dtka66
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Hey! How you guys doing?
I’m excited to share this piece with you! It’s the prologue story to the image: https://www.ticklingforum.com/threads/social-media-kills.352102/#post-5757104
For those of you unfamiliar with the setting, it’s all tied to the Ava Roi Podiatry Center: https://www.ticklingforum.com/threads/ava-roi-podiatry-center-the-website-pages-is-out.344738/
Since I love anticipation, I want to be clear upfront that this story focuses a lot on that slow-burn tension. You can already see what happens to poor Emily in the image above, so this writing is all about what leads up to that moment.
Caution: The following content - a pure work of fiction - may contain elements that are not suitable for all audiences. Viewer discretion is advised!
Download the PDF version here: https://mega.nz/file/GoAx2axA#ovO5xiGwuZRvftXygXyfoS8rsMJ278t3tIZM3U6SLU0
Let me know what you think in the comments! I’m planning on writing more stories to expand the world I’ve built around these pictures of mine. Would love your feedback!
———
SOCIAL MEDIA KILLS - THE PROLOGUE
by dtka66
The morning light will never penetrate the underground levels of the Ava Roi Podiatry Center. There is no need for it. The well-lit interior is designed for ceaseless research in a high containment facility with climate-controlled hallways and heated floors — a necessity in a place where female inmates are kept perpetually barefoot. The Center is a top-notch educational institution specializing in teaching and researching Guided Punitive Foot-Tickle Therapy to rehabilitate criminal women. However, things become much more intense in certain levels within the place, where "special" treatments are applied to "special" inmates, making the procedures extremely harsh.
In the underground cell block, four women make their way through the bright corridors. Leading the group are two hulking guards in crisp deep-blue uniforms, their demeanor as controlled as the environment around them. The stoic duo walks with their hands poised on their belts, equipped with legcuffs, pepper spray, and taser — being tasered barefoot is not advisable!
Two undergraduate students in white lab coats follow the guards, focused on their duty as they approach the morning task. One of the students carries a thick black muzzle gag. The other holds a tablet to check the inmates' records.
Meanwhile, in one of the cells, Emily Thompson lies alone on a thin mattress, awake, staring at the ceiling. The morning alarm had gone off just minutes ago, and she now dreads the daily routine that will begin at any moment. Her toes are intertwined, as she tries to cope with her anxiety, while her smooth soles await their punishment. Emily is a shadow of her former self, a stark contrast to the confident social media influencer who once commanded thousands. The sole heir of a wealthy family, Emily always got whatever she wanted. But now, stripped of this power, she is just another Foot Stimuli Subject in Ava Roi's reddish straitjacketed jumpsuit, under the strict rules of the Center.
———
The cell door creaks open, causing Emily to slip her feet across the mattress as she presses her straitjacketed body against the padded wall. "Hngh! I-I'm n-not-" she tries to plead. Guards and students burst into the small space. The guards position themselves on the sides of Emily, while the students stand before her. Their expressions are a mixture of professionalism and enjoyment.
"Morning, Emily. Ready to start your day?"
"Up! Let's get you moving, time for your breakfast" commands one of the guards, grasping the straitjacket's straps, forcing the subject to stay on her feet. The other guard kneels, rolling up Emily's jumpsuit hem to cuff her ankles.
"You didn't soil your diaper, did you?" asks one of the students, checking the digital records from the night shift. "Nah, she's clear. Oh look, they gave her an extra pedicure yesterday night after the shower! That'll save us some time. Sorry Emily, looks like you're gonna have to wait a little longer in that therapy room… alone!"
The other student moves behind the subject. "Now, eyes front while I adjust this gag on you." The muzzle gags used at the Center are coated with anti-sweat and saliva-resistant material. Reinforced padding covers the mouth and cheeks, extending all the way up the back of the head. Its design includes two inner protrusions that press against the midline above the upper lip and the space between the lower lip and chin, keeping the mouth tightly shut.
"Looks like those soles have some work ahead," grins the first student as she keeps checking on the tablet. "A really busy morning!"
"Nnghmphhh!" Emily tries to resist at first, but soon gives up as the guards grip firmly on the straps of her straitjacketed jumpsuit. There is not much fight left in her — after a few years of imprisonment at the Center, she knows all too well what happens to uncooperative inmates. Besides, Emily's mind has seemingly come to accept the harsh punitive reality imposed upon her. For the inmate, this is just another cycle of excruciating foot tickling to endure, and she knows there is nothing she can do to stop it. "At least Greta Belzer isn't coming anymore," she thinks, with a fleeting sense of relief.
The guards guide Emily out of the cell with practiced hands, the students following the trio. The cell door shuts behind them, sealing off the only place where Emily finds any semblance of peace. The group moves as one, leaving the cell block quickly. The guards maintain their iron grip on Emily's jumpsuit, their pace steady and unrelenting. The students are closely behind, whispering to each other in mocking tones. Emily's bare feet slap against the floor loudly, a constant reminder of her vulnerability as she is forced to keep the pace.
———
The journey to the canteen is short, but long enough to suppress Emily. The tightness of her straitjacket, her naked feet, the women escorting her around, all this means defeat!
The canteen is a sterile environment illuminated with fluorescent lights reflecting off the metallic surfaces. The whole setup resembles a feeding station, reinforcing the fact that Emily is now merely an experiment subject. The room is empty, except for the group. A small, childlike table has been set up for one occupant — Emily Thompson.
A bowl of gray paste, masquerading as food, awaits her on the table. Despite the appearance, the flavorless sludge is highly nutritious. A few spoonfuls of this thing are equivalent to three full meals.
The four women, having positioned Emily at the table, begin her breakfast with pragmatism. The two guards stand behind the inmate, their presence intimidating and ever-watchful, while the two students, eager to prove their worth, take the lead in handling the meal. The conversation among them starts off casually but quickly turns into a cruel commentary on Emily's situation.
"You know, it's amazing how much quieter she's become. All that ranting and raving, and now look at her… completely silent. So peaceful…" smirks one of the students as she prepares the food.
"Well, I suppose that's what happens when you're gagged and restrained like the dangerous criminal you're. But hey, she wanted to be famous, right? Now she's infamous. It's practically the same thing." one guard says sarcastically.
"Come on, do you think she ever imagined she'd end up like this? From a big-shot influencer to a footnote in some psychotic widow's revenge fantasy?" the other student argues, showing a slight bit of empathy.
"Oh, I'm sure she's had plenty of time to reflect on that. And if not, well, there's always tomorrow's session. Another day, other hours of… introspection!" concludes the guard.
The women's voices are deliberately loud, ensuring that Emily hears every word. Their tone is playful, chatting about Emily as if she's not even there. An indirect way to remind Emily of her powerlessness.
One of the students, her face emulating humaneness, picks up a spoonful of the unappetizing food. She moves with deliberate slowness, holding the spoon just inches from Emily's face. The black muzzle gagging Emily has an opening for feeding, just large enough for the spoon to pass through. The student opens it and pushes the spoon through this space, the food meeting Emily's mouth with indifference.
"Open wide, Emily. We wouldn't want you to go hungry, would we? You need your strength for today's session."
Emily has no choice but to comply, her eyes betraying shame as she swallows the meal. The process is slow and repetitive, each spoonful a reminder of her miserable condition. The other student stands by, watching intently, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she observes Emily being fed.
"It's almost like feeding a pet, isn't it? Though I think a dog would show a bit more gratitude."
The "breakfast" continues with the clinking sounds of the spoon against the plate, the chewing, the staff's giggles, and the noise of Emily's bare toes pushing helplessly against the floor. After ten or so spoonfuls, the humiliating feeding is finished.
"There, all done. Good meal?" the student asks ironically, wiping a stray bit of food from Emily's chin.
"Now, let's take care of that smile, and you'll be all set," one of the guards instructs. They escort Emily to the canteen's bathroom, where the other student is already waiting with a toothbrush in hand. "Alright, open up that nasty little mouth of yours. Look up and tongue out!"
Emily obeys, closing her eyes in embarrassment. The student, wearing nitrile gloves, brushes Emily's teeth with surprising care, leaving no spot untouched.
After the student finishes the toothbrushing, she dries Emily's mouth and chin with a cloth, before closing the muzzle gag's opening.
"Wasn't that nice, Emily? Now you're ready for what the day has in store. I would give you an extra pedicure, but this is not on the agenda, unfortunately."
The four women are finally ready to escort Emily Thompson to the next stage of her morning, leaving her with only the bitter aftertaste of her breakfast and the apprehension of what's to come.
———
Again, the four women are moving in unison, surrounding Emily as they guide her down another corridor. The inmate starts to feel nauseous, not only from the indigestible breakfast but also from knowing well what awaits her bare feet.
The guards and students seem calm, assured of their punctuality. Emily's soles drag across the floor at a slower pace now. It's a new day, and she is once more walking toward the inevitable foot tickling. The guards notice her reluctance, but it doesn't affect their march. Amid their steps, Emily leaves traces of sweaty feet on the floor.
The group takes an elevator to the Research Center. On this level, they encounter other groups of guards, students, and teachers; escorting helpless Foot Stimuli Subjects to different sectors and rooms. Suddenly, Emily recognizes an Asian subject being led by a team of students and a teacher. Since they were brought into the Center together, she considers her a friend. She tries to get noticed, but the Asian woman seems too terrified to perceive Emily, her attention fixed on the teacher's words.
"... and before we head into the Advanced Toes-Tormentorum Pentanerval Class, I expect to see a lot more effort from all you today, got it? The podiatrists worked hard to prepare this one's toes for the morning! Don't disappoint me. Let's go inside!"
Finally, they stop in front of a door Emily has an unwelcome familiarity with. She looks at the guards and students with pleading eyes, making muffled sounds as her bare toes slide on the floor. The four women exchange glances, and sinister smiles form on their faces.
"Hey, before we go in, we gotta tell Emily something, right ladies?" says one of the students. The others nod, their eyes fixed on Emily's.
"I said those soles would've a busy morning, didn't I? Just look at your eyes, we can tell you already know who's coming, huh? Yes, Emily! Greta Belzer is returning to Ava Roi and she's gonna be leading your foot tickle session today!" announces the students, enjoying the moment.
Emily nearly pukes at the mention of that name. She shakes her head violently from side to side, letting out guttural groans of protest. Her legs weaken, and she begins to pass out.
———
Greta Belzer. The widow of Federal Judge Robert Belzer, who in September 2021, was fatally shot by the 19-year-old Emily Thompson, during one of her famous live-streamings. As every evening, Emily was online gesticulating wildly with a loaded gun in hand, discussing politics and conspiracies. But that very evening, the weapon accidentally discharged. The bullet went out through an open window of Emily's house, traveled across an entire block, hit a window glass of the Belzers', striking Robert in the head. He was pronounced dead on the spot. Despite the defense's efforts, Emily Thompson was subsequently found guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison.
