maidenman1
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- May 10, 2004
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Anne's Attention
It all started in the Activities Center. We were engaged in the same converstation concerning the faults of our roommates. Your dorm room, you claimed, was always a mess. Clothes on all the furniture, papers all over the place, and a trash can that had been full for a week. It didn't bother you a bit. In fact, you liked it that way. It was more of a home to you. It didn't bother you roommate either. Now, there are not many things in this world that really frustrate me. Getting cut off on the highway doesn't bother me that much, because I know that most people can't drive. Even people who are arrogant beyond belief, besting every statement that you make, don't bother me. I can't, however, handle slobs, and I made sure to let everyone at our table know it. I have been making my bed every day since I was in preschool. Every morning when I woke up, I made my bed and put everything in its place; it was my morning routine that I had been faithful to throughout college. A few people at our table scoffed, a few thought it was noble, but you simply giggled. I should have known that it was malicious, but at the time I didn't know you well enough to make that judgement. You gave me a quick smile, got up from the table, and headed for class. I did the same, bidding farewell and a happy weekend to everyone at the table. Seeing this, you paused by the door and waited for me. As I opened it for you, I realized that I didn't even know you name. Anne, you quickly said as you noticed my struggle. We walked to class and exchanged the short versions of our semester story as we enjoyed the beautiful Friday afternoon. Then, with you big blue eyes locked on mine, you asked me out. I was shocked. I had dated a number of girls at college, but never did a girl ask me out. The guys, unfortunately, had previously booked my evening for some guy time. One of my friends had recently been dumped, and it was time to get him back into the scene. You stunned me with a little, playful smile and changed your request to the following evening, and I accepted. Your smile grew, and you kissed my cheek and headed towards your class. I paused for a second, watching you walk away, still stunned at speed in which we went from not knowing each others' names to going on a date the following night. I took one last look at your long brown hair and proceeded to my class.
I made it through the evening unscathed. The guys and I played basketball after all our classes were out, and then went to a party at a friend's house. I was the designated driver that night, so I stayed away from the alcohol. I don't drink that much anyway, so it was a normal party night for me, dancing and talking with girls I hardly knew. After dropping the guys off, I made my way back to my dorm. I walked up the stairs and towards my room. I noticed that the door was cracked, something that I never do when I leave. Justin had gone home for the weekend, so I became suspicious. I walked in quietly, my jaw dropping as I saw what lay before me. Justin's side of the room was perfect, just as it was when I left it earlier. My side, to my dismay, was in chambles. Everything had been moved. My clothes were all over the room. My sheets were nowhere to be found. My books were stuffed randomly between dressers and couches and beds. Some of my CDs had been switched with my roommates. My underwear was clothespinned to a piece of rope that had been tied to my roommates loft, displayed for anyone who walked in to see. Even my clocks had been reset to the incorrect time. I was furious. I looked around for clues. I found a note on my desk. It was written on the back of a picture and read "Love, Anne." I turned it over and it was a picture of you holding my comforter in your hand and making the puppy-dog face. As upset as I was, that face softened my mood a little. There was no malicious intent behind the destruction. You were only trying to get my attention. I smiled and thought of how I might get your attention in return, in a way that would deter you from stretching the limits of my patience again in the future. A bundle of thougths went through my head as I put everything back where it was. I could clean your room, but that wouldn't really be punishing you. I could playfully cancel our date. If you were really interested you would quickly appologize and ask to make it up to me. Again, not really what I was looking for. Then my foot brushed up against an old pair of jeans laying on the floor. I am hopelessly ticklish everywhere, so I quickly pulled my foot away. Then it hit me. I knew then what I could do to you that would hopefully make a statement without ruining any chance that I had with you. I remembered the first time I ever saw you...
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It was the first day of second semester. I walked into the Activities Center and you were sitting on a couch with two of you friends. I had studied abroad in the fall and you were a freshman so we had not met yet. I sat close, but not close enough for you to notice me. You repeatedly threw small spitballs at your two friends, both ot which were frantically studying for an upcoming exam. After about five minutes, they looked up at each other. One of them noded, and before you knew it they were on top of you, tickling your sides and underarms. You screamed for them to stop, but they kept going. Then, one of them slid down onto your ankles and flicked your sandals off. You went nuts, begging them not to tickle your feet. You would wet yourself, you claimed. The girl smiled at you, moved back up your legs, and tickled your sides again. This went on for a few minutes, until you were reduced to an unmoving, gigling mass. One of them hugged you and they left. You sat up, came back to your senses, and started throughing spit balls at another girl.
