KOBE
TMF Poster
- Joined
- Mar 9, 2003
- Messages
- 106
- Points
- 18
The Gotham night was a festering wound, its air thick with rot and the distant wail of despair. Barbara Gordon—Batgirl—sliced through it with fierce resolve, her costume a bold slash of purple and black. Her yellow boots, laced tight with rugged black cords knotted twice at the top, encased feet that were a hidden treasure: pale as marble, soles etched with delicate, silken wrinkles, and softer than a breath. Thick black socks clung to them, trapping heat and a ticklishness honed by years of nightly confinement, her purple-polished toes twitching within their cocoon. She was a hero, unyielding—until tonight.
She didn’t know the Joker had been shadowing her, his mind a twisted swamp of fixation. Those boots—thudding through his chaos—had ignited a perverse lust. He didn’t just want to see her feet; he wanted to own them, to bind Batgirl and revel in her soles’ torment. The thrill of her helplessness, her ticklishness exposed against her will, was a dark rapture consuming him.
Tonight, he struck.
Barbara vaulted a skylight, cape whipping, when he erupted from the shadows. She spun, batarang in hand, but he tackled her with manic speed. “Caught you, Babsy!” he cackled, his fingers clawing into her ribs with a ruthless tickle. Her body buckled, a horrified laugh bursting free as she thrashed. “No—stop—!” she gasped, desperation surging as he wrestled her down. Her resistance crumbled under the onslaught, and he pinned her, ropes snapping tight around her upper calves and wrists, hogtying her. Tossing her over his shoulder, he carried her down, slipping inside the door and dropping her on the warehouse floor.
She glared up, breathless, defiance blazing. “You’re finished, clown.”
He loomed over her, grin a grotesque slash. “Finished? Oh, darling, I’m just beginning. Look at you—bound like a prize, all mine. No one’s coming—just you, me, and those delicious feet.” His eyes locked on her boots, glinting with lust. “They’re screaming for me.”
Her mind spun, desperation clawing. This isn’t real, she insisted. Someone will stop him. But the ropes dug into her calves, and his hands were on her boots, shattering her hope.
He started with the left boot, fingers lingering on the laces. The thick black cords were knotted twice, a fortress he savored dismantling. He tugged the bow loose, slow and deliberate, the rasping sound a taunt. “Oh, Babsy, let’s take our time,” he purred, threading the lace through each eyelet with exaggerated care. The leather creaked as he worked, loosening the tongue inch by inch, the boot slackening around her ankle. Her toes flexed inside, pressing against the sock, and he chuckled. “Fighting already? Good.” He peeled the boot off, tugging gently at first, then harder as her foot resisted, finally slipping free with a soft pop. Her socked foot emerged, warm and damp, toes clenching the fabric. “One down!”
The right boot came next, his fingers tracing the laces with relish. He untied the knot, savoring each pull, the cords whispering through the eyelets. “Look at these—sturdy little guardians,” he teased, loosening it slowly, eyelet by eyelet, the leather groaning as it gave way. Her toes curled tighter, a futile stand, and he grinned. “Oh, you’re making me work for it—love that!” The boot sagged, and he dragged it off, inching it past her heel, her resistance only prolonging the reveal. “Two bare—at least, almost!”
“Stop—you won’t get away with this!” she snapped, voice trembling with rising panic. “Someone’s coming—”
“Dream on,” he taunted, hovering over her socked feet. “Let’s test you first.” His fingers skittered along her left sole, teasing through the fabric. She jolted, thrashing against the ropes, a horrified laugh bubbling up. “No—no—!” she choked, struggling to stifle it, her calves straining. He attacked the right, fingers dancing over the wrinkles, and her laughter grew, frantic and strained. “S-stop—please—!” she gasped, horrified at her own sounds.
“Ticklish through socks? Oh, this’ll be divine!” he crowed, pinching her left sock’s cuff. Her toes clamped down, gripping the fabric with desperate strength. “Oh, you’re a stubborn one!” He tugged, slow and cruel, peeling it down. The first inch revealed her ankle, pale and smooth, trembling slightly. Another tug, and the curve of her heel emerged, soft and warm, a faint sheen of sweat glistening. Her toes fought harder, curling tight, but he pulled again, exposing the arch—pale, wrinkled, a silken expanse quivering in the cool air. “Look at that—pure art,” he murmured, inching it past the ball of her foot, her toes’ grip faltering. The sock slipped free, her bare sole fully unveiled—flawless, radiating heat, wrinkles deepening as she flexed. He moaned, enthralled. “Perfection!”
