FeatherHeart22
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Originally posted here: Captain Marvel's Extreme Foot Tickling Confinement
Enjoy! 🙂
Machine/F ● Hopeless Confinement ● Extreme Tickle Torture ● Feet Only
Captain Marvel's
Extreme Foot Tickling Confinement
Written by
FeatherHeart22
Synopsis:
Story Inspiration/Illustration :
This story was inspired by the following illustration:
TechnoStocks Interrogation
“Hehehehee... Tee-Hee-Hee... Hahahaha... No more...” Carol laughs in weak, breathless giggles, as the robot’s claws trace lazy circles under her heels, the least ticklish part of her feet. She barely has the strength to react now, her body limp within its confinement. Her eyes are glassy with exhaustion, and there’s drool dripping from the corner of her mouth.
She doesn’t know exactly how much time has passed since she woke up in this place, but it feels like an eternity. In reality, it has only been a little under three days. Carol’s Kree physiology grants her enhanced stamina and endurance, but even with those advantages, three days of nonstop foot tickling was enough to turn her into a worn out, drooling wreck, on the verge of passing out.
In light of her pathetic condition, the robot has decided to dial down the tickling for a few minutes, to perform a little “upkeep” on its prisoner.
One of Captain Marvel’s special abilities is to turn energy into sustenance and strength. This power is astonishing, but it is also a curse, because it allows for an extremely simple and convenient way to keep her alive without releasing her body from containment.
“Please... Hehehe... No more... What do you want? Tee-Hee-Hee... Please tell me... Ple-Hehehehehe...” she asks, her plea crumbling into helpless giggles. She can feel her strength being slowly renewed, even as those dreadful claws tantalize her heels, ever-so-gently, like a driver idling the engine, waiting to unleash full throttle.
Suddenly, her left foot stops being tickled entirely. The robotic arm moves out of the way, allowing the exfoliating laser to sweep up and down her sole a few times.
“No... Please... Tee-Hehehe... They’re ticklish enough already...” Carol begs, mustering enough strength to close her toes — for a few seconds, anyway.
She can’t see the laser striking her foot, but she can feel its warmth. It doesn’t hurt at all. In fact, it feels rather nice. For a fleeting moment, her exhausted mind gets away from this nightmare, contemplating what it would be like to get a foot rub with her feet in this immaculate condition.
I’d like that. That would feel really, really good... she thinks, imagining herself relaxing on a poolside lounge, while two beautiful alien attendants treat her poor, tired feet to a soothing massage.
While Captain Marvel enjoys this brief imaginary vacation, the robotic hand works in tandem with the laser, gently maneuvering her toes to ensure the spaces between them aren’t neglected.
Within a minute, whatever insignificant amounts of ticklishness were lost since the last application, are restored in full. When the laser powers down, the robotic claws give her foot a quick scribble, like a musician testing an instrument they just finished tuning.
“YIIII-HIIIII-HIII-HIII! No-- NO! Please! Please don’t! It tickles too much!” she shrieks, her eyes wide with ticklish horror, her lips twisting into a hideous forced grimace.
As the claws fiddle across Carol’s freshly tenderized, immeasurably delicate sole, her foot twitches against the elastics. However, she resists the urge to strain her foot in any meaningful capacity, trying to save her strength for later.
Satisfied with the results, the robot resumes teasing her left heel, and begins carrying out the same treatment on her other foot. As the laser works on her right sole, Carol experiences a flashback from when she first woke up in this torture dungeon.
She was investigating a distress call. A densely populated planet was under attack. When she got there, she saw an alien armada, raining hell on the planet for unknown reasons. She flew towards the largest ship. As she neared it, she was struck by some sort of energy ray. She didn’t even try to dodge it, as such weapons are usually ineffective against her. But this weapon was different. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem designed to inflict damage, but to render her unconscious.
When she woke up, she found herself in this place, encased in unyielding black metal from her neck to her ankles. Even before the robot began tickling her, she had been struck by an unsettling sensation — a heightened sensitivity under her feet.
She could feel the very air beneath her soles and between her toes, as though her feet were immersed in water. She curled her toes and twisted her feet, stretching the elastic restraints for the very first time. She couldn’t understand why her feet felt so different, so unnervingly tender.
Bewilderment gave way to mind-numbing shock when the robot’s sharp, teasing fingers brushed her skin.
“MRRRRRG!” she groaned, frowning deeply, her every muscle writhing against their confinement, as the first impulses of ticklish agony fried her mind like a high-voltage electrical current.
She had been tickled before, but never like this. Not even close. Every tickle was amplified to an unnatural degree. The sensations were so clear, so painfully precise, that they overwhelmed her senses instantly. Each and every nerve under her feet could pick up even the slightest touch with excruciating clarity.
During those first few instants, the tickling felt so utterly overwhelming that her body reacted as though in pain. Her toes curled instinctively and her feet turned sideways, forcefully stretching the elastics. It took her a few seconds to process the novelty of such intensity, to realize that it didn’t actually hurt — it simply tickled far worse than anything she had ever felt before.
“GAAA-HAAA-HAAAAA! WHA-- WHAT ARE YOU-- YEEE-HEEE-HEEE! STOP THAT!” she cried out, shrieks of panicked laughter erupting out of her as she struggled to break free. But she didn’t break free, and the hellish tickling didn’t stop.
The robot, programmed with the combined mastery of countless expert ticklers, was abusing her enhanced vulnerability with surgical precision, its claws darting across her helpless, insanely tender soles in ways guaranteed to drive her batshit insane.
Carol already felt pushed to the edge of her sanity, yet the bot was only showcasing the first of its default techniques. As it gathered sensor data, it would use advanced algorithms to customize the tickling. It would map her feet in frightening detail, select the most devastating techniques, and tweak them for optimal effectiveness.
Given enough time, it would devise a custom routine for her, scientifically tailored to inflict maximum ticklish suffering. And this devious research would never end. Should Carol’s pedal sensitivity dull or adapt, the robot would compensate, in an endless quest for perfection. Furthermore, to inject additional variation, random segments of research would be periodically deleted.
“YIIIIIIIIIIAAAARG!” Captain Marvel screeched maniacally, her poor feet trembling against their bondage, her power lashing out wildly as she desperately sought to break free from this unbearable torture.
