Pulling and thrusting herself as much as she could beneath the straps and the jacket, but it was no use.
She plunged into a pit of despair as a more abrasive brush began its work on the centre of her heel, towards her fleshy instep. She felt sick. Sick with fear and sick from this constant, forced laughter.
She began hallucinating as she felt cold liquid sprayed against the sole of her foot, right in the centre of this new spinning brush. Lubricating the skin for an easier, much more ticklish passage. Squeezing her eyes shut, she saw before her a vision of her as a child, around 30 years younger, running to her mother, cuddling up against her, safe in her mother’s arms. The feeling of warmth borne of love and security spreading over her entire body... oh, mummy, i love you so much! You’ll look after me always and always, won’t you mummy?
You’ll protect me from nasty monsters won’t you? Like I’ll protect you from nasty men!
She awoke seconds later to the feeling of the new, oily brushes spinning across the balls of her feet in perfect synchronisation. An immense wave of self pity, hopelessness and apathy hit her, hard.
Too terrified to even contemplate resisting this torture and being forced to feel it more and more, Katie blacked out.
* * *
Aw, there she goes! 22 minutes of brushing, not bad for a new girl!
Now, if i wake her too soon she might never make it out of here alive. Best leave her for about 10 minutes, and perhaps get her a drink too.
Miss Porteous wouldn’t feed the girl herself of course; the chair would do that for her, the utilities found within the box housing Katie’s legs were many, several based around nutrition. She could be kept fully hydrated for up to 72 hours of a brushing phase.
Certainly something i wanna see one day, oh my god!
Of course she wasn’t truly aware of this yet.
It had been twenty minutes since her ordeal with Miss Astbury and her subsequent lapse into unconsciousness. She shifted from left to right, eyes slowly peeling open as her memories flooded back to her in a confused rush of noises – all she had to go on since she was blindfolded for her previous and very first session. Noises of a door sliding open, heels clicking on the floor, a cigarette being lit... and then a true shock as numerous very sharp and strong nails made contact with her nylon clad soles, during a split second of which she distinctly remembered the noise of those fingernails scraping along her soles, very briefly, before her own screams and laughter drowned it out completely.
Oh my god, please... no! Why was I tickled like that? Why am I naked? Who was that tickling me? Where am I? How did I get here? Why am I here? What is happening? I need to find someone I need to get someone here right now!
Needless to say, she had never been so badly tickled in her entire life. She had, on occasion, been tickled whilst held down or sat on – particularly on her feet – but even though such times had been unbearable for her, Katie had never once experienced anything like her previous 2 hours with that clearly evil woman.
She could now see herself and look around the room; part of the cleaner’s job was to, immediately after a session was completed and the room vacated, remove and dispose of the blindfolds many of the girls found themselves wearing, always replacing the blindfold for a tight fitting gag however - an agency policy. The cleaners were almost always merely initiates in the agency and were not trusted 100%. It would not do to have a brand new employee succumb to the constant begging, whining and crying of one of the girls and find himself or herself attempting to release her during a sudden crisis of conscience, would it?
Katie looked down upon herself, she was totally naked except for a pair of white stockings, which had been ripped at the feet and left to hang in shreds around her ankles. She noticed her toenail polish, a rich, deep purple, remained intact. The soles of her feet tingled like hell, she flexed her toes instinctively at a sudden memory of that torturous tickling and found that the skin between them was slick and greasy; at first she assumed from sweat but then realised it had to have been that damned baby oil.
She also noticed that every single hair on her body, barring those on her head, had been removed - another agency policy there; all body hair on newly acquired girls was to be removed completely during her restyling, they were styled to look as different to their regular self as possible; hair styles were totally remade, whatever shades of makeup they had been using prior to their arrival at the agency were never used by the stylists again, the same went for perfumes and deodorant and any broken or otherwise damaged teeth were also dealt with promptly along with false finger and toenails being fitted if their natural length was deemed to be too short or simply too unattractive.
The reasoning behind such a policy was to turn the girls into, basically, living dolls. Existing solely for the entertainment of the agency’s clientele, they would spend the remainder of their natural lives in a fair amount of discomfort for most of their waking hours and at night, during closing hours, be plagued by tormenting dreams of their old lives, freedom and all that came with it.