But she got a second chance. An agreement was signed between Emily's lawyers and the Department of Justice, transferring her to the Ava Roi Podiatry Center — despite her protest. If she completes a minimum of 15 years at the Center, depending on the evaluation of her rehabilitation, she could potentially be released under house arrest. Unfortunately for Emily, Greta Belzer herself is the authority supervising her progress.
Greta used to love spending time with Emily's bare feet. Besides trying to overcome the loss of her husband, the widow can closely check if the punitive foot tickle therapy is really working. However, it's been a few years now, and Greta still doesn't seem convinced that Emily might one day leave the Center.
———
"Hey, Emily, can you hear me?" one of the guards asks, trying to keep Emily on her feet while lightly slapping her face. "Hehehe! Mrs. Belzer's effect! Here, take a good sniff!" says a student, forcing Emily to smell a small flask of ammonia inhalants. Emily quickly snaps out of her daze, returning to groaning the same protest — "nohphmhh nooohph!"
"Here we go! I know, Emily, this news was a surprise for us too! We also thought Mrs. Belzer had given up on your case. But it seems she misses you, haha! Let's get you inside…"
One of the students slowly types her access code. Emily looks in desperation at the keypad display, foolishly hoping something might fail this time. The green sign is followed by a low sound of the door mechanism, revealing the interior of Therapy Room UL2-TR13.
Bluish-white light floods the room, reflecting off the walls and mirrored glass. And at the room's center stands the imposing Foot Stimulation Chair — a blend of metal, white biofluid-proof leatherette, and black large rubberized heavy-duty nylon straps — is designed to immobilize its occupant completely.
A petrifying fear surges through Emily's body at the sight of the chair. Her toes curl as if she wants to anchor her legs to the ground, but it's a futile effort. "Keep moving, inmate!" orders a guard, slapping Emily's butt as they enter the place.
The atmosphere in each therapy room is heavy. Emily knows firsthand the tears, screams, groans that have echoed inside these rooms, and the countless bare feet that have been pushed to their limits. It's a chamber built to apply calculated ticklish agonies. The bright blue light intensifies the senses. The one-way mirror in front of the foot stimulation chair reflects the terror of those sitting there. In certain cases, they even beg to be blindfolded during the sessions. It's a room designed to strip away any defenses, leaving only the inevitable Punitive Foot Tickling.
The guards shove Emily towards the chair, forcing her to sit down as her body shakes and struggles under their hands. "Relax, twitchy-toes," one guard sneers. "Don't try so hard, you don't have a chance!"
Quickly, both guards begin strapping Emily to the seat, with the first restraint wrapping the reddish fabric of her jumpsuit torso. A single wide black strap is placed around her neck, tightly placed through openings in the chair's backrest, limiting head movements. One guard keeps holding her legs together, while now her partner starts to release the legcuffs. Their experience easily overpowers Emily's pathetic kicks. With precise efficiency, they secure her ankles in the chair's stocks, adding a final strap below the knees.
Both students watch the process with attention. One of them is responsible for adjusting the toes immobilizer, the final step of the restraining. The entire setup leaves the subject completely defenseless, with her immobile feet the main focus of the contraption.
"Hm, looks like you still don't know how to walk without getting those clumsy feet of yours dirty, huh?" one of the students teases, wiping Emily's soles with a sterile warm cloth to make sure they're clean and ready for the session.
"MphHH! MhhahAHAHAHMM!!!"
"What's that, Emily? Are you already getting all ticklish? We haven't even started yet! Well, we won't be here tickling you today! So, save your breath, 'cause Greta's gonna make you really squirm in a little while!" the student mocks, watching Emily's reaction as she cleans her feet.
———
Emily's mind races, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the straitjacket. The anticipation is overwhelming. The room seems to shrink around her as she watches herself in the mirrored glass. With Greta Belzer's image in head, amplified by the hum of machinery and the faces of the women eyeing her hyper-ticklish soles — all this triggers a panic attack. She tries another futile struggle against her bondage, making muffled noises behind the muzzle gag. The four women surrounding her find it funny, their lips breaking into giggles.
"Hehehe! Look at you!"
"Trying to say something? You should know by now… we don't care what you have to say! Be brave and accept your fate!"
"Oh, let her try! It's almost cute that she still thinks she can make a difference! Hahaha! I can't get enough of this!"
Emily's pathetic attempts to free herself are met with disdain, swallowed by the women's mocking tones, a cruel reminder of her predicament.
"Come on, Emily! Pull yourself together! Mrs. Belzer is late, so you've plenty of time to think about what's coming. Here, this will calm you down and prevent you from passing out again," one of the students gives her a shot of what they call an emergency injection for "agitated" subjects.
The four women now step back, admiring their work for a while, until they finally leave. Emily is left strapped in the foot stimulation chair, her mind full of desperation. The air of the room brushes against her exposed soles, a haunting reminder of the torment that awaits her. The giggles of the four women fade into the background, while the subject sanity hangs in the balance.
———
The Observation Room UL2-OR13 is a control center nestled next to the Therapy Room UL2-TR13. The place is designed with a single purpose — to monitor the foot tickling procedures without being noticed. A thick, one-way mirror dominates one wall, offering a direct view into the adjoining therapy room. Through the glass, Emily's misery is clearly visible. A row of monitors displays different angles of her restrained form. Every detail of her situation is being shown in this room — her desperate eyes, vital functions, and all the possible angles of her vulnerable feet.
The two undergraduate students, now separated from the guards, continue the preparations for the session. They move with the practiced efficiency of those who have spent years within these walls, mastering their roles.
The first student, a petite young woman with short dark hair and a strikingly toned silhouette, exudes an arrogant confidence. Her green eyes are focused as she works, very precise in her movements. Her companion, a slightly taller blonde with a long-braided ponytail, seems less experienced, but more empathetic. Her blue eyes are filled with concentration, carrying an impression of professionalism that belies her young age. Both women wear slip-on shoes, with thick white socks for extra protection.
They have different understandings of the Center's knowledge and its applications. While the short-haired student is mercilessly punitive with sadistic tendencies, the blonde focuses on the psychological aspect of rehabilitating criminal women. However, they both share a strong determination to succeed in their future careers. They had entered the Ava Roi Podiatry Center with ambitions to excel in the field of Punitive Foot Tickling. And after four years, they are heading into the final phase to receive their diploma in Podal Sensitivity Enhancement Expert (PSEE).
———
Both students take a steadying breath, recognizing the importance of the situation. This is not an ordinary session, and Emily Thompson is not an ordinary subject. The once amusing atmosphere with the guards has been replaced by a professional posture.
"Alright, let's go over our subject here. Emily Thompson, 22, serving life. Caucasian, American, about 5'6", 128 pounds. Not a big girl, but she's made her presence known in this place... About those feet... freshly pedicured size 7.5, MR of 185, very responsive with no signs of any hard or rough skin. As for her vitals... heart rate's up, hyperventilation... blood pressure's a bit high, but within range considering the morning's developments. Everything else looks good… Okay, let's check the instruments."
On a metal tray near them lay an array of procedure tools — varied types of feathers, electric spin scrubbers, violet rays, fine-tipped foot styluses, metal bristle sticks — each one designed to cause different levels of foot stimulation. But the centerpiece is something far more stimulating, Greta Belzer's favorite instrument — the metallic feather. Unlike traditional feathers, this silver tool contains an internal copper rod that electrifies the metal filaments within the vanes. Its cable is then plugged into a machine specifically designed for electric stimulation, called PulseSole Module.
When turned on, the metallic feather emits an electrical current that heightens the sensation of tickling to excruciating levels, transforming this simple tool into an instrument of relentless torment. The PulseSole Module is already positioned near Emily's restrained feet, awaiting activation.
"Let's not waste time organizing this shit. I bet Greta's only gonna use the metal feather. Good thing we left the PulseSole connected to the chair…"
The students handle this feather with great respect. Only Greta Belzer is authorized to operate the PulseSole Module in Emily's case. They place it on the tray with extra care, fully aware of the power this delicate tool holds.
———
With all the foot tickle instruments in place, the students turn their attention to Emily's foot chart, a diagram of her soles with corresponding data on sensitivity levels. The chart is a testament to the Center's rigorous documentation of each inmate's response to foot stimulation. Each week brings new updates, keeping the students constantly engaged in monitoring and adjusting the procedures.
As the blonde student begins to fill in the latest data, her eyes widen slightly in surprise. She leans closer to the chart, double-checking the readings from the previous sessions. The numbers are clear — Emily's left foot has become significantly more sensitive than it was last week.
"Look at this. Her left foot's sensitivity has spiked again!"
"You're right! Greta's probably gonna focus on the right foot today… to balance things," guesses the short-haired student.
"Her left foot's probably reaching its limit... At this rate, she's gonna flip out at the slightest touch! Remember last session? We were both tickling that poor foot… one more hour of our fingernails and she'd have gone completely nuts!"
"Again you and this pity bullshit! I really don't care! She deserves it! Her body's betraying her. The more we stimulate her feet, the worse it gets for her." grumbles the short dark hair student, clearly annoyed by her colleague's sign of empathy.
Despite the brief tension between them, the students complete the update, writing the new scores in vivid blue ink. They start to double check if everything is set — the silver feather is ready; other tools are organized, cleaned, and some even coated in itching solution; the foot chart is fully updated; and the PulseSole Module is poised for action.
"Good! I think everything is set!"
———
As the students finish the checks, they turn their attention to the one-way mirror. Emily's image is a pure scene of anticipation. This view sparks another chat.
"You know, I keep thinking about the day she committed that crime. Hah! Streamed it live for everyone to see. Imagine the scene… she walked into her house and kicked off her shoes, right? Then got ready for the evening streaming… Maybe she was even barefoot when she pulled the trigger. Anyway, at that moment, she had no idea, not a single clue, that she'd never put those shoes on again! And now she's here, barefoot all the time, knowing her feet are busted for the rest of her life! No breaks, no mercy. Just endless foot tickling!"
"True! I watched that clip, the last streaming of Emily Thompson. It was viral. She looked so dumb when she fired that gun. I bet she was shitting herself, sensing that she fucked up something! But with no idea she'd just killed a federal judge! With a sociopath wife! Look at her now… young, and her life is basically over. I mean, stuck in that stinky jumpsuit, locked down 24/7, only head and feet out. And well… she can't even touch herself anymore! Poor girl."
"I'm not complaining, I mean, this system's working! The crime rate among women has dropped off a cliff. They're terrified. Every criminal out there knows exactly what awaits them if they get caught — Foot Tickling! Girl, I love this job!" remarks the short-haired student with confidence.