Carol’s feet were already very ticklish to begin with. Even in their natural state, the robot’s standard tickling would have put her through a harrowing ordeal. But with the added effect of the tenderizing treatment, which left her soles more sensitive than she ever thought possible, the degree of sheer ticklish agony she experienced SKYROCKETED, far surpassing anything she might have been able to handle.
All that taken into account, it’s downright miraculous that she endured nearly two hours of this living hell before her will was finally broken.
Without warning, the claws, teasing her heels, intensify their tickling, signaling the end of the break.
“N-N-NO-Hohohoho...” Carol whimpers, eyes flashing in genuine fear, toes twitching and curling, as the claws begin to skitter up her pale, immaculate soles, slowly and steadily. She doesn’t feel like a superhero anymore. She doesn’t feel like a Captain, much less a Marvel. She feels like a woman; a fragile, vulnerable, powerless, helpless, broken woman.
“I give up! I’ll do anything! Hahahahaha! Please! I’m begging you! What do you want from me?! I’LL DO ANYTHING! Just staaa-Haa-Haa-Haa-Haaaap!” she cries out, her feet shuddering sideways as the claws advance upwards. But despite her pleas, she fears there might be no goals beyond her confinement and torture.
Neutralizing her had been a monumental achievement; a triumph which the architects of her captivity might not be willing to jeopardize. No, they won’t ever let her go. Not for any reason.
And they likely won’t stop tickling her, either. There’s no way tickling is included in any standard interrogation/torture AI package. It’s too specific, too obscure. How many species are even ticklish? Not many. And among those, how many find it unbearable? Only humans, as far as she knows.
The aliens obviously went to great lengths to research tickling torture, and program a robot to carry it out to perfection. Surely, they wouldn’t have bothered to do that unless they intended to have her suffer it for a very, very long time.
“BWAAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA!” she bursts out laughing hysterically as the tickling resumes in earnest, the robot’s claws dancing expertly all over her arches, fiddling her wrinkles and crinkles as though playing a harp.
“I GIVE UP! PUH-LEE-HEE-HEE-ASE!” she wails once again, weeping in misery and defeat, her powers flaring uselessly against the armor plates.
But yet again, she receives no reply. Thus, her ticklish confinement will go on, without an end in sight, worsening with every hour. Her only chance is that her allies will somehow rescue her.
Hopefully before she goes completely mad.
FIN
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Enjoy! 🙂
Machine/F ● Hopeless Confinement ● Extreme Tickle Torture ● Feet Only
Captain Marvel's
Extreme Foot Tickling Confinement
Written by
FeatherHeart22
Synopsis:
Fed up with Captain Marvel’s meddling, an alien force has built a containment device to imprison her. Sealed away in a form-fitting adamantium prison, with her body encased from her neck to her ankles, and her cosmic energy being siphoned away, the overpowered girlboss has been truly defeated.
But that’s not all. The aliens, craving revenge, went out of their way to devise the ideal punishment for her — a maddening torture which can be carried out indefinitely, without compromising her containment, without inflicting lasting harm, and against which she doesn’t have any means of defense.
Her mighty feet, immobilized in stocks, will have their sensitivity enhanced to ludicrous levels, and be left helpless before a tickle-bot, programed and equipped to inflict masterful tickling, using the implement she finds most unbearable: long fingernails, or in this case, robotic metal claws.
This story details Captain Marvel’s ticklish containment in exquisite detail.
Just her, her big ticklish feet, and a mindless tickle bot.
No way out. No rescue. No end in sight.
But that’s not all. The aliens, craving revenge, went out of their way to devise the ideal punishment for her — a maddening torture which can be carried out indefinitely, without compromising her containment, without inflicting lasting harm, and against which she doesn’t have any means of defense.
Her mighty feet, immobilized in stocks, will have their sensitivity enhanced to ludicrous levels, and be left helpless before a tickle-bot, programed and equipped to inflict masterful tickling, using the implement she finds most unbearable: long fingernails, or in this case, robotic metal claws.
This story details Captain Marvel’s ticklish containment in exquisite detail.
Just her, her big ticklish feet, and a mindless tickle bot.
No way out. No rescue. No end in sight.
Story Inspiration/Illustration :
This story was inspired by the following illustration:
TechnoStocks Interrogation
◄●►
“MRRRRRRRRRRRG!” Captain Marvel groans, her face contorted with agony, eyes squeezed shut in a hopeless effort to block out the unbearable sensations searing through her body. Beads of sweat roll down her temples, her powerful form trembling as she summons every last ounce of cosmic energy, pouring it into the containment system that’s holding her captive.
She’s bound in a sitting position, inside a sort of pod. The whole thing is effectively a huge bondage device — a machine designed to contain and subdue her, to render her helpless so that she might be tortured with impunity.
Thick adamantium plates encase her whole body like a form-fitting suit of armor, pressing against her legs, chest, and arms, each segment held in place with piston-like devices. Whenever she radiates cosmic energy, it shines between the armor plates and makes them tremble, but somehow, it is redirected along the pistons, flowing into an energy sink.
She hasn’t actually seen this energy sink, but it’s her only explanation as to why her photon blasts can’t grow powerful enough to break through the adamantium, and why her attempts to go into Binary state keep failing. No matter how much power she discharges, the containment device neutralizes it, leaving her gasping in frustration and helpless rage.
This is all terribly humiliating, but what’s happening to her feet is worse than humiliating — infinitely worse.
Her ankles are encased in a set of mighty metallic stocks. On the other side of those stocks, her large feet are bare and exposed, utterly helpless to any and all torments her captors might decide to unleash upon them.
Carol Davers never showed her feet to anyone who bore a special appreciation for the female foot; she never even met a single foot fetishist. Had she done so, she would’ve found out that she has the feet of a goddess.
Her feet may be large, yet their proportions are perfectly adequate for her stature, with a great balance between elegance and strength. Her arches, rather high, but not freakishly so, are as wrinkly as they’re delicate. The balls of her feet are wide and plush, like a pair of soft pillows. Her toes are perfectly formed, neither too long or too short, with wonderful bubbly pads and a classically Egyptian shape.
