Chief Punishment Officer - Day 2 (F/F, FF/F, MF/F)

[Chief Punishment Officer]

Here is the first half of day 2. It's pretty long, 27 pages single spaced. It'll be much easier to follow if you've read "Chief Punishment Officer - Day 1" which I posted on 2/13/2025. I'd love to hear what you think if you have time to leave me some feedback, good or bad. There's a second half of day 2 in the works, but this was already crazy long. And of course the final day 3 is still out there on the horizon. Enjoy!

Chief Punishment Officer – Day 2

Sunday, May 25, 2025

Day 2:

Ingrid arrived a half hour early the next morning, ensuring that she got a close parking spot. It was already a hot day, and she was starting to sweat. She’d brought a lot of extra equipment with her today and didn’t feel like carrying it further than necessary. Reflecting on the joys of the day to come, she was giddy with anticipation and lust, and felt her sadistic streak pulsing, desperate for release. Oh yes, there would be release. Several times yesterday she’d felt she was on the verge of completely breaking Jocelyn, particularly at the end of the day when she’d been saved by the timer during the tournament. Today was going to be different. Today, she was going to absolute bury that snooty bitch and break her, mind and body. Her lips curled up in a predatory smile. She was going to take Jocelyn’s bare feet into new realms of agony and torture and show her the true meaning of suffering. This was going to be fun.

She set down a couple of folding chairs in front of where Jocelyn’s stocks were yesterday. The stools were ok, but she wanted to get comfy while she doled out hellish punishment this time. A tripod was then set up between the chairs, allowing easy access for mounting a cell phone and taking videos. Part of the punishment was the humiliation, and the videos would immortalize the punishment years after it was over. Ingrid bit her lip in anticipation. Her goal was to find as many of them as possible online and compile a master library that would keep her and Kacey warm at night.

Next, she unloaded a box from her car, perusing each item as she laid them out. She’d gone to a craft store and bought a couple of large feathers. While it was her experience that most women weren’t terribly feather ticklish on their feet, from what she’d seen of Jocelyn yesterday, you could probably look at her toes sideways and get a reaction so this was worth a shot. The sharp end of the quill was always a versatile option, regardless. She’d also purchased a couple of fountain pens with a wicked sharp point, some moist wipes for cleaning the ink off of soles, and a stiff-bristled dish scrubbing brush. There were many ways to personalize the helpless feet hanging out in front of the stocks, and she was going to have fun with it and love it just as much as Jocelyn would hate it.

The next item was a pair of thick rubber gloves, studded with pointed rubber nodules for scrubbing lining the palms of the gloves. She snickered as she set aside a small vibrator that slipped over a finger. A bottle of itching powder came next, along with a small brush. That one had not been easy to find last night, but she shivered with malicious glee at the thought of putting it to use. Last but not least, she retrieved an electric drill, with an adapter head sporting a circular brush that rotated at 200 RPM. The brush head was three inches wide, enough to cover the entire width of a sole. A second, smaller brush head was only 1 inch wide, perfect for toes. The original intent for the heads was scrubbing faded stain off a fence, but Ingrid had tested it out on her own feet and knew it was going to be ticklish brutality on a stretched foot. She picked up all of her items and placed them in a tool belt that she had hung about her waist.

Kelly wandered over, a huge smile on her face as she spotted the new arsenal. “There you are,” she said, bright and chipper. “I was hoping I’d find you here before we get started again. I have a little business to discuss with you.”

Ingrid didn’t know what that meant, but it was either very good or very bad. Kelly was not the type of person you got entangled with casually, so her pulse quickened a little as she waited.

“As you saw yesterday,” Kelly said, “there is a lot of supervision to be done. On days where there are three or more inmates, it’s going to be hard to effectively maintain all stations. Today, we’re down one…Owen apparently got a hernia from laughing so hard yesterday so he’s been allowed to pause his punishment until he recovers.” Her expression was dark, and she laughed when she saw the disappointment written all over Ingrid. “Don’t worry…he’s still an inmate, and we still have access to him. His punishment will not end prematurely…once he is recovered, he’s back in the stocks. And until then, if he were to experience some off the record torment in a solitary confinement cell…well, he could probably be bargained with to keep that to himself. Or else.”

Ingrid laughed, her blood flowing. She did want to punish Owen’s vulnerable feet. He was gorgeous, his laugh was contagious, and it had been beyond hot watching the group of women tickle him until he passed out. She needed to get her crack at him, to make him beg and suffer, and through Kelly would be how she would do it. As long as he stayed on Kelly’s good side, this friendship was going to be very…entertaining. “You said you had some…business, to discuss?” Ingrid prompted.

“Yes! Realistically, I could use some help. It’s a lot to supervise, especially when I’m having to pitch in on the torture while I’m waiting for audience participation.” Her features hardened, her jaw clenching slightly. “I don’t want them to have even 1 minute of rest if I can help it. That’s why I need you.” She pointed at Ingrid, smiling.

Ingrid’s heart raced, and a flush of sweat erupted on her skin. “Me?” she managed weakly. She liked where this was going, and her knees felt weak. “How can I help?”

“I’ve been authorized to deputize an assistant who can help oversee the punishment. After watching you in action yesterday, you seem to have the right temperament and dedication. And, let’s be honest, a raging foot tickle fetish. Maintaining the interest level is an absolute must have. How would you like to be Deputy Punishment Officer?”

Ingrid heard her own intake of breath. OH MY GOD, YES! She studied Kelly, making sure she wasn’t playing a joke on her, but there was nothing but sincerity on her new boss’s face. “Yes, absolutely! When can I start?” She hoped her answer didn’t sound as urgent and lusty as she thought it did.

Kelly laughed. “Right now, of course! We have three inmates to supervise, and between the two of us and the crowd, I think we can make sure the torture is endless. The more broken they are by the end of the day, the more they’ve been brutally punished into oblivion, the less likely it is they’ll be repeat offenders. They need to be so terrified of seeing us ever again that they’ll be falling all over themselves to behave. Because if they don’t and they’re back for round 2, well…I’ll find a way to make sure their punishment is measured in months instead of days.” She laughed, but her mirth never reached her eyes. The evil promise in her chuckle made Ingrid’s blood cool a couple degrees. She would never cross Kelly.

“Is this a…paid position?” Ingrid asked, her hands fidgeting. “After videos of me torturing Jocelyn yesterday went viral, I’m not sure how much longer I’m going to have a job. It’s up to 25 million views as of this morning.” She blushed. “I guess everyone knows about me now.”

“Oh sweetheart, yes, of course it’s paid. You’ll have a salary, full benefits, everything. Despite that idiot Musk going around and getting rid of federal employees, we are a newly created department that the president specifically requested. Unless we piss him off, we’re bullet proof. Welcome aboard Ingrid. You’re going to serve your country proudly. And tickle the hell out of some helpless feet along the way.” They both laughed.

Ingrid’s stomach was doing cartwheels. She couldn’t have been more excited if 10,000 volts of electricity were running through her. Oh my god, they’re going to pay me to tickle torture people! This blew all of her former fantasies out of the water, and she was going to get a government salary to do it. She started to hyperventilate in her excitement. Her fingers and toes were tingling, and she had to remind herself to breathe. “What do I do first?” she asked.

“First I’ll need you clean the bathrooms. Once that’s done, there is a huge backlog of dishes, and the inmate laundry isn’t going to do itself.”

Ingrid’s heart sunk. “Oh.”

“Ha, just fucking with you Ingrid. What do you think you’re going to be doing? You’re going to be tickle torturing three women all day long. That is what you want to do, is it not?”

Ingrid let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. “Haha, ok, you got me. And yes, more than anything else.”

Kelly put an arm around her shoulder and led her back to the pavilion, chatting as they went. “I think this is going to work out very well for all parties. Except the inmates of course. I want you be a nightmare to them. But, I just need to be clear on one thing. And I need you to pay attention. This is very important.”

“Ok,” Ingrid said, the muscles in her back tensing. Something about Kelly’s tone of voice put her on edge, and her arm tightened slightly around her shoulders. This was literally too good to be true, and the catch was about to be delivered, the other shoe about to drop, so to speak.

“You need to be crystal clear that if you ever betray me, report on me, put me in a bad situation, it’s going to go very badly for you. What you did to Jocelyn yesterday? Yeah, that’s now you if you cross me. All reporting to the superiors goes through me, not you. One hundred percent of the time.” She made eye contact, lingering uncomfortably long. Ingrid swallowed hard.

“If you go behind my back, you’re going to end up locked in my personal dungeon, and I’m going to tickle torture your feet daily, for years, until you get old enough that I don’t want you anymore and have to sell you as a tickle slave. The world will write you off as a missing person, while I’m slowly dismantling you in a subterranean basement until you go crazy and forget what it’s like to not be in perpetual agony.” She brightened, smiling. “I saw your feet yesterday, and I need very little encouragement to make them my possession to be abused. But of course, you won’t need to worry about that. Right?” She gave Ingrid a quick tickle in her armpit, and Ingrid yelped, moving away.

“Yes, understood. Crystal clear.” Jesus, this lady was batshit crazy. Abduct me and sell me as a tickle slave? She definitely couldn’t afford to make assumptions with Kelly, or to defy her. But this deputy position was also too good to pass up, for any amount of risk. She swallowed again, and had to admit to herself that she was a little scared. What if Kelly ran out of inmates and decided Ingrid would be the placeholder victim? Don’t ever accept a drink from this crazy bitch. Her toes curled, imagining years of relentless tickle torture in a dungeon, and her hands started to shake.

Kelly continued like they hadn’t missed a beat. “One other thing is I’m going to need your help being on the lookout for a dissident. The leader of a local rebel cell, pushing back against the President’s mandates. New intel has suggested that the riot earlier this week wasn’t just a protest gone wrong…it was a diversion.”

Ingrid stopped, frowning. “A diversion for what?”

Kelly fixed her with a piercing stare, not saying anything for a moment. “I don’t know. Some papers were stolen from a local politician’s office. If the contents of these papers are above my paygrade, they’re definitely above yours. It’s not important. What is important is that we need to be vigilant as we look for rebels in the crowd, specifically the leader. We’ve intercepted some poorly coded messages online that make it clear they will be here today.”

This suddenly took on a new dimension for Ingrid. “Are we in danger? Are they going to attack?” Her nerves were buzzing angrily, but she forced her unease down. There were feet to tickle, and it was going to take more than this ambiguous threat to take those feet out of her mouth.