The right sock was next. Her toes gripped fiercely, a last stand, and he laughed. “Making it a challenge, eh? I like that!” He tugged the cuff, peeling it down bit by bit. Her ankle came into view, pale and delicate, then her heel, plump and soft, warm from its prison. Another pull revealed her arch, silken and wrinkled, trembling with every inch exposed. “Oh, you’re a treasure,” he purred, working it past the ball, her toes clinging desperately. The sock gave way, slipping off, her second sole bare—pale, soft, a twin masterpiece. “Both mine now!”
Her desperation surged, disbelief fracturing. “No—this isn’t—you can’t—someone—!” she stammered, as he traced her arch, the ticklish spark shattering her resolve.
He leaned closer, eyes glinting. “Oh, but I can.” He bent down, sucking her left middle toe into his mouth. Her reaction was instant—her body seized, a high-pitched yelp exploding from her lips, her hypersensitive toe overwhelmed by the wet, invasive sensation. “N-no—stop—!” she cried, thrashing wildly, the ticklish jolt mingling with revulsion, her mind reeling at the violation.
He pulled back, grinning. “Sensitive little piggies, huh? Perfect!” He dove in with his fingers, tickling her bare heels, arches, toes. Her laughter swelled, louder and louder, a cacophony echoing off the walls. “No—stop—please—!” she begged, voice rising, her hope fading.
“No stopping,” he purred, pulling out a string. “Let’s spread you out.” He forced her left toes apart, tying them wide, her sole stretching. Dread flooded her. “No—no—don’t—please—!” He bound her right toes, her pleas shrill. “Stop—please—I can’t—someone—!” He plunged between her spread toes, tickling deep. She lost it, laughter bursting so hard she couldn’t form words—just raw, hysterical shrieks, her body convulsing, mind unraveling.
Then she saw the camera, red light glaring. He stopped, fingers poised, as her head snapped up, eyes wild with terror. “HELP ME!” she screamed, voice cracking with hopeless anguish. “PLEASE—ANYONE OUT THERE—I’VE ALWAYS FOUGHT FOR YOU—DON’T LET ME END LIKE THIS! HE’S—HE’S GOT ME—PLEASE, I’M BEGGING!” Her cries grew louder, more frantic, a shattering wail of despair. “SOMEONE—SAVE ME—I CAN’T GET OUT—HE WON’T STOP—PLEASE, DON’T LEAVE ME HERE! HELP ME! PLEASE!” Tears streamed, her voice a raw, broken plea, heavy with the weight of abandonment.
He turned to the camera, grin dripping with malice. “She’s mine to unravel, inch by ticklish inch. Hope you enjoyed the show—her screams are ours to keep.” The screen cut to black, her final, desolate “HELP ME—PLEASE—!” fading into silence, a void swallowing her fate.
She didn’t know the Joker had been shadowing her, his mind a twisted swamp of fixation. Those boots—thudding through his chaos—had ignited a perverse lust. He didn’t just want to see her feet; he wanted to own them, to bind Batgirl and revel in her soles’ torment. The thrill of her helplessness, her ticklishness exposed against her will, was a dark rapture consuming him.
Tonight, he struck.
Barbara vaulted a skylight, cape whipping, when he erupted from the shadows. She spun, batarang in hand, but he tackled her with manic speed. “Caught you, Babsy!” he cackled, his fingers clawing into her ribs with a ruthless tickle. Her body buckled, a horrified laugh bursting free as she thrashed. “No—stop—!” she gasped, desperation surging as he wrestled her down. Her resistance crumbled under the onslaught, and he pinned her, ropes snapping tight around her upper calves and wrists, hogtying her. Tossing her over his shoulder, he carried her down, slipping inside the door and dropping her on the warehouse floor.
She glared up, breathless, defiance blazing. “You’re finished, clown.”
He loomed over her, grin a grotesque slash. “Finished? Oh, darling, I’m just beginning. Look at you—bound like a prize, all mine. No one’s coming—just you, me, and those delicious feet.” His eyes locked on her boots, glinting with lust. “They’re screaming for me.”
Her mind spun, desperation clawing. This isn’t real, she insisted. Someone will stop him. But the ropes dug into her calves, and his hands were on her boots, shattering her hope.
He started with the left boot, fingers lingering on the laces. The thick black cords were knotted twice, a fortress he savored dismantling. He tugged the bow loose, slow and deliberate, the rasping sound a taunt. “Oh, Babsy, let’s take our time,” he purred, threading the lace through each eyelet with exaggerated care. The leather creaked as he worked, loosening the tongue inch by inch, the boot slackening around her ankle. Her toes flexed inside, pressing against the sock, and he chuckled. “Fighting already? Good.” He peeled the boot off, tugging gently at first, then harder as her foot resisted, finally slipping free with a soft pop. Her socked foot emerged, warm and damp, toes clenching the fabric. “One down!”