As for her soles, they’re a masterpiece of smooth, unblemished skin, soft as silk, free from even the faintest trace of roughness, flawless from the base of her heels to the tips of her toes. However, this pristine condition is a recent development, an integral part of her torturous captivity.
Before Carol woke up inside this hellish contraption, her feet used to have a normal amount of wear and tear. But now, they’re as soft and supple as newborn baby feet, their delicate skin utterly transformed. Every imperfection, every yellowed or rough spot, every sign that her feet ever supported her weight, has been erased by an extremely advanced exfoliation laser — a high-tech alien beauty treatment which leaves her soles impossibly smooth and pristine.
Supremely immaculate and unbearably sensitive, her feet were transformed into a foot fetishist’s wet dream. Under normal circumstances, she might have been okay with this, if only the goal was for her feet to be cherished and adored.
Carol never had a boyfriend with a foot fetish. But if she had, she would have definitely enjoyed having her feet worshiped. With her commanding personality, she would have smirked smugly as her feet were tenderly massaged, as her soles were kissed and her toes sucked. Licking might have been a little too weird for her, but she would have been amused by rubbing her soles into his face, pinching his nose with her toes.
Alas, helpless in stocks, her gorgeous feet are not in a position to carry out any type of dominance. The reason why they were enhanced was not to turn them into objects of worship, but rather, the perfect canvases upon which to carry out foot torture — a very particular torture, to be exact.
To ensure maximum vulnerability, her toes are all individually bound with industrial strength elastics. She can curl them, but even with her superhuman strength, doing so requires great effort. Twisting her feet sideways is also possible, yet doing so pushes her muscles to their limit, a struggle she can’t hold for longer than a few seconds. The instant her strength wavers, the elastics pull back her toes, splaying them open, and rendering her soles smooth and taut.
Right now, she’s using every bit of strength she can summon. Her feet are trembling violently as she holds her toes curled, turning her crinkled soles sideways in a futile attempt to mitigate the maddening torment being inflicted to her helpless feet.
On the other side of the stocks, fixed to the pod’s inner wall, there’s a sort of robot, equipped and programed to dish out torture — but not just any torture. It has been deliberately set up to administer top-tier tickling torture.
"MRRRGH! No! Ahhh, no! NO! Stop! Stop tickling my feeeet!" she gasps, her voice cracking with desperation as the robot dances ten sharp claws across her soles, scratching lightly at the sensitive skin, strumming her crinkles as though playing a harp.
But despite her pleas, the robot doesn’t stop. Its cold, glowing red eye scans her reactions constantly, adjusting its technique to better abuse her unimaginable ticklishness. Right now, it’s focusing on her tender arches, scraping delicately at the crinkled skin, its every touch sending jolts of ticklish agony shooting up her legs.
"Gaaaah! Haaaa-HAAAA-HAAAAA!" her laughter breaks free as she strains against the elastics, curling her toes even tighter, her face contorting in a feral grimace.
Fresh tears well up in her eyes as the tickling suddenly shifts, the claws now trailing up and down her soles, lingering on the plush balls of her feet.
"PLEASE! Stop-- Please-- Please stap!" she begs, her voice shaking with an unexpectedly sensual blend of fury and despair.
But her begging is futile. The machine has no mercy, no sympathy. It was designed with one purpose — to tickle her feet, endlessly refining its methods so that the torture becomes increasingly grueling with every session.
“NO MOOOOORE!” she screams, channeling more cosmic energy than ever before in a desperate attempt to reach her Binary state. If she could accomplish that feat, she would be able to burst out of this prison.
Within her, she opens all floodgates and taps into every reserve. She’s truly pushing herself to the absolute limit of her power, scraping the bottom of the barrel for every last bit of energy.
Her encased body glows brightly, the adamantium plates tremble, the pistons groan, and somewhere in the distance, the energy sink thrums.
“MMMMMMRRRG!” she groans, her face tight with effort, determination and ticklish suffering. She’s straining her feet to hold their position, toes curled down, soles turned sideways, as those awful claws skitter all over her arches, drowning her mind in ticklish agony.
For a foolish moment, she allows herself to believe it’s going to work. Soon, very soon, the containment system will be overwhelmed, and she will break free from this hellish contraption. She can practically feel the sweet relief as her feet pull away from those infernal claws, breaking the stocks and snapping the elastics.
It’s going to happen. She believes it will. She knows it will. Any moment, now. Any moment... Any... Any...
But to her absolute dismay, it doesn’t. Despite her titanic efforts, the machinery is still channeling her power, not even showing signs of imminent failure. Carol, on the other hand, can’t keep this up anymore. Inevitably, her strength begins to falter, and her curled toes gradually open up, revealing their bubbly pads, so tender and cute.
"No, no, no..." she whimpers, her voice breaking in defeat as her feet are straightened against her will. The elastics force her toes to lean back, all splayed out, leaving her venerable soles taut once more.
And then, the skittering claws climb even higher, relentless and merciless, abandoning her arches to tickle her toes.
“YEEEEAAAAAAAA-HAHAHAHA-HAAAA!” she screams, not in defiance but in ticklish hysteria, her worn out body struggling futility against the armor plates. Her laughter spills out, ragged and uncontrollable, the tickling so intense that she can’t think of anything but the claws teasing the soft pads of her toes, and even worse, the spaces between them.
“NO! HAHAHA! PLEASE! NOT THERE! BWAAAA-HAAA-HAA-HAAAA! ANYTHING BUT THAT! GAAA-HAHAHAHAHA-HAAA!” her laughter turns to sobs of absolute misery and defeat, as the dream of a swift escape crashes down.
Her feet twitch incessantly, but are too exhausted to fight the powerful elastics. And so, her gorgeous soles remain smooth and utterly exposed, perfectly laid out for the robot’s masterful tickling. For the time being, she can’t even summon the strength to curl her toes, much less lean her feet sideways.
“HAHAHAHAHA! WHY?! WHYWHYWHYYY?!” she wails, her voice ragged with laughter. Of all the ordeals they could have been picked for her, why did it have to be foot tickling with sharp fingernails? They could hardly have picked anything more exasperating.
