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Here's the second part of the first chapter of what I hope will be a fantasy series. This part is much more dedicated to the tickling aspect of the story, with stronger sexual context than in the first part. It picks up right where the first one left off. As before, I would greatly appreciate all criticism, positive and negative. This is my first tickle story and I believe there is always room for improvement. Without further ado, here it is, the last part, the result of a week's effort! I hope you enjoy it 🙂
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The trip was relatively short. After a series of passages, Anaís found herself in a dimly lit chamber, where the roots melded themselves into a nearby table. They took great care in binding her to the table, making sure that her arms were stretched tightly and securely over her head and that her madly wiggling feet were spread a foot from each other. Smaller branches from the table began to wrap themselves against the bindings of her feet, creating an almost stock-like effect. She screwed her eyes shut and screamed uncontrollable laughter into her gag when tiny branches began to brush between her toes as they wrapped around them, tying them back into the larger branches to keep her feet perfectly immobile and helpless.
When it was all over, bright lights illuminated the all too familiar chamber and the root that had gagged her, slowly began to move away from her mouth. Anaís knew how much the torturers loved to listen to their victims. The table was waist-high above the ground and set in the center of the circular room. The walls were covered in bark that united above her in a decorative dome. The floor was the same here as it was throughout the tower, and now, more than ever, Anaís cursed what it had done to her already unbearably sensitive soles.
Suddenly she heard naked feet echo dimly from the door somewhere behind her. Panicking, the helpless young mage struggled against the branches that bound her to the table. Not only did they not budge, but there was barely any movement on her part. Her wrists were joined above her head but her arms were spread in a diamond-shape above her, effectively preventing any resistance that would hinder the tormentor’s exploration of her extremely responsive underarms.
Anaís whimpered and tried her best to keep her frustrated tears from flowing. The footsteps were growing closer and closer. If only she had double-checked with Vynnen instead of rushing to master the wrong spell. If only she had kept her quick temper in check. It was too late now; for the next three hours, her fate was sealed. And even if she had learned the correct spell, would Professor Kara have been satisfied? It seemed that wicked professor was always out to send Anaís to this room for performing inadequately. She always tried her hardest to master new spells, but simply did not have the quickest intuition. Was it her fault? Professor Kara certainly seemed to think so.
A trembling peep escaped her lips when the door finally opened and her tormentor entered the room.
“Ah! Anaís! Back again so soon?”
She recognized the voice almost immediately. Oh gods no, she thought and whimpered again. Oh gods please no, anyone but her.
“I didn’t realize you liked it here so much,” a giggle followed the teasing voice. “You’re definitely one of my favorite playthings.”
“Cilla, Cilla, please, it wasn’t my fault this time,” Anaís desperately pleaded as she heard the bare footsteps approaching her. Cilla appeared on her left side, beaming broadly and propping her elbows on the table. Had they met under different circumstances, Anaís could have appreciated the playful beauty of Cilla’s lightly tanned face, with its smooth cheekbones and delicate nose, and her straight, layered auburn hair that tapered off away from her face at its ends. Any other conditions and Anaís would have been more than happy to have been her friend.
Seeing that pretty face now only spelled certain doom for the young mage.
“Oh I’m not interested in what you’ve done,” Cilla said and gently traced idle patterns in the table, edging that playful finger closer and closer to the naked skin of Anaís’s underarm, knowing full well what effect that teasing had on her vulnerable victim. Anaís pursed her lips together and tried to hold back the giggling whimpers that bubbled in her throat.
“All I know is that you’re down here now.”
Cilla suddenly jumped and set both of her palms flat on the table beside Anais’s underarm, giggling excitedly at the fearful squeal it loosened from her victim.
“And that I have threeeeee whole hours to play with you! Oh what fun we’ll have!”
“Pl-please, please don’t,” Anaís stammered and yelped again when her tormentor removed her hands from the table.