Kelly snorted. “No, we’re not in danger. There are officers all around the perimeter of the park, and even a few plainclothes officers in the crowd. I’m actually looking forward to the rebels joining us today. We’re going to interrogate each of these women, and use it as a trap to draw them out of the crowd. Every two hours or so the gag will come out, and they’ll have an opportunity to talk. If not…well, they had their chance. Extreme tickling can be convincing after several long hours. I would know.” She gave Ingrid a wink.

Suppressing a shudder, Ingrid thought about their three inmates. “Does this apply to Tara or Christine? They weren’t involved in the riot.”

“Tara, no. There’s really no connection whatsoever. Christine, probably not. But we both get off on tickling helpless feet and should probably interrogate them too just in case. And if they don’t offer any intel, well, their feet are going to suffer exponentially. The crowd will love it. This will be a new game to play. I love this job!”

Ingrid warmed up to the idea. She couldn’t wait to get her fingernails on Christine’s creamy soles, and she didn’t need to be asked twice to taste those cute little toes. If it was a setup where she had no opportunity to make it stop, that was unfortunate for her, and delicious for Ingrid.

“What does this suspect look like?” she asked Kelly.

“Female, petite. A little over 5 feet tall, maybe 120 pounds, long blonde hair and blue eyes.”

“Your realize that basically describes Jocelyn, but with blue eyes instead of green.”

Kelly sighed. “Yes, although the intel definitely supports that Jocelyn is NOT who we are looking for. She thinks she’s important but truly is little more than an underling that got caught. The woman we’re looking for is named Rhianna. She’ll probably try to get close to hear what Jocelyn is telling us. And Jocelyn will break and tell us, especially if she thinks it’s her only chance to make the tickling stop.”

“Ok,” Ingrid said. “But don’t interrogations usually happen in a private room, so the crowd doesn’t overhear?”

“Yep. That’s why we’re going to instruct her to tell us her answers quietly. Rhianna will have to get closer to learn what she’s telling us. Keep an eye on the front row. All we have to do is keep a perimeter around us, and it’ll be obvious when she’s straying closer. We need to capture her, and we’re going to use Jocelyn’s foot tickle torture, and the false promise of mercy, to lure her in.” Kelly laughed again, ice cold. “This is going to be so much fun!”

That was the understatement of Ingrid’s lifetime. She’d spent days of her life day dreaming about tickle torturing information out of defiant victims. Now, she was going to get to do it first hand. She looked up at the sky. Thankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyouthankyou!

The officers had finished setting up the stocks, and Ingrid noticed that both Jocelyn and Tara’s stocks had a tall post attached to their benches today, so their arms could be secured over their heads, inviting upper body tickle torture also. Ingrid was a foot girl, but she wasn’t too good to attack some ribs and tits if the occasion presented itself. It had just presented itself. Christine, however, did not have a post behind her. Instead, her stocks had one big hole for her head, and two smaller holes flanking it on either side.

“What’s up with that?” Ingrid asked, gesturing towards Christine’s stocks.

“Those, my dear, are called ‘titibasana stocks’. They’re extra humiliating because her face will be right in between the bottoms of her feet. It’s also quite uncomfortable I’m told.” Kelly sighed, feigning disappointment. “She still has faith in the legal system and did quite a bit of talking back last night, defying my authority to oversee her punishment. I have no choice but to intensify her punishment and break her will. When you’re tickling her today, don’t mess around. Completely destroy her and buckle her mind. I want her to be a gibbering shell of herself by the end of the day. Her most vulnerable spot is her toes. Do me proud and make her suffer!” Kelly said the last with flared nostrils and clenched teeth.

Ingrid drew in a shuddering breath. That teacher was going to receive the tickling of her lifetime today, and Ingrid was going to make sure to punish her helpless feet with a fury. That position was going to be excruciatingly vulnerable, and she fully intended on abusing it to make Christine squeal her way through the nightmare. In Ingrid’s opinion she hadn’t really done anything bad enough to deserve this punishment, but she was still going to tickle those helpless feet like Christine was her arch enemy. Poor, poor Christine. I am going to dominate you through your sweaty toes and show you levels of suffering you didn’t even know exist.

“Earth to Ingrid,” Kelly said, laughing. “I can see the wheels turning, and yes you’re going to have your turn on Christine. Her feet are unbelievably soft, and they sweat like a cold pint glass in the desert. But first, I need you to break in your old friend here. Give a demo on Jocelyn. And Ingrid? Make it extreme. We want to set the tone for merciless punishment, to send a message. Think of however bad you can possibly make it, and then throw on another 10%. I want that woman in raw, desperate panic before your demo ends. Is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am!” Ingrid responded with genuine enthusiasm.

Kelly took her phone and entered their respective phone numbers. “Keep this on you at all times. I want you paying attention to make sure none of them are getting any downtime, but if I specifically need you, I’ll ping you with this. You do NOT want to ignore my summons, trust me. Have fun!”

Ingrid nodded and approached the stocks, where Jocelyn had just been seated. Her hands were secured overhead to the post, and her feet were locked into the wider holes at the outer edge. The ball gag wasn’t in yet, but it was hanging around her neck, ready. Like yesterday, she had been stripped to nothing but her panties and shoes.

“Hello, my pet,” Ingrid said, approaching Jocelyn from behind and giving her armpit a quick, savage tickle.

Jocelyn shrieked and pulled away, staring up at Ingrid with a mixture of fear and rage. “Ingrid, stop! Wait. Please, you know me. I’m not a terrorist that needs to be tortured! I’m your former co-worker. Please, be reasonable! We can work this out. Please don’t let them hurt me again today. I need your help! Get me out of this nightmare!” She was already tearing up, green eyes brimming.

“Oh, we’re friends now, are we? That’s an interesting change in tactics. And I love how you say “them” as if it wasn’t me having my way with your helpless feet most of yesterday.” She chuckled. “Reasonable like when you humiliated me in front of the entire office? Or when you were a fucking bitch every day to Rebecca and I? Or how you went out of your way to dominate and harass everyone around you to make sure we knew you’re in charge? That’s your reasonable. Now, I’m in charge, and this is mine. And Jocelyn? It’s going to be bad. Really bad. How’s your endurance?”

Jocelyn was crying already. “Ingrid, pleeeeease. You don’t understand. It’s so terrible! I can’t take another day of this. It’s torture! I have insanely ticklish feet, as you know,” she growled, “and I literally can’t stand being tickled. I can’t breathe, I can’t move, I can’t make it stop. My whole body seizes up and I can’t stop laughing. It’s like you’re lighting my feet on fire!” She started to panic, her breath coming in short gasps. “You have no idea how terrifying it is to black out because you can’t breathe! Please! I’ll do anything, pay you any amount! Just don’t tickle my feet! Please. I’m so sorry that I embarrassed you! Anything you want, just name it. Anything but my feet! Please!”

Her begging was lighting Ingrid’s vagina up like a Christmas tree. She settled down on her haunches in front of Jocelyn’s stocked feet. “These feet?” She removed the left shoe, smelling it, savoring it. It was raw, pungent foot sweat, with an undertone of cheesy funk. “First of all, you don’t have to take another day of this…you have two more days of this. Secondly, I do understand. I understand very well what I’m doing to you. I know it’s torture, and it arouses me to no end to have your immobile, vulnerable feet tied up and helpless beneath my fingernails. I’m going to tickle the shit out of your bare feet, all day long, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I’m not going to stop, not really. I hope you can laugh and scream for 10 hours straight. Don’t worry though. You’ll get 30 second breaks when you lose consciousness, or when it’s time for a water break.” She laughed, grabbing the socked foot and giving it a quick tickle.

Jocelyn yelped, trying and failing to twist her foot away. “Nohohahahahaha! Please, stop! Nonononono! Please, wait! Listen!”

Ingrid stopped, smiling, her hands right in front of Jocelyn’s foot, wiggling her fingers. “I’m listening. Better make it quick.”

“Oh God, oh God. Wait. Thank you! If you agree to help me, I’ll do anything. Anything. Whatever your favorite fantasy is, anything at all, I’ll cooperate. Just please…please…don’t do this to me. I don’t think I’ll make it through the day. I’m going to have a heart attack. I seriously think this might kill me. I could feel the sensation after it stopped for hours last night. I’m really scared. Please don’t do this!” She was full on crying now, staring at Ingrid with pathetic puppy dog eyes. Her lower lip was starting to quiver, and she was breathing heavily in her panic. “There must be something that can convince you not to – mmpph!”

Ingrid inserted the gag, to which Jocelyn started crying louder. “Whatever fantasy I want the most? Hmm. That’s adorable that you haven’t figured it out yet. Unfortunately for you, this IS the fantasy that I want the most. Tickle torturing your bare feet for hours and hours is my ultimate fantasy. I never thought I’d have you in this position, to be able to completely dominate you through your sweaty, helpless feet. But now? You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to lick in between your toes while you’re begging for mercy. Oh Joss, you are in a world of shit. Because yesterday was just a warm up. Did you know that I’ve been deputized and I’m part of the staff now?”

Jocelyn’s eyes widened in shock and fear. “Please…nooooooo….” she squealed into her gag, sobbing.

“Oh yes, my helpless little lamb. I am now going to get paid to tickle torture you. And I don’t want to do a bad job, do I? Talk about my ultimate fantasy. And there is nothing you can do to stop it. Nothing. I am going to tickle punish you until you’re medically insane. Today, I own your feet, and your toes are my playground.” She started tickling the socked foot again, and Jocelyn yelped, jerking her foot from side to side. “Look on the bright side, this is going to be a great workout for your abs!”

Ingrid set up both the heaters, one on each foot. “Let’s get those feet even more sweaty and stinky, shall we?” she said, removing the other shoe and both socks. The stink of her feet were like an aphrodisiac and Ingrid immediately got wet. Jocelyn’s feet were long, slender and pale white. Her toes were skinny, even the big toes, and her soles were curvy with high arches. The skin was smooth as porcelain, sweating profusely, and hyper sensitive to even the lightest touch. They were, in Ingrid’s opinion, perfect. And she was going to punish them severely, exacting her vengeance while also getting off many times on the tickle torture. Jocelyn’s nightmare was her dream come true. Those vulnerable feet were going to suffer in the extreme, and Ingrid was going to love every second of it.

