tkl-pen
1st Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Dec 30, 2001
- Messages
- 2,001
- Points
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THE HOUSE OF LAUGHING TEARS
PART 2 - TRACY
It had been a good flying day for Tracy, a small blonde flight attendant who had been
working several flights on each of the three days she had been away. Now, as she walked
to her little Jeep in the staff parking lot at the airport, she was looking forward to getting
home to her apartment, a good night’s sleep and five days off until her next flight
assignment. She had told her boyfriend that she would need some downtime but that she
would see him in a couple of days. She wanted to rest, catch up on some television
shows she had missed while she was away, do some chores around the apartment and
perhaps go shopping on Friday, the following day.
Tracy was a very pretty, small and blonde woman, whose looks did not even come close
to her thirty-two years of age. She looked like she was in her early twenties, likely
because of her excellent diet and exercise at the local college. Even in training at the
airline, she was always the one chosen to be a little girl in the role play scenarios. At a
height of only five feet two inches, she was one of the smaller flight attendants in the
company.
As she approached her car, a large 4-wheel drive Jeep Commander stopped behind her
vehicle and two big men in navy blue uniforms stepped out while the driver remained in
the car. Thinking they were police or security officers, Tracy approached them to talk to
them and find out if there was a problem, perhaps with her car. Suddenly, one of the two
men grabbed her, spun her around and placed a moist cloth over her mouth and nose
before she even had a chance to scream. The second man took hold of her legs and she
felt herself lifted into the back seat of the Commander before she blacked out. They had
been thoroughly trained in the abduction of young women and had captured many of them
previously.
Tracy woke up to the familiar intermittent thud of aircraft tires crossing the seams and
cracks in the pavement of an airport taxiway. She opened her eyes to find herself flat on
her back on a special bench in a private jet. Her wrists were secured in leather restraints
over her head, her ankles were secured in leather restraints at the foot end and her waist
was held down by a leather restraint over her stomach. She had been stripped down to
her panties. She wanted to scream but a gag in her mouth prevented her from making any
but the smallest of sounds. To her left, on the other side of the aircraft, she saw another
girl, a small brunette in her early twenties, similarly strapped down and unconscious.
Behind her, lifting her head and straining, she could see another girl, a pretty blonde, also
in her twenties, strapped down on another bench and out cold. She tried to pull her arms
and legs free but that was to no avail with the strength of the restraints holding her. She
dropped her head back down onto the soft leather surface of the bench.
She looked out the tinted window to her right and she could see the familiar sight of the
traffic on the road that passed by the airport near the end of the main runway. There was
nothing she could do as she felt the private jet turn onto the main runway and then start its
take-off run, accelerating faster and faster. It felt odd to travel foot-first in her position,
as she felt her feet lift up and her head drop down as the aircraft lifted its nose into the air.
A few moments later, the aircraft turned to the right and she could see the lights of the
city as the plane climbed into the darkness of the night. Unknown to her, she had been
given an injection to make her sleep during the flight and soon after leaving the city she
fell into unconsciousness one again. The chloroform in the parking lot only put her out
for a short time to abduct her and take her to the airplane while the injection was to put
her to sleep for the entire flight of some eight or nine hours, a flight that would take her
and the other girls to a private island somewhere in the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
When she awakened, Tracy found herself in a beautiful, soft bed with satin sheets and
big, soft pillows. The large, glass door of the veranda was slightly open and she could
feel and smell the tropical breeze that swept through the room. A table near the
full-height glass windows had a breakfast tray and a carafe of coffee waiting for her. She
had no idea what was happening to her. She had been abducted, stripped and strapped
down in a private jet. Now, she woke up in a fabulous tropical setting that even the finest
hotels would be unable to match. She got up out of the bed and noticed that she now
wore a beautiful short nightie. She noticed the marble-floored bathroom with its sunken
bath nearby and went to relieve herself. She then looked around the room and found that
it had a sliding door that would not open for her. She also saw a heavy, multi-strap
leather whip on a hook near the door.