"Remember when they auctioned off all her shoes and socks. They tried her barefoot. No shoes in the courtroom. She walked up to the stand with her feet bare. Everyone knew exactly what was waiting for her."
"If I remember it? Hah! I bought one of her combat boots! Hahaha! I made fun of her about it once, haha! She was condemning foot tickle prisons, wasn't she? How ironic! Awww those soles… Girl, how I'd love to tickle them now! They've become the center of her world, huh? Day in, day out, the same routine. Same punishment. And we'll be here every day to check it… over and over again." states the short-haired student sadistically.
The chat pauses as both students watch Emily's toes twitching nervously in the restraint. They can see the tension in her body and the despair in her eyes as she stares at her own reflection.
"Emily's vitals are a mess! Greta Belzer effect… Whenever she shows up, things get stressful for everyone. And she's getting worse and worse! Remember that report? Dr. Wang tried to calm things down, but… Greta's a maniac! They said she'd be a PSEE, but so far nothing! This isn't good for Emily's rehab!" states the blonde with a humanity in her voice.
"Well, go there then. Give her a hug, a foot massage… Take her to your home! Or maybe you could tell Greta what you really think? Becoming her new enemy. You know we have therapy rooms with two foot stimulation chairs… You and that subject together, huh? Geez! Keep in mind that Emily murdered a federal judge! Big people! And don't tell me it was accidental! This is her life now. Day after day, hour after hour. Just her, that chair, that tootsies. No escape, no relief. Just... this."
"I know, alright! But that's not what they teach us here. It's wrong! It violat-"
"Will you shush? C'mon, see it as a privilege. To witness this, to be part of something so... unique. It's something you get to do every day in this line of work. Just follow the protocol and don't question things too much!" advises the short-haired student.
The room is silent once more, despite the low electrical hum and the beeps from the monitors. The students know that Greta Belzer will arrive any moment soon, bringing with her the order to start Emily's punitive foot tickling. The big show is yet to come, and the duo will be there to witness every moment of it.
———
While they are waiting for Greta Belzer, the students mentally recheck everything, knowing they can't risk any mistakes. Suddenly, "Damn, we forgot the oil!" panics one of them.
"No way! How could we forget the oil?"
"Shut up and move! Thank God Greta is late. I don't want to get in trouble!"
They re-enter the therapy room, its door opening and closing behind the scared Emily. She can only watch through the corners of her eyes as the students are approaching, the air stirring as they move closer to her soles.
"Easy, Emily. It's us again. Focus on breathing! We're just making sure everything's nice and set!"
"Since you're gagged, I think we can tell you a secret… we forgot the oil! But don't worry, we'll fix that in a blink. Oh, and we can't have you wiggling too much, can we? Greta doesn't like when her dear subject is loose. Let's retighten those straps a bit more."
"Those soles of yours... they're gonna suffer a lot today, aren't they? We need them to be perfect for Greta. Can't have any flaws," mocks one of the students, her nails inches away from Emily's left sole.
Emily's body instinctively tries to avoid any presence around her feet, but the restraints hold her firmly. The gag muffles any protest she tries to say, leaving her with nothing but the sound of her own heavy breathing.
One of the students takes a small bottle of oil, its contents shimmering as she uncaps it. She begins spraying the oil on the inmate's soles. The scent fills the room with a strange aroma.
"You know this will help you, of course you do. Make things smoother. Greta loves her tools to glide, and I'll make sure your feet are perfect for her."
"And conductive, hehe! Uhh Emily… Can you feel it? It's coming! I hope you're ready. 'Cause once we leave again, it'll be just you and your soles, waiting for Greta. And we both know she's gonna make the most of every second." teases the short-haired student.
Emily's heart pounds in her chest, the oily sensation on her feet amplifying the helplessness she's already feeling. She knows how the oil worsens things, duplicating the effects of each instrument that Greta could use.
"Phew! We fixed it! How something so simple, just a bit of oil can make such a difference. It's the little things that count."
"Yes, and it's all for our dear Emily. All for those ticklish feet of hers. Everything we do, everything she's going through, it all comes down to that. A pair of freshly oiled feet, ready to be tickled. Am I right, Emily? Hehe, see ya!"
With this last statement, they leave the subject alone once again. She is strapped tightly to the foot stimulation chair for almost thirty minutes now.
The students, back at their post in the observation room, are relieved with this last check on Emily.
"What a mistake! Whew! Everything's set and under control now!" chuckles nervously the blonde student. But her companion seems too relaxed, as if nothing had happened.
"You know... I've gotten so used to this. I remember when I first watched a session like this. I could barely stand to be in the room. Now, it's just part of the routine."
"C'mon, it's more important than just routine..."
"Important? Every day, we come in here and prep things. We bring the subjects, making sure everything's perfect. Sometimes we tickle them. Sometimes we watch someone tickle them… Let me tell ya, Greta Belzer's important. Dr. Liz Wang's important. We're just the ones behind the scenes."
The students exchange a strange look, knowing that they are not in tune.
"Alright, enough of that nonsense. If Greta Belzer hadn't said she was coming today, we'd already be there applying foot tickle therapy."
"Indeed! But I bet Emily's now hoping we go there to tell Greta won't be coming, hehe! By the way, where is Mrs. Belzer? She's very late!"
"Very! But when Greta arrives, we'll do what we always do. We'll watch, we'll record, we'll learn, and we'll make sure it's done right. This is our job. This is what we do."
The clock is ticking, the minutes seem to stretch on. Until finally, a distant sound echoes from the staff-only hallway — the unmistakable clack of high heels on the polished floor. The students look at each other with excitement. Greta Belzer is in the place, and with her, the certainty that Emily's morning punitive foot tickling is about to start!
———
The keypad beeps are followed by the mechanical sound of the observation room's backdoor opening, as Greta Belzer claps her fancy peep-toe heels inside with authority. Her presence causes immediate attention. Her styled silver bob will never cover the cold gaze on her face. Behind her rimless glasses, her eyes are piercing, capturing every detail. Greta's crisp white blouse adds an air of superiority, making her seem almost untouchable. She moves with the confidence of someone who had spent years in power.
"Good morning, Mrs. Belzer," the undergraduate students greet the widow, their voices full of respect. Greta barely acknowledges them with a nod, her focus immediately shifting to the therapy room beyond the glass, where Emily Thompson is restrained in deadly anticipation.
"Aww, it's good to be back! How long was I away?"
"A little over one year, ma'am."
"Just that? It seemed more to me. Well, not that it changes much for those ticklish soles… in a lifetime of tickling!" Greta grins. The short-haired student joins in the moment, while the blonde grits her teeth.
"So girls, is everything ready? I'm eager to give a session to our dear friend over there!"
"Yes, Mrs. Belzer! Emily's been ready and waiting for nearly a half an hour. Everything's prepared just as you requested," responds the short-haired student, while the other hesitates under the pressure of Greta's gaze.
A humorless smile curves Greta's lips as she turns her attention back to them.
"Good! Well, I suppose you're wondering why I kept you waiting this morning? You girls know how I love starting my day indulging in luxuries. And I had to plan my return and…" she makes a dramatic pause. "You know what? I'll share the details when I check on our ticklee in a few minutes. Let me see how her feet are doing first." says Greta, relishing the discomfort on the students' faces.
The duo nod, unsure of how to respond. Greta's presence is overpowering. The students are aware that any misstep could draw her ire, and they wouldn't dare to test the limits of her patience.
Greta looks at the metal tray. "Let's check it," she says in a malicious tone, picking up Emily's foot chart and scanning the data with expertise.
"Hm. The ticklishness of her left foot is… impressive! But the right one… it's not quite where I'd like it to be. Total disparity!" states Greta as she turns back to the students, her expression mysterious.
"I must say I'm not happy at all, but I guess you're still learning the ropes. That's alright, I suppose... So, that just leaves one option for this lazy foot..." Greta pauses again, turning her attention back to Emily. "Get the Kitz-37 ready, now!" she orders, leaving no room for argument. The students hurry to get the device, bumping into each other in their haste.
The Kitz-37 is a sophisticated device with two mechanical arms ending in syringes filled with a specialized serum designed to enhance sensitivity — the Intensifier Kitz-37 Serum. The syringes glint under the fluorescent lights as the students prepare it, pairing the wireless infernal apparatus with the control panel that governs the therapy room. The device hums to life, its mechanical arms moving with deliberate grace.
As they work, Greta selects the tool for the session — her favorite metallic feather. "Today," she says firmly, holding the feather between her thumb and forefinger, "I will use only this on the sole of her left foot. The Kitz-37 will handle the right." The students nod, tired of knowing Greta's habit of using her favorite feather in sessions with Emily.
"Chop-chop! Connect my feather to the PulseSole Module and engage the Intensifier Kitz-37. Oh, and while you're in there… tell Emily that I'm here." Greta instructs with an evil smile.
The students, hurrying to follow her instructions, burst into the therapy room. Emily's neck cracks in shock as she hears the door behind her open, certain her punishment is about to begin. She follows every move of the students with wide eyes. The duo, aware that they are being watched by Greta, avoid any interaction with Emily. When the subject sees the silver feather and the Kitz-37 device, she almost faints again.
Meanwhile, Greta Belzer stands by the observation one-way window, her eyes fixing on Emily's restrained bare feet in the therapy room. She watches both students connecting the metallic feather to the PulseSole Module. The Intensifier Kitz-37 is now also in place, ready to apply the serum that will elevate Emily's right foot sensitivity to the desired levels. Once their work is complete, the students pause for a moment, giving one last check before leaving Emily to her fate.
"Mrs. Belzer has arrived." murmurs one of the students.
A shiver runs down Emily's spine, but this time, the reaction is different. The news leaves her utterly petrified. Her pale skin resembles a marble statue. However, the monitors in the observation room emit endless caution signals, as if the inmate is screaming through the readings.
Upon re-entering the observation room, the blonde student approaches Greta. 'It's time, Mrs. Belzer. Let's start the session, please."
Greta knows the power she wields, not just over Emily, but the students as well. They are all under her control. That sense of absolute dominance is more intoxicating than any luxury she can ever indulge in. The session will begin, and with it, another chapter in the ongoing saga of Emily's punishment. Greta Belzer is ready, and nothing gives her more pleasure than the thought of what is about to come.
"Indeed. Let's begin!"
———
Greta Belzer enters the therapy room with deliberate slowness. The automatic door whooshes open and shut, followed by a moment of absolute silence. In the widow's mind, there's only the intention to keep her promise of revenge.
Strapped in the center of the room, Emily Thompson is a portrait of unbearable anxiety. Her body trembles uncontrollably. The restraints constantly remind her of the inescapable situation. Her heart pounds in her chest, a drumbeat counting down the seconds.