“But where to start… I guess right here! I’m already standing here…” Cilla raised her fingers and wiggled them right above Anaís’s helpless underarms. The psychological torment worked wonders. Anaís was already laughing before her tormenter even set her nails into those smooth, inviting hollows. She cried out and laughed harder every time Cilla brought her fingers close to them. It became a small game, one that delighted Cilla to no end. Every time she lifted her hands, Anaís would begin to plead and pant, and every time she swiftly lowered them, her captive would sputter and begin laughing. It was so fun that for a moment, Cilla wasn’t sure whether she would start the actual tickling.
But that thought only occurred for a silly moment.
Cilla lowered her nails into Anaís’s underarms and began to draw slow, raking lines from top to bottom, starting at the top again when she reached the bottom. She absolutely savored her captive’s musical screams of laughter the second her fingers made contact with the soft, yielding flesh.
“PLEHEHEHEHEHEEEASE NAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Anaís shrieked in ticklish agony as Cilla kept the pace even and unrelenting on her underarms. She could feel every single nerve titillated by the skilled tickler’s touch, fighting against her binds without budging them so much as a single inch. It was the fact that she was unable to wriggle away that made the tickling all the worse. She could have been bound and left with a little free room to squirm and perhaps it would not have been so bad on her. But her arms were fastened strong to the table and her tormentor was given complete freedom in how she chose to torture Anaís.
She used that freedom to trace a wide variety of patterns in Anaís’s tender underarms. When she was tired of mere slow lines, she began to trace slow circles, and then slow figure eights, and then spelling out words and phrases, loving how the silky skin moved under her nails and especially loving the hysterics they sent its owner into. Cilla knew her victim’s sensitive spots well and only restrained herself from unleashing complete ticklish hell because she knew how the slow, gentle scraping toyed with Anaís.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHSTAHAHAHAHAHAP IHEHEHEEEETHAHAHAHA!” Anaís screamed between peals of raucous laughter, shutting her eyes as tears now freely streamed down her face. Time seemed to be lost as her world dissolved into a flurry of precise, slowly scratching nails. She absolutely hated the steady pace of the fingernails as they played with her underarms, but hated them more because she knew their purpose. Midway through whatever complex pattern she was tracing, Cilla stopped her assault.
“Pleehee…pl-please… noho… no more…” her victim panted through stray giggles.
“But it’s barely been ten minutes, sweetie,” Cilla cooed. “I still didn’t get around to counting your ribs.”
Anais’s eyes shot open.
“Noho, no don’t, Cilla, I mehean it!”
The sudden change from pleading to demanding caused Cilla to giggle. She found it incredibly cute that Anaís thought she had a say in the matter.
“Oh but I want to. And you know where I’m going to start!”
“Cilla, pleeheeheease!” The young mage cried as she tried to buck against her restraints. Her begging fell on deaf ears as Cilla set her fingers on her underarms again, though this time with neither slowness nor gentleness. She dug her digits deep into Anaís’s soft flesh, finding the beginnings of her ribs and taking her time to firmly press and glide over every inch she could reach, driving Anaís insane in the process. The poor captive shook her head from side to side and wiggled tiredly at the bonds that still strongly held her immobile. There was nothing she could do to stop the tickling, and it was that helplessness that drove her wild most of all. All she could do was resign to her ticklish fate and laugh for as long as her cruel torturer would tickle her. From the looks of it, there was going to be no end in sight.
“I CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAKE EEEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Cilla licked her lips and giggled excitedly to herself as she dug into her victim’s sensitive skin. She was very thorough in her inspection of Anaís’s ribs, spending a good long while exploring the shape of one rib before jumping down to the next. When she reached the bottom of Anaís’s ribs, she simply began to work her way back up again, with no less enthusiasm or enjoyment than when she first started. Anaís however, was in her own personal hell. Her thoughts came and went and were soon lost entirely to her as her ribs were relentlessly assaulted by Cilla’s probing fingers. Each touch sent unbearable shocks of electrical sensations through her nerves, exploding in her brain, overwhelming her every sense and driving her to the brink of insanity. Cilla was utterly relentless, never staying in one spot for too long, tickling along her victim’s ribs with a sadistic thirst for laughter.
Blissfully, just when Anaís was sure she would lose either her mind or consciousness, Cilla stopped her onslaught. She leaned over the table and happily, almost lovingly, peered at her captive’s pink, panting face. Anaís’s hair was plastered all over her pretty face. Her entire body was coated in a shimmering layer of sweat, which ultimately worked against her. It provided Cilla with less friction and an easier time gliding over Anaís’s terribly sensitive flesh.