“If you beg profusely enough, prostrate yourself before me and grovel for mercy, loudly so the crowd can hear…well, I may accidentally take my time while switching between tools. I could be convinced to believe you’re choking during a water break, and let you catch your breath while you fake some coughs. It’ll have to be when Kelly is occupied with actively tickling one of the other inmates, because you don’t want her supervising you, trust me. I could even express alarm and have the medical staff come inspect you, which would take several minutes at least, or maybe they’d excuse you from further punishment for safety reasons. BUT. Only if you beg well enough. It has to be convincing, pathetic, and desperate. If you’re just going through the motions, that’s only going to make me angry. You don’t want me to be angry while I’m tickling you, do you?”

Jocelyn squealed in alarm, shaking her head violently. “I will! I will!” she promised, eyebrows drawn together in supplication. “I swear I will beg. I swear!”

Ingrid didn’t mean a word of it. It massively aroused her to hear Jocelyn beg while screaming and laughing, but not as much as the tickle torture itself did. To feel her fingernails dragging across taut, sweaty skin, to feel the heat emanating off her soles, was a thing of beauty. To know that with each swipe of her freshly sharpened nails she was inflicting maximum suffering on her nemesis and taking her to hysteria and beyond, that was priceless to Ingrid. She had no intention of showing a single morsel of mercy to Jocelyn, but she’d let her think it was possible, to keep begging more and more furiously. After hours of no relief despite increasingly frantic attempts at begging she’d probably figure it out, but Ingrid was going to savor, record and extract every smidgeon of desperation along the way. Jocelyn had no concept of how catastrophic her punishment was going to be today. But she would. Oh yes. Ingrid was going to inflict untapped levels of suffering, and if Jocelyn ended up in a psych ward after this, fuck her. Ingrid would visit and tickle her while she was in a straight jacket.

A large crowd had already formed behind her, and she delivered a duplicate of Kelly’s instructions from the day before, emphasizing the need for extreme brutality as a core component of the public punishment. “Don’t forget, this woman is a criminal who participated in a riot against America this week. Do not feel any remorse, or guilt, and certainly do not give her any mercy. Tickle torture has been identified as her biggest weakness, and is the best tool to reprogram her so that she may re-enter society as a reformed citizen.”

She stopped to give Jocelyn’s foot a 30 second tickle, demonstrating how effective the punishment could be. Jocelyn shrieked and danced behind the stocks, hysterical laughter erupting from behind her gag. Ingrid secured the toe ties, taking perverse pleasure in Jocelyn’s struggles, each toe a miniature defiance to the inevitable. A couple minutes later she had all ten toes tied and spread as far as possible, exposing every millimeter of sensitive skin. Jocelyn looked like she was about to be thrown in a wood chipper, the look of terror on her face almost comical. She was still whimpering through her gag, repeating ‘please’ repeatedly, a futile mantra.

“It needs to be understood that this is punishment. It is intended for it to be brutal, extreme public punishment. This criminal was on the front lines of a violent riot, and she needs to be so badly humiliated with the consequences that she will go far out of her way to avoid those crimes in the future. Per Executive Order 136, public punishment decrees that she be restrained in a public place while a crowd of her peers participate in her punishment. In her case, it will be extreme tickle torture. For those of you who unfortunately missed her debut yesterday, she is ‘insanely ticklish on her feet’ in her own words. Unfortunately for her, she has today and tomorrow for additional 10 hour torture sessions.” The crowd laughed and applauded.

“Fortunately for you, we all get to inflict the tickling on her exposed body. I’ve set up a tripod for you to mount your cell phones so you can record the hell you inflict upon her. If she’s not screaming, begging and crying, you’re doing it wrong and I will have to insist that you try harder. She needs to be broken through tickle torture. I want her mind unhinged by way of her toes. If she’s not catatonic by the end of the day, we have failed her. Her body is a blank canvas for you to explore. Do your worst!”

The crowd cheered at this announcement, although there were several in the crowd who scowled and glared daggers at Ingrid. Clearly her friends or family, although they wisely kept their mouths shut. The majority of the throng, now several dozen and growing, were excited and their fervor for her torture was clear. “Get her!” someone shouted. “Make that bitch cry!” Others added to the mob mentality, raising fists into the air. “Tickle her! Tickle her! Tickle her!” they chanted.

Ingrid was happy to oblige. She knelt down in front of Jocelyn’s left foot, taking a deep sniff, savoring the cheesy aroma. The heaters were doing their job, and Jocelyn’s feet were sweating freely. “First,” she said, “it shouldn’t be overlooked how much a tongue can tickle, especially between the toes. Observe.” She took a long lick up the sole, which caused Jocelyn to scream and try to move her foot. Ingrid didn’t stop, tasting the rest of the arch before moving to the balls of the foot while holding the ankle still with her hands. Her tongue lapped every bit of the area, enjoying the salty taste. Jocelyn was thrashing and laughing like a crazy person, her horrified gaze directed toward her vulnerable foot.

Ingrid’s tongue moved up, licking the big toe and then sucking on it, absorbing all of its flavor, before moving on. She probed her tongue in between the big and second toe, swishing it back and forth. The salty taste of Jocelyn’s toes filled her mouth, and she pressed the button on her fob for her vibrating panties, climaxing immediately. Jocelyn screamed and laughed at the same time, desperately trying to move her toes away from the tickling assault, but they were tied tightly and she was powerless to stop it. She roared with laughter as Ingrid’s tongue worked its way down the toes, forced to sit there and take it while the crowd cheered its approval. She laughed and laughed and laughed, desperation lacing every high-pitched squeal, and her increasing panic made Ingrid tingle with excitement.

“Usually,” Ingrid continued, “the tongue is a complimentary tool. We have a ton of tools to use, and you’ll get a demo on each of those also, but don’t overlook your fingers. A sharp set of fingernails is often the best way to inflict tickle suffering on these tender babies, and it somehow just is more satisfying feeling her naked feet writhing underneath your fingers. Like so.” Ingrid attacked with both hands, raking her nails up and down Jocelyn’s arches and heels, fingers moving as fast as possible while she dug in with savage determination.

“Oh my Gooooooood!” Jocelyn screamed, bucking violently in the stocks. “Please stop! No more! Pleeeeaaaasssee!” she cried, trying to break loose by brute force. The stocks were made from solid, heavy oak and didn’t budge at all. “I cahahahahahan’t! I can’t take it!” She screamed with laughter, tears flowing from her bulging eyes. “AHAHAHAHAHA! Someone please help me! HAHAHAHA! Make it stop!” Ingrid didn’t stop. The demonstration of how devastating her fingernails could be lasted for several minutes, with Jocelyn cackling and begging the entire way.

“Now that I’ve already licked all the sweat off her foot, we’ll need to let the heaters do their thing and force her to produce more.” She cleaned the foot off with a moist wipe. “In the meantime, enter the baby oil. This really lubricates and makes whatever tool you’re using practically fly across her soles.” She applied a thick layer of oil, and then laid into the foot with two of the hairbrushes, sawing the bristles across her instep and arch with vicious focus. Jocelyn screeched and writhed like she was demon possessed, flailing uselessly from the ankle up. Her screaming, laughter and desperate pleas were all blending together into one panicked howl, which only made Ingrid smile and scrub harder.

“OHNONONONOAHAHAHAHA!” she screamed, drooling. “P’ease no! No more! No more! Help meeeeeee!” She devolved into excruciating gales of endless laughter, forced on her through her restrained foot. For several minutes she just laughed maniacally, guffawing and cackling at the crowd, her eyes begging them to put a stop to her torment. The crowd pointed and laughed in response, relishing her torture and humiliation.

“Get her toes!” someone yelled. “Break her!” a woman called. “Punish the rebel! Don’t let her catch her breath!” Dozens of phones were out, recording the trauma. “Make her piss herself!” someone shouted and then laughed. The crowd was really getting into the punishment, and Ingrid had a good feeling about the level of ticklish punishment was going to be inflicted upon Jocelyn today. She loved her new position, but she also knew that it meant she was going to be observing and monitoring, unable to sit down and tickle for hours like she had yesterday. So, she intended on getting her damage done early, and as often as possible throughout the day. The crowd had resumed it’s repetitive ‘Tickle her!’ chant.

“Oh don’t you worry about her toes,” Ingrid called back to the crowd, laughing. “Those tootsies are coming up soon.” First, she tried out the studded rubber gloves, dragging them up and down the taut soles. As predicted, it drove Jocelyn up the figurative walls, her shrieking reaching new pitches of desperation. Ingrid had tested the gloves on her own feet last night, and while you couldn’t really tickle yourself, she could tell from the awful feeling that it was going to activate every nerve in Jocelyn’s stretched soles, and she wasn’t disappointed. Jocelyn was full on sobbing now, punctuated by screams, begging through the roaring of her laughter. Ingrid didn’t let up for a second, going for the kill. The only breaks this dumb bitch was going to get were when she changed tools, and she was attacking with a vengeance at the moment. She ruthlessly scrubbed the sole in front of her for several long minutes, forcibly extracting inarticulate scream laughter. The bottom of Jocelyn’s left foot was now a rosy pink.

Ingrid eventually stopped to survey her handiwork. Jocelyn’s breath was ragged, and her face was a shamed red. Her bloodshot eyes were bulging, and several veins were protruding from her neck. It was go time, and Ingrid gave her a wicked smile. Jocelyn trembled in fear, mumbling ‘please don’t’ into her gag repeatedly. “Are you ready for the finale on your demo?” Ingrid teased, holding up the two feathers she’d bought last night. Jocelyn started mewling in response. “I’ll take that as a yes,” Ingrid said, dragging the feathers between her stretched toes. Jocelyn squealed and tried to curl her toes, but they didn’t move even a tiny bit. Shaking with helpless laughter, she watched in horror as Ingrid drew the feathers in between each of her toes repeatedly, each swipe eliciting a tortured burst of anguished laughter. She also swished them down the balls of her foot and the arch, swirling around on the heel. Turning the feathers around, she dragged the pointed ends of the quills down the exposed arches, scribbling figure 8 patterns and swirling the sharp points on the delicate, wrinkled skin. The response was instant, the laughter switching to panicked outrage and deep belly laughter.

“Observe the domination of the arch. Repeatedly abusing one spot can overstimulate the area, breaking her down over time and making it harder for her to resist.” She had now moved the quills to the balls of her feet and was scratching them back and forth, focusing on the ball of the big toe. “This, right here, happens to be her single most vulnerable spot.” Jocelyn bellowed with laughter, confirming her weakness. She had thrown her head back and was screaming up toward the sky, completely unable to beg or get any words out. All she could do was laugh, and laugh and laugh. And cry. Ingrid took special pride in breaking her down into tears, as it really demonstrated just how panicked and desperate that her victim truly was.