Emily's desperate eyes try to see who has now entered the room. But the mirrored glass before her offers no clues. All she can see is herself, a pale figure with wide, haunted eyes, and a pair of oiled bare soles with immobilized spread toes. She tries to twist her body enough to see more, but the restraints hold her firmly. Trapped both physically and mentally, she is consumed by the anticipation of what lies ahead.
The silence is finally broken by a voice that slides through the air — smooth, precise, and utterly devoid of affection.
"E-mi-ly... Good morning, my dear. Did you miss me? Aww, poor girl… You must have been so lonely in here, waiting for me, wondering if today would be another day I wouldn't come. Just because it's been, what? About one year since the last time? But don't worry, I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere for a long, long time. We're going to have so much fun together, just like we always do."
The sound of Greta's voice reaches Emily's ears like a deadly stab. Her body instinctively tenses up as if it can somehow protect her from Greta Belzer. The widow approaches in rhythmic clacks of her heels, each step a cruel reminder of the power she wields.
When they finally look at each other, Emily emits muffled desperate groans behind the thick muzzle gag — nohmhnoomphh plehasmhmh! Greta's presence has a devastating effect on the subject. She proudly looks at Emily's misery. A malevolent smile builds on her lips.
"Emily, Emily, Emily… You're so predictable. It's always the same thing, the same fear. The same pathetic struggles! You're like a clock, just ticking away the seconds until I arrive. You can't wait for me to start, can you? That's why you're here, after all. You've been so eager, so desperate. Just sitting there, waiting for me to give you what you deserve!"
She stands beside Emily's left foot, her fingers hovering just above the oiled sole, not yet touching them, but close enough to make Emily feel the tips of the sharp nails.
"Look at those soles of yours... so soft... so perfectly creamy. You know, Emily, I heard things about them. After all the time and effort I've invested in you. All the time I've given to this little project of ours... You've finally made progress! That's right! I was informed today that your left foot is finally showing some acceptable response. That's the good news, my ticklee."
She paused, letting her words hang in the air like a guillotine poised to drop.
"But... there's bad news too. That lazy right foot of yours, Emily... well, tsk tsk tsk… it's just not up to par. It's so disappointing, after all the work we've put in… But don't worry, I have a solution."
Greta, with a hand signal, orders the students watching the scene from the one-way mirror, to turn on the Kitz-37. Its mechanical arms start to move. The syringes aiming Emily's right sole, each needle ready to deliver a payload of the special serum. The subject eyes wide terrified. She tries to pull her foot away, but the restraints offer no escape from the pinpricks.
"Oh, Emily, don't look so frightened. This is for your own good! You've been neglecting that right foot of yours, letting it get all... insensitive. We can't have that, can we? No, no, no. We need both of your feet to be at their best. We need them to be... equally responsive."
The syringes start to pierce Emily's right foot sole with mechanical efficiency, covering it with tiny bloody dots. The sensitization is immediate as the serum floods every nerve ending. Greta tests the effect by gently running one fingernail between the needles. Emily squirms in ticklish shock, her eyes wide with agony. The widow watches the subject's reaction with pure satisfaction.
"Now, we'll just let that serum do its work while we focus on your left foot. Yes, this foot is going to be pampered today. A whole session just for the left foot! So eager, so ready to please! You've been waiting for this, haven't you… left foot? Waiting for that moment when the real fun begins!"
She turns on the PulseSole Module, the metallic feather humming to life with a low buzz. Greta takes the silver tool, its tip crackling with static.
"Do you remember this, Emily? This little friend of ours? I'm sure you do. It's going to be your companion again. Sliding up and down that ticklish left sole of yours, making sure every nerve, every inch of skin, feels exactly what I want it to feel. All morning, Emily... all morning, this feather is going to remind you of what you've done, and of what you'll never escape."
But then, Greta pauses all action. Just as Emily's absolute fright reaches an unbelievable peak, Mrs. Belzer turns off the PulseSole Module and sets the metallic feather back on its stand, deliberately prolonging the anticipation.
———
"Oh, silly me... I almost forgot. There's something I want to share with you before we begin. It's something I think you'll really love." says Greta, pulling a chair directly in front of Emily. She sits down gracefully, crossing her legs with elegance, and begins to remove one of her new peep-toe heels.
"You're probably wondering why I was late this morning, aren't you? You must have been counting the minutes, the seconds, wondering where I was, why I wasn't here to start our session on time. Right on the day of my return! Well, Emily, I was at… a foot spa. Yes, that's right — a foot spa. I spent the morning having my feet undergo special care, and... well, take a look for yourself."
She slowly reveals her delicate size 5 foot, as if unveiling a piece of art. It's flawless, freshly pedicured. The toenails are painted in a blood-red that glint in the room's light. Greta raises her leg, showing her foot towards Emily's face, wiggling the toes sadistically.
"What do you think? Do you like my new pedicure? Hm? Red toenails... just like the blood that splattered from my husband when you shot him. Oh, I can see it in your eyes, you remember that moment, don't you? You thought you were so powerful then, didn't you? So in control. But look at you now, Emily. Look at where you are. Strapped up, gagged, barefoot, so helpless... Completely at my mercy. And do you know what's the best part?"
Greta leans in close, her voice a whisper that slithers into Emily's ears, filling her with such profound despair that seems to crack the inmate's bones.
"You'll never have that freedom again. You'll never leave this facility, this foot tickling. Even when I'm done with you, when I retire and move on, someone will take my job here. There will always be someone to remind you of your place… the fact that you're nothing but a plaything now, a ticklish toy for me to break and rebuild as I see fit!" declares Greta in a cruel voice, making Emily cry.
"Aww you're crying again… I know, it's horrible being you. When I took off my shoe, I felt how horrible it is being barefoot in this room. I wouldn't want to be on your side, oh no! I'm not that stupid! Oh, you still want me to set you free? Want me to send that letter to the court, transferring you to a normal prison? Yes? No way! You're going to be here forever! While I keep tickling those soles… Aww, you still imagine yourself out of here? Let's just say that's a fantasy best left to dreams. Because in reality, Emily, you'll be here for the rest of your life. And there's nothing you can do about it!" Greta finishes her speech in a malicious tone, not before licking her lips.
Greta's words cut deep, leaving Emily hollow, numb to the crushing truth of her destiny. With deliberate care, Greta puts her peep toe heel back on. She adjusts the fit and smooths the expensive shoe. Greta even takes a moment to wipe away Emily's tears.
"Alright, Emily, enough talking. Let's work! It's time to keep with your rehab! Time to remind you of the reality you live in, the reality you'll never escape. Let's turn the PulseSole Module back on now… there we go… let's increase the intensity just a little above the standard. Now we're going to see how much this left foot of yours can take. And as for your right foot... well, don't worry. We'll get to that one soon enough."
She switches the device back on, the ominous hum buzzing through the room once more, as the metallic feather crackles to life. Greta picks up the silver tool, her eyes never leaving Emily's.
With calm precision, Greta began to stroke the feather up and down Emily's left foot sole. Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt… Each stroke is agonizingly slow, the static electricity crackling as it makes contact with the oiled skin, sending jolts of tickles through every nerve. Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt… The electric sound is accompanied by Emily's muffled high-pitched screams, her eyeballs almost popping out of their sockets in response to the cruel stimulation.
"That's it, Emily. Just let it happen. Let the tickling wash over you, let it consume you. You don't need to fight it. You can't fight it, actually. This is your punishment, my dear." remarks the widow, focusing completely on the movement of her favorite silver feather.
And so, the session begins officially. Each stroke of the feather is a reminder of the power Greta employs at the sole of Emily's left foot. She screams, gasps, laughs, all at the same time behind that gag. Her face turns redder and redder, with two big bloodshot eyes. A show of ticklish suffering that will play long enough for Greta Belzer's pleasure.
Greta's sadism has intensified after her absence, clearly driven by something beyond the loss of her husband. She has transformed Emily's rehabilitation into a ritual of punishment and discipline. The widow is reshaping the poor subject, molding her into something that exists solely for her dark pleasure.
———
As they monitor everything from their vantage point in the Observation Room UL2-OR13, the undergraduate students exchange glances, their voices barely above a whisper.
"You can't avoid it, eh? I know you, you're still stuck on that stupid report. I'm telling you, it's gonna be the wrong move!" murmurs the short-haired student.
"Someone's gotta write that report. Dr. Wang needs to know about it. It wasn't like this when we first started with Mrs. Belzer. You just saw it! She's out of control! I swear, all this time she's been here has really messed with her head," replies the blonde student, her low voice filled with concern about Greta's behavior.
"Aww, here comes the defender of criminals!" taunts the short-haired student.
"Look, I've got a bunch of other cases on my schedule, including some special ones like Emily's, but nothing compares to what we're dealing with here."
"You didn't seem to mind this morning. You seemed all comfortable working with our ticklish friend over there. Now what, you're regretting being as much of a bitch as me? Haha!"
"She went public, stating that under her care Emily will be a better person… all bullshit! And she is not even a PSEE! This is not what was agreed! She's way out of line! Far beyond what they teach us here!"
"You know what? I'm starting to think you might be the next one in that jumpsuit. Yes! And I'll just be here watching your little toes and soles twitch from tickling. I've already told you! Of course this is personal! Of course Greta is crossing all sorts of our ethical lines. And yeah, Dr. Wang knows about it! But what can we do?"
"But we're becoming PSEEs for God's sake! How about our fundam-"
"I'll tell you for the last time - there's a lot more shit involved than you realize! You better get used to it, or... hehe... your feet are gonna regret it! Thank God my name isn't Emily Thompson!" the short-haired student responds with vehemence, sending a clear message and an important lesson to her blonde companion — it's better not to question certain things.
The students remain silent, watching the session unfold as Emily Thompson's pale soles once again become the blank canvas, where Greta will etch her legacy of foot tickling punishment. After a morning of terrifying anticipation, the big moment came for Emily. And now her taunt, oiled, and hyper-ticklish left sole is an irresistible target for Greta's silver feather.
Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt…
The sadistic widow keeps moving her favorite tool, up and down, up and down… causing Emily to burst into fits of hysterical noises. And this is only the beginning for Emily — the first years of her life sentence at the Ava Roi Podiatry Center, with Greta Belzer in charge of her lifetime rehabilitation.
"You're doing so well, Emily! Ready to kick things up a notch?"
"MHMMMPHHH!!!"
"Alright, I agree! Let's increase the intensity a bit more…"
TRZZZZT… TRZZZZT… TRZZZZT… TRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT…
"Sometimes, the cruel twist of justice is that it makes irreversible mistakes last forever."