Finally she noticed the actual bondage she had found herself trapped in... She had seen sex swings before on the internet but had never seen the appeal of them and considering her first experience within one was, what she believed to be, the absolute worst foot tickling in the world, it was unlikely they’d ever rate too highly on her wish list of dream buys. It was, however, surprisingly comfortable and at first didn’t seem as though it would be terribly hard to escape from.
Alas, it was indeed so. For each strap hanging from the ceiling had been woven several times around each of Katie’s limbs before being connected to the mechanism from whence it came. She could wriggle around just fine, but lifting her ankles or arms up and out of the swing was out of the question.
Ok, just wait for someone to come along Katie and you’ll find out soon enough just what the fuck is going on.
The room was empty barring a table and chair in the far corner towards the cell’s sliding door and a candle that sat upon a brass stand in the corner opposite but along the same wall, providing the room’s only source of light - there were no windows, not along the walls nor on the door.
It was deathly silent, the only sounds she could make out being her own breathing and the shifting of her body within its silken prison. Realising the futility of any escape attempt, she relaxed herself as best she could and her head swung back slightly as she closed her eyes and waited for somebody to show.
A sudden wave of helplessness rolled over her, she could not escape, she had to hang there, totally naked until somebody came along. It was a terrifying prospect; anybody could walk in and do whatever they pleased to her. Her legs were held wide apart and, should the next person walking into the room want to tickle her, they would have access to every single inch of her ticklish body. If they wanted something else then, well...
Oh shit, ok seriously... I need to get the fuck out of here right now! Come on get out, now! Come on Katie do you seriously wanna be tickled like that ever again? Get out of this place then!
She struggled with all her might to get free of the silk ropes holding her fast but, it was no use. They held tight, unrelenting in their grip. Frustrated, she sagged back in her bonds and tried to steel herself for whatever was to come, difficult when she had no idea what or even if anything at all would come.
As if on cue, the door to her cell whooshed open. A figure, feminine, walked through, temporarily blocking most of the light entering the cell from the opened doorway.
Katie lifted her head suddenly and began screaming into her gag at the newcomer. Loud, muffled nonsense of course but she had to try at least. Barely audible versions of; ‘’HELP!’’, ‘’get me the fuck out of here!’’, ‘’please let me out’’. But the newcomer seemed to be paying her no heed at all.
Katie glared at her, her eyes never leaving this woman for one moment. A look of helplessness and desperation slowly replacing the determination she had felt moments beforehand as the door slid shut and locked in place. She was once again locked in this room, with another woman... perhaps the same one; she was unable to tell having never actually seen the last one to drop by.
Oh my fucking god! My feet! Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit not again!!
She watched this woman intently. She had dirty blonde hair that reached halfway down her back; she wore a rather tight fitting black dress, the skirt of which reached maybe 5 inches down past her hips.
Tart.
At the ends of those beautiful bare legs were a set of silver stiletto heels that glimmered in the candlelight, and what appeared to be black specks at the end of her toes, seemingly jet black varnish.
The woman set down her bag upon the table and took from it what appeared to be a travel sized wash bag, before turning and walking towards her. Katie tensed, every nerve ending in her body completely on edge, her bare feet feeling more and more vulnerable with each step this new woman took towards her bound body.
From the small bag she carried, the woman brought out two socks, very tight looking and shiny, the likes of which Katie had never seen before. With them she held an equally small, unbranded bottle of cream. It was whilst noticing these things that Katie realised the woman was wearing black gloves that stopped an inch above the wrist.
Click. The bottle had been opened, Katie peered down along her body towards the woman’s hands, then to her face; still paying Katie no attention, instead focused intently on the cream she had begun pouring into her gloved hands. It didn’t seem even slightly unusual... just regular white cream.
Maybe to make my feet feel normal again after what that bitch did to me earlier...
It was indeed for her feet. It was applied lovingly to the ball of her left foot, slid between her toes before being liberally coated along the remainder of her sole, the top of her foot and her ankle too. It felt so cool and soothing that Katie momentarily forgot she was being held as some sort of captive in a place she knew nothing about.