“You might be tempted to think this is cruel, or inhumane,” Ingrid said to the crowd. “Remember, this bitch is little more than a terrorist. She was arrested during a violent protest against our government, and needs to be shown the error of her ways. The goal here is humiliation, and public participation in her punishment. It needs to be extreme, brutal, merciless. Pick any adjective you like, as long as the torture is as bad as possible. We need your help recalibrating the inmate, so that she never, ever considers sedition again.”

Ingrid paused her monologue, focusing on scraping the quills over the left foot hard and deep, leaving lines on the helpless sole, her victim roaring with defeated, exhausted laughter. This was seriously the best thing that had ever happened to her, and the power trip she had over Jocelyn and her bare feet was the definition of erotic perfection. She was going to make her suffering a thing of legend.

“To that end,” she continued, “we insist that your tickling be as harsh as possible. She should be a trembling, broken wreck when you’re finished with her. If she has no idea what day it is, shits herself and starts speaking in Italian, good! You may touch her, taste her and torture her as long as you’re tickling her the entire time. She is to have no breaks. ZERO. If I catch anyone taking mercy on her with playful, teasing tickles, or giving her a break, you’ll be considered in violation of the statute prohibiting interference with a public official. So, make it count. Her entire body is an open book, and you get to write the next chapter in her suffering! Taste her wherever you’d like. Humiliate her, taunt her, and above all else, PUNISH her. She needs to learn her lesson, and for that to happen, she needs her feet to be conquered.” The crowd was in a frenzy, ready to tear her to pieces. Ingrid smiled, her face flushed with excitement. Jocelyn was in deep, deep shit, and they all knew it. Jocelyn especially knew it, her eyes bulging in terror and panic. The certainty of it was delicious.

“Do not injure or damage her, but feel free to do just about anything else that will shame her into obedience. Technically you’re not supposed to touch her vagina, but if there are a group of you surrounding her and it’s not readily visible to any minors in the crowd, meh, these things happen. Above all else, destroy her feet, they are her kryptonite. She’s going to piss herself and pass out multiple times throughout the day. That’s how you know you’re doing it right.”

“Tickle her! Tickle her! Tickle her!”

Ingrid laughed again, putting the feathers away and producing two electric toothbrushes. “Now then. The toes.”

Jocelyn’s eyes bulged, fresh tears leaking out. Bloodshot veins ringed her green irises. She started to whimper, unable to look away from the two whirling heads of bristles. “P’ease!” she sobbed. “Don’t do this. I’m begging you! Not the ‘oes! Not the ‘oes!”

Ingrid trembled with lust and excitement. The begging was her favorite. “Did you hear that everyone? ‘Not the toes’ she says. At the risk of ending up in her place, would you consider giving her mercy here?”

“No!” the crowd shouted in reply.

“Would you spare her toes?”

“No!”

“Should I excavate between her toes and make the tickling as vicious and tortuous as possible?”

“Yes!”

Ingrid made eye contact with Jocelyn, who was crying silently now. “You heard the crowd. The best part of this is the public humiliation, the audience participation, and the audience has spoken. Your toes are a necessary sacrifice. Are you ready for execution by toe tickling?”

“P’EEEEEEEEASSEE! Please! Anything but my toes! I promise I’ll never –”

She didn’t get to finish her promise. Ingrid lunged forward, placing one of the whirling toothbrush heads against the pad of her big toe and burying the other one in the porous skin between it and the second toe. Jocelyn exploded into frantic, violent gales of desperate laughter. For a moment she made eye contact with Ingrid, her face an anguished mask of hysteria, tears carving tracks down her beautiful, delicate cheeks. Ingrid responded with a smile and licked her lips. Jocelyn looked away first, shrieking helpless, frenzied laughter skyward.

“NONONONONO!” she pleaded through her gag, every syllable dripping with desperation. “PLEHEHEHEHEHEASE! NOOO!” Ingrid came, savoring her ticklish agony. She didn’t stop. The begging really was top notch, and she could only imagine what was going through Jocelyn’s head, the confusion at her begging not working. She wasn’t exactly leaving her much time to think and connect the dots.

“Keep begging,” Ingrid said quietly. “We can’t hear you.” She was going to fuck with her as long as possible, draw out the false hope, and see how far she could push Jocelyn before she figured out the lie. She’d moved the toothbrushes to the crevasses on either side of the third toe and was working the oscillating brush heads up and down the stem of the toe, in between them, and the tender skin where the toes connected to the foot. Jocelyn wailed with agonized laughter, hands clenching and unclenching above her head, thrashing in vain.

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck!” Jocelyn screamed, guffawing in impotent rage. “No! No! No! No!” Her words were nearly unintelligible, but the gist was quite clear. “Stoooooooop! No mooooooore!” Her screeching was hysterical, and Ingrid doubted that if she were covered in fire ants if her agony and desperation could be more complete. It was so hot watching her suffer. She kicked it up a notch, pushing Jocelyn well past her limits.

The toothbrushes continued their inexorable march amongst her toes, going back and forth from big toe to pinky toe. Meticulously digging between each with merciless efficiency, drawing fresh shrieks of panic with each excavation. Jocelyn was hyperventilating and rocking back and forth, eyes shut in denial of what was being done to her. Her laughter was breathy and almost silent now, her sobbing the loudest sound coming from her. Ingrid knew the end was near and held one brush head between her big and second toes, and the other right on the tip of the ball beneath her big toe, her worst spot. She didn’t move them for several minutes, just letting the relentless bristles finish breaking her down. Her face was close enough to the toes that she could see in the individual whorls of pattern in the skin, shining with baby oil and sweat. The toes were long, oiled, tied back and utterly helpless to escape.

Finally, Jocelyn lost control of her bladder, the splashing sound announcing her shame and defeat. “I ‘ant breathe I ‘ant breathe! Stop, p’ease! AHAHAHAHAHA! I’ll tahahahahahake prison time instead! Nahahahaha! P’eeeeeeease! Stooooooop! Oh God please!”

The throng of public voyeurs behind her roared their approval, but Ingrid didn’t relent. The brushes continued digging holes in their stationary spots. “I’m going to keep them here for hours,” Ingrid said. “Going forward, you exist only to laugh through your punishment, with no hope of it ending anywhere in sight. Does it tickle? It looks like it tickles! Kitchy kitchy coo!”

Jocelyn screamed in rage, her face bright red, and then she passed out, her head resting against her chest.

“And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is how it is done!” Ingrid announced.

The crowd cheered her like she’d just won an Emmy. Ingrid bowed, beaming. After a moment she produced the smelling salts, waking Jocelyn who was still deep in the grips of panic. “Now, it’s time that the crowd gets in on the action. There are literally hundreds of us today waiting for a turn, so we’re going to have to double and triple up and take five minute turns.” She explained about the stop watches, and where the tools were to be returned after use. “And remember, make it bad. REALLY bad. If we catch you helping her, you’re going to take her place. Now let’s break this bitch’s mind and abuse these sweaty feet.” She turned the heaters off and placed them behind the stocks. “Who wants to go first? I know we had some members of the Tickling Media Forum fly into town early this morning. Let’s get some of those TMFers up here to kick off the carnage!”

The crowd behind her surged forward, hands raised. Ingrid presented a sign up sheet, and it was filled for hours within the first couple of minutes. Jocelyn sobbed uncontrollably, watching her fate solidify itself on the list of fervent would-be ticklers. She knew there was no hope now. Her day was to be filled with public torture, fondled, licked and tickled by hundreds of strangers. There was no mercy to be had. And it would all be recorded and played for decades on the internet. She hung her head and let loose a strangled cry of despair. The demo had lasted for 45 minutes, much longer than Ingrid had intended, but Jocelyn’s day of torment was just getting started. And she knew it.

Kelly walked up behind her, appreciating the demolished Jocelyn before her. “Good work, she looks pretty spent. But, you’re on the clock now. I’ve already done a demo on Christine and Tara and we need the public to do the heavy lifting today. You need to be guiding and supervising, not hogging all the action. Now, I’m going to go keep an eye on Christine, and I want you to supervise Tara and make sure they’re laying it on thick. And if they’re not, I need you to get down in the trenches and bring the pain.” She paused, giving Ingrid a mischievous smile. “And Ingrid? You’ll be happy to know, her feet sweat like a ***** in church. Go get ‘em, tiger!”

A couple were knelt down at Jocelyn’s feet and a man was behind her, digging into her ribs. Ingrid could hear Jocelyn laughing, and she had just reached Tara when the sounds behind her changed to a buzz of confusion and an interruption in Jocelyn’s screaming. A metallic clanging sound interrupted the peaceful sound of tormented laughter. Turning around, she started in surprise. Two men and a woman were standing next to Jocelyn, the two men swinging baseball bats at anyone who got near and the woman frantically hitting the padlock holding the stocks shut with a hammer. “Stay back!” one of the men shouted. “I’ll cave your fucking heads in if you come near her! Hurry up, Amy!”

The woman, Amy, was whacking away repeatedly at the padlock, but hadn’t been able to break it off yet. She was tall, pretty, pale and had long black hair. Kelly had noticed also, and had called in the police, who were now descending on the disturbance and pushing their way through the swollen crowd.

“Run!” Jocelyn shouted, muffled. “They’re coming!”

The two men looked around them and saw police closing in on their location. “Amy, we gotta go!” one of them yelled.

“I’ve almost got it!” she said, desperately hacking away at the padlock.

“It’s already too late! Let’s go, now!”

She ignored them, continuing to try to free Jocelyn. The two men took off into the crowd, swinging their bats and clearing a swath. Amy tried to run after them, but the crowd closed after them, blocking her escape. She raised her hammer threatening, advancing towards the front ranks, but before she could make good on her threat, Kelly was behind her with a taser. Amy stiffened, thousands of volts running through her, and collapsed to the ground. Kelly stood over her, smiling.

“Well, well, well. Looks like we have a new prisoner to interrogate. You dented my stocks, you bitch. Oh, this is going to be fun, Amy.” Kelly said. “You’re now going to join your friend in the stocks. Do you know what that means? I am going to enjoy taking you apart. Remember how you feel, right now. It’s the last time you’re going to know what it’s like to not be constantly tortured for a very long time. You belong to me now.” She looked down at Amy with naked lust. “Are you ticklish? I wonder what your feet smell like, and if your toes are your worst spot. There’s only one way to find out. And Amy? Once I’m done having my way with you, you’ll be back out here for the crowd to tickle. We are going to make an example of you.” She laughed, and ordered the police to drag her limp body away for processing and booking.