I’m excited to share this piece with you! It’s the prologue story to the image: https://www.ticklingforum.com/threads/social-media-kills.352102/#post-5757104
For those of you unfamiliar with the setting, it’s all tied to the Ava Roi Podiatry Center: https://www.ticklingforum.com/threads/ava-roi-podiatry-center-the-website-pages-is-out.344738/
Since I love anticipation, I want to be clear upfront that this story focuses a lot on that slow-burn tension. You can already see what happens to poor Emily in the image above, so this writing is all about what leads up to that moment.
Caution: The following content - a pure work of fiction - may contain elements that are not suitable for all audiences. Viewer discretion is advised!
Download the PDF version here: https://mega.nz/file/GoAx2axA#ovO5xiGwuZRvftXygXyfoS8rsMJ278t3tIZM3U6SLU0
Let me know what you think in the comments! I’m planning on writing more stories to expand the world I’ve built around these pictures of mine. Would love your feedback!
———
SOCIAL MEDIA KILLS - THE PROLOGUE
by dtka66
The morning light will never penetrate the underground levels of the Ava Roi Podiatry Center. There is no need for it. The well-lit interior is designed for ceaseless research in a high containment facility with climate-controlled hallways and heated floors — a necessity in a place where female inmates are kept perpetually barefoot. The Center is a top-notch educational institution specializing in teaching and researching Guided Punitive Foot-Tickle Therapy to rehabilitate criminal women. However, things become much more intense in certain levels within the place, where "special" treatments are applied to "special" inmates, making the procedures extremely harsh.
In the underground cell block, four women make their way through the bright corridors. Leading the group are two hulking guards in crisp deep-blue uniforms, their demeanor as controlled as the environment around them. The stoic duo walks with their hands poised on their belts, equipped with legcuffs, pepper spray, and taser — being tasered barefoot is not advisable!
Two undergraduate students in white lab coats follow the guards, focused on their duty as they approach the morning task. One of the students carries a thick black muzzle gag. The other holds a tablet to check the inmates' records.
Meanwhile, in one of the cells, Emily Thompson lies alone on a thin mattress, awake, staring at the ceiling. The morning alarm had gone off just minutes ago, and she now dreads the daily routine that will begin at any moment. Her toes are intertwined, as she tries to cope with her anxiety, while her smooth soles await their punishment. Emily is a shadow of her former self, a stark contrast to the confident social media influencer who once commanded thousands. The sole heir of a wealthy family, Emily always got whatever she wanted. But now, stripped of this power, she is just another Foot Stimuli Subject in Ava Roi's reddish straitjacketed jumpsuit, under the strict rules of the Center.
———
The cell door creaks open, causing Emily to slip her feet across the mattress as she presses her straitjacketed body against the padded wall. "Hngh! I-I'm n-not-" she tries to plead. Guards and students burst into the small space. The guards position themselves on the sides of Emily, while the students stand before her. Their expressions are a mixture of professionalism and enjoyment.
"Morning, Emily. Ready to start your day?"
"Up! Let's get you moving, time for your breakfast" commands one of the guards, grasping the straitjacket's straps, forcing the subject to stay on her feet. The other guard kneels, rolling up Emily's jumpsuit hem to cuff her ankles.
"You didn't soil your diaper, did you?" asks one of the students, checking the digital records from the night shift. "Nah, she's clear. Oh look, they gave her an extra pedicure yesterday night after the shower! That'll save us some time. Sorry Emily, looks like you're gonna have to wait a little longer in that therapy room… alone!"
The other student moves behind the subject. "Now, eyes front while I adjust this gag on you." The muzzle gags used at the Center are coated with anti-sweat and saliva-resistant material. Reinforced padding covers the mouth and cheeks, extending all the way up the back of the head. Its design includes two inner protrusions that press against the midline above the upper lip and the space between the lower lip and chin, keeping the mouth tightly shut.
"Looks like those soles have some work ahead," grins the first student as she keeps checking on the tablet. "A really busy morning!"
"Nnghmphhh!" Emily tries to resist at first, but soon gives up as the guards grip firmly on the straps of her straitjacketed jumpsuit. There is not much fight left in her — after a few years of imprisonment at the Center, she knows all too well what happens to uncooperative inmates. Besides, Emily's mind has seemingly come to accept the harsh punitive reality imposed upon her. For the inmate, this is just another cycle of excruciating foot tickling to endure, and she knows there is nothing she can do to stop it. "At least Greta Belzer isn't coming anymore," she thinks, with a fleeting sense of relief.
The guards guide Emily out of the cell with practiced hands, the students following the trio. The cell door shuts behind them, sealing off the only place where Emily finds any semblance of peace. The group moves as one, leaving the cell block quickly. The guards maintain their iron grip on Emily's jumpsuit, their pace steady and unrelenting. The students are closely behind, whispering to each other in mocking tones. Emily's bare feet slap against the floor loudly, a constant reminder of her vulnerability as she is forced to keep the pace.
———
The journey to the canteen is short, but long enough to suppress Emily. The tightness of her straitjacket, her naked feet, the women escorting her around, all this means defeat!
The canteen is a sterile environment illuminated with fluorescent lights reflecting off the metallic surfaces. The whole setup resembles a feeding station, reinforcing the fact that Emily is now merely an experiment subject. The room is empty, except for the group. A small, childlike table has been set up for one occupant — Emily Thompson.
A bowl of gray paste, masquerading as food, awaits her on the table. Despite the appearance, the flavorless sludge is highly nutritious. A few spoonfuls of this thing are equivalent to three full meals.
The four women, having positioned Emily at the table, begin her breakfast with pragmatism. The two guards stand behind the inmate, their presence intimidating and ever-watchful, while the two students, eager to prove their worth, take the lead in handling the meal. The conversation among them starts off casually but quickly turns into a cruel commentary on Emily's situation.
"You know, it's amazing how much quieter she's become. All that ranting and raving, and now look at her… completely silent. So peaceful…" smirks one of the students as she prepares the food.
"Well, I suppose that's what happens when you're gagged and restrained like the dangerous criminal you're. But hey, she wanted to be famous, right? Now she's infamous. It's practically the same thing." one guard says sarcastically.
"Come on, do you think she ever imagined she'd end up like this? From a big-shot influencer to a footnote in some psychotic widow's revenge fantasy?" the other student argues, showing a slight bit of empathy.
"Oh, I'm sure she's had plenty of time to reflect on that. And if not, well, there's always tomorrow's session. Another day, other hours of… introspection!" concludes the guard.
The women's voices are deliberately loud, ensuring that Emily hears every word. Their tone is playful, chatting about Emily as if she's not even there. An indirect way to remind Emily of her powerlessness.
One of the students, her face emulating humaneness, picks up a spoonful of the unappetizing food. She moves with deliberate slowness, holding the spoon just inches from Emily's face. The black muzzle gagging Emily has an opening for feeding, just large enough for the spoon to pass through. The student opens it and pushes the spoon through this space, the food meeting Emily's mouth with indifference.
"Open wide, Emily. We wouldn't want you to go hungry, would we? You need your strength for today's session."
Emily has no choice but to comply, her eyes betraying shame as she swallows the meal. The process is slow and repetitive, each spoonful a reminder of her miserable condition. The other student stands by, watching intently, a cruel smile playing on her lips as she observes Emily being fed.
"It's almost like feeding a pet, isn't it? Though I think a dog would show a bit more gratitude."
The "breakfast" continues with the clinking sounds of the spoon against the plate, the chewing, the staff's giggles, and the noise of Emily's bare toes pushing helplessly against the floor. After ten or so spoonfuls, the humiliating feeding is finished.
"There, all done. Good meal?" the student asks ironically, wiping a stray bit of food from Emily's chin.
"Now, let's take care of that smile, and you'll be all set," one of the guards instructs. They escort Emily to the canteen's bathroom, where the other student is already waiting with a toothbrush in hand. "Alright, open up that nasty little mouth of yours. Look up and tongue out!"
Emily obeys, closing her eyes in embarrassment. The student, wearing nitrile gloves, brushes Emily's teeth with surprising care, leaving no spot untouched.
After the student finishes the toothbrushing, she dries Emily's mouth and chin with a cloth, before closing the muzzle gag's opening.
"Wasn't that nice, Emily? Now you're ready for what the day has in store. I would give you an extra pedicure, but this is not on the agenda, unfortunately."
The four women are finally ready to escort Emily Thompson to the next stage of her morning, leaving her with only the bitter aftertaste of her breakfast and the apprehension of what's to come.
———
Again, the four women are moving in unison, surrounding Emily as they guide her down another corridor. The inmate starts to feel nauseous, not only from the indigestible breakfast but also from knowing well what awaits her bare feet.
The guards and students seem calm, assured of their punctuality. Emily's soles drag across the floor at a slower pace now. It's a new day, and she is once more walking toward the inevitable foot tickling. The guards notice her reluctance, but it doesn't affect their march. Amid their steps, Emily leaves traces of sweaty feet on the floor.
The group takes an elevator to the Research Center. On this level, they encounter other groups of guards, students, and teachers; escorting helpless Foot Stimuli Subjects to different sectors and rooms. Suddenly, Emily recognizes an Asian subject being led by a team of students and a teacher. Since they were brought into the Center together, she considers her a friend. She tries to get noticed, but the Asian woman seems too terrified to perceive Emily, her attention fixed on the teacher's words.
"... and before we head into the Advanced Toes-Tormentorum Pentanerval Class, I expect to see a lot more effort from all you today, got it? The podiatrists worked hard to prepare this one's toes for the morning! Don't disappoint me. Let's go inside!"
Finally, they stop in front of a door Emily has an unwelcome familiarity with. She looks at the guards and students with pleading eyes, making muffled sounds as her bare toes slide on the floor. The four women exchange glances, and sinister smiles form on their faces.
"Hey, before we go in, we gotta tell Emily something, right ladies?" says one of the students. The others nod, their eyes fixed on Emily's.
"I said those soles would've a busy morning, didn't I? Just look at your eyes, we can tell you already know who's coming, huh? Yes, Emily! Greta Belzer is returning to Ava Roi and she's gonna be leading your foot tickle session today!" announces the students, enjoying the moment.
Emily nearly pukes at the mention of that name. She shakes her head violently from side to side, letting out guttural groans of protest. Her legs weaken, and she begins to pass out.
———
Greta Belzer. The widow of Federal Judge Robert Belzer, who in September 2021, was fatally shot by the 19-year-old Emily Thompson, during one of her famous live-streamings. As every evening, Emily was online gesticulating wildly with a loaded gun in hand, discussing politics and conspiracies. But that very evening, the weapon accidentally discharged. The bullet went out through an open window of Emily's house, traveled across an entire block, hit a window glass of the Belzers', striking Robert in the head. He was pronounced dead on the spot. Despite the defense's efforts, Emily Thompson was subsequently found guilty of first-degree murder and sentenced to life in prison.