As a Kree-Human hybrid, Carol benefits from significant resistance to various forms of mind control, telepathic manipulation, and mental torment. However, tickling goes right through all those defenses. She can put up a mental block against pain, and use deep meditation to avoid the effects of prolonged isolation. But tickling? She’s helpless against it.
Even so, under normal circumstances, tickling torture wouldn’t be too bad for her. It would be uncomfortable, but not unbearable. Carol hates being tickled, but no more than the average woman. She doesn’t have a tickling phobia, and neither is her ticklishness off-the-charts. To make such a torture work against her, they’d have to stack the deck against her — which is exactly what they did.
Singling out her feet for torture was a stroke of genius. The soles of the feet have more nerves than anywhere else across the human body, so if you’re an alien planning to tickle torture a human being, their feet are the most logical spot to focus on. Yet that is only the most obvious benefit.
Soles offer a nice flat surface upon which to inflict torture, and Carol’s are quite large, which makes them well suited for this purpose. Furthermore, humans are born with two feet, which allows for a more maddening experience by tickling both feet at the same time.
This last point raises the question: Why focus solely on Carol’s feet? The rest of her body offers a wide range of highly ticklish spots, so why not tickle her underarms too? Or her belly? Or her ribs? Or even her intimate areas? Because exposing any of those spots would require cutting up holes on the adamantium plates, which would massively weaken the confinement system.
Also, feet are body extremities, thus can be exposed far more safely than other tickle spots; they can be securely locked in stocks, allowing for the rest of her body to be entirely encased in adamantium, which maximizes the containment strength. According to simulations, such a solution would make it completely impossible for Captain Marvel to break free without outside help.
Another benefit of leaving most of her body snugly contained is that doing so encourages her nervous system to heighten the sensitivity of her feet.
Lastly, focusing on her feet synergizes perfectly with the laser pedicure system, which has been configured to its maximum setting, to expunge every last dead skin cell that might shield her nerves from the skittering metal claws.
As for those dreadful implements: Carol’s captors assembled a wide range of tickling tools, from sonic devices to exotic alien feathers. However, while Carol was unconscious, they ran a surface-level scan on her mind and nervous system — not deep enough to extract any detailed information or memories, but enough to expose her feelings regarding various types of tickling, and predict their effectiveness.
The scan revealed that she’s not remotely afraid of light tickling techniques, such those involving feathers, soft brushes, and gentle teasing caresses. In fact, even after having her pedal ticklishness heightened to ludicrous levels with the laser treatment, she’d likely enjoy such gentle techniques. No, if the goal is to torture her, more intense techniques would be required.
The scan highlighted a number of tools which would tickle her terribly, but among all those implements, one scored far above the rest: Sharp claws or fingernails. With a perfect 100/100, such implements scored a full 35 points higher than the next best device.
Fingernails and claws aren’t merely effective against her. They’re DEVASTATING. She is unbelievably vulnerable to this type of tickling, and genuinely afraid of it. Terrified even, on an instinctive level. As long as her spots are vulnerable, the mere sight of scribbling fingers is enough to make her squirm and assume defensive measures.
In light of this intel, all other tools were cast aside, leaving only two robotic arms with clawed metal fingers, directly in front of Carol’s helpless feet. The original idea was to have a great many implements on display, to frighten her with the prospect of an extremely large variety of ticklish sensations. But this way, she’d have less visual distractions, and no choice but to constantly confront the type of tickling that truly terrifies her.
Indeed, scrapping all other tools was the right call, for those claw-tipped fingers have surpassed all expectations. Carol absolutely can’t stand them. Not even a little. From the instant she first felt those claws teasing her feet, her every waking moment has been consumed by a burning, completely desperate need to escape by any means necessary.
“WHAT DO YOU-- YEEE-HEHEHEHE-HEEE! WHYYY?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO MEEE?! YAAA-HAHAHAHA-HAAAA!” the captive super hero cackles away, her face twisted with tortured mirth and desperation, her exhausted body trembling within the adamantium armor plates. On the other side of the stocks, her mighty feet are too tired to struggle against the elastics, which leaves her gorgeous soles completely taut and vulnerable, helpless against the dancing metal claws.
Ignoring her every cry, the bot keeps tickling without a shred of mercy. In fact, deciding to take advantage of how stretched out and exhausted Carol’s feet are, the machine switches to a plowing technique, raking down her tender soles, from the base of her toes to the bottom of her heels, over and over again.
“HAAA! HEEE-HAAA! STAPSTAPSTAP… PLEEEEHEHEHEASE!” she wails, her poor feet barely even twitching as the sharp claws travel down her soles with exactly the right speed and pressure to set her nerves on fire with ticklishness.
Carol can’t take this. She truly, seriously can’t bear it. It’s absolutely horrendous. It’s a wracking ordeal that pushes her mind to the edge of insanity. Even without the laser pedicure, she would find this torment unbearable. The hyper-sensitive condition forced onto her soles elevates the ticklish agony to levels so obscene, she had never even dreamed they could exist.
Her head feels like it’s going to explode any moment, like an erupting volcano, from containing such indescribably awful tickling sensations. She’s utterly desperate to curl her toes and shake her feet, yet can’t find the strength to do it. Therefore, her large soles, impossibly soft and tender, remain perfectly steady, powerless to resist the sharp metal claws, as they drop, over and over again, in an endless cascade of ticklish madness.
“YAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAAA!” she cries out, her cackling assuming a curiously melodious tone. Such beautiful laughter would have inspired awe in any flesh and blood tickler, but not the robot. It simply logs the occurrence and carries on, tickling dutifully as though nothing happened.
Yet something did happen. Inside Carol’s mind, she felt as though an elastic band was stretched to the breaking point and snapped in two. She was just pushed beyond a mental limit, past a threshold of ticklish agony she never thought she’d be able to cross with her sanity intact. And yet, she’s still there, perfectly sane, inching towards the next threshold; towards a brand new line, further than before, marking the new end of her endurance.
Where is her new line? How far away is it? How much can she actually endure? How many of these thresholds can she be forced to cross before she loses her mind?
“PLEASE STAAA-HAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA! I’LL DO ANYTHING! PUH-LEEEEEASE!” she screams, desperate not to have those questions answered. But deep down, she fears her pleas won’t be heeded, no matter how much urgency she pours into them.