“Well, that was exciting,” she said to Ingrid. “We always need new examples to make, and that one quite literally fell into our laps. We’ll get to explore her toes while also questioning Jocelyn. This just keeps getting better!”

Ingrid flushed with excitement. “Doesn’t she need to like…go before a judge and receive a sentence?”

Kelly waggled her eyebrows and laughed. “Oh, she will. Next week. But I have the authority to punish any who try to interfere with an inmate’s sentence. I don’t have to wait. This is my jurisdiction, right here, and we’re going to get intimate with those sweaty, helpless feet tonight. She just made the biggest mistake of her life. I see massive suffering in her immediate future. Isn’t this great?”

“Yep,” Ingrid said, smiling. She was all for tickling, but it seemed like due process and the judicial system had been replaced by one woman’s whims and sadism. Again, she made a mental note to not cross Kelly, even the tiniest slight. After what she’d been doing to Jocelyn, she couldn’t afford to slip up and end in her own set of stocks. Kelly clearly would have no problem punishing her for entertainment. Picking sides was easy on this one. She was going to tickle, and tickle, and tickle and make sure she stayed on Kelly’s side. She literally couldn’t afford not to.

“Ok well let’s get you over to Tara,” Kelly said, gesturing toward the brunette. “I’ve already done a demo on Christine and Tara during the time you dawdled over Jocelyn, and we need to make sure we keep the crowd engaged. Give her hell, and make sure the public gets so excited they can’t wait for their own turn.”

Ingrid approached Tara, watching in erotic fascination as two men worked her over like a side of beef. One of them stood behind her, digging into her ribs and armpits and alternating down to her sides and stomach. She howled in indignation, laughing furiously while trying to scoot away from his ever-present fingers. The other perched on a stool in front of her feet, and was viciously scrubbing her left foot with a brush, drawing gales of panicky laughter from their victim. Her toes were already tied apart, spread far and wide, and he was sawing between them with a comb. Tara was laughing so hard through her gag it sounded like she was growling, frantically twitching her feet in a desperate search for escape. The two men laughed and taunted, pushing her to hysteria, giving no quarter. The man behind Tara was now licking her nipples while working her armpits over. She cackled with forced laughter, unable to escape her torture for even a second. These guys were really laying into her and enjoying every moment of her epic suffering.

Ingrid could hear Christine and Jocelyn shrieking with laughter nearby, and she needed to get in on the action before her lust built to critical mass. “How would you like to take it up and notch and get her really sweaty?” Ingrid asked, walking up to the men brutalizing Tara. They readily agreed, and she got the propane heaters, setting up one in front of each foot. Tara squealed and tried to move her feet away, but there was nowhere to go. She continued laughing and crying, unable to do anything else but sit there and take it.

Turning to address the crowd, Ingrid noted a general air of amusement, but not the vicious need for punishment. This needed an injection of crowd brutality and public vengeance. The killer instinct for maximum torture was woefully missing, and that just wouldn’t do. She let the two men continue for another couple of minutes, at which point she ended their session so she could begin another demo.

Kneeling down in front of Tara’s feet, she inspected the vulnerable size 9 soles in front of her face. The big toe was very large, big enough that it would easily fill her entire mouth. A small amount of peeling skin suggested Tara didn’t focus much on footcare, instead hiding them away in shoes, where they were usually safe. Excellent. The other 4 toes were opposite in nature, long spindly alien fingers. The skinny, delicate kind that normally could curl up and grab something when they weren’t tied and spread apart. Small puffs of sock fuzz were wedged between her toes and in the wrinkles on her soles. Ingrid scratched them out, taking pleasure in digging in with her fingernails. Tara screamed in protest, forced laughter greeting the ticklish excavation.

Kelly wasn’t kidding, her feet were sweating like they’d been locked in waterproof boots for three days while she jogged through Death Valley. She could smell them from a pace away, and her mouth watered. On a scale of 1-10 for sweaty and stinky, they were clocking in at a solid 12. The odor emanating from them was impressive. She leaned in and licked her right foot, all the way from the heel to in between her toes, and moaned with satisfaction. It was like tasting a salty block of warm cheddar shaped like a foot. She could see actual rivulets of sweat running down her sole, collecting and dripping off her heel. Most people would view a massively sweating foot as gross, but for Ingrid, it was the absolute definition of what aroused her. If she’d run a marathon with 3 pairs of socks on they couldn’t have gushed more or stunk more strongly.

Ingrid climaxed and continued to taste in between the vulnerable, tied toes, tasting every bit of toe sweat. Tara roared with laughter, trying to move her toes away, but they were tied tightly and weren’t going anywhere. Her toes pulled against the toe ties, held completely immobile and spread while Ingrid wiggled her tongue in between each of them, searching for salty toe jam. Tara shrieked in helpless agony, dancing behind the restraining boards. Her victim made eye contact, begging her with a pathetic expression of supplication. Tears were running down her face, and Ingrid felt another wave of excitement roll through her.

“Tara,” Ingrid said. “Do you have any idea what I’m going to do to you, right now?”

“Please don’t!” Tara screamed through her gag. “I don’t deserve this! Aaaaarrghahahahahaha! I only blew a .09, hahahaha, barely over the legal limit! Noohohohoho! Please don’t do this to me!”

Ingrid chuckled. “Oh honey, I know you don’t deserve this. Three months ago and you’d spend a couple of weeks in jail and pay a fine. But now, your stinky bare feet are on display for public tickle torture.” She gave the sole before her a quick swipe with her nails, and Tara shrieked, trying again to pull away.

“Why then?” Tara bawled, hyperventilating with hysterical laughter.

“The truth is, this isn’t fair, and is massive overkill for your crime. You shouldn’t be here. But the other truth is that nothing in the universe is more erotic to me than tickling a sweaty, helpless foot that can’t escape. And, here are your feet, just begging me to indulge myself. I actually feel bad for you, I do. But not bad enough to pass on a dream come true. I’m going to tickle you so badly that you go cross-eyed and forget your own name. It’s not personal, but this is going to be a nightmare for you. I’m going to tickle you as ruthlessly as I can for hours, and you will lose consciousness several times.” She knew this wasn’t true about several hours, sadly, but found that the verbal abuse and taunting really increased the humiliation and seemed to increase the panicked reactions. “If you beg good enough, I may accidentally give you a break. If not…” she let the threat hang.

“Are you ready to begin?” She’d been waiting to borrow that line from Scarlett Sinns. The crowd of people behind her cheered, demanding that Ingrid punish her. Oh yes, she would. She was going to punish Tara into a sobbing puddle of regret.

Tara started to frantically say something, but Ingrid didn’t let her finish, one set of fingers immediately flying over the balls of her foot while the other five dug into her arch. Tara screamed in panic, roaring laughter skyward while Ingrid abused her trapped foot. The entire foot was shiny and slippery with sweat, and Ingrid leaned in to take a deep breath. This was by far the stinkiest, most raunchy foot she’d ever smelled, and she considered herself an expert in the subject. Trembling with excitement, she leaned in and licked the toes again, savoring the salty taste of toe funk. They tasted like they were coated in salted butter, with more sweat secreting by the moment. Tara’s feet were quite literally the perfect victim, and she was going to take them to hell and back. Judging by Tara’s desperate howling and pleas for mercy, she was already well on her way. Not that it was going to earn her a second of mercy. Nope, she was going to put on a clinic in torture on these vulnerable soles so the crowd could understand what was expected of them and emulate her brutality. She wanted Tara absolutely destroyed before lunch break.

“I know that I’m supposed to feel empathy for you. I’ve been tied up and tickle tortured before, and it was both terrible and awesome. But I have a foot fetish and I wanted it.” She gave a fake sigh, tilting her head to the side with feigned resignation. “You, on the other hand, are an unwilling tickle slave who hates it, but has been made a plaything for the entire community. Not only do I very much want to blow your mind by mercilessly tickling you into a heart murmur, but I’m actually encouraged to do so, and now I’m getting PAID to do so. You can see how there is literally no decision to be made here. Sucks to be you, huh?” She raked her nails down the stretched arch repeatedly. Tara laughed maniacally, struggling to get her pleas out, her words and scream laughter blending into one inarticulate howl of ticklish anguish.

“Pay close attention, everyone,” Ingrid called to the crowd. “The correct way to punish this inmate is with maximum, extreme suffering. Her entire body is completely exposed for tickling, and her feet are certainly her most vulnerable spot. Be creative, make it an art form, but above all else tickle her sadistically and as mercilessly as you can. We want her completely broken and hysterical. There will be no playful tickling, no going through the motions, or you’ll be joining her for your own torture. Pretend she is your worst nemesis and vent your rage on her ticklish toes. You are serving your government by participating in her humiliation. It’s the only way we’re going to reform her, so consider every ounce of viciousness you can inflict upon her as a public service.”

Ingrid was focusing all 10 fingers on the balls of Tara’s foot, scrabbling as fast as she could, digging in with brutal efficiency. Her fingers practically flew across the sheen of foot sweat, racing up and down, digging mini circles, scraping and digging into the tender skin. Tara screamed, laughing endlessly, thrashing uselessly. Her face was going bright red, and she was near to hyperventilating.

Ingrid wanted to draw her torment out so she slowed down a bit, exploring between her toes with sharp fingernails. “Does it concern you that instead of being disgusted, or condemning this medieval torture, that the crowd is actually excited? Does it surprise you to know that the majority of the spectators are anxiously waiting for their turn to tickle you? That many of them want to taste your sweaty toes? I honestly had no idea that when given the opportunity to tickle a helpless victim, it turns out a huge percentage of the general public has a sadistic lust to torture your vulnerable soles, even if they don’t have a full blown foot fetish like I do. I find it fascinating. Maybe I’m not as much of a deviant as I thought. Or, maybe I am. Let’s find out.”

“PLEASE!” Tara screamed. “NO MORE!” She dissolved into a fit of hysterical cackling, struggling to breathe. “Stoooop!”

“What do you think everyone?” Ingrid called over her should, fingers never ceasing their breakneck speed as she traced patterns over the helpless sole. “Should I stop?”

“No!” they cried as one. “Punish her! Break her!”

Ingrid tsked. “You heard ‘em,” she said. “The punishment will continue, for hours and hours. And all those phones you see them holding? Yeah, this is going to live on the internet for your entire lifetime. Every person you have ever known or will ever meet is going to know how ticklish you are. I bet they all tickle you now, just to see your reaction. This really is just the beginning for you, Tara.”