But she got a second chance. An agreement was signed between Emily's lawyers and the Department of Justice, transferring her to the Ava Roi Podiatry Center — despite her protest. If she completes a minimum of 15 years at the Center, depending on the evaluation of her rehabilitation, she could potentially be released under house arrest. Unfortunately for Emily, Greta Belzer herself is the authority supervising her progress.
Greta used to love spending time with Emily's bare feet. Besides trying to overcome the loss of her husband, the widow can closely check if the punitive foot tickle therapy is really working. However, it's been a few years now, and Greta still doesn't seem convinced that Emily might one day leave the Center.
———
"Hey, Emily, can you hear me?" one of the guards asks, trying to keep Emily on her feet while lightly slapping her face. "Hehehe! Mrs. Belzer's effect! Here, take a good sniff!" says a student, forcing Emily to smell a small flask of ammonia inhalants. Emily quickly snaps out of her daze, returning to groaning the same protest — "nohphmhh nooohph!"
"Here we go! I know, Emily, this news was a surprise for us too! We also thought Mrs. Belzer had given up on your case. But it seems she misses you, haha! Let's get you inside…"
One of the students slowly types her access code. Emily looks in desperation at the keypad display, foolishly hoping something might fail this time. The green sign is followed by a low sound of the door mechanism, revealing the interior of Therapy Room UL2-TR13.
Bluish-white light floods the room, reflecting off the walls and mirrored glass. And at the room's center stands the imposing Foot Stimulation Chair — a blend of metal, white biofluid-proof leatherette, and black large rubberized heavy-duty nylon straps — is designed to immobilize its occupant completely.
A petrifying fear surges through Emily's body at the sight of the chair. Her toes curl as if she wants to anchor her legs to the ground, but it's a futile effort. "Keep moving, inmate!" orders a guard, slapping Emily's butt as they enter the place.
The atmosphere in each therapy room is heavy. Emily knows firsthand the tears, screams, groans that have echoed inside these rooms, and the countless bare feet that have been pushed to their limits. It's a chamber built to apply calculated ticklish agonies. The bright blue light intensifies the senses. The one-way mirror in front of the foot stimulation chair reflects the terror of those sitting there. In certain cases, they even beg to be blindfolded during the sessions. It's a room designed to strip away any defenses, leaving only the inevitable Punitive Foot Tickling.
The guards shove Emily towards the chair, forcing her to sit down as her body shakes and struggles under their hands. "Relax, twitchy-toes," one guard sneers. "Don't try so hard, you don't have a chance!"
Quickly, both guards begin strapping Emily to the seat, with the first restraint wrapping the reddish fabric of her jumpsuit torso. A single wide black strap is placed around her neck, tightly placed through openings in the chair's backrest, limiting head movements. One guard keeps holding her legs together, while now her partner starts to release the legcuffs. Their experience easily overpowers Emily's pathetic kicks. With precise efficiency, they secure her ankles in the chair's stocks, adding a final strap below the knees.
Both students watch the process with attention. One of them is responsible for adjusting the toes immobilizer, the final step of the restraining. The entire setup leaves the subject completely defenseless, with her immobile feet the main focus of the contraption.
"Hm, looks like you still don't know how to walk without getting those clumsy feet of yours dirty, huh?" one of the students teases, wiping Emily's soles with a sterile warm cloth to make sure they're clean and ready for the session.
"MphHH! MhhahAHAHAHMM!!!"
"What's that, Emily? Are you already getting all ticklish? We haven't even started yet! Well, we won't be here tickling you today! So, save your breath, 'cause Greta's gonna make you really squirm in a little while!" the student mocks, watching Emily's reaction as she cleans her feet.
———
Emily's mind races, her chest rising and falling rapidly beneath the straitjacket. The anticipation is overwhelming. The room seems to shrink around her as she watches herself in the mirrored glass. With Greta Belzer's image in head, amplified by the hum of machinery and the faces of the women eyeing her hyper-ticklish soles — all this triggers a panic attack. She tries another futile struggle against her bondage, making muffled noises behind the muzzle gag. The four women surrounding her find it funny, their lips breaking into giggles.
"Hehehe! Look at you!"
"Trying to say something? You should know by now… we don't care what you have to say! Be brave and accept your fate!"
"Oh, let her try! It's almost cute that she still thinks she can make a difference! Hahaha! I can't get enough of this!"
Emily's pathetic attempts to free herself are met with disdain, swallowed by the women's mocking tones, a cruel reminder of her predicament.
"Come on, Emily! Pull yourself together! Mrs. Belzer is late, so you've plenty of time to think about what's coming. Here, this will calm you down and prevent you from passing out again," one of the students gives her a shot of what they call an emergency injection for "agitated" subjects.
The four women now step back, admiring their work for a while, until they finally leave. Emily is left strapped in the foot stimulation chair, her mind full of desperation. The air of the room brushes against her exposed soles, a haunting reminder of the torment that awaits her. The giggles of the four women fade into the background, while the subject sanity hangs in the balance.
———
The Observation Room UL2-OR13 is a control center nestled next to the Therapy Room UL2-TR13. The place is designed with a single purpose — to monitor the foot tickling procedures without being noticed. A thick, one-way mirror dominates one wall, offering a direct view into the adjoining therapy room. Through the glass, Emily's misery is clearly visible. A row of monitors displays different angles of her restrained form. Every detail of her situation is being shown in this room — her desperate eyes, vital functions, and all the possible angles of her vulnerable feet.
The two undergraduate students, now separated from the guards, continue the preparations for the session. They move with the practiced efficiency of those who have spent years within these walls, mastering their roles.
The first student, a petite young woman with short dark hair and a strikingly toned silhouette, exudes an arrogant confidence. Her green eyes are focused as she works, very precise in her movements. Her companion, a slightly taller blonde with a long-braided ponytail, seems less experienced, but more empathetic. Her blue eyes are filled with concentration, carrying an impression of professionalism that belies her young age. Both women wear slip-on shoes, with thick white socks for extra protection.
They have different understandings of the Center's knowledge and its applications. While the short-haired student is mercilessly punitive with sadistic tendencies, the blonde focuses on the psychological aspect of rehabilitating criminal women. However, they both share a strong determination to succeed in their future careers. They had entered the Ava Roi Podiatry Center with ambitions to excel in the field of Punitive Foot Tickling. And after four years, they are heading into the final phase to receive their diploma in Podal Sensitivity Enhancement Expert (PSEE).
———
Both students take a steadying breath, recognizing the importance of the situation. This is not an ordinary session, and Emily Thompson is not an ordinary subject. The once amusing atmosphere with the guards has been replaced by a professional posture.
"Alright, let's go over our subject here. Emily Thompson, 22, serving life. Caucasian, American, about 5'6", 128 pounds. Not a big girl, but she's made her presence known in this place... About those feet... freshly pedicured size 7.5, MR of 185, very responsive with no signs of any hard or rough skin. As for her vitals... heart rate's up, hyperventilation... blood pressure's a bit high, but within range considering the morning's developments. Everything else looks good… Okay, let's check the instruments."
On a metal tray near them lay an array of procedure tools — varied types of feathers, electric spin scrubbers, violet rays, fine-tipped foot styluses, metal bristle sticks — each one designed to cause different levels of foot stimulation. But the centerpiece is something far more stimulating, Greta Belzer's favorite instrument — the metallic feather. Unlike traditional feathers, this silver tool contains an internal copper rod that electrifies the metal filaments within the vanes. Its cable is then plugged into a machine specifically designed for electric stimulation, called PulseSole Module.
When turned on, the metallic feather emits an electrical current that heightens the sensation of tickling to excruciating levels, transforming this simple tool into an instrument of relentless torment. The PulseSole Module is already positioned near Emily's restrained feet, awaiting activation.
"Let's not waste time organizing this shit. I bet Greta's only gonna use the metal feather. Good thing we left the PulseSole connected to the chair…"
The students handle this feather with great respect. Only Greta Belzer is authorized to operate the PulseSole Module in Emily's case. They place it on the tray with extra care, fully aware of the power this delicate tool holds.
———
With all the foot tickle instruments in place, the students turn their attention to Emily's foot chart, a diagram of her soles with corresponding data on sensitivity levels. The chart is a testament to the Center's rigorous documentation of each inmate's response to foot stimulation. Each week brings new updates, keeping the students constantly engaged in monitoring and adjusting the procedures.
As the blonde student begins to fill in the latest data, her eyes widen slightly in surprise. She leans closer to the chart, double-checking the readings from the previous sessions. The numbers are clear — Emily's left foot has become significantly more sensitive than it was last week.
"Look at this. Her left foot's sensitivity has spiked again!"
"You're right! Greta's probably gonna focus on the right foot today… to balance things," guesses the short-haired student.
"Her left foot's probably reaching its limit... At this rate, she's gonna flip out at the slightest touch! Remember last session? We were both tickling that poor foot… one more hour of our fingernails and she'd have gone completely nuts!"
"Again you and this pity bullshit! I really don't care! She deserves it! Her body's betraying her. The more we stimulate her feet, the worse it gets for her." grumbles the short dark hair student, clearly annoyed by her colleague's sign of empathy.
Despite the brief tension between them, the students complete the update, writing the new scores in vivid blue ink. They start to double check if everything is set — the silver feather is ready; other tools are organized, cleaned, and some even coated in itching solution; the foot chart is fully updated; and the PulseSole Module is poised for action.
"Good! I think everything is set!"
———
As the students finish the checks, they turn their attention to the one-way mirror. Emily's image is a pure scene of anticipation. This view sparks another chat.
"You know, I keep thinking about the day she committed that crime. Hah! Streamed it live for everyone to see. Imagine the scene… she walked into her house and kicked off her shoes, right? Then got ready for the evening streaming… Maybe she was even barefoot when she pulled the trigger. Anyway, at that moment, she had no idea, not a single clue, that she'd never put those shoes on again! And now she's here, barefoot all the time, knowing her feet are busted for the rest of her life! No breaks, no mercy. Just endless foot tickling!"
"True! I watched that clip, the last streaming of Emily Thompson. It was viral. She looked so dumb when she fired that gun. I bet she was shitting herself, sensing that she fucked up something! But with no idea she'd just killed a federal judge! With a sociopath wife! Look at her now… young, and her life is basically over. I mean, stuck in that stinky jumpsuit, locked down 24/7, only head and feet out. And well… she can't even touch herself anymore! Poor girl."
"I'm not complaining, I mean, this system's working! The crime rate among women has dropped off a cliff. They're terrified. Every criminal out there knows exactly what awaits them if they get caught — Foot Tickling! Girl, I love this job!" remarks the short-haired student with confidence.