That dreadful belief stems from the simple fact that, after countless hours stuck in this contraption, her pleas have yet to be acknowledged. She didn’t start with pleading, of course; it took two hours of merciless tickling to make her beg.
Two hours. Barely ninety minutes. That was how little time it took to humble the invincible Captain Marvel.
Before stooping down to begging, she made threats, hurled insults and attempted to bargain. But no matter what she tried, she never received a reply. In fact, she has yet to receive a single sign that there’s anyone listening to her at all. As far as she knows, there might not be.
It’s entirely possible that the aliens encased her in a prison pod and tossed her into some strange dimension where she would never be found.
“I’LL DO ANYTHING! YIIII-HAAAA! HAHAHAHA-HAAAA! SAY SOMETHING! PLEASE! PLE-HE-HE-HEASE! ANYTHING!” she cries out in desperation, hoping with every fiber of her being that there is someone out there, monitoring her torture.
She’s imagining her captors watching her through the robot’s red eye, relishing in the sight of their greatest foe, humbled and subdued, being endlessly tortured for their amusement — an example for any who might dare defy them. That’s the scenario she chooses to imagine, because the alternative is too terrible to even fathom.
She’s bound in a sitting position, inside a sort of pod. The whole thing is effectively a huge bondage device — a machine designed to contain and subdue her, to render her helpless so that she might be tortured with impunity.
Thick adamantium plates encase her whole body like a form-fitting suit of armor, pressing against her legs, chest, and arms, each segment held in place with piston-like devices. Whenever she radiates cosmic energy, it shines between the armor plates and makes them tremble, but somehow, it is redirected along the pistons, flowing into an energy sink.
She hasn’t actually seen this energy sink, but it’s her only explanation as to why her photon blasts can’t grow powerful enough to break through the adamantium, and why her attempts to go into Binary state keep failing. No matter how much power she discharges, the containment device neutralizes it, leaving her gasping in frustration and helpless rage.
This is all terribly humiliating, but what’s happening to her feet is worse than humiliating — infinitely worse.
Her ankles are encased in a set of mighty metallic stocks. On the other side of those stocks, her large feet are bare and exposed, utterly helpless to any and all torments her captors might decide to unleash upon them.
Carol Davers never showed her feet to anyone who bore a special appreciation for the female foot; she never even met a single foot fetishist. Had she done so, she would’ve found out that she has the feet of a goddess.
Her feet may be large, yet their proportions are perfectly adequate for her stature, with a great balance between elegance and strength. Her arches, rather high, but not freakishly so, are as wrinkly as they’re delicate. The balls of her feet are wide and plush, like a pair of soft pillows. Her toes are perfectly formed, neither too long or too short, with wonderful bubbly pads and a classically Egyptian shape.
As for her soles, they’re a masterpiece of smooth, unblemished skin, soft as silk, free from even the faintest trace of roughness, flawless from the base of her heels to the tips of her toes. However, this pristine condition is a recent development, an integral part of her torturous captivity.
Before Carol woke up inside this hellish contraption, her feet used to have a normal amount of wear and tear. But now, they’re as soft and supple as newborn baby feet, their delicate skin utterly transformed. Every imperfection, every yellowed or rough spot, every sign that her feet ever supported her weight, has been erased by an extremely advanced exfoliation laser — a high-tech alien beauty treatment which leaves her soles impossibly smooth and pristine.
Supremely immaculate and unbearably sensitive, her feet were transformed into a foot fetishist’s wet dream. Under normal circumstances, she might have been okay with this, if only the goal was for her feet to be cherished and adored.
Carol never had a boyfriend with a foot fetish. But if she had, she would have definitely enjoyed having her feet worshiped. With her commanding personality, she would have smirked smugly as her feet were tenderly massaged, as her soles were kissed and her toes sucked. Licking might have been a little too weird for her, but she would have been amused by rubbing her soles into his face, pinching his nose with her toes.
Alas, helpless in stocks, her gorgeous feet are not in a position to carry out any type of dominance. The reason why they were enhanced was not to turn them into objects of worship, but rather, the perfect canvases upon which to carry out foot torture — a very particular torture, to be exact.
To ensure maximum vulnerability, her toes are all individually bound with industrial strength elastics. She can curl them, but even with her superhuman strength, doing so requires great effort. Twisting her feet sideways is also possible, yet doing so pushes her muscles to their limit, a struggle she can’t hold for longer than a few seconds. The instant her strength wavers, the elastics pull back her toes, splaying them open, and rendering her soles smooth and taut.
Right now, she’s using every bit of strength she can summon. Her feet are trembling violently as she holds her toes curled, turning her crinkled soles sideways in a futile attempt to mitigate the maddening torment being inflicted to her helpless feet.
On the other side of the stocks, fixed to the pod’s inner wall, there’s a sort of robot, equipped and programed to dish out torture — but not just any torture. It has been deliberately set up to administer top-tier tickling torture.
"MRRRGH! No! Ahhh, no! NO! Stop! Stop tickling my feeeet!" she gasps, her voice cracking with desperation as the robot dances ten sharp claws across her soles, scratching lightly at the sensitive skin, strumming her crinkles as though playing a harp.
But despite her pleas, the robot doesn’t stop. Its cold, glowing red eye scans her reactions constantly, adjusting its technique to better abuse her unimaginable ticklishness. Right now, it’s focusing on her tender arches, scraping delicately at the crinkled skin, its every touch sending jolts of ticklish agony shooting up her legs.
"Gaaaah! Haaaa-HAAAA-HAAAAA!" her laughter breaks free as she strains against the elastics, curling her toes even tighter, her face contorting in a feral grimace.
Fresh tears well up in her eyes as the tickling suddenly shifts, the claws now trailing up and down her soles, lingering on the plush balls of her feet.
"PLEASE! Stop-- Please-- Please stap!" she begs, her voice shaking with an unexpectedly sensual blend of fury and despair.
But her begging is futile. The machine has no mercy, no sympathy. It was designed with one purpose — to tickle her feet, endlessly refining its methods so that the torture becomes increasingly grueling with every session.
