ElFewja
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Do I have anything good to say about this? No, not really. The story tells instead of shows and is kind of boring, but I hated the idea of trashing it after I had written it. Does it demand a rewrite? Yes. Do I like the idea enough to put in more work for it? Not especially. Sorry about that. Really failing as an author with this one but well, you know how it goes (that is very likely not true; I really need to stop saying that. The whole, well, you know; I mean, do you really? Would you ask if you did? Geez). Mostly, I wanted to explore just the idea of Candy Land, where the ground would be composed of candy and, should a woman go barefoot, her feet would become a glorious plate of joy and nourishment. It didn’t go so well, but the potential is huge and I think that if anyone feels they can do the idea justice, go for it and let me know. I like the bits between the two characters quite a bit, but etc. It’s short, though, so if you continue on, at least the punishment won’t last long 😱.
Am I being too hard on myself and this story? Certainly. I just know I can do a lot better than this but can’t get up the motivation to fix it at all, you know? Try to enjoy, though!
Candy Land (M/F feet)
Candy Land is a marvelous place; it is a miraculous land formed entirely of candy, if the country’s name did not already make that clear. The country is one of joy and freedom, hidden away on a distant, unexplored area of the world, locked away behind a sea of already-been-chewed bubble gum (aside from being sticky, it’s also disgusting, thus why the region is unexplored by modern civilizations). There, the roads are of peppermint, and the trees of red licorice, which turns into black licorice during the colder seasons. Only here do gum drops grow as bushes do elsewhere, while the rivers flow with that delicious substance known as chocolate (of all varieties, if you were interested in knowing).
Although countless types of both discovered and undiscovered candy decorate the hills and riddle the valleys, let us concern ourselves with that diabetics nightmare, The Great Milk Chocolate River, for it is there that this story takes place.
Now, the land is of great interest to the foot fetishists of the world – the ones that have heard the legends anyway – as the ground is composed of varies types of candy and chocolate, and above all else, it is absolute sin in this country to waste it’s natural resources, but to such a utopia, ideas like fetishes are yet un-named because there is no need to segregate oneself for any reason from society; to these people, all things are sacred. Now, this particular story concerns itself with a man by the name of Joe, who is an outsider that happened upon the shores a month prior to this event as a direct result of his vessel being sunk by an enemy nation’s submarine. Joe, a man who has always felt a strong attraction to the feet of women, built his ginger bread home not far from the Great Milk Chocolate River, though far enough away so as to avoid the yearly floods, in an area not at all near any villages, as the natives were not sure how to handle an outsider’s presence. By chance, the placement of his house left him not far from a small stream of milk chocolate that ran into the Great River, and it so happened that, on this day, he happened to run into a young woman on the opposite side while he had been gathering licorice and candy to store during the country’s harsh winter.
“Hullo!” he shouted to the woman, who resided some fifty feet away, to which he received a soft but pleasantly pitched return of that solitary word. “What brings you to these parts?” he asked her, knowing full well that no others lived in this region.
“A boating accident, I’m afraid.”
“That’s a shame! The nearest town is half a days hike up river, and the sun looks as if it’ll set soon. But, say, my hut is large enough for two, and you’re welcome to spend the night there if you wish.”
“I would greatly appreciate that, stranger!’ she said without moving. “Is there a spot where the stream does not run so wide, so that I might cross?”
At that moment, Joe realized he could easily take advantage of this situation and the naïve woman before him, immediately recognizing that this lovely red haired maiden feared trodding through the stream, as it would mar her white, soft looking leather boots and equally white dress. There were some places, but he was curious if his dark ambitions could so easily be fulfilled, especially since it had been close to three months since his separation from society.
“This is the closest the two sides will meet for at least three miles, and I haven’t a boat or rope for you to use. You’ll have to cross barefoot, m’lady, if you wish not to ruin your boots.”
“Alright,” she said simply, bending down to unbuckle the straps that held the leather tightly to her thighs. After pulling her feet out of them, she wiggled her toes and lifted her footwear just before hiking her dress up to her knees so that she would not stain her dress as she tested the chocolate’s temperature with her big toe, leaving it coated in that dark liquid which formed such a stark contrast to her own paleness. Over the span of a minute, she carefully crossed through the stream, until at last she stepped out on his side, leaving small chocolate foot print stamps across the ground she crossed.
“Ah,” he said when she stood next to him, noticing her to be a full head shorter than he, “We mustn’t waste the chocolate!”