She noticed an envelope with the breakfast tray, opened it and read the card inside that
instructed her to have breakfast and to get dressed in one of the outfits located in the
wardrobe near the bathroom, if she did not want to become more familiar with the leather
whip by the door. She did as she was instructed. The breakfast was fabulous, with a
carafe of hot Kona coffee, freshly-baked croissants and fresh fruit. She didn’t even know
how hungry she was until she started to eat her breakfast.
After she finished eating, as if someone had been watching her, the door slid open and a
man’s voice instructed her to face the window and not to look at him. He had a powerful
and commanding voice and Tracy did exactly as she was told. She could sense the man
behind her as he told her to put her hands behind her back. She felt the cold metal of the
handcuffs as he placed them around her wrists. He then forced her to walk toward the
door, always behind her and to the side, propelling her forward by her left arm. He told
her to be quiet and to obey him.
The man took her down a lengthy hallway and down a wide, curved staircase, through a
great central room, into the long hallway of another wing of the house. As they walked
down the hallway, she noticed that the floors were marble and cold on her bare feet. All
she wore was the simple yellow silk dress that she had found in the wardrobe in her room.
Although she had looked for underwear, there had been no bras or panties to be found.
She was completely naked but for the short silk dress that she wore.
A door on the left side of the hallway slid open and the man escorted her into the room.
As soon as she saw the inside of the room, she tried to turn around but the man’s grip on
her upper left arm held her tightly. He again told her to be quiet, with the threat of
gagging her, as she almost instantly took in her surroundings. There were several devices
that were designed to hold a girl in the most compromising positions she could imagine.
It was a modern-day torture chamber.
The man forced her forward toward a large red chair. It didn’t look like a regular chair,
though. The man forced her onto the seat and turned her to the left as he lifted her legs
onto a ledge in front of her. There were two padded half circles into which he placed her
ankles and then he lowered a top portion with matching half circles over top of her
ankles, locking them securely into, as she now realized, footstocks. He then removed the
handcuffs and fastened her wrists into leather restraints on either side of the chair, by her
hips but attached to the seat bottom. Lastly, he placed a lap belt around her waist.
“Why are you doing this to me,” she asked the man.
“You were told to be quiet and not to speak,” he responded, “now I’ll have to gag you.”
Tracy watched in horror as she saw the gag the man intended to put into her mouth. It
looked like a large dildo made of soft plastic that she knew was going to fill her mouth
and go right back into her throat. There were straps attached to it that would secure it in
place. She tried to plead and to struggle, but the second she opened her mouth to plead
with him, he pushed it deeply inside. He then lifted her long blonde hair and buckled the
straps behind her head. Tracy wanted to cry but something inside her held her tears back.
The man left the room and the door slid shut behind him.
The door opened again some twenty minutes later. Tracy, of course, had been unable to
move even though she had fought against the restraints with all of her might. An older,
well-dressed man came into the room. He was slightly over six feet in height with
graying hair, brown eyes and a tanned skin color. He was clearly a powerful man with an
air of authority about him. She thought she recognized him but she wasn’t really sure.
“Well, Tracy,” he said, with a slight accent, “when I invited you to come with me several
years ago, you not only turned me down but you refused me publicly in a most
embarrassing manner. I had thought that we were becoming quite well acquainted at that
time but clearly my feelings for you were not reciprocated. I was quite hurt by that, but
even more so by the way you turned me down in front of some sixty others who knew
both of us. This time, though, I have an invitation that you simply can’t refuse, an
invitation by private jet to my estate here on a Pacific island.
“Please allow me to sit down,” he said, as he seated himself near her feet on a wheeled
stool of the type used in medical and dental offices, “it would be rude of me to remain
standing while you are sitting down, especially since I have set aside several hours to
spend with you and a couple of other young ladies who were on your flight.”
“My, what pretty feet you have,” he taunted, showing her the two large colorful feathers
in his hands, one in the left and one in the right, “I’ll bet they are ticklish. I wonder,
though, if they taste as good as they look.”