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...I could tickle your feet. You deliberately used my pet peeve to get my attention, and i would use your worst fear against you. The date was wonderful. The prank was mentioned, but I assured her that it made me laugh. The week went by and I only saw you once, but long enough to ask you out again. When I did you kissed my cheek again. I smiled and went to class. That week went by quickly as I spent my free time trying to plan something. I planned to simply pounce on you and tickle you for as long as I can, nothing to crazy. After all, it was a one time thing. But then it happened again. I came home after an extremely long Thursday to find my room a distaster area yet again. Justin walked in a few minutes after me, only to find me still staring at what you had done. He smiled when he walked in, his side untouched again, and assured me that you were only trying to get my attention. There was another note on my desk; another picture of you, this time with a big smile on your face, as if you were telling me that your prank worked yet agin. It was then that I decided that I really needed to get your attention. I spent the next hour cleaning my room and thinking of all the diabolical ways I could make you suffer at my hands. I never really settled on a plan. I only concluded that your punishment needed to be long and intense. I did manage to contact one of my old girlfriends, though, for advice on how to tickle someone. I like feet and had tickled people before, but this girl had an outright fetish for both. Since we were still on speaking terms despite a pretty nasty breakup, I asked her about her most intense experice. She told me a story of a time when she accidentally went on a date with a guy that her roommate had a crush one. Her roommate had tied her up very tightly and tickled her feet for hours, nothing that she hadn't experienced or done to someone else before. There we special circumstances, however, that made this tickling experience the worst she ever endured. For one, she was blindfolded. She claimed that when one of her senses was taken away, the other ones became more keen, one of them being touch. The loss of vision actually made her more ticklish. And, to make matters ever worse, her toes were tied back, totally immobilizing her feet. The thought of being tickled without being able to move at all made me shudder. Yet, I knew that I needed to make a statement.
We went out the next night. I told you during dinner that I didn't have time to clean my room last night, so it was still a big mess. You decided that you would be a good girlfriend (yes, you called yourself my girlfriend and I was shocked at your persistance, yet again) and clean it for me. After all, you just wanted me to think about you. We went for a romantic walk on the brigde over the Etowah River. We kissed for the first time watching the moon rise over the water. You didn't expect a thing. We went back to my room, and when you walked in and saw that the place was clean, you were confused. Before you could say anything, I had you. In less than 10 seconds, you were wrapped tightly in my comforter, lying on your stomach on the bed, with only your head and feet sticking out. You started to protest, but I quickly put one of my old shirts around you head as a gag. I rolled you over and looked into your eyes. There was a hint of fear in your baby blues, but the smile on my face seemed to quickly ease it away. I began to put my belts around the comforter as I explained to you what I was going to do to you. The fear quickly came back into you eyes as I finished tightening the last belt and turned you back on your stomach. You seemed to remain silent, waiting to see if I was actually going to go through with it. I drooled at my achievment. The belts held you so tight that you could harldy even wiggle. I locked the door to my dorm room. I went to the foot of the bed and dragged you a few inches so that you feet hung off the edge. I took one last piece of rope and tied it tightly around your ankles and then the bed frame, assuring me that you can't squirm away. Then I removed your shoes. I think that the reality of your situation set in while I slowly untied the white laces. You began to move as best you could; and I smiled when you only managed to go an inch or so. I could hear you saying something under your gag, but I promised myself I would not be tempted to listen to you, no matter what you would say. I peeled off your ankle socks next, first the left, then the right, by grabbing the toe and tugging until the sock came off slowly, reaveling your soles one small fragment at a time. Your feet were beautiful. I stared at them for a few seconds, but decided that I should finish your bondage before I stopped to relish what I was about to do. I tied each toe seperatly to the bedframe. You attempted to wiggle your feet, but found it futile. Your feet were totally immobile. I pulled my favorite recliner to the foot of the bed and thought about the implications of the situation. Your feet were extremely ticklish and completely at my mercy. Not to mention that I could keep you like this as long as I wanted. After all, Justin was gone and you couldn't make enough noise to draw anyone's attention. I imagined what it would be like to be in your situation, to be at your mercy, to be totally helpless and in the hands of someone who had no agenda. To have only one option: to be tickled for however long your torturer saw fit to tickle you. To have no means of making it stop, not by giving up some information, not by begging, and certainly not by getting away. I shuddered thinking about the posibility of your revenge, but I quickly came back to my senses. I looked you over one more time before I sat down to begin.