“Oh, you’re right! But what will we do?”
“Here, sit down,” he instructed her. She obeyed, carefully pulling her dress back as she extended her slender legs. Slowly, he knelt down and leaned close, trembling slightly as he moved in to expertly lick the left most foot’s heel, then allowed his tongue to run straight to her ball by crossing her arch. Surprised by the unexpected sensations – particularly by how much it tickled – she relinquished a high pitched half giggle half yelp, and pulled away from his quick tongue while exclaiming “That tickles!”
“I know, and I am sorry, but it must be done,” he responded. Again she extended her leg, moving her foot close to his mouth, a single streak of cream poking through the oozing darkness that threatened to consume and cover that single streak if he did not move quickly; briefly he considered slow, savoring lunges so as to allow the chocolate to over take her flesh again, giving him opportunity to reap that flesh once more, but as his desire overtook him he found himself unable to have even this amount of patience. A second skilled lick was met by a peel of beautiful, continuous laughter while she struggled to hold her quivering foot still, tightly clenching her toes in order to withstand the painfully light touches, until his tongue found its way next to her ball, and unable to contain herself any longer, gave in to her intuition and pulled away a second time.
“I’m sorry.” She said again, “it just tickles so much! You’ll have to hold my foot, so that I can’t pull away.” He didn’t need to hear that, though he enjoyed being asked to restrain her, as he already had grabbed her delicate ankle and began again before she could finish asking him to hold her still, this time licking fast and relentlessly despite how often her foot wiggled and how hard she now laughed, occasionally begging him to stop, until she buried her face into her hands and gave in to the laughter that pried itself free of her innards that had until a few minutes ago kept these sensations a jailed secret from her. From the corner of his eye, as he progressed to her toes, he saw her hands jump to the grass, gripping it tightly so that she could fight her urges to flee or stop him. When he finally finished with the first foot, she seemed to become less tense while wiping the tears that had begun to well up at her eyes, and spoke to him, “My! That certainly tickled!” Her words were soon drowned out by her own surprised laughter as he began sucking the toes of her other foot clean of the chocolate threatening to encase them, whipping his tongue about wildly long after each toe was clean, enjoying this rare meal far more than he should have as she rolled about on the grass due to the strong grip keeping her foot painfully still.
At last he finished and led her to his lone gingerbread hut, where he used the licorice he had harvested to bind her, and began tickling her feet again, as he did each day for many years, despite her constant pleas for an end. Truthfully, those pleas were a natural response that she could not help but utter; she fairly enjoyed that strange feeling he had introduced to her, though she wished he would allow her some freedom.
Am I being too hard on myself and this story? Certainly. I just know I can do a lot better than this but can’t get up the motivation to fix it at all, you know? Try to enjoy, though!
Candy Land (M/F feet)
Candy Land is a marvelous place; it is a miraculous land formed entirely of candy, if the country’s name did not already make that clear. The country is one of joy and freedom, hidden away on a distant, unexplored area of the world, locked away behind a sea of already-been-chewed bubble gum (aside from being sticky, it’s also disgusting, thus why the region is unexplored by modern civilizations). There, the roads are of peppermint, and the trees of red licorice, which turns into black licorice during the colder seasons. Only here do gum drops grow as bushes do elsewhere, while the rivers flow with that delicious substance known as chocolate (of all varieties, if you were interested in knowing).
Although countless types of both discovered and undiscovered candy decorate the hills and riddle the valleys, let us concern ourselves with that diabetics nightmare, The Great Milk Chocolate River, for it is there that this story takes place.
Now, the land is of great interest to the foot fetishists of the world – the ones that have heard the legends anyway – as the ground is composed of varies types of candy and chocolate, and above all else, it is absolute sin in this country to waste it’s natural resources, but to such a utopia, ideas like fetishes are yet un-named because there is no need to segregate oneself for any reason from society; to these people, all things are sacred. Now, this particular story concerns itself with a man by the name of Joe, who is an outsider that happened upon the shores a month prior to this event as a direct result of his vessel being sunk by an enemy nation’s submarine. Joe, a man who has always felt a strong attraction to the feet of women, built his ginger bread home not far from the Great Milk Chocolate River, though far enough away so as to avoid the yearly floods, in an area not at all near any villages, as the natives were not sure how to handle an outsider’s presence. By chance, the placement of his house left him not far from a small stream of milk chocolate that ran into the Great River, and it so happened that, on this day, he happened to run into a young woman on the opposite side while he had been gathering licorice and candy to store during the country’s harsh winter.