Tracy bit into the gag as she saw his face approach her right foot, even though only the
toes were visible over the top of the foot stocks holding her ankles. He inhaled deeply as
he took in the very delicate aroma of her foot. She stiffened her entire body as she felt his
fingers softly cross the heel and instep of her foot. He licked her heel softly and gently,
making her very uncomfortable but not screaming into her gag with laughter. After a few
seconds, he lightly bit her heel, almost nibbling on it. Then he ran his fingernails over the
bottom of heel, up onto the soft instep of her foot and around the sides and back of her
heel, causing her to laugh into her gag and roll her head from side to side. Then he went
back to licking her heel, nibbling on it and repeating the process, patiently, lingeringly
and lovingly. She clenched her fists and tried to flex her feet as the sensations became
more and more intense. The touch of his tongue, his teeth and his fingers were so light it
was agonizing for her. She tried to talk, to plead, anything - but that horrible dildo in her
mouth kept her virtually soundless.
Next, he moved to the side of her foot, the outside with the soft fleshy edge, and nibbled
on the fleshy portion while delicately tickling her instep with his fingers. He then moved
his fingers back to the sides of her heel while he again proceeded to lick the bottom of her
heel. Tracy fought her restraints with all her might but she could only remain in position
and endure the sensations that were firing through her nervous system and into her brain.
She laughed and bit into the gag. She threw her head back into the soft red leather of the
back of the chair and rolled it from side to side as the tickling continued.
He took hold of her toes with his left hand, preventing her from flexing her foot, and
stroked the fingers of his right hand over the smooth skin of her instep. He did that a
number of times while continuously returning to lick and nibble at her heel. Then, while
nibbling the heel of her right foot, he began to tickle the heel of her left foot with his free
right hand. Before long, he was licking and biting that heel and the side of that foot, too.
It was agony for Tracy, made even worse by the fact that she couldn’t even scream, and it
went on and on and on. It was only half an hour or so, but it seemed a lot longer to the
hapless young woman strapped to the tickling chair.
Then he began to stroke the two big feathers he had across the delicate insteps of her feet,
both of them at the same time. She arched her back and threw her head back with the
terrible new sensations she felt. Every so often, he would run the feathers through the
spaces between her toes, the hollows underneath and even over the tops of her feet. Tracy
squirmed and struggled, bit and mewled into the gag, clenched her fists and pulled at the
leather restraints. Sometimes, he would lick and bite her heels while tickling her toes and
the balls of her feet. By now, the tears were flowing down the sides of her face as the
tickling torture became a tickle hell for her, overwhelming every response she couldn’t
even think of making. Finally, after a long hour of the terrible tickling torture, he
stopped. She fought for her breath, slowly getting it back, wanting to tell him how sorry
she was if only that gag wasn’t in her mouth. She was a sweaty, tear-stained mess with
her blonde hair stuck to her face from all of her struggling.
“That, Tracy,” said the man, “was just to welcome you to this island, to share a few
laughs with you, like I had so wanted to do when I invited you out the first time. Now,
however, I think we should move to the first part of your punishment for turning me
down and embarrassing me so badly several years ago.”
He brought an attachment for the foot stocks into view and snapped it in place on top. He
then pulled out a ring for each of her toes and working slowly and carefully secured all
ten of her toes. She realized that she couldn’t even flex her toes anymore and the soft
skin on the soles of her feet was now stretched tightly. She then saw the black leather
riding crop in his hand.
“Have you ever heard of the falaka,” he asked her, as he tapped the riding crop in his
hand, ‘the whipping of the soles of a girl’s feet for disobedience or disrespect in the
Middle East?”
Tracy shook her head negatively, trying to plead for him not to torture her anymore.
“I have made a decision, Tracy,” he told her, “that for the first part of your punishment, I
am going to give you forty strokes of the falaka - twenty on the sole of each foot. Perhaps
then you will come to realize how intensely I feel and how badly I was offended by the
things you did to me.”