“N...noho more… Plehease…” the poor young mage panted. She was exhausted from the torment, unable to even attempt to thrash against her bonds anymore.
“We can’t stop now, there’s still soooooo many fun parts of you for me to play with.”
“I c…can’t… I’ll do… anything…
Cilla perked up at that. She loved when her victims began to bargain. “Anything” was usually the one commodity they were most ready to offer. Too bad she was under the employ of the tower. Had her adorable captive offered it under other circumstances, she would have most certainly taken her up on the offer. But suddenly a wicked idea ran through Cilla’s mind.
“Anything huh?” she giggled.
“Yes… anything… you want…”
“Okay then,” Cilla happily beamed. “I want to tickle you more!”
Just like that, Anaís found the strength to struggle against her bonds again.
“No! Please…” she whimpered.
“Oh but you said anything! And right now your belly just looks too yummy for me to pass up.”
Cilla happily bounced down the table to Anaís’s abdomen. She slid a hand over the moist, soft skin, enjoying the way the muscles underneath contracted under her touch. The gliding motion was all it took to get Anaís giggling again. For now, Cilla wanted to enjoy the soft melody of her victim’s giggles before she would turn it into a symphony of helpless hysteria. Anaís’s belly wasn’t her most ticklish spot, but her tormentor knew quite a few tricks that would stir her to a frenzy.
Cilla glided her nails over her victim’s abdomen again, and then some more, each time with slightly more pressure than the last.
“Plehehehease lehehehet mehehe gohohoho.” It was all Anaís could manage, too tired to resist the flurry of giggles that gushed forth. The tickling wasn’t so bad yet, but it was definitely bad enough to get a constant reaction.
“Don’t get too comfortable, sweetie. Remember what happens when I move over here?” Cilla asked as she slid her fingers from the center of Anaís’s abdomen to its soft sides.
“YEHEHEHES! DOHOHON’T TOUCH THEHEHEHEREEEEEYAHAHA!” she was able to roar before the last remnants of her light giggling became a flood of frantic laughter. Cilla squeezed the tender sides of her belly, prodding here and there. Each touch seeming to garner an equally intense reaction from her horrendously ticklish captive. Her fingers danced all over, though her favorite spot seemed to be just where the sides of her belly met her curving hips. And for good reason too.
“NAHAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEEHEHEREAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA!” Anaís howled and tried to desperately buck, using every last inch of her strength to try to wiggle her belly away from Cilla’s squeezing fingers. Her hips felt like they were on fire, aching under each ticklish burst of electricity that dominated all her other concerns. There was nothing she could do to escape. Even the light wiggling that she managed to achieve seemed only to drive her tormentor to greater heights of cruelty.
“Oh but that’s not even your most fun spot, is it?” Cilla asked when she stopped again gods know how many minutes or hours later. To Anaís, the three hour sentence might as well have been one for eternity. How much time had already passed? She was barely able to collect such thoughts from the tickling fire that surged through her every nerve, even when Cilla had stopped her assault.
“No, no, I know exactly what spot you want me to play with,” she said with another little giggle.
Tired, her throat and cheeks hurting from her unwilling laughter, Anaís could only babble incoherently in reply, which broadened Cilla’s smile when she laid both hands flat on her belly and slid them down slowly. Cilla blushed and bit her lip as she snuck her fingers below the belt of her captive’s dress. Under any other circumstance, she would have taken advantage of the warm, wet flesh below in a different way. As fate would have it however, she found just where Anaís’s thighs began to meet her lower belly and gently pressed down on the soft skin.
“CIHEHEHEHELAHA DOHOHOHOHON’T!” Anaís managed to sputter before she dissolved into uncontrollable mirth again.