“NO MOOOOORE!” she screams, channeling more cosmic energy than ever before in a desperate attempt to reach her Binary state. If she could accomplish that feat, she would be able to burst out of this prison.
Within her, she opens all floodgates and taps into every reserve. She’s truly pushing herself to the absolute limit of her power, scraping the bottom of the barrel for every last bit of energy.
Her encased body glows brightly, the adamantium plates tremble, the pistons groan, and somewhere in the distance, the energy sink thrums.
“MMMMMMRRRG!” she groans, her face tight with effort, determination and ticklish suffering. She’s straining her feet to hold their position, toes curled down, soles turned sideways, as those awful claws skitter all over her arches, drowning her mind in ticklish agony.
For a foolish moment, she allows herself to believe it’s going to work. Soon, very soon, the containment system will be overwhelmed, and she will break free from this hellish contraption. She can practically feel the sweet relief as her feet pull away from those infernal claws, breaking the stocks and snapping the elastics.
It’s going to happen. She believes it will. She knows it will. Any moment, now. Any moment... Any... Any...
But to her absolute dismay, it doesn’t. Despite her titanic efforts, the machinery is still channeling her power, not even showing signs of imminent failure. Carol, on the other hand, can’t keep this up anymore. Inevitably, her strength begins to falter, and her curled toes gradually open up, revealing their bubbly pads, so tender and cute.
"No, no, no..." she whimpers, her voice breaking in defeat as her feet are straightened against her will. The elastics force her toes to lean back, all splayed out, leaving her venerable soles taut once more.
And then, the skittering claws climb even higher, relentless and merciless, abandoning her arches to tickle her toes.
“YEEEEAAAAAAAA-HAHAHAHA-HAAAA!” she screams, not in defiance but in ticklish hysteria, her worn out body struggling futility against the armor plates. Her laughter spills out, ragged and uncontrollable, the tickling so intense that she can’t think of anything but the claws teasing the soft pads of her toes, and even worse, the spaces between them.
“NO! HAHAHA! PLEASE! NOT THERE! BWAAAA-HAAA-HAA-HAAAA! ANYTHING BUT THAT! GAAA-HAHAHAHAHA-HAAA!” her laughter turns to sobs of absolute misery and defeat, as the dream of a swift escape crashes down.
Her feet twitch incessantly, but are too exhausted to fight the powerful elastics. And so, her gorgeous soles remain smooth and utterly exposed, perfectly laid out for the robot’s masterful tickling. For the time being, she can’t even summon the strength to curl her toes, much less lean her feet sideways.
“HAHAHAHAHA! WHY?! WHYWHYWHYYY?!” she wails, her voice ragged with laughter. Of all the ordeals they could have been picked for her, why did it have to be foot tickling with sharp fingernails? They could hardly have picked anything more exasperating.
As a Kree-Human hybrid, Carol benefits from significant resistance to various forms of mind control, telepathic manipulation, and mental torment. However, tickling goes right through all those defenses. She can put up a mental block against pain, and use deep meditation to avoid the effects of prolonged isolation. But tickling? She’s helpless against it.
Even so, under normal circumstances, tickling torture wouldn’t be too bad for her. It would be uncomfortable, but not unbearable. Carol hates being tickled, but no more than the average woman. She doesn’t have a tickling phobia, and neither is her ticklishness off-the-charts. To make such a torture work against her, they’d have to stack the deck against her — which is exactly what they did.
Singling out her feet for torture was a stroke of genius. The soles of the feet have more nerves than anywhere else across the human body, so if you’re an alien planning to tickle torture a human being, their feet are the most logical spot to focus on. Yet that is only the most obvious benefit.
Soles offer a nice flat surface upon which to inflict torture, and Carol’s are quite large, which makes them well suited for this purpose. Furthermore, humans are born with two feet, which allows for a more maddening experience by tickling both feet at the same time.
This last point raises the question: Why focus solely on Carol’s feet? The rest of her body offers a wide range of highly ticklish spots, so why not tickle her underarms too? Or her belly? Or her ribs? Or even her intimate areas? Because exposing any of those spots would require cutting up holes on the adamantium plates, which would massively weaken the confinement system.
Also, feet are body extremities, thus can be exposed far more safely than other tickle spots; they can be securely locked in stocks, allowing for the rest of her body to be entirely encased in adamantium, which maximizes the containment strength. According to simulations, such a solution would make it completely impossible for Captain Marvel to break free without outside help.
Another benefit of leaving most of her body snugly contained is that doing so encourages her nervous system to heighten the sensitivity of her feet.
Lastly, focusing on her feet synergizes perfectly with the laser pedicure system, which has been configured to its maximum setting, to expunge every last dead skin cell that might shield her nerves from the skittering metal claws.
As for those dreadful implements: Carol’s captors assembled a wide range of tickling tools, from sonic devices to exotic alien feathers. However, while Carol was unconscious, they ran a surface-level scan on her mind and nervous system — not deep enough to extract any detailed information or memories, but enough to expose her feelings regarding various types of tickling, and predict their effectiveness.
The scan revealed that she’s not remotely afraid of light tickling techniques, such those involving feathers, soft brushes, and gentle teasing caresses. In fact, even after having her pedal ticklishness heightened to ludicrous levels with the laser treatment, she’d likely enjoy such gentle techniques. No, if the goal is to torture her, more intense techniques would be required.
The scan highlighted a number of tools which would tickle her terribly, but among all those implements, one scored far above the rest: Sharp claws or fingernails. With a perfect 100/100, such implements scored a full 35 points higher than the next best device.
Fingernails and claws aren’t merely effective against her. They’re DEVASTATING. She is unbelievably vulnerable to this type of tickling, and genuinely afraid of it. Terrified even, on an instinctive level. As long as her spots are vulnerable, the mere sight of scribbling fingers is enough to make her squirm and assume defensive measures.
In light of this intel, all other tools were cast aside, leaving only two robotic arms with clawed metal fingers, directly in front of Carol’s helpless feet. The original idea was to have a great many implements on display, to frighten her with the prospect of an extremely large variety of ticklish sensations. But this way, she’d have less visual distractions, and no choice but to constantly confront the type of tickling that truly terrifies her.