I brought my face to you feet and inhaled deeply. Your feet had a pleasant aroma. I kissed each sole once. I lowerd me head slightly and lightly bit the ball of you right foot. You body jolted and you let out some inaudible sound from behind you gag. I bit the ball of you left foot the same way, and you jolted again. I continued nibblind on the balls of you feet for quite some time, switching every minute or so. You jolting became attempted squirming, and you feet struggled with all their might to escape the terrible nibbling, but to no avail. Your bonds held tight and I kept biting. I could hear what I thought was laughter coming from behind your gag and it made me smile. It was working. I knew that if I untied you now, my point would have been made and you would never mess with my room again. But I was enjoying myself too much to stop. I kept it up for thirty minutes without stopping. The last few minutes, you were silent, almost wimpering with you body as you squirmed. When I stopped, you were breathing hard through her nose, laying otherwise very still on the bed. Your eyes looked exhausted. I could have stopped then, like I said before. But I realized that I really enjoyed your squirming, the power that I had over you, and even the taste of your feet. I gave you a short break and contitued, nibbling your heels this time, then your toes, then you arches. The biting was driving your crazy. After another thirty minutes, I stopped again. I offered to give you water if you promised not to speak otherwise. You agreed, and I removed the shirt and offered you a bottle of water that I had left in the fridge. You drank it furiously, obviously parched from the long half hour of laughing. You didn't make a sound. When the bottle was gone, I replaced the shirt with a fresh one. You looked at me like you had never looked at me before. Without saying a word, your eyes spoke to me in paragraphs, begging me for mercy, appologizing, and who knows what else.
I went into my closet. You watched me as best you could and renewed your squirming when you saw me open my desk drawer and pull out two eagle feathers. I sat in the recliner again, feeling the feathers with my fingers. I gave each of your soles a long lick, upward, from your toes to you heel. I bit your right heel and you jolted. I smiled and took one of the feathers and drew it slowly down your left sole. Your agony was renewed as you squimred more furiously than you had when I was biting. I repeated the action several times, very slowly, deliberately drawing the agonizing sensation out as long as I could. I switched to your right sole, making the same slow, calculated motion from your heel to your toes. Your feet were struggling again, and it was turning me on. I stopped for a few moments and licked your soles again. Then, I drew a feather down each sole at the same time with the same slow stroke as before. Your body actually lifted off the bed as you attempted to release yourself yet again. I repeated this double stroke for twenty minutes, giving you a few seconds rest between stokes. I slowly decreased the rest time between strokes until it was non-existent. You had been laughing since the first double stroke, but your laughter had changed to whimpering once again. On the last stroke, I took the feathers past you toes and started to explore the parts of your toes not covered by the string. After twenty minutes of exploring your toes, I noticed the sweat building on your forehead. I stopped and retrieved another bottle of water from the fridge. The same deal was offered, and you took the water without question, very quietly as before. When you were done, I wrapped yet another fresh shirt around your head and went back to my closet.
When you saw what I had in my hands, your eyes grew wider than I had ever seen them grow before. In my right hand I help a bottle of baby powder, and in my left, two metal forks. You started to beg beneath your gag, but I would not be distracted. I sat down in the recliner once again and applied the baby powder liberally to your feet. Your feet were now white as the powder covered every inch of your soles. To your suprise, I made another trip to my closet. I hid from you what I brought out as you struggled to see what it was. I walked over to your head and put a bandana over yours eyes. You protested from under you gag, but I didn't stop there. I placed an ear plug in each ear, rendering both you vision and your hearing useless. I thought about what my ex had told me about the senses. If taking away one sense would make someone more sensative, I figured that taking away two senses would double the effect. Instead of sitting in the recliner again, I grabbed the forks and climbed onto the bed. I sat on your ankles and began the assalt slowly, as I had done before. I raked one sole, then the other, alternating with short breaks between strokes. I sound that the fork made as it slid down your sole was wonderful. The very sound the forks made tickled my ears. I knew that you must be suffering now more than you ever have been before. This didn't stop me from increasing my strokes and using both forks at once, as I had done before. I stared at your feet from above, storking them with my weapons for a full hour without mercy. You stopped squirming after about half an hour, and I knew that you had totally submitted to the sensations. The water process repeated again once I had stopped. But to your suprise, I didn't replace the gag once you had finished the water.