Almost immediately, she felt the first stroke on the sole of her right foot. Amazingly, at
least to her, it didn’t even hurt. It was a slight little sting and nothing more. He didn’t
strike her very hard, of course, but he knew that he didn’t have to hit her very hard since
each stroke would build upon the one before it. The second, third and fourth stroke
followed with a few seconds between each one. When the fifth one landed on the very
sensitive sole of her right foot, she winced. It had started to get painful. By the sixth
stroke, she started to cry. He never hit her with more than a firm tap to the sole of her
foot but the pain built into a crescendo of agony. He continued his whipping of her right
foot to the tenth stroke and then moved to her left foot.
Once again, he carefully whipped the delicate instep of her left foot with one single stroke
at a time. And again, she started to cry by the sixth stroke. It was terrible. The man was
so patient and so deliberate with each stroke. Any movement was impossible because of
her position in the chair and the restraints holding her. Any pleading or begging was
impossible because of the huge dildo gag that filled her entire mouth. All she had were
pain and tears, tears which flowed freely down her face.
After the tenth stroke, he moved to her right foot again for another five strokes, each of
which was agonizingly worse than the one before it. Then, back to her left foot for a set
of five more strokes. Lastly, he completed her falaka punishment with the final five
strokes to her right foot and then her left. By the time he was done, Tracy was a sweaty,
tear-stained mess.
The man gently lifted her long blonde hair and unclipped the buckle behind her head. He
carefully removed the big dildo gag from her mouth and wiped off the saliva with a
cleaning cloth. Tracy couldn’t speak, even with the gag taken out of her mouth. She
turned her head to the side and softly told him she was sorry. So softly, in fact, that he
could hardly make it out. He brought a bowl of cool water and a face towel into view,
dipped the towel into the water and gently wiped the sweat and tears from Tracy’s face
and neck. It felt so good to her. He then moved back to the stool by her feet and
carefully washed her feet with the cool water. When he was done, he simply got up and
left the room through the sliding door.
PART 2 - TRACY
It had been a good flying day for Tracy, a small blonde flight attendant who had been
working several flights on each of the three days she had been away. Now, as she walked
to her little Jeep in the staff parking lot at the airport, she was looking forward to getting
home to her apartment, a good night’s sleep and five days off until her next flight
assignment. She had told her boyfriend that she would need some downtime but that she
would see him in a couple of days. She wanted to rest, catch up on some television
shows she had missed while she was away, do some chores around the apartment and
perhaps go shopping on Friday, the following day.
Tracy was a very pretty, small and blonde woman, whose looks did not even come close
to her thirty-two years of age. She looked like she was in her early twenties, likely
because of her excellent diet and exercise at the local college. Even in training at the
airline, she was always the one chosen to be a little girl in the role play scenarios. At a
height of only five feet two inches, she was one of the smaller flight attendants in the
company.
As she approached her car, a large 4-wheel drive Jeep Commander stopped behind her
vehicle and two big men in navy blue uniforms stepped out while the driver remained in
the car. Thinking they were police or security officers, Tracy approached them to talk to
them and find out if there was a problem, perhaps with her car. Suddenly, one of the two
men grabbed her, spun her around and placed a moist cloth over her mouth and nose
before she even had a chance to scream. The second man took hold of her legs and she
felt herself lifted into the back seat of the Commander before she blacked out. They had
been thoroughly trained in the abduction of young women and had captured many of them
previously.
Tracy woke up to the familiar intermittent thud of aircraft tires crossing the seams and
cracks in the pavement of an airport taxiway. She opened her eyes to find herself flat on
her back on a special bench in a private jet. Her wrists were secured in leather restraints
over her head, her ankles were secured in leather restraints at the foot end and her waist
was held down by a leather restraint over her stomach. She had been stripped down to
her panties. She wanted to scream but a gag in her mouth prevented her from making any
but the smallest of sounds. To her left, on the other side of the aircraft, she saw another
girl, a small brunette in her early twenties, similarly strapped down and unconscious.