Indeed, scrapping all other tools was the right call, for those claw-tipped fingers have surpassed all expectations. Carol absolutely can’t stand them. Not even a little. From the instant she first felt those claws teasing her feet, her every waking moment has been consumed by a burning, completely desperate need to escape by any means necessary.
“WHAT DO YOU-- YEEE-HEHEHEHE-HEEE! WHYYY?! WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS TO MEEE?! YAAA-HAHAHAHA-HAAAA!” the captive super hero cackles away, her face twisted with tortured mirth and desperation, her exhausted body trembling within the adamantium armor plates. On the other side of the stocks, her mighty feet are too tired to struggle against the elastics, which leaves her gorgeous soles completely taut and vulnerable, helpless against the dancing metal claws.
Ignoring her every cry, the bot keeps tickling without a shred of mercy. In fact, deciding to take advantage of how stretched out and exhausted Carol’s feet are, the machine switches to a plowing technique, raking down her tender soles, from the base of her toes to the bottom of her heels, over and over again.
“HAAA! HEEE-HAAA! STAPSTAPSTAP… PLEEEEHEHEHEASE!” she wails, her poor feet barely even twitching as the sharp claws travel down her soles with exactly the right speed and pressure to set her nerves on fire with ticklishness.
Carol can’t take this. She truly, seriously can’t bear it. It’s absolutely horrendous. It’s a wracking ordeal that pushes her mind to the edge of insanity. Even without the laser pedicure, she would find this torment unbearable. The hyper-sensitive condition forced onto her soles elevates the ticklish agony to levels so obscene, she had never even dreamed they could exist.
Her head feels like it’s going to explode any moment, like an erupting volcano, from containing such indescribably awful tickling sensations. She’s utterly desperate to curl her toes and shake her feet, yet can’t find the strength to do it. Therefore, her large soles, impossibly soft and tender, remain perfectly steady, powerless to resist the sharp metal claws, as they drop, over and over again, in an endless cascade of ticklish madness.
“YAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAA-HAAAAAA-HAA-HAA-HAA-HAAA!” she cries out, her cackling assuming a curiously melodious tone. Such beautiful laughter would have inspired awe in any flesh and blood tickler, but not the robot. It simply logs the occurrence and carries on, tickling dutifully as though nothing happened.
Yet something did happen. Inside Carol’s mind, she felt as though an elastic band was stretched to the breaking point and snapped in two. She was just pushed beyond a mental limit, past a threshold of ticklish agony she never thought she’d be able to cross with her sanity intact. And yet, she’s still there, perfectly sane, inching towards the next threshold; towards a brand new line, further than before, marking the new end of her endurance.
Where is her new line? How far away is it? How much can she actually endure? How many of these thresholds can she be forced to cross before she loses her mind?
“PLEASE STAAA-HAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA! I’LL DO ANYTHING! PUH-LEEEEEASE!” she screams, desperate not to have those questions answered. But deep down, she fears her pleas won’t be heeded, no matter how much urgency she pours into them.
That dreadful belief stems from the simple fact that, after countless hours stuck in this contraption, her pleas have yet to be acknowledged. She didn’t start with pleading, of course; it took two hours of merciless tickling to make her beg.
Two hours. Barely ninety minutes. That was how little time it took to humble the invincible Captain Marvel.
Before stooping down to begging, she made threats, hurled insults and attempted to bargain. But no matter what she tried, she never received a reply. In fact, she has yet to receive a single sign that there’s anyone listening to her at all. As far as she knows, there might not be.
It’s entirely possible that the aliens encased her in a prison pod and tossed her into some strange dimension where she would never be found.
“I’LL DO ANYTHING! YIIII-HAAAA! HAHAHAHA-HAAAA! SAY SOMETHING! PLEASE! PLE-HE-HE-HEASE! ANYTHING!” she cries out in desperation, hoping with every fiber of her being that there is someone out there, monitoring her torture.
She’s imagining her captors watching her through the robot’s red eye, relishing in the sight of their greatest foe, humbled and subdued, being endlessly tortured for their amusement — an example for any who might dare defy them. That’s the scenario she chooses to imagine, because the alternative is too terrible to even fathom.
◄●►
“Hehehehee... Tee-Hee-Hee... Hahahaha... No more...” Carol laughs in weak, breathless giggles, as the robot’s claws trace lazy circles under her heels, the least ticklish part of her feet. She barely has the strength to react now, her body limp within its confinement. Her eyes are glassy with exhaustion, and there’s drool dripping from the corner of her mouth.
She doesn’t know exactly how much time has passed since she woke up in this place, but it feels like an eternity. In reality, it has only been a little under three days. Carol’s Kree physiology grants her enhanced stamina and endurance, but even with those advantages, three days of nonstop foot tickling was enough to turn her into a worn out, drooling wreck, on the verge of passing out.
In light of her pathetic condition, the robot has decided to dial down the tickling for a few minutes, to perform a little “upkeep” on its prisoner.
One of Captain Marvel’s special abilities is to turn energy into sustenance and strength. This power is astonishing, but it is also a curse, because it allows for an extremely simple and convenient way to keep her alive without releasing her body from containment.
“Please... Hehehe... No more... What do you want? Tee-Hee-Hee... Please tell me... Ple-Hehehehehe...” she asks, her plea crumbling into helpless giggles. She can feel her strength being slowly renewed, even as those dreadful claws tantalize her heels, ever-so-gently, like a driver idling the engine, waiting to unleash full throttle.
Suddenly, her left foot stops being tickled entirely. The robotic arm moves out of the way, allowing the exfoliating laser to sweep up and down her sole a few times.
“No... Please... Tee-Hehehe... They’re ticklish enough already...” Carol begs, mustering enough strength to close her toes — for a few seconds, anyway.
She can’t see the laser striking her foot, but she can feel its warmth. It doesn’t hurt at all. In fact, it feels rather nice. For a fleeting moment, her exhausted mind gets away from this nightmare, contemplating what it would be like to get a foot rub with her feet in this immaculate condition.
I’d like that. That would feel really, really good... she thinks, imagining herself relaxing on a poolside lounge, while two beautiful alien attendants treat her poor, tired feet to a soothing massage.
