“Take off her shoes.”
Strapped to a leather cushion with her arms above her head, Roxie couldn’t see the woman who gave the order, but her shoes flew off nonetheless. Oh, her legs were strapped down too. Prison slippers aren’t exactly Doc Martens but those hands were efficient! This was not their first time pulling off this trick.
“And her socks.”
And just like that Roxie was barefoot. She’d always loved showing off her toes in high school. She even got her mom to spring for one of those animated pedicures one time. She couldn’t help but think of those painted robots on her toenails calling Jack Johnson to her bare feet. His mouth on her toes…he knew how to-OH HOLY FUCKING SHIT!
“Orders from the judge indicate that the current prisoner was not compliant with footwear protocols. Commencing cleaning.”
“WHAT? You crazy bitch I did everything you asked-“
That’s when the jets hit the soles of Roxie’s feet. Some might consider the blast of water on their soles a foot massage, but Roxie was far to ticklish for that. Three minutes in she was already losing her mind. The water kept spraying and Roxie began to beg. And beg she did.
“Oh, please! Stopitstopitstopitstopit…I’ll do anything!!”
The jets of water shot up her soles, between her toes, even on the tops of her feet. When the justice minister reviewed the footage later on he was surprised to see that Roxie Taylor’s pink pedicure was mostly intact as the jets of water assaulted her feet. Surprised...yeah...that'll do it.
And just like that the water stopped. Roxie wiggled her toes, barely able to understand that they could exist without being tortured. She was in for five years of this?
“Feet cleaned. Drying cycle initiated.”
This is when Roxie started to panic. She knew what the drying cycle meant even before she heard the buzzing of the brushes.
“NO! GOD! NO!” Panic did no good. The brushes spun on the soles of her feet “drying” them, giving the rest of the cell block a serenade to remind them that at least someone else was getting the brushes this time.
“BAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!” Roxie could barely form a coherent thought, but for all her bucking and prodding at her restraints she was hopelessly restrained. Through her scrambled brain she heard the voice again.
“Would you like this to end?”
“YES! PLEASE GOD LET THIS END!! OH GOD IT TICKLES!!”
“Not quite, you call me Mistress and you tell me how much you enjoy the tickling.”
“FUCK Y-“
“You are here to be punished and to learn compliance. Call me Mistress and tell me how much you enjoy the tickling. I see second-stage drying is necessary.”
Roxie was utterly destroyed by what happened next. Fingers, someone’s fingers, started marching their way up and down her soles. They went along wiping, sliding, wicking every last bit of moisture of her bare feet, but it had been going on for so long she was beginning to sweat. Every inch of her was beginning to sweat. Oh god, the soles of her feet were beginning to sweat!Her feet would never get dry at this rate and that meant-“I’M SOHOHO-I’MSOHOHORYYYYYYYY! PLEASE STOP!”
“That’s not what I asked of you. Again call me Mistress and tell me how much you enjoy this…oh my...your feet look delectable. I’m going to have a taste.”
The Voice wrapped her lips around Roxie’s toes, and it would be nice to say she hated it. She did not. Feeling that tongue between her toes caused….twitching. Let’s call it twitching. This was the gray area between punishment and rehabilitation. Roxie’s mind was on fire. She hated the tickling but she loved the feel of someone’s mouth on her big…oooh my.
The tickling and the sucking went on for hours. Or seconds. Or days. Or months. Roxie thought she would go completely insane four times, but it never happened. She was lucid all the way to the end. Panting and gasping, and would-have-been begging had she been able to actually say words, she felt The Voice stand up. The air she displaced washed over her soles. She felt every molecule. Beneath her restraints Roxie’s twitching was no longer a euphemism. Every nerve ending on her soles was sending panic and erotic messages to her brain. Twich, and twich, and twich she went. Leather against steel made a frustrating or reassuring sound depending on your perspective. But there she was, struggling against the restraints, begging and screaming with nobody even touching her.
“She has made…acceptable progress. And we need time to prepare for the next one. I’m sure she’d like a foot massage before going back. She’s been through a lot after all.” And with that Roxie heard the echoing clicks of The Voice’s heels fade off.
Roxie began her sigh of relief when she felt hands on both of her feet.
“It’s massage time she says.”
“I have to agree she’s earned it. Lay back and enjoy darlin'! Oh wow! They really did a number on your poor feet! Let’s soften them up, make them a bit more…malleable.”
The warm oil felt good on her feet, and felt even better as The Assistants worked its way into every little crevice of her feet from the bottom of her soles to the top of her toes. She could feel every bead winding its way into her skin. “Mmmmm…keep doing that please.” She asked. She begged. But they stopped.
“We might,” said an Assistant. “We might do that. But first, Where is Elisa Lockwood?”