Tara continued screaming with laughter, the breathy, nearly silent kind. She couldn’t draw enough air to get any more begging for mercy out, and had no choice but to sit there and endure. Ingrid continued to attack her toes, digging in between them with electric toothbrushes. Tara was openly sobbing, staring in horror at her violated foot.

“You know why I like the stocks so much?” Ingrid asked her. Tara laughed in response. “It’s because they’re so darn effective at holding the foot immobile. With your ankle locked in place and your toes tied back, there’s literally nothing you can do to get away. Nothing!” She laughed and viciously attacked Tara’s heel, digging her fingernails in, their motion of blur. Tara shrieked in rage and panic, unable to move. “My point exactly. That looks like it’s excruciating, and there’s nothing you can do to make it stop. You can’t even move an inch, even to get the tiniest relief. I’m going to keep tickling, and you’re going to sit there and take it while laughing your ass off. I love the complete domination I have over you right now! You are so utterly helpless, which is unfortunate for you since I am going to tickle you until you’re psychologically damaged.” She doubled down on the heel, scratching her nails on the wet skin, digging circular patterns over and over. Tara guffawed in helpless, extracted belly laughter, a broken record of exaggerated “ahahaha!” playing from behind her ball gag. Ingrid let her smile fall away, her face deadpan and severe. “I own your feet now. You will surrender to me and beg me for more. No matter how long it takes. Just wait for it. I have all day.” She gave Tara a predatory smile.

“With the restraints holding you fully immobile, I have complete control over you through the bottoms of your exposed feet. Your foot is my sex toy, and I’m going to satisfy my darkest urges while you scream for mercy that you’re never going to receive. I can draw it out and make it a slow burn,” she said, dancing her fingers lightly over the arch, “or I can go into kill mode and make your agony a palpable thing.” She moved back to her favorite spot, the balls of her foot, and savagely scrubbed with a hairbrush. Tara exploded into a violent burst of laughter, leaning forward, her face going purple.

“PLEEEEEEEEEAAASSE!” she shrieked.

“Please more? You got it!” She leaned in and licked between her big and second toe, savoring a new layer of sweat, while she continued scrubbing with the brush. Kelly had said to make an example of the inmates today, and that’s exactly what she intended. She picked up another brush with her other hand and laid into the arch also, taking Tara into another level of hysteria. This time she continued for over 10 minutes, aggressively pushing her cheesy feet well past the point of despair. Tara cackled like a loon, her sanity slowly unraveling, and Ingrid just attacked harder, searching with lusty anticipation for the exact moment of unequivocal surrender. It was close, and methodically breaking her down was her single biggest desire in the universe. This lady was going to crack soon, and the demo wasn’t ending until she did. No matter how long she held out. She hoped it took a long time.

The throng of public behind her were becoming increasingly engaged, watching with sadistic enthusiasm. “Get her, make her pay!” a woman shouted. “Tickle that bitch forever!” a man called. They were really getting into it now, and several people were clamoring for when it would be their turn. “I want a crack at those feet,” someone called. “I’m gonna bury her…death by foot tickling!” a young lady laughed. Ingrid could tell by the look on her face that she meant it too. Tara was so fucked.

Abruptly stopping, Ingrid surveyed her results. Tara was a heaving, sobbing mess. She was covered in sweat, and she gasped frantically for air. Her eyes bulged out of their sockets, and several veins stuck out from her maroon face. She greedily gulped in air, savoring the rare break. Still sobbing hysterically, she hung her head, trying to catch her breath because she knew it was going to start again.

“Now then, Tara,” she said. “We have a small matter of extracting some details from you concerning the riot earlier this week. You’ll cooperate with me, won’t you? Tell me everything you know?”

“Wha’?” Tara said weakly, barely raising her head. “I wasn’t even there! Why do you think I know anything about that?”

The crowd booed, calling for the punishment to resume. Ingrid was inclined to agree.

“So we’re going with the refusal to talk tactic are we?” Ingrid snickered. “I hoped you would start there. It’s so much more fun to extract info as the punishment increases in intensity. If you don’t want to talk now, let’s see if you change your tune in another 10 minutes or so.”

“Wait!” Tara screamed. “Please! I have no idea what you want! I wasn’t there and wasn’t involved at all! I don’t know what you want me to say! Please! Don’t!”

Ingrid moved over to her left foot, taking a deep sniff of her cheesy foot odor. She licked up the length of the sweat saturated sole, ramming her tongue between the toes one by one. Tara immediately went ballistic, shrieking and bucking on her bench. Ingrid continued, exploring every square millimeter of her bare foot, fingers raking up and down on the arch while she tasted to her heart’s content.

“You’re not going to get out of it that easily, you know,” she said. “It’s time we upped the stakes, and see if that convinces you to talk.” She pulled the electric drill out of her tool belt, affixing the smaller 1 inch brush head to its tip. She fired it up, the whirring of the rotating head filling the air. Tara’s face, a desperate purple just a moment ago, drained of blood and went stark white.

“Oh God,” she whimpered. “Please…no…I don’t know anything! I swear! I wasn’t there! I have nothing to do with it! I don’t know anything! Please! Don’t!”

Ingrid laughed, startled by the evil tone lacing her own voice. “Oh yes. It’s much worse than you think it is. I hope your heart is strong, because your file says you’re a smoker and I think this is the end of the road for your lungs. You better have an answer for me when I stop to change tools, or the next chance won’t be for an hour at least. Let’s give you some proper motivation!” She depressed the trigger on the drill, slowly moving the rotating head towards Tara’s toes. Tara screamed in wordless anticipation, trying to move her feet away, terrified eyes practically jumping out of her head. She was tunnel vision on the bristles moving toward her exposed foot, transfixed like a sparrow before a viper. She whimpered and mewled unintelligibly, dreading the sensory overload that was slowly approaching. “PLEASE! I don’t know what you want from me! I was at home during the riot!” Ingrid drew it out, letting her mind build its terror before lunging forward, pressing it against her big toe.

“NOHOAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” she shrieked, pulling violently against her toe ties. “OH MY GOD! PLEASE! I CAAAAAAAAAN’T!” Her words were soon lost to a desperate gale of laughter, hysteria overtaking her in seconds. She roared with forced laughter, watching in horrified disbelief as Ingrid moved the rotating brush head over each of her toes, back and forth, exploring between, never giving even a fraction of a second of reprieve.

“Actually, I think you CAN. You’re doing a great job so far. I tickle, you laugh. Really, I’d say this is going perfectly. Keep up the great work. You’re really pulling your weight on this team project, Tara, and I’m proud of you!” She had moved the brush down to the balls of the left foot, and Tara almost launched vertical in her panic. She screeched inarticulate noises of utter panic, trying in vain to escape the unending tickling. Just as Ingrid had already concluded, this was her absolute weakness, right on the ball of the big toe, just like Jocelyn. Theory confirmed again. This was her all time favorite spot to tickle, because it always yielded desperate hysteria.

Tara was sounding off like a train whistle. Ingrid was impressed that in her weakened state she was able to make that loud of a sound. She continued exploring the stretched foot, running the brush head up and down the sole, searching for new positions of agony. The arch rewarded her search as Tara exploded in a violent fit of guffaws, roaring helplessly, begging with her eyes. Ingrid winked and didn’t relent for a second, going over the heel and side of the foot before returning to her toes. If Tara could have jumped out of her own skin she would have, the suffering was so delicious, so complete. She didn’t know when she had that last drink at the bar that it would be the catalyst that landed her in a 3 day session of tickle abuse with the world’s most enthusiastic and sadistic tickler. She mouthed the words ‘thank you’ towards the sky, continuing her merciless assault. If possible, Tara’s foot was even sweatier now, and Ingrid tasted the sole again, climaxing. This was the best thing that had ever happened to her, and very likely the worst thing that had ever befallen Tara.

“Please stop! HAHAHAHAHA! I dohohohohon’t know anythihihihing about the riot…please!”

Ingrid ignored her pleas and lost track of time, and eventually heard the telltale splashing sound announcing that Tara had lost control of her bladder. She was still screaming like she was being dismembered on a vivisection table, and Ingrid took a mental picture so that she could cherish it for her entire life. If she was dragging her behind a car for 10 miles she didn’t think Tara could sound more anguished or pathetic. Finally all noise ceased from Tara, and Ingrid looked up to see that she had lost consciousness, her head lolling against her small white breasts. She checked her watch and realized it had been 18 minutes of power tool torture. Oops, but also…awesome! The interrogation had been so much fun because she knew that Tara didn’t know anything, and would be even more desperate because she knew she had no bargaining chip. She was absolutely going to savor that game on Christine, and on Jocelyn. They were both in deep, deep shit.

She woke Tara up with the smelling salts, and her victim began to sob instantly, terrified out of her mind. She took the gag out, gave her a drink of water, and the reinserted the ball gag. “That concludes our demonstration, ladies and gentlemen. You should now have a good idea of what type of extreme punishment is required. I want her screaming, crying, laughing and passing out all day long, over and over. Is that clear?”

“Yes ma’am” someone shouted from the crowd with a laugh. “We’re happy to serve!”

“Don’t worry, my helpless little slave. You only have around 7 more hours to go. And tomorrow, of course. But you’re making great progress!” Tara bawled, searching the crowd for help and finding only faces hungry for more punishment. “I want you to come full circle, and beg for the tickling to continue. That’s the only way it’s going to stop.”

“Please!” Tara whined. “I can’t take it anymore! This is going to kill me!”

“It most likely isn’t going to kill you, but I can’t make any promises. Now, if you don’t want to indulge me by saying the words, we can start over. Would you prefer that?”

Tara jerked like she’d been punched in the face. “No, please! I’ll do anything! Tell me what you want me to do! Just please no more tickling…I’m going to die. I can’t do this…please…” She lowered her head and started sobbing again.

Her phone chimed with a text, and Ingrid immediately pulled it out to see a message from Kelly. Finish up and supervise Jocelyn. Make sure it doesn’t stop. Ingrid looked around and saw Kelly dismantling Christine, going to town on her feet while her victim shrieked bloody murder.

Ingrid lifted Tara’s chin with one finger, forcing her to look up at her. “I want you to say that you want us to tickle your feet. Tell me that you love it, and you don’t want it stop, ever. You want everyone to lick your feet and torture you until you piss yourself again. You don’t want any mercy. Say it, or I promise, it’s going to get so much worse. You don’t want that, do you?”