I pulled a bowl of water out from under the bed. I untied your toes and washed your feet with a rag that was soaking in the bowl. You moaned as the warm water washing your feet was a pleasant change from the forks. After you feet were clean, I worshiped them. Like I said before, I liked feet, but it was far from a fetish. Your feet, however, were beautiful to me. Maybe it was because I had tortured them and watched them squirm at my mercy for the last three hours. I licked your soles, I sucked your toes, I kissed your arches. Your moans of pleasure made me smile, so I continued. Then, I dried your feet with another rad that I had lying around and rubbed your feet. I rubbed your feet for at least an hour longer. I don't know what it was, but the feeling of your beautiful feet in my hands was thrilling. After I was finished, I untied the belts and unrolled the quilt. You body was lifeless, totally exhausted. I turned you on your stomach and spent the next hour massaging your whole body. You just laid there, enjoying every second of it. Eventually, you fell asleep. I tucked you in and fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, you were still in bed, looking out the window at the beautiful blue sky. I crawled up next to you and looked into your eyes. You grabbed me and kissed me deeper than I had ever been kissed before. There was no exchange of words. Just eye contanct as we kissed. We kissed for what seemed like hours. When I dropped you off at your room later that day, after everything was over, I seemed to have concluded three things. First, that you would never mess with my room again. Second, that it didn't affect our relationship at all. We were still dating, and the kiss that we shared on the bed was indescribable. I was in love with you then, after only really knowing for a week. Those two facts made me happier than I ever thought I could have been after such an ordeal. However, there was a third, more distressing feeling that made me shudder on last time. I knew, deep in my heart, that you would get me back, and that it would be so much worse for me that it was for tou. Knowing the agony that I put you through, I spent the entire day thinking of how you were going to make it worse for me. You got my attention before, and now I had yours, and it was going to be a great year
It all started in the Activities Center. We were engaged in the same converstation concerning the faults of our roommates. Your dorm room, you claimed, was always a mess. Clothes on all the furniture, papers all over the place, and a trash can that had been full for a week. It didn't bother you a bit. In fact, you liked it that way. It was more of a home to you. It didn't bother you roommate either. Now, there are not many things in this world that really frustrate me. Getting cut off on the highway doesn't bother me that much, because I know that most people can't drive. Even people who are arrogant beyond belief, besting every statement that you make, don't bother me. I can't, however, handle slobs, and I made sure to let everyone at our table know it. I have been making my bed every day since I was in preschool. Every morning when I woke up, I made my bed and put everything in its place; it was my morning routine that I had been faithful to throughout college. A few people at our table scoffed, a few thought it was noble, but you simply giggled. I should have known that it was malicious, but at the time I didn't know you well enough to make that judgement. You gave me a quick smile, got up from the table, and headed for class. I did the same, bidding farewell and a happy weekend to everyone at the table. Seeing this, you paused by the door and waited for me. As I opened it for you, I realized that I didn't even know you name. Anne, you quickly said as you noticed my struggle. We walked to class and exchanged the short versions of our semester story as we enjoyed the beautiful Friday afternoon. Then, with you big blue eyes locked on mine, you asked me out. I was shocked. I had dated a number of girls at college, but never did a girl ask me out. The guys, unfortunately, had previously booked my evening for some guy time. One of my friends had recently been dumped, and it was time to get him back into the scene. You stunned me with a little, playful smile and changed your request to the following evening, and I accepted. Your smile grew, and you kissed my cheek and headed towards your class. I paused for a second, watching you walk away, still stunned at speed in which we went from not knowing each others' names to going on a date the following night. I took one last look at your long brown hair and proceeded to my class.