It wasn’t always like this, you know…
Strapped to a leather cushion with her arms above her head, Roxie couldn’t see the woman who gave the order, but her shoes flew off nonetheless. Oh, her legs were strapped down too. Prison slippers aren’t exactly Doc Martens but those hands were efficient! This was not their first time pulling off this trick.
“And her socks.”
And just like that Roxie was barefoot. She’d always loved showing off her toes in high school. She even got her mom to spring for one of those animated pedicures one time. She couldn’t help but think of those painted robots on her toenails calling Jack Johnson to her bare feet. His mouth on her toes…he knew how to-OH HOLY FUCKING SHIT!
“Orders from the judge indicate that the current prisoner was not compliant with footwear protocols. Commencing cleaning.”
“WHAT? You crazy bitch I did everything you asked-“
That’s when the jets hit the soles of Roxie’s feet. Some might consider the blast of water on their soles a foot massage, but Roxie was far to ticklish for that. Three minutes in she was already losing her mind. The water kept spraying and Roxie began to beg. And beg she did.
“Oh, please! Stopitstopitstopitstopit…I’ll do anything!!”
The jets of water shot up her soles, between her toes, even on the tops of her feet. When the justice minister reviewed the footage later on he was surprised to see that Roxie Taylor’s pink pedicure was mostly intact as the jets of water assaulted her feet. Surprised...yeah...that'll do it.
And just like that the water stopped. Roxie wiggled her toes, barely able to understand that they could exist without being tortured. She was in for five years of this?
“Feet cleaned. Drying cycle initiated.”
This is when Roxie started to panic. She knew what the drying cycle meant even before she heard the buzzing of the brushes.
“NO! GOD! NO!” Panic did no good. The brushes spun on the soles of her feet “drying” them, giving the rest of the cell block a serenade to remind them that at least someone else was getting the brushes this time.
“BAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAA!” Roxie could barely form a coherent thought, but for all her bucking and prodding at her restraints she was hopelessly restrained. Through her scrambled brain she heard the voice again.
“Would you like this to end?”
“YES! PLEASE GOD LET THIS END!! OH GOD IT TICKLES!!”
“Not quite, you call me Mistress and you tell me how much you enjoy the tickling.”
“FUCK Y-“
“You are here to be punished and to learn compliance. Call me Mistress and tell me how much you enjoy the tickling. I see second-stage drying is necessary.”
Roxie was utterly destroyed by what happened next. Fingers, someone’s fingers, started marching their way up and down her soles. They went along wiping, sliding, wicking every last bit of moisture of her bare feet, but it had been going on for so long she was beginning to sweat. Every inch of her was beginning to sweat. Oh god, the soles of her feet were beginning to sweat!Her feet would never get dry at this rate and that meant-“I’M SOHOHO-I’MSOHOHORYYYYYYYY! PLEASE STOP!”
“That’s not what I asked of you. Again call me Mistress and tell me how much you enjoy this…oh my...your feet look delectable. I’m going to have a taste.”
The Voice wrapped her lips around Roxie’s toes, and it would be nice to say she hated it. She did not. Feeling that tongue between her toes caused….twitching. Let’s call it twitching. This was the gray area between punishment and rehabilitation. Roxie’s mind was on fire. She hated the tickling but she loved the feel of someone’s mouth on her big…oooh my.
The tickling and the sucking went on for hours. Or seconds. Or days. Or months. Roxie thought she would go completely insane four times, but it never happened. She was lucid all the way to the end. Panting and gasping, and would-have-been begging had she been able to actually say words, she felt The Voice stand up. The air she displaced washed over her soles. She felt every molecule. Beneath her restraints Roxie’s twitching was no longer a euphemism. Every nerve ending on her soles was sending panic and erotic messages to her brain. Twich, and twich, and twich she went. Leather against steel made a frustrating or reassuring sound depending on your perspective. But there she was, struggling against the restraints, begging and screaming with nobody even touching her.
“She has made…acceptable progress. And we need time to prepare for the next one. I’m sure she’d like a foot massage before going back. She’s been through a lot after all.” And with that Roxie heard the echoing clicks of The Voice’s heels fade off.
Roxie began her sigh of relief when she felt hands on both of her feet.
“It’s massage time she says.”
“I have to agree she’s earned it. Lay back and enjoy darlin'! Oh wow! They really did a number on your poor feet! Let’s soften them up, make them a bit more…malleable.”
The warm oil felt good on her feet, and felt even better as The Assistants worked its way into every little crevice of her feet from the bottom of her soles to the top of her toes. She could feel every bead winding its way into her skin. “Mmmmm…keep doing that please.” She asked. She begged. But they stopped.
“We might,” said an Assistant. “We might do that. But first, Where is Elisa Lockwood?”
It wasn’t always like this, you know…