“Hullo!” he shouted to the woman, who resided some fifty feet away, to which he received a soft but pleasantly pitched return of that solitary word. “What brings you to these parts?” he asked her, knowing full well that no others lived in this region.
“A boating accident, I’m afraid.”
“That’s a shame! The nearest town is half a days hike up river, and the sun looks as if it’ll set soon. But, say, my hut is large enough for two, and you’re welcome to spend the night there if you wish.”
“I would greatly appreciate that, stranger!’ she said without moving. “Is there a spot where the stream does not run so wide, so that I might cross?”
At that moment, Joe realized he could easily take advantage of this situation and the naïve woman before him, immediately recognizing that this lovely red haired maiden feared trodding through the stream, as it would mar her white, soft looking leather boots and equally white dress. There were some places, but he was curious if his dark ambitions could so easily be fulfilled, especially since it had been close to three months since his separation from society.
“This is the closest the two sides will meet for at least three miles, and I haven’t a boat or rope for you to use. You’ll have to cross barefoot, m’lady, if you wish not to ruin your boots.”
“Alright,” she said simply, bending down to unbuckle the straps that held the leather tightly to her thighs. After pulling her feet out of them, she wiggled her toes and lifted her footwear just before hiking her dress up to her knees so that she would not stain her dress as she tested the chocolate’s temperature with her big toe, leaving it coated in that dark liquid which formed such a stark contrast to her own paleness. Over the span of a minute, she carefully crossed through the stream, until at last she stepped out on his side, leaving small chocolate foot print stamps across the ground she crossed.
“Ah,” he said when she stood next to him, noticing her to be a full head shorter than he, “We mustn’t waste the chocolate!”
“Oh, you’re right! But what will we do?”
“Here, sit down,” he instructed her. She obeyed, carefully pulling her dress back as she extended her slender legs. Slowly, he knelt down and leaned close, trembling slightly as he moved in to expertly lick the left most foot’s heel, then allowed his tongue to run straight to her ball by crossing her arch. Surprised by the unexpected sensations – particularly by how much it tickled – she relinquished a high pitched half giggle half yelp, and pulled away from his quick tongue while exclaiming “That tickles!”
“I know, and I am sorry, but it must be done,” he responded. Again she extended her leg, moving her foot close to his mouth, a single streak of cream poking through the oozing darkness that threatened to consume and cover that single streak if he did not move quickly; briefly he considered slow, savoring lunges so as to allow the chocolate to over take her flesh again, giving him opportunity to reap that flesh once more, but as his desire overtook him he found himself unable to have even this amount of patience. A second skilled lick was met by a peel of beautiful, continuous laughter while she struggled to hold her quivering foot still, tightly clenching her toes in order to withstand the painfully light touches, until his tongue found its way next to her ball, and unable to contain herself any longer, gave in to her intuition and pulled away a second time.
“I’m sorry.” She said again, “it just tickles so much! You’ll have to hold my foot, so that I can’t pull away.” He didn’t need to hear that, though he enjoyed being asked to restrain her, as he already had grabbed her delicate ankle and began again before she could finish asking him to hold her still, this time licking fast and relentlessly despite how often her foot wiggled and how hard she now laughed, occasionally begging him to stop, until she buried her face into her hands and gave in to the laughter that pried itself free of her innards that had until a few minutes ago kept these sensations a jailed secret from her. From the corner of his eye, as he progressed to her toes, he saw her hands jump to the grass, gripping it tightly so that she could fight her urges to flee or stop him. When he finally finished with the first foot, she seemed to become less tense while wiping the tears that had begun to well up at her eyes, and spoke to him, “My! That certainly tickled!” Her words were soon drowned out by her own surprised laughter as he began sucking the toes of her other foot clean of the chocolate threatening to encase them, whipping his tongue about wildly long after each toe was clean, enjoying this rare meal far more than he should have as she rolled about on the grass due to the strong grip keeping her foot painfully still.
At last he finished and led her to his lone gingerbread hut, where he used the licorice he had harvested to bind her, and began tickling her feet again, as he did each day for many years, despite her constant pleas for an end. Truthfully, those pleas were a natural response that she could not help but utter; she fairly enjoyed that strange feeling he had introduced to her, though she wished he would allow her some freedom.