I made it through the evening unscathed. The guys and I played basketball after all our classes were out, and then went to a party at a friend's house. I was the designated driver that night, so I stayed away from the alcohol. I don't drink that much anyway, so it was a normal party night for me, dancing and talking with girls I hardly knew. After dropping the guys off, I made my way back to my dorm. I walked up the stairs and towards my room. I noticed that the door was cracked, something that I never do when I leave. Justin had gone home for the weekend, so I became suspicious. I walked in quietly, my jaw dropping as I saw what lay before me. Justin's side of the room was perfect, just as it was when I left it earlier. My side, to my dismay, was in chambles. Everything had been moved. My clothes were all over the room. My sheets were nowhere to be found. My books were stuffed randomly between dressers and couches and beds. Some of my CDs had been switched with my roommates. My underwear was clothespinned to a piece of rope that had been tied to my roommates loft, displayed for anyone who walked in to see. Even my clocks had been reset to the incorrect time. I was furious. I looked around for clues. I found a note on my desk. It was written on the back of a picture and read "Love, Anne." I turned it over and it was a picture of you holding my comforter in your hand and making the puppy-dog face. As upset as I was, that face softened my mood a little. There was no malicious intent behind the destruction. You were only trying to get my attention. I smiled and thought of how I might get your attention in return, in a way that would deter you from stretching the limits of my patience again in the future. A bundle of thougths went through my head as I put everything back where it was. I could clean your room, but that wouldn't really be punishing you. I could playfully cancel our date. If you were really interested you would quickly appologize and ask to make it up to me. Again, not really what I was looking for. Then my foot brushed up against an old pair of jeans laying on the floor. I am hopelessly ticklish everywhere, so I quickly pulled my foot away. Then it hit me. I knew then what I could do to you that would hopefully make a statement without ruining any chance that I had with you. I remembered the first time I ever saw you...
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It was the first day of second semester. I walked into the Activities Center and you were sitting on a couch with two of you friends. I had studied abroad in the fall and you were a freshman so we had not met yet. I sat close, but not close enough for you to notice me. You repeatedly threw small spitballs at your two friends, both ot which were frantically studying for an upcoming exam. After about five minutes, they looked up at each other. One of them noded, and before you knew it they were on top of you, tickling your sides and underarms. You screamed for them to stop, but they kept going. Then, one of them slid down onto your ankles and flicked your sandals off. You went nuts, begging them not to tickle your feet. You would wet yourself, you claimed. The girl smiled at you, moved back up your legs, and tickled your sides again. This went on for a few minutes, until you were reduced to an unmoving, gigling mass. One of them hugged you and they left. You sat up, came back to your senses, and started throughing spit balls at another girl.
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...I could tickle your feet. You deliberately used my pet peeve to get my attention, and i would use your worst fear against you. The date was wonderful. The prank was mentioned, but I assured her that it made me laugh. The week went by and I only saw you once, but long enough to ask you out again. When I did you kissed my cheek again. I smiled and went to class. That week went by quickly as I spent my free time trying to plan something. I planned to simply pounce on you and tickle you for as long as I can, nothing to crazy. After all, it was a one time thing. But then it happened again. I came home after an extremely long Thursday to find my room a distaster area yet again. Justin walked in a few minutes after me, only to find me still staring at what you had done. He smiled when he walked in, his side untouched again, and assured me that you were only trying to get my attention. There was another note on my desk; another picture of you, this time with a big smile on your face, as if you were telling me that your prank worked yet agin. It was then that I decided that I really needed to get your attention. I spent the next hour cleaning my room and thinking of all the diabolical ways I could make you suffer at my hands. I never really settled on a plan. I only concluded that your punishment needed to be long and intense. I did manage to contact one of my old girlfriends, though, for advice on how to tickle someone. I like feet and had tickled people before, but this girl had an outright fetish for both. Since we were still on speaking terms despite a pretty nasty breakup, I asked her about her most intense experice. She told me a story of a time when she accidentally went on a date with a guy that her roommate had a crush one. Her roommate had tied her up very tightly and tickled her feet for hours, nothing that she hadn't experienced or done to someone else before. There we special circumstances, however, that made this tickling experience the worst she ever endured. For one, she was blindfolded. She claimed that when one of her senses was taken away, the other ones became more keen, one of them being touch. The loss of vision actually made her more ticklish. And, to make matters ever worse, her toes were tied back, totally immobilizing her feet. The thought of being tickled without being able to move at all made me shudder. Yet, I knew that I needed to make a statement.