"Remember when they auctioned off all her shoes and socks. They tried her barefoot. No shoes in the courtroom. She walked up to the stand with her feet bare. Everyone knew exactly what was waiting for her."
"If I remember it? Hah! I bought one of her combat boots! Hahaha! I made fun of her about it once, haha! She was condemning foot tickle prisons, wasn't she? How ironic! Awww those soles… Girl, how I'd love to tickle them now! They've become the center of her world, huh? Day in, day out, the same routine. Same punishment. And we'll be here every day to check it… over and over again." states the short-haired student sadistically.
The chat pauses as both students watch Emily's toes twitching nervously in the restraint. They can see the tension in her body and the despair in her eyes as she stares at her own reflection.
"Emily's vitals are a mess! Greta Belzer effect… Whenever she shows up, things get stressful for everyone. And she's getting worse and worse! Remember that report? Dr. Wang tried to calm things down, but… Greta's a maniac! They said she'd be a PSEE, but so far nothing! This isn't good for Emily's rehab!" states the blonde with a humanity in her voice.
"Well, go there then. Give her a hug, a foot massage… Take her to your home! Or maybe you could tell Greta what you really think? Becoming her new enemy. You know we have therapy rooms with two foot stimulation chairs… You and that subject together, huh? Geez! Keep in mind that Emily murdered a federal judge! Big people! And don't tell me it was accidental! This is her life now. Day after day, hour after hour. Just her, that chair, that tootsies. No escape, no relief. Just... this."
"I know, alright! But that's not what they teach us here. It's wrong! It violat-"
"Will you shush? C'mon, see it as a privilege. To witness this, to be part of something so... unique. It's something you get to do every day in this line of work. Just follow the protocol and don't question things too much!" advises the short-haired student.
The room is silent once more, despite the low electrical hum and the beeps from the monitors. The students know that Greta Belzer will arrive any moment soon, bringing with her the order to start Emily's punitive foot tickling. The big show is yet to come, and the duo will be there to witness every moment of it.
———
While they are waiting for Greta Belzer, the students mentally recheck everything, knowing they can't risk any mistakes. Suddenly, "Damn, we forgot the oil!" panics one of them.
"No way! How could we forget the oil?"
"Shut up and move! Thank God Greta is late. I don't want to get in trouble!"
They re-enter the therapy room, its door opening and closing behind the scared Emily. She can only watch through the corners of her eyes as the students are approaching, the air stirring as they move closer to her soles.
"Easy, Emily. It's us again. Focus on breathing! We're just making sure everything's nice and set!"
"Since you're gagged, I think we can tell you a secret… we forgot the oil! But don't worry, we'll fix that in a blink. Oh, and we can't have you wiggling too much, can we? Greta doesn't like when her dear subject is loose. Let's retighten those straps a bit more."
"Those soles of yours... they're gonna suffer a lot today, aren't they? We need them to be perfect for Greta. Can't have any flaws," mocks one of the students, her nails inches away from Emily's left sole.
Emily's body instinctively tries to avoid any presence around her feet, but the restraints hold her firmly. The gag muffles any protest she tries to say, leaving her with nothing but the sound of her own heavy breathing.
One of the students takes a small bottle of oil, its contents shimmering as she uncaps it. She begins spraying the oil on the inmate's soles. The scent fills the room with a strange aroma.
"You know this will help you, of course you do. Make things smoother. Greta loves her tools to glide, and I'll make sure your feet are perfect for her."
"And conductive, hehe! Uhh Emily… Can you feel it? It's coming! I hope you're ready. 'Cause once we leave again, it'll be just you and your soles, waiting for Greta. And we both know she's gonna make the most of every second." teases the short-haired student.
Emily's heart pounds in her chest, the oily sensation on her feet amplifying the helplessness she's already feeling. She knows how the oil worsens things, duplicating the effects of each instrument that Greta could use.
"Phew! We fixed it! How something so simple, just a bit of oil can make such a difference. It's the little things that count."
"Yes, and it's all for our dear Emily. All for those ticklish feet of hers. Everything we do, everything she's going through, it all comes down to that. A pair of freshly oiled feet, ready to be tickled. Am I right, Emily? Hehe, see ya!"
With this last statement, they leave the subject alone once again. She is strapped tightly to the foot stimulation chair for almost thirty minutes now.
The students, back at their post in the observation room, are relieved with this last check on Emily.
"What a mistake! Whew! Everything's set and under control now!" chuckles nervously the blonde student. But her companion seems too relaxed, as if nothing had happened.
"You know... I've gotten so used to this. I remember when I first watched a session like this. I could barely stand to be in the room. Now, it's just part of the routine."
"C'mon, it's more important than just routine..."
"Important? Every day, we come in here and prep things. We bring the subjects, making sure everything's perfect. Sometimes we tickle them. Sometimes we watch someone tickle them… Let me tell ya, Greta Belzer's important. Dr. Liz Wang's important. We're just the ones behind the scenes."
The students exchange a strange look, knowing that they are not in tune.
"Alright, enough of that nonsense. If Greta Belzer hadn't said she was coming today, we'd already be there applying foot tickle therapy."
"Indeed! But I bet Emily's now hoping we go there to tell Greta won't be coming, hehe! By the way, where is Mrs. Belzer? She's very late!"
"Very! But when Greta arrives, we'll do what we always do. We'll watch, we'll record, we'll learn, and we'll make sure it's done right. This is our job. This is what we do."
The clock is ticking, the minutes seem to stretch on. Until finally, a distant sound echoes from the staff-only hallway — the unmistakable clack of high heels on the polished floor. The students look at each other with excitement. Greta Belzer is in the place, and with her, the certainty that Emily's morning punitive foot tickling is about to start!
———
The keypad beeps are followed by the mechanical sound of the observation room's backdoor opening, as Greta Belzer claps her fancy peep-toe heels inside with authority. Her presence causes immediate attention. Her styled silver bob will never cover the cold gaze on her face. Behind her rimless glasses, her eyes are piercing, capturing every detail. Greta's crisp white blouse adds an air of superiority, making her seem almost untouchable. She moves with the confidence of someone who had spent years in power.
"Good morning, Mrs. Belzer," the undergraduate students greet the widow, their voices full of respect. Greta barely acknowledges them with a nod, her focus immediately shifting to the therapy room beyond the glass, where Emily Thompson is restrained in deadly anticipation.
"Aww, it's good to be back! How long was I away?"
"A little over one year, ma'am."
"Just that? It seemed more to me. Well, not that it changes much for those ticklish soles… in a lifetime of tickling!" Greta grins. The short-haired student joins in the moment, while the blonde grits her teeth.
"So girls, is everything ready? I'm eager to give a session to our dear friend over there!"
"Yes, Mrs. Belzer! Emily's been ready and waiting for nearly a half an hour. Everything's prepared just as you requested," responds the short-haired student, while the other hesitates under the pressure of Greta's gaze.
A humorless smile curves Greta's lips as she turns her attention back to them.
"Good! Well, I suppose you're wondering why I kept you waiting this morning? You girls know how I love starting my day indulging in luxuries. And I had to plan my return and…" she makes a dramatic pause. "You know what? I'll share the details when I check on our ticklee in a few minutes. Let me see how her feet are doing first." says Greta, relishing the discomfort on the students' faces.
The duo nod, unsure of how to respond. Greta's presence is overpowering. The students are aware that any misstep could draw her ire, and they wouldn't dare to test the limits of her patience.
Greta looks at the metal tray. "Let's check it," she says in a malicious tone, picking up Emily's foot chart and scanning the data with expertise.
"Hm. The ticklishness of her left foot is… impressive! But the right one… it's not quite where I'd like it to be. Total disparity!" states Greta as she turns back to the students, her expression mysterious.
"I must say I'm not happy at all, but I guess you're still learning the ropes. That's alright, I suppose... So, that just leaves one option for this lazy foot..." Greta pauses again, turning her attention back to Emily. "Get the Kitz-37 ready, now!" she orders, leaving no room for argument. The students hurry to get the device, bumping into each other in their haste.
The Kitz-37 is a sophisticated device with two mechanical arms ending in syringes filled with a specialized serum designed to enhance sensitivity — the Intensifier Kitz-37 Serum. The syringes glint under the fluorescent lights as the students prepare it, pairing the wireless infernal apparatus with the control panel that governs the therapy room. The device hums to life, its mechanical arms moving with deliberate grace.
As they work, Greta selects the tool for the session — her favorite metallic feather. "Today," she says firmly, holding the feather between her thumb and forefinger, "I will use only this on the sole of her left foot. The Kitz-37 will handle the right." The students nod, tired of knowing Greta's habit of using her favorite feather in sessions with Emily.
"Chop-chop! Connect my feather to the PulseSole Module and engage the Intensifier Kitz-37. Oh, and while you're in there… tell Emily that I'm here." Greta instructs with an evil smile.
The students, hurrying to follow her instructions, burst into the therapy room. Emily's neck cracks in shock as she hears the door behind her open, certain her punishment is about to begin. She follows every move of the students with wide eyes. The duo, aware that they are being watched by Greta, avoid any interaction with Emily. When the subject sees the silver feather and the Kitz-37 device, she almost faints again.
Meanwhile, Greta Belzer stands by the observation one-way window, her eyes fixing on Emily's restrained bare feet in the therapy room. She watches both students connecting the metallic feather to the PulseSole Module. The Intensifier Kitz-37 is now also in place, ready to apply the serum that will elevate Emily's right foot sensitivity to the desired levels. Once their work is complete, the students pause for a moment, giving one last check before leaving Emily to her fate.
"Mrs. Belzer has arrived." murmurs one of the students.
A shiver runs down Emily's spine, but this time, the reaction is different. The news leaves her utterly petrified. Her pale skin resembles a marble statue. However, the monitors in the observation room emit endless caution signals, as if the inmate is screaming through the readings.
Upon re-entering the observation room, the blonde student approaches Greta. 'It's time, Mrs. Belzer. Let's start the session, please."
Greta knows the power she wields, not just over Emily, but the students as well. They are all under her control. That sense of absolute dominance is more intoxicating than any luxury she can ever indulge in. The session will begin, and with it, another chapter in the ongoing saga of Emily's punishment. Greta Belzer is ready, and nothing gives her more pleasure than the thought of what is about to come.
"Indeed. Let's begin!"
———
Greta Belzer enters the therapy room with deliberate slowness. The automatic door whooshes open and shut, followed by a moment of absolute silence. In the widow's mind, there's only the intention to keep her promise of revenge.
Strapped in the center of the room, Emily Thompson is a portrait of unbearable anxiety. Her body trembles uncontrollably. The restraints constantly remind her of the inescapable situation. Her heart pounds in her chest, a drumbeat counting down the seconds.