Her right foot was similarly treated and those small socks, unusually shiny due to being, Katie discovered, made of latex, were slipped onto her size 7 feet with ease. Having been treated so very well by this woman Katie expected her to say something, but instead she simply stood back, sighing contentedly with her work and turned to leave the room, heading towards her bag and the door.
Katie tried to scream for her to come back, to explain what was happening here, to just say anything at all! Alas, the woman totally ignored her, and with another whoosh and snap of a lock Katie was alone once more.
Great. Fucking great. The first person I have a chance of speaking to just massages my fucking feet instead! What is this? Oh come the fuck on. And what is it with my feet here! Why so much attention?
She tilted her head back, closed her eyes and tried to focus on how much her icy cool feet were tingling, for it was a most soothing sensation, nothing like the anger and helplessness she felt when she kept thinking about how trapped and ignorant she was being kept.
* * *
She awoke with a start, dreams of her feet being abused, fondled, and played with against her will. To find that she was alone once more but, oh my god, in a new room.
She was seated. Upper body encased in a straight jacket, arms tied tight she was forced into a position that felt like she was hugging herself. Straps criss-crossed over her chest and stomach, along with two travelling diagonally downwards next to her chest, restraining her shoulder pinning them to the back of this chair. Her head also had its own strap, running sideways across her forehead, rendering it immobile.
Katie found that she was sitting bolt upright in what reminded her of a dentist chair, the lower half of which had been partly removed and replaced with a metal block into which had been fed her legs, with hundreds of tiny suction caps along the holes encompassing her thighs, clinging on to the skin making slipping out of the box impossible. Also, she felt, there was a similar situation down at her ankles.
All in all, thoroughly helpless. Movement was impossible, besides a small amount of foot wriggling. During such movement she realised she was still wearing the latex socks. She was not gagged now, however.
Ok this cannot be fucking good... who would tie someone like this? And why, what is gonna happen this time?!
''HELP, HELP ME! SOMEBODY GET ME OUT OF HERE! I NEED TO GET OUT NOW PLEASE SOMEBODY!’’
Nothing for a few, long moments. But then a response.
A deep humming sound, gradually becoming quieter and a subsequent click, the lights went off; she was left in total darkness. Another clicking noise and she saw orange light emitting from somewhere towards the base of this evil chair, somewhere around her feet. Sufficient light to allow her to look around a bit, but nowhere near enough to bring light back to the whole room. She couldn’t be sure but she didn’t remember seeing anyone, or any movement, even out the corner of her eye in this room.
She was totally alone.
Probably best this way really, imagine if that bitch tickler found me like this, holy fuck!
As she began to relax in her new, extra inescapable bonds, the cool tingling of her feet was slowly being replaced by... intense warmth. Her eyes darted down towards the orange glow near her feet. She wriggled her toes against each other, finding they were still slick with that cream the woman had massaged into them but now becoming warmer and warmer by the second. She felt sure those odd socks she was forced to wear had some special part to play here but could not be certain as to what that part might actually be.
Oh my god, my feet are gonna be burnt! Get out; get out of here now, now Katie! Come on!
Crying once more for help achieved the same result as before. Nobody came to her aid and she didn’t really believe they would have done anyway. She tried to bounce up and down, rock from side to side, anything to begin wriggling free, but nothing worked. She was held fast. Wriggling her feet yielded similar results, getting nowhere except into an increasingly frustrated state.
She held her breath, awaiting the first agonizing stab of pain as her feet were slowly cooked.
But it never came. The heat remained at a temperature beyond which would have left her truly uncomfortable. Overwhelmed with relief, she tried to relax again. It wasn’t so awful after all, almost as soothing as the cream itself had been earlier. She shut her eyes once more.
This can’t be it... why restrain someone this crazily for a simple... what, foot warming??
The heat bathed her feet, enveloped them completely and held them there in it’s delicious embrace. Unknown to Katie, this entire process was the beginning of her compulsory twice-weekly pedicure, and this was merely phase one.
* * *
Seated at the very back of the pedicure lab, concealed by darkness, sat one of the agencies many stylists. Miss Porteous.
Her responsibility was the preparation of each new girls’ feet, the agency demanded absolute perfection and the machine Katie had found herself trapped within had been developed to achieve just that.