We went out the next night. I told you during dinner that I didn't have time to clean my room last night, so it was still a big mess. You decided that you would be a good girlfriend (yes, you called yourself my girlfriend and I was shocked at your persistance, yet again) and clean it for me. After all, you just wanted me to think about you. We went for a romantic walk on the brigde over the Etowah River. We kissed for the first time watching the moon rise over the water. You didn't expect a thing. We went back to my room, and when you walked in and saw that the place was clean, you were confused. Before you could say anything, I had you. In less than 10 seconds, you were wrapped tightly in my comforter, lying on your stomach on the bed, with only your head and feet sticking out. You started to protest, but I quickly put one of my old shirts around you head as a gag. I rolled you over and looked into your eyes. There was a hint of fear in your baby blues, but the smile on my face seemed to quickly ease it away. I began to put my belts around the comforter as I explained to you what I was going to do to you. The fear quickly came back into you eyes as I finished tightening the last belt and turned you back on your stomach. You seemed to remain silent, waiting to see if I was actually going to go through with it. I drooled at my achievment. The belts held you so tight that you could harldy even wiggle. I locked the door to my dorm room. I went to the foot of the bed and dragged you a few inches so that you feet hung off the edge. I took one last piece of rope and tied it tightly around your ankles and then the bed frame, assuring me that you can't squirm away. Then I removed your shoes. I think that the reality of your situation set in while I slowly untied the white laces. You began to move as best you could; and I smiled when you only managed to go an inch or so. I could hear you saying something under your gag, but I promised myself I would not be tempted to listen to you, no matter what you would say. I peeled off your ankle socks next, first the left, then the right, by grabbing the toe and tugging until the sock came off slowly, reaveling your soles one small fragment at a time. Your feet were beautiful. I stared at them for a few seconds, but decided that I should finish your bondage before I stopped to relish what I was about to do. I tied each toe seperatly to the bedframe. You attempted to wiggle your feet, but found it futile. Your feet were totally immobile. I pulled my favorite recliner to the foot of the bed and thought about the implications of the situation. Your feet were extremely ticklish and completely at my mercy. Not to mention that I could keep you like this as long as I wanted. After all, Justin was gone and you couldn't make enough noise to draw anyone's attention. I imagined what it would be like to be in your situation, to be at your mercy, to be totally helpless and in the hands of someone who had no agenda. To have only one option: to be tickled for however long your torturer saw fit to tickle you. To have no means of making it stop, not by giving up some information, not by begging, and certainly not by getting away. I shuddered thinking about the posibility of your revenge, but I quickly came back to my senses. I looked you over one more time before I sat down to begin.
I brought my face to you feet and inhaled deeply. Your feet had a pleasant aroma. I kissed each sole once. I lowerd me head slightly and lightly bit the ball of you right foot. You body jolted and you let out some inaudible sound from behind you gag. I bit the ball of you left foot the same way, and you jolted again. I continued nibblind on the balls of you feet for quite some time, switching every minute or so. You jolting became attempted squirming, and you feet struggled with all their might to escape the terrible nibbling, but to no avail. Your bonds held tight and I kept biting. I could hear what I thought was laughter coming from behind your gag and it made me smile. It was working. I knew that if I untied you now, my point would have been made and you would never mess with my room again. But I was enjoying myself too much to stop. I kept it up for thirty minutes without stopping. The last few minutes, you were silent, almost wimpering with you body as you squirmed. When I stopped, you were breathing hard through her nose, laying otherwise very still on the bed. Your eyes looked exhausted. I could have stopped then, like I said before. But I realized that I really enjoyed your squirming, the power that I had over you, and even the taste of your feet. I gave you a short break and contitued, nibbling your heels this time, then your toes, then you arches. The biting was driving your crazy. After another thirty minutes, I stopped again. I offered to give you water if you promised not to speak otherwise. You agreed, and I removed the shirt and offered you a bottle of water that I had left in the fridge. You drank it furiously, obviously parched from the long half hour of laughing. You didn't make a sound. When the bottle was gone, I replaced the shirt with a fresh one. You looked at me like you had never looked at me before. Without saying a word, your eyes spoke to me in paragraphs, begging me for mercy, appologizing, and who knows what else.