A small whimper escaped around Tara’s gag. “I ‘ant e’eryone to tickle my feet,” she said, shuddering in fear. “I love having my feet tickled, and I don’t want you to stop. Ever.” She broke down in a fresh bout of tears, taking a moment to compose herself. “I ‘ant you all to lick my ‘oes and tickle me until I piss myself again. No mercy, ‘unish me hard.” The crowd roared its approval, bursting at the seams with anticipation.

“You heard her,” Ingrid said. “Tickle this bitch until her mind unhinges. She doesn’t want you to stop, and she doesn’t want any mercy. Feel free to taste her as you punish her into catatonic shock.”

“WHAT?” Tara screeched. “You said if I—”

“Hey, the rules are the rules. Ask and you shall receive. At your request, I’m pretty sure this is going to be really, really bad. But I’m glad you’re embracing your situation. Way to face it head on.” She consulted the clipboard and perused the list. “Let’s see, who’s next…Jackie? Jackie?”

A woman in her early thirties stepped forward, glaring at Tara. “That’s me. I’m ready to take over and punish this woman into remorseful sobriety.” She turned to Tara and grabbed her chin, glowering into her face. “A drunk driver killed my brother, and I’m going to take it out on you and show you just how unacceptable your decision making has been. I don’t envy you. I’m going to ravage your feet. I hope you’re ready, but I don’t really care if you’re not. Buckle up, you drunk asshole. Your suffering is going to be a work of art.”

As Ingrid walked away, she heard Tara start screaming and laughing, voice laden with fresh desperation. Jackie was already continuing the interrogation game, and from the tone of her voice, she was also getting off on the domination. Ingrid smirked, thrilled that the unwinnable game would continue.

Ingrid approached Jocelyn, where two men wearing TMF custom t shirts were positioned at her feet, laying into them with two hairbrushes each. Jocelyn shrieked and sobbed and laughed, already exhausted and panicked. One of the men switched to the electric flosser, prodding in between her toes with the vibrating tip, sending her into an apoplectic fit of laughter. “PLEEEEEEEEEEEEEAASSE!” she screamed. “Stooooop!”

Ingrid walked behind them, facing Jocelyn, and winked. The petite blonde was drenched in sweat, and tears flowed freely from her bulging eyes. She couldn’t get any further words out she was laughing so hard, but her eyes were begging hard like a puppy trying to summon a treat. Ingrid laughed and shook her head, blowing her a kiss. She walked behind the stocks, pressing her lips up against Jocelyn’s ear. “I’ve wanted this for years,” she whispered, breath hot against Jocelyn’s damp hair. “I’m going to tickle you until your mind breaks. I own your feet now, and I’m going to torture them as much as I want. I own them. And your punishment is just beginning. I want you to know that. This is going to be so much worse than you think. You better starting begging, or I’m going to take you apart. I kind of hope you don’t. Either way, this is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

Ingrid slipped over Jocelyn’s legs, straddling her hips. The two men from TMF had travelled a long way to get here and she didn’t want to interrupt their extreme foot torture, so she decided the next best thing would be some upper body brutality. She dug her fingernails into Jocelyn’s exposed armpits, immediately drawing fresh squeals of panic. She jerked back and forth, trying to evade Ingrid’s probing fingers, but with her weight pinning down her legs there was nowhere for poor little Jocelyn to move to. She guffawed helplessly into her gag, a stream of drool flowing from her mouth and onto her chest.

“The crowd is a lot bigger today, don’t you think?” Ingrid purred at her. “That would be my fault. I invited all of your colleagues, past and present, including everyone you work with at the county. Oh, and all of your Facebook friends and everyone who has ever liked one of your stupid posts. And your neighbors, your HOA, the Building Industry Association, your book club, your yoga class, your pilates class, and the parents from your son’s PTA. It took some digging, but I found a contact at your sorority and ask her to spread the word.” She laughed, enjoying the horrified expression on Jocelyn’s alarmingly red face. “I also invited several tickle fetish groups. These guys, on your feet? Yeah, they flew into town from Pennsylvania last night, just to come here and punish your toes. Pretty nice of them to come all this way, don’t you think?” She had moved her fingernails to Jocelyn’s nipples on her petite little milky white breasts, and Jocelyn screeched with a new level of panic, flailing uselessly. She roared with endless laughter, making eye contact with Ingrid, who was smiling from ear to ear.

“Your entire sphere of influence knows what is happening to you, right now. Quite a few of them are here, watching. Several of them are recording it, so it’s pretty clear they’re enjoying the show. This is going to live on the internet forever, and we’re all getting off on your suffering.”

“You ‘ucking biiiiiitch!” Jocelyn shrieked between agonized laughter. “I’m going to ‘ucking kill you!”

Ingrid kept tickling her nipples, fingers moving as fast as she could make them. “Oh Joss, is that any way to talk to your deputy punishment officer? I believe threatening violence is a brand new offense, and we’re going to have to add that to your list of crimes.” Her fingers moved back to the armpits, gyrating a symphony of ticklish humiliation into the sensitive skin. Jocelyn was hyperventilating, eyes wild as her head thrashed back and forth in delirious panic. “Remember when I told you that I’d take it easy on you if you begged enough? I’m not hearing any begging, and that makes me mad. Really mad. I think we’re going to have to take it up a notch, and see if this convinces you to cooperate.”

An evil smile crept over Ingrid’s face as she retrieved the miniature vibrator from her toolbelt and slipped it on over her middle finger. She pushed her hand down Jocelyn’s panties and flicked their switch to on, rubbing her vibrating finger up and down her helpless victim’s clit. The pitch of Jocelyn’s tortured laughter changed several octaves, and the noises coming from behind her gag were equal parts screams of torture and moaning. “Go for the kill, guys,” she said to the two men behind her at the feet. “Punish her! Drop the hammer on those soles!”

Jocelyn’s entire body was shuddering, and her laughter was coming in waves, intertwined with confused moans she couldn’t hold back. The sound of it was absolutely intoxicating. “Funny how it’s both pleasure and pain, huh?” she said to Jocelyn as she continued her assault on the armpits. “It’s confusing, right? You want it to stop, but the overstimulation being forced on you is just the definition of erotic sensory overload, and it’s overwhelming, and you don’t know if you really want it to stop? I know I don’t want it to stop, which means it won’t.” She laughed, and Jocelyn screamed. “Welcome to the big leagues, kid. You’re getting masturbated against your will while being tickle tortured in public, and the entire internet is watching. It couldn’t happen to a nicer person!”

Jocelyn cummed several times over the ensuing ten minutes, screaming for mercy, unable to move away from six hands seeking her complete destruction. It was clear that she was beyond mortified, but Ingrid kept her finger on her vagina the entire time, taking her to new climaxes, teasing and then going for broke, until Jocelyn simply couldn’t handle it anymore. She screamed, her voice going raw, and then she shuddered massively, her entire body going rigid. Jocelyn climaxed, her body wracked with spasms. The crowd cheered.

The timer on the stopwatch chirped, and the two men from TMF reluctantly stopped, giving her feet a last vicious scrubbing with the brushes they were holding. Ingrid retrieved a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap and dropping a tab of ecstasy into the water. Just when Jocelyn thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse, her nerve endings were going to fire up with massively increased sensitivity. She removed the gag and held the bottle to Jocelyn’s lips, making sure she drained every drop. The additional nerve stimulation was going to drive her to the edge, and Ingrid would be there to push her off of it. Moving back to her feet, Ingrid wiped both feet down with moist wipes, set up the portable heaters, and scanned the crowd.

“I need a volunteer,” she said, searching amongst the faces. Dozens of hands went up, but she found Kacey near the front of the crowd, pretending to pick her at random. “You there, miss, please come up here and help me with her left foot. We need to extract some information, and it’s probably going to require the proper motivation.”

Kacey enthusiastically skipped forward, the look of evil glee on her face arousing Ingrid all over again. She was a heavy sleeper and hadn’t rolled out of Ingrid’s bed until less than an hour ago. Such a heavy sleeper, in fact, that Ingrid had spent a good portion of the night sucking on her toes and lightly tickling her feet next to a space heater. Kacey hadn’t woken and had no idea that Ingrid had spent hours tasting her foot sweat and tickling her long toes with her tongue. She would get her tied up and torture those feet soon enough, but for now she had other victims in mind. They both took up their positions in the folding chairs in front of Jocelyn’s feet, grinning at her while their victim mewled and cried.

“Now Jocelyn, we need to know everything you know about the riot earlier this week. Names, who you coordinated with, where the meetings took place, who is in charge, when the next event is planned.” She wiggled her fingers in front of Jocelyn’s toes, giggling. “If you don’t give me what I want, this is going to go very badly for you. There is no time limit for your suffering. Hold out on me, and I’ll make sure this is much worse than it needs to be. Give me what I want, and you get the garden variety torture. Your choice.”

Without warning they both attacked, fingernails raking up and down her stretched soles. Jocelyn erupted with shrill laughter, much louder now that the gag was out.

“PLLLEEEEEEEAAAAASE!” she screamed, thrashing. “Stop! Stop! Stop! Ahahahahahaha! Nononononono! I don’t know anything!” She shrieked, tears running down her face, howling with inarticulate laughter. “I swear! I don’t know anything! I just showed up!” Her mouth was wide open in a feral scream, her eyes narrowed with intensity, her feet stretched out with the toe ties. Ingrid thought she kind of looked like a bird of prey descending on a helpless victim, which was ironic since that was exactly how she felt about herself at the moment.

“That’s pretty hard to believe, Joss,” Ingrid said. “I guess you’re not ready for a break? That’s fine.” They scribbled their nails over her sweaty soles, digging in with rapid scribbling, brutally punishing the trapped feet. Jocelyn roared with laughter punctuated by high pitched shrieks, unable to get any more words out. Kacey was licking between her toes while tickling her arches with all of her fingers while Ingrid was focusing on the taut balls of her right foot, wiggling ten nails over the slippery skin.

“Oh my God!” Jocelyn screamed. “Please don’t! Stooooooop!”

“Please don’t stop?” Kacey said, laughing. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to!” They continued for several minutes, scratching relentlessly at her helpless soles. Kacey switched to the stiff-bristled dish scrubbing brush and was furiously scrubbing through the arch, a snarl raising her lip and giving her that evil dungeon master look that Ingrid found so hot. Ingrid decided to break out her new toy, revving up the electric brush. Jocelyn’s eyes went even wider even as she continued wailing for mercy.