Behind her, lifting her head and straining, she could see another girl, a pretty blonde, also
in her twenties, strapped down on another bench and out cold. She tried to pull her arms
and legs free but that was to no avail with the strength of the restraints holding her. She
dropped her head back down onto the soft leather surface of the bench.
She looked out the tinted window to her right and she could see the familiar sight of the
traffic on the road that passed by the airport near the end of the main runway. There was
nothing she could do as she felt the private jet turn onto the main runway and then start its
take-off run, accelerating faster and faster. It felt odd to travel foot-first in her position,
as she felt her feet lift up and her head drop down as the aircraft lifted its nose into the air.
A few moments later, the aircraft turned to the right and she could see the lights of the
city as the plane climbed into the darkness of the night. Unknown to her, she had been
given an injection to make her sleep during the flight and soon after leaving the city she
fell into unconsciousness one again. The chloroform in the parking lot only put her out
for a short time to abduct her and take her to the airplane while the injection was to put
her to sleep for the entire flight of some eight or nine hours, a flight that would take her
and the other girls to a private island somewhere in the vast expanse of the Pacific Ocean.
When she awakened, Tracy found herself in a beautiful, soft bed with satin sheets and
big, soft pillows. The large, glass door of the veranda was slightly open and she could
feel and smell the tropical breeze that swept through the room. A table near the
full-height glass windows had a breakfast tray and a carafe of coffee waiting for her. She
had no idea what was happening to her. She had been abducted, stripped and strapped
down in a private jet. Now, she woke up in a fabulous tropical setting that even the finest
hotels would be unable to match. She got up out of the bed and noticed that she now
wore a beautiful short nightie. She noticed the marble-floored bathroom with its sunken
bath nearby and went to relieve herself. She then looked around the room and found that
it had a sliding door that would not open for her. She also saw a heavy, multi-strap
leather whip on a hook near the door.
She noticed an envelope with the breakfast tray, opened it and read the card inside that
instructed her to have breakfast and to get dressed in one of the outfits located in the
wardrobe near the bathroom, if she did not want to become more familiar with the leather
whip by the door. She did as she was instructed. The breakfast was fabulous, with a
carafe of hot Kona coffee, freshly-baked croissants and fresh fruit. She didn’t even know
how hungry she was until she started to eat her breakfast.
After she finished eating, as if someone had been watching her, the door slid open and a
man’s voice instructed her to face the window and not to look at him. He had a powerful
and commanding voice and Tracy did exactly as she was told. She could sense the man
behind her as he told her to put her hands behind her back. She felt the cold metal of the
handcuffs as he placed them around her wrists. He then forced her to walk toward the
door, always behind her and to the side, propelling her forward by her left arm. He told
her to be quiet and to obey him.
The man took her down a lengthy hallway and down a wide, curved staircase, through a
great central room, into the long hallway of another wing of the house. As they walked
down the hallway, she noticed that the floors were marble and cold on her bare feet. All
she wore was the simple yellow silk dress that she had found in the wardrobe in her room.
Although she had looked for underwear, there had been no bras or panties to be found.
She was completely naked but for the short silk dress that she wore.
A door on the left side of the hallway slid open and the man escorted her into the room.
As soon as she saw the inside of the room, she tried to turn around but the man’s grip on
her upper left arm held her tightly. He again told her to be quiet, with the threat of
gagging her, as she almost instantly took in her surroundings. There were several devices
that were designed to hold a girl in the most compromising positions she could imagine.
It was a modern-day torture chamber.
The man forced her forward toward a large red chair. It didn’t look like a regular chair,
though. The man forced her onto the seat and turned her to the left as he lifted her legs
onto a ledge in front of her. There were two padded half circles into which he placed her
ankles and then he lowered a top portion with matching half circles over top of her
ankles, locking them securely into, as she now realized, footstocks. He then removed the
handcuffs and fastened her wrists into leather restraints on either side of the chair, by her
hips but attached to the seat bottom. Lastly, he placed a lap belt around her waist.