I went into my closet. You watched me as best you could and renewed your squirming when you saw me open my desk drawer and pull out two eagle feathers. I sat in the recliner again, feeling the feathers with my fingers. I gave each of your soles a long lick, upward, from your toes to you heel. I bit your right heel and you jolted. I smiled and took one of the feathers and drew it slowly down your left sole. Your agony was renewed as you squimred more furiously than you had when I was biting. I repeated the action several times, very slowly, deliberately drawing the agonizing sensation out as long as I could. I switched to your right sole, making the same slow, calculated motion from your heel to your toes. Your feet were struggling again, and it was turning me on. I stopped for a few moments and licked your soles again. Then, I drew a feather down each sole at the same time with the same slow stroke as before. Your body actually lifted off the bed as you attempted to release yourself yet again. I repeated this double stroke for twenty minutes, giving you a few seconds rest between stokes. I slowly decreased the rest time between strokes until it was non-existent. You had been laughing since the first double stroke, but your laughter had changed to whimpering once again. On the last stroke, I took the feathers past you toes and started to explore the parts of your toes not covered by the string. After twenty minutes of exploring your toes, I noticed the sweat building on your forehead. I stopped and retrieved another bottle of water from the fridge. The same deal was offered, and you took the water without question, very quietly as before. When you were done, I wrapped yet another fresh shirt around your head and went back to my closet.
When you saw what I had in my hands, your eyes grew wider than I had ever seen them grow before. In my right hand I help a bottle of baby powder, and in my left, two metal forks. You started to beg beneath your gag, but I would not be distracted. I sat down in the recliner once again and applied the baby powder liberally to your feet. Your feet were now white as the powder covered every inch of your soles. To your suprise, I made another trip to my closet. I hid from you what I brought out as you struggled to see what it was. I walked over to your head and put a bandana over yours eyes. You protested from under you gag, but I didn't stop there. I placed an ear plug in each ear, rendering both you vision and your hearing useless. I thought about what my ex had told me about the senses. If taking away one sense would make someone more sensative, I figured that taking away two senses would double the effect. Instead of sitting in the recliner again, I grabbed the forks and climbed onto the bed. I sat on your ankles and began the assalt slowly, as I had done before. I raked one sole, then the other, alternating with short breaks between strokes. I sound that the fork made as it slid down your sole was wonderful. The very sound the forks made tickled my ears. I knew that you must be suffering now more than you ever have been before. This didn't stop me from increasing my strokes and using both forks at once, as I had done before. I stared at your feet from above, storking them with my weapons for a full hour without mercy. You stopped squirming after about half an hour, and I knew that you had totally submitted to the sensations. The water process repeated again once I had stopped. But to your suprise, I didn't replace the gag once you had finished the water.
I pulled a bowl of water out from under the bed. I untied your toes and washed your feet with a rag that was soaking in the bowl. You moaned as the warm water washing your feet was a pleasant change from the forks. After you feet were clean, I worshiped them. Like I said before, I liked feet, but it was far from a fetish. Your feet, however, were beautiful to me. Maybe it was because I had tortured them and watched them squirm at my mercy for the last three hours. I licked your soles, I sucked your toes, I kissed your arches. Your moans of pleasure made me smile, so I continued. Then, I dried your feet with another rad that I had lying around and rubbed your feet. I rubbed your feet for at least an hour longer. I don't know what it was, but the feeling of your beautiful feet in my hands was thrilling. After I was finished, I untied the belts and unrolled the quilt. You body was lifeless, totally exhausted. I turned you on your stomach and spent the next hour massaging your whole body. You just laid there, enjoying every second of it. Eventually, you fell asleep. I tucked you in and fell asleep on the couch. When I woke up, you were still in bed, looking out the window at the beautiful blue sky. I crawled up next to you and looked into your eyes. You grabbed me and kissed me deeper than I had ever been kissed before. There was no exchange of words. Just eye contanct as we kissed. We kissed for what seemed like hours. When I dropped you off at your room later that day, after everything was over, I seemed to have concluded three things. First, that you would never mess with my room again. Second, that it didn't affect our relationship at all. We were still dating, and the kiss that we shared on the bed was indescribable. I was in love with you then, after only really knowing for a week. Those two facts made me happier than I ever thought I could have been after such an ordeal. However, there was a third, more distressing feeling that made me shudder on last time. I knew, deep in my heart, that you would get me back, and that it would be so much worse for me that it was for tou. Knowing the agony that I put you through, I spent the entire day thinking of how you were going to make it worse for me. You got my attention before, and now I had yours, and it was going to be a great year