Emily's desperate eyes try to see who has now entered the room. But the mirrored glass before her offers no clues. All she can see is herself, a pale figure with wide, haunted eyes, and a pair of oiled bare soles with immobilized spread toes. She tries to twist her body enough to see more, but the restraints hold her firmly. Trapped both physically and mentally, she is consumed by the anticipation of what lies ahead.
The silence is finally broken by a voice that slides through the air — smooth, precise, and utterly devoid of affection.
"E-mi-ly... Good morning, my dear. Did you miss me? Aww, poor girl… You must have been so lonely in here, waiting for me, wondering if today would be another day I wouldn't come. Just because it's been, what? About one year since the last time? But don't worry, I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere for a long, long time. We're going to have so much fun together, just like we always do."
The sound of Greta's voice reaches Emily's ears like a deadly stab. Her body instinctively tenses up as if it can somehow protect her from Greta Belzer. The widow approaches in rhythmic clacks of her heels, each step a cruel reminder of the power she wields.
When they finally look at each other, Emily emits muffled desperate groans behind the thick muzzle gag — nohmhnoomphh plehasmhmh! Greta's presence has a devastating effect on the subject. She proudly looks at Emily's misery. A malevolent smile builds on her lips.
"Emily, Emily, Emily… You're so predictable. It's always the same thing, the same fear. The same pathetic struggles! You're like a clock, just ticking away the seconds until I arrive. You can't wait for me to start, can you? That's why you're here, after all. You've been so eager, so desperate. Just sitting there, waiting for me to give you what you deserve!"
She stands beside Emily's left foot, her fingers hovering just above the oiled sole, not yet touching them, but close enough to make Emily feel the tips of the sharp nails.
"Look at those soles of yours... so soft... so perfectly creamy. You know, Emily, I heard things about them. After all the time and effort I've invested in you. All the time I've given to this little project of ours... You've finally made progress! That's right! I was informed today that your left foot is finally showing some acceptable response. That's the good news, my ticklee."
She paused, letting her words hang in the air like a guillotine poised to drop.
"But... there's bad news too. That lazy right foot of yours, Emily... well, tsk tsk tsk… it's just not up to par. It's so disappointing, after all the work we've put in… But don't worry, I have a solution."
Greta, with a hand signal, orders the students watching the scene from the one-way mirror, to turn on the Kitz-37. Its mechanical arms start to move. The syringes aiming Emily's right sole, each needle ready to deliver a payload of the special serum. The subject eyes wide terrified. She tries to pull her foot away, but the restraints offer no escape from the pinpricks.
"Oh, Emily, don't look so frightened. This is for your own good! You've been neglecting that right foot of yours, letting it get all... insensitive. We can't have that, can we? No, no, no. We need both of your feet to be at their best. We need them to be... equally responsive."
The syringes start to pierce Emily's right foot sole with mechanical efficiency, covering it with tiny bloody dots. The sensitization is immediate as the serum floods every nerve ending. Greta tests the effect by gently running one fingernail between the needles. Emily squirms in ticklish shock, her eyes wide with agony. The widow watches the subject's reaction with pure satisfaction.
"Now, we'll just let that serum do its work while we focus on your left foot. Yes, this foot is going to be pampered today. A whole session just for the left foot! So eager, so ready to please! You've been waiting for this, haven't you… left foot? Waiting for that moment when the real fun begins!"
She turns on the PulseSole Module, the metallic feather humming to life with a low buzz. Greta takes the silver tool, its tip crackling with static.
"Do you remember this, Emily? This little friend of ours? I'm sure you do. It's going to be your companion again. Sliding up and down that ticklish left sole of yours, making sure every nerve, every inch of skin, feels exactly what I want it to feel. All morning, Emily... all morning, this feather is going to remind you of what you've done, and of what you'll never escape."
But then, Greta pauses all action. Just as Emily's absolute fright reaches an unbelievable peak, Mrs. Belzer turns off the PulseSole Module and sets the metallic feather back on its stand, deliberately prolonging the anticipation.
———
"Oh, silly me... I almost forgot. There's something I want to share with you before we begin. It's something I think you'll really love." says Greta, pulling a chair directly in front of Emily. She sits down gracefully, crossing her legs with elegance, and begins to remove one of her new peep-toe heels.
"You're probably wondering why I was late this morning, aren't you? You must have been counting the minutes, the seconds, wondering where I was, why I wasn't here to start our session on time. Right on the day of my return! Well, Emily, I was at… a foot spa. Yes, that's right — a foot spa. I spent the morning having my feet undergo special care, and... well, take a look for yourself."
She slowly reveals her delicate size 5 foot, as if unveiling a piece of art. It's flawless, freshly pedicured. The toenails are painted in a blood-red that glint in the room's light. Greta raises her leg, showing her foot towards Emily's face, wiggling the toes sadistically.
"What do you think? Do you like my new pedicure? Hm? Red toenails... just like the blood that splattered from my husband when you shot him. Oh, I can see it in your eyes, you remember that moment, don't you? You thought you were so powerful then, didn't you? So in control. But look at you now, Emily. Look at where you are. Strapped up, gagged, barefoot, so helpless... Completely at my mercy. And do you know what's the best part?"
Greta leans in close, her voice a whisper that slithers into Emily's ears, filling her with such profound despair that seems to crack the inmate's bones.
"You'll never have that freedom again. You'll never leave this facility, this foot tickling. Even when I'm done with you, when I retire and move on, someone will take my job here. There will always be someone to remind you of your place… the fact that you're nothing but a plaything now, a ticklish toy for me to break and rebuild as I see fit!" declares Greta in a cruel voice, making Emily cry.
"Aww you're crying again… I know, it's horrible being you. When I took off my shoe, I felt how horrible it is being barefoot in this room. I wouldn't want to be on your side, oh no! I'm not that stupid! Oh, you still want me to set you free? Want me to send that letter to the court, transferring you to a normal prison? Yes? No way! You're going to be here forever! While I keep tickling those soles… Aww, you still imagine yourself out of here? Let's just say that's a fantasy best left to dreams. Because in reality, Emily, you'll be here for the rest of your life. And there's nothing you can do about it!" Greta finishes her speech in a malicious tone, not before licking her lips.
Greta's words cut deep, leaving Emily hollow, numb to the crushing truth of her destiny. With deliberate care, Greta puts her peep toe heel back on. She adjusts the fit and smooths the expensive shoe. Greta even takes a moment to wipe away Emily's tears.
"Alright, Emily, enough talking. Let's work! It's time to keep with your rehab! Time to remind you of the reality you live in, the reality you'll never escape. Let's turn the PulseSole Module back on now… there we go… let's increase the intensity just a little above the standard. Now we're going to see how much this left foot of yours can take. And as for your right foot... well, don't worry. We'll get to that one soon enough."
She switches the device back on, the ominous hum buzzing through the room once more, as the metallic feather crackles to life. Greta picks up the silver tool, her eyes never leaving Emily's.
With calm precision, Greta began to stroke the feather up and down Emily's left foot sole. Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt… Each stroke is agonizingly slow, the static electricity crackling as it makes contact with the oiled skin, sending jolts of tickles through every nerve. Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt… The electric sound is accompanied by Emily's muffled high-pitched screams, her eyeballs almost popping out of their sockets in response to the cruel stimulation.
"That's it, Emily. Just let it happen. Let the tickling wash over you, let it consume you. You don't need to fight it. You can't fight it, actually. This is your punishment, my dear." remarks the widow, focusing completely on the movement of her favorite silver feather.
And so, the session begins officially. Each stroke of the feather is a reminder of the power Greta employs at the sole of Emily's left foot. She screams, gasps, laughs, all at the same time behind that gag. Her face turns redder and redder, with two big bloodshot eyes. A show of ticklish suffering that will play long enough for Greta Belzer's pleasure.
Greta's sadism has intensified after her absence, clearly driven by something beyond the loss of her husband. She has transformed Emily's rehabilitation into a ritual of punishment and discipline. The widow is reshaping the poor subject, molding her into something that exists solely for her dark pleasure.
———
As they monitor everything from their vantage point in the Observation Room UL2-OR13, the undergraduate students exchange glances, their voices barely above a whisper.
"You can't avoid it, eh? I know you, you're still stuck on that stupid report. I'm telling you, it's gonna be the wrong move!" murmurs the short-haired student.
"Someone's gotta write that report. Dr. Wang needs to know about it. It wasn't like this when we first started with Mrs. Belzer. You just saw it! She's out of control! I swear, all this time she's been here has really messed with her head," replies the blonde student, her low voice filled with concern about Greta's behavior.
"Aww, here comes the defender of criminals!" taunts the short-haired student.
"Look, I've got a bunch of other cases on my schedule, including some special ones like Emily's, but nothing compares to what we're dealing with here."
"You didn't seem to mind this morning. You seemed all comfortable working with our ticklish friend over there. Now what, you're regretting being as much of a bitch as me? Haha!"
"She went public, stating that under her care Emily will be a better person… all bullshit! And she is not even a PSEE! This is not what was agreed! She's way out of line! Far beyond what they teach us here!"
"You know what? I'm starting to think you might be the next one in that jumpsuit. Yes! And I'll just be here watching your little toes and soles twitch from tickling. I've already told you! Of course this is personal! Of course Greta is crossing all sorts of our ethical lines. And yeah, Dr. Wang knows about it! But what can we do?"
"But we're becoming PSEEs for God's sake! How about our fundam-"
"I'll tell you for the last time - there's a lot more shit involved than you realize! You better get used to it, or... hehe... your feet are gonna regret it! Thank God my name isn't Emily Thompson!" the short-haired student responds with vehemence, sending a clear message and an important lesson to her blonde companion — it's better not to question certain things.
The students remain silent, watching the session unfold as Emily Thompson's pale soles once again become the blank canvas, where Greta will etch her legacy of foot tickling punishment. After a morning of terrifying anticipation, the big moment came for Emily. And now her taunt, oiled, and hyper-ticklish left sole is an irresistible target for Greta's silver feather.
Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt… Trzzzzt…
The sadistic widow keeps moving her favorite tool, up and down, up and down… causing Emily to burst into fits of hysterical noises. And this is only the beginning for Emily — the first years of her life sentence at the Ava Roi Podiatry Center, with Greta Belzer in charge of her lifetime rehabilitation.
"You're doing so well, Emily! Ready to kick things up a notch?"
"MHMMMPHHH!!!"
"Alright, I agree! Let's increase the intensity a bit more…"
TRZZZZT… TRZZZZT… TRZZZZT… TRZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZT…
"Sometimes, the cruel twist of justice is that it makes irreversible mistakes last forever."
Looking forward to more of this. 