While Captain Marvel enjoys this brief imaginary vacation, the robotic hand works in tandem with the laser, gently maneuvering her toes to ensure the spaces between them aren’t neglected.
Within a minute, whatever insignificant amounts of ticklishness were lost since the last application, are restored in full. When the laser powers down, the robotic claws give her foot a quick scribble, like a musician testing an instrument they just finished tuning.
“YIIII-HIIIII-HIII-HIII! No-- NO! Please! Please don’t! It tickles too much!” she shrieks, her eyes wide with ticklish horror, her lips twisting into a hideous forced grimace.
As the claws fiddle across Carol’s freshly tenderized, immeasurably delicate sole, her foot twitches against the elastics. However, she resists the urge to strain her foot in any meaningful capacity, trying to save her strength for later.
Satisfied with the results, the robot resumes teasing her left heel, and begins carrying out the same treatment on her other foot. As the laser works on her right sole, Carol experiences a flashback from when she first woke up in this torture dungeon.
◄●►
She was investigating a distress call. A densely populated planet was under attack. When she got there, she saw an alien armada, raining hell on the planet for unknown reasons. She flew towards the largest ship. As she neared it, she was struck by some sort of energy ray. She didn’t even try to dodge it, as such weapons are usually ineffective against her. But this weapon was different. Whatever it was, it didn’t seem designed to inflict damage, but to render her unconscious.
When she woke up, she found herself in this place, encased in unyielding black metal from her neck to her ankles. Even before the robot began tickling her, she had been struck by an unsettling sensation — a heightened sensitivity under her feet.
She could feel the very air beneath her soles and between her toes, as though her feet were immersed in water. She curled her toes and twisted her feet, stretching the elastic restraints for the very first time. She couldn’t understand why her feet felt so different, so unnervingly tender.
Bewilderment gave way to mind-numbing shock when the robot’s sharp, teasing fingers brushed her skin.
“MRRRRRG!” she groaned, frowning deeply, her every muscle writhing against their confinement, as the first impulses of ticklish agony fried her mind like a high-voltage electrical current.
She had been tickled before, but never like this. Not even close. Every tickle was amplified to an unnatural degree. The sensations were so clear, so painfully precise, that they overwhelmed her senses instantly. Each and every nerve under her feet could pick up even the slightest touch with excruciating clarity.
During those first few instants, the tickling felt so utterly overwhelming that her body reacted as though in pain. Her toes curled instinctively and her feet turned sideways, forcefully stretching the elastics. It took her a few seconds to process the novelty of such intensity, to realize that it didn’t actually hurt — it simply tickled far worse than anything she had ever felt before.
“GAAA-HAAA-HAAAAA! WHA-- WHAT ARE YOU-- YEEE-HEEE-HEEE! STOP THAT!” she cried out, shrieks of panicked laughter erupting out of her as she struggled to break free. But she didn’t break free, and the hellish tickling didn’t stop.
The robot, programmed with the combined mastery of countless expert ticklers, was abusing her enhanced vulnerability with surgical precision, its claws darting across her helpless, insanely tender soles in ways guaranteed to drive her batshit insane.
Carol already felt pushed to the edge of her sanity, yet the bot was only showcasing the first of its default techniques. As it gathered sensor data, it would use advanced algorithms to customize the tickling. It would map her feet in frightening detail, select the most devastating techniques, and tweak them for optimal effectiveness.
Given enough time, it would devise a custom routine for her, scientifically tailored to inflict maximum ticklish suffering. And this devious research would never end. Should Carol’s pedal sensitivity dull or adapt, the robot would compensate, in an endless quest for perfection. Furthermore, to inject additional variation, random segments of research would be periodically deleted.
“YIIIIIIIIIIAAAARG!” Captain Marvel screeched maniacally, her poor feet trembling against their bondage, her power lashing out wildly as she desperately sought to break free from this unbearable torture.
Carol’s feet were already very ticklish to begin with. Even in their natural state, the robot’s standard tickling would have put her through a harrowing ordeal. But with the added effect of the tenderizing treatment, which left her soles more sensitive than she ever thought possible, the degree of sheer ticklish agony she experienced SKYROCKETED, far surpassing anything she might have been able to handle.
All that taken into account, it’s downright miraculous that she endured nearly two hours of this living hell before her will was finally broken.
◄●►
Without warning, the claws, teasing her heels, intensify their tickling, signaling the end of the break.
“N-N-NO-Hohohoho...” Carol whimpers, eyes flashing in genuine fear, toes twitching and curling, as the claws begin to skitter up her pale, immaculate soles, slowly and steadily. She doesn’t feel like a superhero anymore. She doesn’t feel like a Captain, much less a Marvel. She feels like a woman; a fragile, vulnerable, powerless, helpless, broken woman.
“I give up! I’ll do anything! Hahahahaha! Please! I’m begging you! What do you want from me?! I’LL DO ANYTHING! Just staaa-Haa-Haa-Haa-Haaaap!” she cries out, her feet shuddering sideways as the claws advance upwards. But despite her pleas, she fears there might be no goals beyond her confinement and torture.
Neutralizing her had been a monumental achievement; a triumph which the architects of her captivity might not be willing to jeopardize. No, they won’t ever let her go. Not for any reason.
And they likely won’t stop tickling her, either. There’s no way tickling is included in any standard interrogation/torture AI package. It’s too specific, too obscure. How many species are even ticklish? Not many. And among those, how many find it unbearable? Only humans, as far as she knows.
The aliens obviously went to great lengths to research tickling torture, and program a robot to carry it out to perfection. Surely, they wouldn’t have bothered to do that unless they intended to have her suffer it for a very, very long time.
“BWAAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA-HAAA!” she bursts out laughing hysterically as the tickling resumes in earnest, the robot’s claws dancing expertly all over her arches, fiddling her wrinkles and crinkles as though playing a harp.
“I GIVE UP! PUH-LEE-HEE-HEE-ASE!” she wails once again, weeping in misery and defeat, her powers flaring uselessly against the armor plates.
But yet again, she receives no reply. Thus, her ticklish confinement will go on, without an end in sight, worsening with every hour. Her only chance is that her allies will somehow rescue her.
Hopefully before she goes completely mad.
FIN
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