“Why are you doing this to me,” she asked the man.
“You were told to be quiet and not to speak,” he responded, “now I’ll have to gag you.”
Tracy watched in horror as she saw the gag the man intended to put into her mouth. It
looked like a large dildo made of soft plastic that she knew was going to fill her mouth
and go right back into her throat. There were straps attached to it that would secure it in
place. She tried to plead and to struggle, but the second she opened her mouth to plead
with him, he pushed it deeply inside. He then lifted her long blonde hair and buckled the
straps behind her head. Tracy wanted to cry but something inside her held her tears back.
The man left the room and the door slid shut behind him.
The door opened again some twenty minutes later. Tracy, of course, had been unable to
move even though she had fought against the restraints with all of her might. An older,
well-dressed man came into the room. He was slightly over six feet in height with
graying hair, brown eyes and a tanned skin color. He was clearly a powerful man with an
air of authority about him. She thought she recognized him but she wasn’t really sure.
“Well, Tracy,” he said, with a slight accent, “when I invited you to come with me several
years ago, you not only turned me down but you refused me publicly in a most
embarrassing manner. I had thought that we were becoming quite well acquainted at that
time but clearly my feelings for you were not reciprocated. I was quite hurt by that, but
even more so by the way you turned me down in front of some sixty others who knew
both of us. This time, though, I have an invitation that you simply can’t refuse, an
invitation by private jet to my estate here on a Pacific island.
“Please allow me to sit down,” he said, as he seated himself near her feet on a wheeled
stool of the type used in medical and dental offices, “it would be rude of me to remain
standing while you are sitting down, especially since I have set aside several hours to
spend with you and a couple of other young ladies who were on your flight.”
“My, what pretty feet you have,” he taunted, showing her the two large colorful feathers
in his hands, one in the left and one in the right, “I’ll bet they are ticklish. I wonder,
though, if they taste as good as they look.”
Tracy bit into the gag as she saw his face approach her right foot, even though only the
toes were visible over the top of the foot stocks holding her ankles. He inhaled deeply as
he took in the very delicate aroma of her foot. She stiffened her entire body as she felt his
fingers softly cross the heel and instep of her foot. He licked her heel softly and gently,
making her very uncomfortable but not screaming into her gag with laughter. After a few
seconds, he lightly bit her heel, almost nibbling on it. Then he ran his fingernails over the
bottom of heel, up onto the soft instep of her foot and around the sides and back of her
heel, causing her to laugh into her gag and roll her head from side to side. Then he went
back to licking her heel, nibbling on it and repeating the process, patiently, lingeringly
and lovingly. She clenched her fists and tried to flex her feet as the sensations became
more and more intense. The touch of his tongue, his teeth and his fingers were so light it
was agonizing for her. She tried to talk, to plead, anything - but that horrible dildo in her
mouth kept her virtually soundless.
Next, he moved to the side of her foot, the outside with the soft fleshy edge, and nibbled
on the fleshy portion while delicately tickling her instep with his fingers. He then moved
his fingers back to the sides of her heel while he again proceeded to lick the bottom of her
heel. Tracy fought her restraints with all her might but she could only remain in position
and endure the sensations that were firing through her nervous system and into her brain.
She laughed and bit into the gag. She threw her head back into the soft red leather of the
back of the chair and rolled it from side to side as the tickling continued.
He took hold of her toes with his left hand, preventing her from flexing her foot, and
stroked the fingers of his right hand over the smooth skin of her instep. He did that a
number of times while continuously returning to lick and nibble at her heel. Then, while
nibbling the heel of her right foot, he began to tickle the heel of her left foot with his free
right hand. Before long, he was licking and biting that heel and the side of that foot, too.
It was agony for Tracy, made even worse by the fact that she couldn’t even scream, and it
went on and on and on. It was only half an hour or so, but it seemed a lot longer to the
hapless young woman strapped to the tickling chair.