It was against the rules to leave a girl alone in the room during a pedicure, their heart and breathing rates had to be monitored closely at all times. It was a well known fact, amongst staff, clients and the girls, that the pedicure was shockingly ticklish, so much so that one girl – given to the agency by her older step sister – had actually been tickled literally to death shortly into the 3rd phase of the pedicure. Ever since that fateful day, rules were strictly enforced regarding the presence of at least one agency staff member at each and every pedicure session. It was not the deaths of the girls and any ensuing scandal that worried the agency chiefs, more the fact that a dead girl is a useless girl.
Well, nearly at least, but those tales were kept strictly confidential.
Truth be told, there was no need for this much fuss to be made over a simple pedicure, but the show it provided was an absolute hit amongst certain clients and proved to be an excellent money maker. 3 box-rooms were found at each side of the pedicure lab, 6 in total. Each had a window, one-way glass of course, and a reclining leather chair next to a table the height of the chair’s arms on which was placed a drinks tray, ensuring the clients could sit in perfect comfort and privacy as they waited for the ‘’real’’ show to start.
Miss Porteous glanced at the laptop screen before her. 27 minutes. Indicating that there were but 3 more minutes until the brushing phase began. She adored these moments, the calm before the storm she would think to herself. She never grew tired of it, the sudden terrified scream as the first brush made contact with the super slick, heated sole of whichever girl found herself sitting in the pedicure chair. Many brushes would make their presence felt during phase 2, all different shapes, sizes and textures; some like tiny paintbrushes to pay special attention to the crevices between each toe, others much larger, large enough to engulf the inside edge of the foot’s ball, brushing and buffing it to be as smooth and shiny as possible.
29 minutes.
Her hands became cold and tingly, the base of her stomach feeling as if it was about to melt, she knew any moment now the poor girl would be screaming for her life, willing to do anything just to make it stop.
I wonder if they ever pray for death during these beauty sessions... a tad rude really if they do. Who wouldn’t want their feet to look just as ravishing as the rest of their body? And for free too!
Doesn’t matter though, death will never come, not these days at least.
Privately, Miss Porteous would admit that she thoroughly got off on the idea of tickling these girls to death. Locking them in the chair, leaving the entire pedicure cycle on repeat, pulling up a chair to sit comfortably down by their restrained legs and revel in the beauty of the lady receiving her pedicure, rubbing herself the whole time and climaxing at the moment the girl drew her last, desperate breath.
Well, with pleasure comes pain, life is all about balance after all.
She jumped in her seat slightly as an ear splitting scream rang out across the pedicure lab.
Whipping round in her chair to face in the direction of that scream, she was greeted with a truly gorgeous sight.
* * *
The girl in the chair, ‘’Katie’’ as indicated by her notes to Miss Porteous, was screaming at the top of her lungs, mouth opened as wide as it could go, a desperate, crazed look in her eyes as the full effect of the brushes took hold of her. She watched in rapt fascination as scream after scream spewed forth from the girl’s mouth, whilst her body was held perfectly still, except for those feet...
The press of a button on her laptop caused 10 metallic fingers to extend from the base of the pedicure chair, each with a suction cup at its end. They silently poised themselves above Katie’s wildly flexing toes before clamping down like undersized plungers onto the tips of each toe, before withdrawing almost completely back into the base, pulling the toes back and immobilizing them as they went.
* * *
‘‘Stop!’’ screamed Katie as the brushes continued their work on her bare, sensitized feet. This was unreal. Absolute immobility and the worst foot tickling ever.
Somebody kill me, now!
She knew this would carry on for a long time if her previous session of foot tickling was anything to go by. But this was so much worse. The total inability to move even an inch, not even her head, her hands or her feet!
Let my fucking feet go, NOW!
She had many thoughts and opinions she wanted so badly to express, but even without the gag she realised she was powerless to voice any of them, and even if she had not been... who was there to hear her?
She felt so silly, bound so tightly and forced to laugh, out loud... for either nobody or the entire world to hear, all the while squealing like a little girl as her bare feet were brushed and buffed, over and over and over. The forced laughter, the forced crazed facial expressions, the removal of her ability to speak, to form any real thoughts... all brought on by some foot tickling.