The right boot came next, his fingers tracing the laces with relish. He untied the knot, savoring each pull, the cords whispering through the eyelets. “Look at these—sturdy little guardians,” he teased, loosening it slowly, eyelet by eyelet, the leather groaning as it gave way. Her toes curled tighter, a futile stand, and he grinned. “Oh, you’re making me work for it—love that!” The boot sagged, and he dragged it off, inching it past her heel, her resistance only prolonging the reveal. “Two bare—at least, almost!”
“Stop—you won’t get away with this!” she snapped, voice trembling with rising panic. “Someone’s coming—”
“Dream on,” he taunted, hovering over her socked feet. “Let’s test you first.” His fingers skittered along her left sole, teasing through the fabric. She jolted, thrashing against the ropes, a horrified laugh bubbling up. “No—no—!” she choked, struggling to stifle it, her calves straining. He attacked the right, fingers dancing over the wrinkles, and her laughter grew, frantic and strained. “S-stop—please—!” she gasped, horrified at her own sounds.
“Ticklish through socks? Oh, this’ll be divine!” he crowed, pinching her left sock’s cuff. Her toes clamped down, gripping the fabric with desperate strength. “Oh, you’re a stubborn one!” He tugged, slow and cruel, peeling it down. The first inch revealed her ankle, pale and smooth, trembling slightly. Another tug, and the curve of her heel emerged, soft and warm, a faint sheen of sweat glistening. Her toes fought harder, curling tight, but he pulled again, exposing the arch—pale, wrinkled, a silken expanse quivering in the cool air. “Look at that—pure art,” he murmured, inching it past the ball of her foot, her toes’ grip faltering. The sock slipped free, her bare sole fully unveiled—flawless, radiating heat, wrinkles deepening as she flexed. He moaned, enthralled. “Perfection!”
The right sock was next. Her toes gripped fiercely, a last stand, and he laughed. “Making it a challenge, eh? I like that!” He tugged the cuff, peeling it down bit by bit. Her ankle came into view, pale and delicate, then her heel, plump and soft, warm from its prison. Another pull revealed her arch, silken and wrinkled, trembling with every inch exposed. “Oh, you’re a treasure,” he purred, working it past the ball, her toes clinging desperately. The sock gave way, slipping off, her second sole bare—pale, soft, a twin masterpiece. “Both mine now!”
Her desperation surged, disbelief fracturing. “No—this isn’t—you can’t—someone—!” she stammered, as he traced her arch, the ticklish spark shattering her resolve.
He leaned closer, eyes glinting. “Oh, but I can.” He bent down, sucking her left middle toe into his mouth. Her reaction was instant—her body seized, a high-pitched yelp exploding from her lips, her hypersensitive toe overwhelmed by the wet, invasive sensation. “N-no—stop—!” she cried, thrashing wildly, the ticklish jolt mingling with revulsion, her mind reeling at the violation.
He pulled back, grinning. “Sensitive little piggies, huh? Perfect!” He dove in with his fingers, tickling her bare heels, arches, toes. Her laughter swelled, louder and louder, a cacophony echoing off the walls. “No—stop—please—!” she begged, voice rising, her hope fading.
“No stopping,” he purred, pulling out a string. “Let’s spread you out.” He forced her left toes apart, tying them wide, her sole stretching. Dread flooded her. “No—no—don’t—please—!” He bound her right toes, her pleas shrill. “Stop—please—I can’t—someone—!” He plunged between her spread toes, tickling deep. She lost it, laughter bursting so hard she couldn’t form words—just raw, hysterical shrieks, her body convulsing, mind unraveling.
Then she saw the camera, red light glaring. He stopped, fingers poised, as her head snapped up, eyes wild with terror. “HELP ME!” she screamed, voice cracking with hopeless anguish. “PLEASE—ANYONE OUT THERE—I’VE ALWAYS FOUGHT FOR YOU—DON’T LET ME END LIKE THIS! HE’S—HE’S GOT ME—PLEASE, I’M BEGGING!” Her cries grew louder, more frantic, a shattering wail of despair. “SOMEONE—SAVE ME—I CAN’T GET OUT—HE WON’T STOP—PLEASE, DON’T LEAVE ME HERE! HELP ME! PLEASE!” Tears streamed, her voice a raw, broken plea, heavy with the weight of abandonment.
He turned to the camera, grin dripping with malice. “She’s mine to unravel, inch by ticklish inch. Hope you enjoyed the show—her screams are ours to keep.” The screen cut to black, her final, desolate “HELP ME—PLEASE—!” fading into silence, a void swallowing her fate.
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