Then he began to stroke the two big feathers he had across the delicate insteps of her feet,
both of them at the same time. She arched her back and threw her head back with the
terrible new sensations she felt. Every so often, he would run the feathers through the
spaces between her toes, the hollows underneath and even over the tops of her feet. Tracy
squirmed and struggled, bit and mewled into the gag, clenched her fists and pulled at the
leather restraints. Sometimes, he would lick and bite her heels while tickling her toes and
the balls of her feet. By now, the tears were flowing down the sides of her face as the
tickling torture became a tickle hell for her, overwhelming every response she couldn’t
even think of making. Finally, after a long hour of the terrible tickling torture, he
stopped. She fought for her breath, slowly getting it back, wanting to tell him how sorry
she was if only that gag wasn’t in her mouth. She was a sweaty, tear-stained mess with
her blonde hair stuck to her face from all of her struggling.
“That, Tracy,” said the man, “was just to welcome you to this island, to share a few
laughs with you, like I had so wanted to do when I invited you out the first time. Now,
however, I think we should move to the first part of your punishment for turning me
down and embarrassing me so badly several years ago.”
He brought an attachment for the foot stocks into view and snapped it in place on top. He
then pulled out a ring for each of her toes and working slowly and carefully secured all
ten of her toes. She realized that she couldn’t even flex her toes anymore and the soft
skin on the soles of her feet was now stretched tightly. She then saw the black leather
riding crop in his hand.
“Have you ever heard of the falaka,” he asked her, as he tapped the riding crop in his
hand, ‘the whipping of the soles of a girl’s feet for disobedience or disrespect in the
Middle East?”
Tracy shook her head negatively, trying to plead for him not to torture her anymore.
“I have made a decision, Tracy,” he told her, “that for the first part of your punishment, I
am going to give you forty strokes of the falaka - twenty on the sole of each foot. Perhaps
then you will come to realize how intensely I feel and how badly I was offended by the
things you did to me.”
Almost immediately, she felt the first stroke on the sole of her right foot. Amazingly, at
least to her, it didn’t even hurt. It was a slight little sting and nothing more. He didn’t
strike her very hard, of course, but he knew that he didn’t have to hit her very hard since
each stroke would build upon the one before it. The second, third and fourth stroke
followed with a few seconds between each one. When the fifth one landed on the very
sensitive sole of her right foot, she winced. It had started to get painful. By the sixth
stroke, she started to cry. He never hit her with more than a firm tap to the sole of her
foot but the pain built into a crescendo of agony. He continued his whipping of her right
foot to the tenth stroke and then moved to her left foot.
Once again, he carefully whipped the delicate instep of her left foot with one single stroke
at a time. And again, she started to cry by the sixth stroke. It was terrible. The man was
so patient and so deliberate with each stroke. Any movement was impossible because of
her position in the chair and the restraints holding her. Any pleading or begging was
impossible because of the huge dildo gag that filled her entire mouth. All she had were
pain and tears, tears which flowed freely down her face.
After the tenth stroke, he moved to her right foot again for another five strokes, each of
which was agonizingly worse than the one before it. Then, back to her left foot for a set
of five more strokes. Lastly, he completed her falaka punishment with the final five
strokes to her right foot and then her left. By the time he was done, Tracy was a sweaty,
tear-stained mess.
The man gently lifted her long blonde hair and unclipped the buckle behind her head. He
carefully removed the big dildo gag from her mouth and wiped off the saliva with a
cleaning cloth. Tracy couldn’t speak, even with the gag taken out of her mouth. She
turned her head to the side and softly told him she was sorry. So softly, in fact, that he
could hardly make it out. He brought a bowl of cool water and a face towel into view,
dipped the towel into the water and gently wiped the sweat and tears from Tracy’s face
and neck. It felt so good to her. He then moved back to the stool by her feet and
carefully washed her feet with the cool water. When he was done, he simply got up and
left the room through the sliding door.