The seat directly beneath her suddenly felt wet and warm, adding to her shame. She would have felt truly degraded at that point, if she could focus on what it meant to wet herself as a woman in her thirties, from having her feet brushed, had she not been screaming and screaming and straining her voice and every single muscle in her body during her attempts to get free.
The tickling was so intense she could barely breathe. It took her breath away when it started and each spin of a brush and every drag of a soft bristle plunged her deeper and deeper into the depths of breathlessness and madness.
I can’t do this. I can’t breathe! Make it stop; make it fucking stop, now! I’m going to die, stop it now let me go! Somebody help me for god’s sake! Argh why the fuck am I tied so tight?! I need to fucking move! Please! PLEASE!
Miss Porteous sat back, deeply enjoying the show. She glanced at her monitor and saw there was still 19 minutes of this phase left. Best not to let her know that though, makes them think it’s never going to stop. That’s the best way... make them think it’s gonna kill them.
Katie had broken. The brushes would not stop their assault on her bare, slick soles. They worked over every inch of them from the base of her heels right up to the balls of her feet and in between and underneath every single toe.
She couldn’t laugh anymore. Every time she had the breath available to make any noise it was released as a broken scream. She hadn’t been able to shut her mouth since that first brush began its work and her mouth was as dry as it ever had been in her life, her jaw ached like hell and a notable amount of the tears and sweat rolling down her face trickled straight into her mouth unimpeded. Of course Katie didn’t notice this; her entire world was her feet right now and the sensations raging through them, burning through her soles, shooting along her legs right into her stomach. Gripping her tight with feelings of panic, desperation, and sheer insanity.
On top of this, the assault on Katie’s feet had every pore on her body sweating profusely what with being trapped within the confines of the straight jacket and the curious box that housed her legs. She itched like crazy. From her neck, down along her spine and right in between her ass cheeks, all down the back of her thighs, and her sides particularly the skin underneath her arms where she hugged herself.
Unable to see, think, hear anything besides her own screams and pounding heartbeat, Katie’s mind finally snapped.
No longer did she simply scream. She wailed. Guttural, crackly tones escaped her throat as she wailed, saliva coursing down one side of her bright red face.
Every muscle in her frame ached, she felt as though she had pulled every single one of them with the effort of trying to escape. Her throat was burning and raw, mouth almost parched completely, she desperately needed a drink of some kind.
But still the brushes spun and spun and spun against those soles.
She began to hate her feet, having nobody and nothing else to direct her hatred towards at the moment. If it weren’t for them, she wouldn’t be in so much damn discomfort.
Pulling with all her might to get free, even if it meant ripping her feet off in the process, Katie made one final desperate bid to escape. Pulling and thrusting herself as much as she could beneath the straps and the jacket, but it was no use.
She plunged into a pit of despair as a more abrasive brush began its work on the centre of her heel, towards her fleshy instep. She felt sick. Sick with fear and sick from this constant, forced laughter.
She began hallucinating as she felt cold liquid sprayed against the sole of her foot, right in the centre of this new spinning brush. Lubricating the skin for an easier, much more ticklish passage. Squeezing her eyes shut, she saw before her a vision of her as a child, around 30 years younger, running to her mother, cuddling up against her, safe in her mother’s arms. The feeling of warmth borne of love and security spreading over her entire body... oh, mummy, i love you so much! You’ll look after me always and always, won’t you mummy?
You’ll protect me from nasty monsters won’t you? Like I’ll protect you from nasty men!
She awoke seconds later to the feeling of the new, oily brushes spinning across the balls of her feet in perfect synchronisation. An immense wave of self pity, hopelessness and apathy hit her, hard.
Too terrified to even contemplate resisting this torture and being forced to feel it more and more, Katie blacked out.
* * *
Aw, there she goes! 22 minutes of brushing, not bad for a new girl!
Now, if i wake her too soon she might never make it out of here alive. Best leave her for about 10 minutes, and perhaps get her a drink too.
Miss Porteous wouldn’t feed the girl herself of course; the chair would do that for her, the utilities found within the box housing Katie’s legs were many, several based around nutrition. She could be kept fully hydrated for up to 72 hours of a brushing phase.
Certainly something i wanna see one day, oh my god!
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