“Nonononono!” she said, desperately heaving for air through her laughter. “What the fuck is tha’ha’ha’hat? Hahahaha! Please don’t! Keep that fu’hu’hu’hucking thing away from me!” She dissolved into garbled laughter, never taking her eyes off the rotating brush head. Ingrid slowly brought it closer, an evil grin on her face, until she planted it right into the pad of her big toe. Jocelyn jumped like she’d taken a finger in the ass, shrieking with renewed panic. “Oh my God, nooooo!”

The crowd had swelled to hundreds behind them, cheering and calling for the punishment to continue. “Tickle her! Tickle her! Tickle her!” they roared.

Ingrid laughed, running the one inch rotating brush head in between each of her tied toes, relishing the unbridled agony she was inflicting on her tiny blonde tickle slave. Jocelyn bucked helplessly in the stocks, unable to get away, begging the crowd for help. “Please! Someone help me! Aaaarghahahahaha! Someone please get her away from me! Make it stop!” She was now cackling uncontrollably, eyes closed, tears leaking, mouth screaming. This went on for another several minutes, at which point she had to almost physically pull Kacey off of the left foot.

“Now then, let’s try that again,” Ingrid said. Jocelyn was a heaving, sobbing wreck, desperately trying to catch her breath. Her head hung low between her armpits, resting on her collarbone while she wept. “I’m going to give you one more chance to tell me what I want to know. If I’m not satisfied, we’re starting over. No more second chances, no more taking it easy. I’m starting to get pissed, and you have ten seconds to change that. Go ahead, test me on this.”

“Oh my God, please,” Jocelyn panted. “Please! I’ll talk! Just put that brush away!” She could barely get the words out she was so out of breath, and sobbing uncontrollably.

“Ten. Nine. Eight…”

“Rhianna!” Jocelyn screamed. “Her name is Rhianna! I don’t know what her last name is, but I can find out if you let me out of here!”

“Nice try,” Ingrid said, running a fingernail down the exposed foot. Jocelyn yelped, trying to pull away. “Where can we find this Rhianna? Where did you hold your meetings?”

“I don’t know!” Jocelyn said through fresh sobs. “I met up with some of the others at a book store, and we carpooled to her house. It’s somewhere downtown, and I’d recognize it if I saw it. I promise, I don’t know what the address is!”

Ingrid and Kacey started lightly tickling her heels, just barely making contact. Jocelyn tried and failed to suppress her laughter, unable to get away from the maddening light touch. “Ahahahahaha! I swear, I don’t know! They never gave it to me and I wasn’t driving! Pleeeease!”

Kacey was licking between her toes again, and Jocelyn was laughing uncontrollably, eyes screwed shut, head hung low. “And who were these other people you rode with?” Ingrid asked, licking up the middle of the arch. “I need names. I won’t ask again.” Her fingers kept at their feather light assault on the bare heel, drawing fresh squeals from her victim.

Jocelyn couldn’t answer because she was laughing too hard. Ingrid allowed that to continue for several minutes, moving to various spots around the foot, barely touching the quivering skin. Kacey had fired up two of the toothbrushes and was digging between the toes, clearly enjoying the hysteria she was inflicting. Eventually Ingrid made her stop, giving poor little Jocelyn a chance to compose herself.

“I swear I don’t know! We didn’t use our real names, just in case. It was all through Facebook! Look on my account, maybe you can trace where it came from! All I know is the meeting place at Barnes & Noble, check their security footage! And then we rode together in a windowless van so we couldn’t see where we were going.”

Ingrid depressed the trigger on the drill, making the rotating head roar to life. “So let me get this straight. You don’t have any names for me. You don’t know where your meeting occurred. And let me guess, you don’t know when or where the next attack is planned for.” She tapped a finger against her chin as if in deep thought. “I gotta say Joss, I’m disappointed. I thought for sure you were ready to cooperate, but it looks like you need a little more motivation.” She turned to the crowd. “What do you think everyone? Should I give her some additional motivation to talk?”

“YES!” they screamed. “Get her! Tickle her! Break her!”

Ingrid moved behind Jocelyn and reinserted the gag. “You’re going to regret this,” she whispered in her ear. “We won’t be taking it easy this time.” They’d spent around 15 minutes interrogating her with little to no useable info, and it was now 11:30. It was time to up the stakes.

“P’wease!” Jocelyn sobbed. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know!”

“Ah but I think you do know. Maybe in another 30 or 40 minutes you’ll be ready to share. That should give you some time to try to remember some details. Although you’re going to be a little…distracted.” She laughed, switching the one inch brush on the drill for a three inch brush. This one was large enough to cover her entire foot. Jocelyn stared in horror as she swapped the brush heads out, eyes bugging out of her head.

“Wait!” Jocelyn mumbled through the gag. “I think I might know something that—”

“Too late,” Ingrid said. She pressed the trigger and pushed the brush head onto her taut sole, bringing 300 RPMs of ticklish agony to the entirety of her foot at the same time. Jocelyn shrieked like a firecracker, launching herself straight up in her raw panic. She thrashed wildly, desperate to escape, but her feet were completely trapped and immobile, and it didn’t matter how much her upper body bucked uselessly behind the restraining boards. The crowd cheered mightily as Ingrid went to town on her arch, then her heel, and back up to the toes. High pitched yelps of despair escaped Jocelyn and she guffawed helplessly, head leaning forward between her restrained arms overhead, roaring with desperate laughter. Ingrid kept the pressure on the handle of the drill, pushing it into the sweaty foot, unrelenting.

Meanwhile, Kacey was savagely scrubbing the balls of her foot with a hairbrush while dragging a feather between her toes. Jocelyn’s face was going bright red, and a vein was bulging on her forehead. She looked like she was going to have a heart attack, but oh well, she had her chance Ingrid thought. She placed the large brush head against her toes and the ball of her foot and held it there, pushing hard, for several minutes. Jocelyn growled out maniacal laughter, at a complete loss as to what to do. She was hysterical and couldn’t breathe, and Ingrid felt her sadism bubbling with anticipation. She wasn’t going to get to spend all afternoon here, so she had to make it count and get her jollies, right here and right now. Revenge had never, ever, been sweeter than this exact moment. She wondered if it really were possible to kill someone with tickling, and decided that while it was unlikely there was only one way to find out.

“P’wease!” Jocelyn sobbed in desperation. “I’m begging you! Ahahahaha! You said to beg you! P’wease! I can’t! I can’t! I caaaaaaaan’t!” This last was shrieked out in a high pitched whistle, her voice breaking at the end. Ingrid could literally see her breaking a little more each moment. Fucking delicious. Pass out bitch! Make me earn this!

The crowd continued to swell. Looking across the park to where Tara and Christine were enduring their own tickle torture, Ingrid estimated the onlookers to be 1,000 strong at this point. Her efforts to spread the word had really amplified the public response! They were mostly cheering and egging them on, but there were some in the crowd, clearly friends of Jocelyn’s, who watched in horrified outrage. They wisely kept to themselves and only observed, which only served to make Jocelyn’s humiliation that much deeper.

She pushed the drill brush head up and down the exposed bottom of her foot, taking special care to linger on the balls of the foot. Jocelyn bucked and jumped in her restraints, her voice now raw, hoarse and nearly silent in her scream laughter. The ecstasy in the water was clearly doing its job, and the sweaty soles in front of her were practically crackling with electricity they were so hypersensitive. So much so that Ingrid wondered if the overstimulation was somehow preventing her from losing consciousness. A moment later, Jocelyn was pissing herself through her torture, screaming into her gag while the bucket beneath her filled, shame heating her face. When the crowd realized what was happening, it roared with approval, pointing and laughing. She broke down into deranged sobbing howls, and a small blood vessel burst in her left eye.

It had been about 45 minutes since the last round of the interrogation, but Ingrid wanted to draw this out and decided to switch tactics. “Let’s try a game,” she announced, producing two fine point fountain pens from the box beneath the stocks. “Tic Tac Toe, but with a twist: whoever wins get 5 minutes of solo torture time. I call this Tickle Attack Toes! Who wants to play?”

A man and a woman stepped forward, pleading their case to go first. They were among the organizers of NEST, and Ingrid picked them so they could publicize the event amongst their members. They urgently got down to business, drawing a grid on Jocelyn’s soles and taking turns scribbling X’s and O’s inside the squares. Ingrid stood to the side and watched, Kacey by her side. “You know I want to tickle you until you submit to me, right?” she whispered to Kacey. “I’m going to tickle your feet until you lose your mind, Kacey.” She gave her ribs a quick squeeze.

Kacey yelped and jumped away before moving back next to her. “Not if I get you first bitch,” she replied. “I think this calls for a bet.”

“Oooh, don’t threaten me with a good time,” Ingrid purred. “We’ll have to think of a good one and play it out on Christine next.”

Several games went by, Ingrid watching with aroused fascination as the crowd got into it, shouting advice and encouragement. The players were tickling Jocelyn’s toes the entire time, and she sat there and laughed helplessly, staring in horror at the crowd’s appetite for her torture. Ingrid lost track of time, and eventually ended the game so she could get back to the wait list. The last players scrubbed her soles with the dish brush and then cleaned them off with the moist wipes, and Ingrid replaced the portable heaters to get them sweating again.

A forty something woman and her husband were up next, and apparently she knew Jocelyn from high school. And they hadn’t gotten along. “Ooh bitch, this is gonna be bad,” the woman said as she settled down in from of Jocelyn’s left foot. “I hated you before and I still do. My husband has a foot tickling fetish, and he’s always taking it out on me. I’m going to let him get it out of his system on you. And I’m going to help him, because it’s hot watching you suffer through your humiliation and punishment.” An evil smile spread across her face. “Payback’s a bitch, huh?”

They began tickling her toes with their fingers. Jocelyn screamed and laughed, trying to say something to the woman, but it was all garbled hysteria coming through the gag. Ingrid activated her vibrating panties and climaxed, watching with hungry fascination and recording the torture session. The man was sawing between her toes with a comb while his wife worked the toothbrushes in circles in her arch. Jocelyn bellowed with raucous laughter, begging in desperation for a break, but they ignored her and doubled their assault, taking her back into the throes of abject panic.

Ingrid’s cell phone pinged, and she found a text from Kelly waiting. Medical staff is intervening with Tara. Take over on Christine. Make her suffering legendary.

“Come on,” she said to Kacey. “I want you to meet our new toy.”



<to be continued…>