“Ooooh! That certainly is a fun spot!” Cilla happily said to herself and began to firmly knead against it. She squeezed and snaked the pads of her fingers all around the tops of her captive’s thighs. Even after so much tickling, it seemed Anaís still had quite a few laughs in her, and her tormentor was determined to let them all out. The strength of her lungs did inspire quite a bit of awe in Cilla. That awe in turn inspired the cruel older mage to dish out her tickling punishments with even more zeal and speed, pressing here and there, letting her nails scratch against the insides of her victim’s thighs when she was tired of using the pads of her fingers. Each hysterical squeal and cry of laughter seemed to be louder and more powerful than the last. It was a wonder that the poor young mage was still able to speak and breathe when Cilla was satisfied with her probing of those excruciatingly receptive thighs.
“Hehehe… plehease… I’m… hehehe… dying…” was all that Anaís could whimper. She was utterly broken. Her entire body tingled with ticklish electricity, her throat was sore from laughing, and yet she knew that her hell was not yet over.
“Not yet, sweetie, there’s still one place left to play with. And soooo much time left to play with it.”
Cilla leaned in and coyly ran her teeth over her lower lip, unable to stop herself from giggling hungrily at the way Anaís’s bright, teary eyes fearfully widened, her expressive eyebrows arching upward in a silent plea for mercy.
“I just looooove tickling there. It’s my favorite spot of yours to tease,” she continued, adoring the way Anaís flinched and whimpered at her emphasis on the words tickle and tease.
“Nohoho... please… goho back to… my thihighs… anywhehere else… nohoho,” Anaís desperately struggled to say, still panting and giggling from the sensations that clung to her delicate skin. Tears stained her pretty face; her hair was a mess of wildly strewn locks.
This was Cilla’s favorite part of her job. She greedily savored Anaís’s begging, licking her lips as she let her eyes run down the length of her captive’s dress until they finally rested on the objects of her desire.
“Dohohon’t… I’ll hehe… do… anything…”
There was nothing she could say that would dissuade her tormentor. Still licking her lips, Cilla felt a rush of heat fill her body as she unhurriedly made her way down the table. There was always a delicious thrill for her when she came around the table to behold the tender bottoms of her captive’s feet. She could never get tired of it. Male or female, it never mattered to her; just seeing their shape, so vulnerably bound at her nonexistent mercy, sent shivers of hot liquid pleasure coursing through her body.
And Anaís’s feet were always a pleasure to see, no matter how many times the young mage was sent to her chamber for punishment. Seeing them now, Cilla could not help but release a quivering sigh before biting her lower lip, thinking of all the possibilities.
Anaís’s soles were a gorgeous creamy coral color, lightest at her soles and attractively pronounced along her delectable arches and heels. Cilla absolutely loved the form of her captive’s feet. They were wide at her plump, well-shaped arches, gently sloping down her elegant soles to her cute round heels that were only a touch less wide than the arches. Her soles were very smooth and pleasing, and when Cilla leaned closer to them, she could see their utter softness in every barely visible wrinkle that lined the spaces where her heels met her soles and the middles of her inviting arches. Her round little toes were flushed pink from being tied back. It was exactly how Cilla wanted those irresistible feet, completely immobile, completely defenseless.
“Please don’t… oh gohods… I’ll die… I can’t stahand it…” Anaís frantically tried to plead.
It was completely futile. Cilla gave both feet one last ravenous assessment before she let her right index finger’s nail brush down the luscious line that ran between the pads of her victim’s alluring arches. It was a good place to start.
“EEEEEEEEYAHA!” Anaís squealed as soon as the sharp nail made contact with her sole. Even that one brush, that mere taste of what was to come, tickled and scared her much more than any of the previous tickling she had suffered. Cilla licked her lips and brushed her nail against the line again, this time stroking from the bottom up.
“EEHEHAHAHAHA!” her victim frantically erupted again. “Cilla please! I’ll die! I can’t take it!”
“Oh you’ll be just fine, sweetie,” Cilla was almost breathless when she spoke. The softness of her captive’s soles never ceased to amaze her. The enchanted floors of the tower really did wonders to them, rubbing away rough spots and undetectably pampering the entirety of the foot for as long as they were walked upon. She traced her finger in a wavy pattern down Anaís's sole, marveling at how smoothly and effortlessly her nail sank into the silky, yielding skin, creating mouth-wateringly supple wrinkles in their paths of motion. With her other hand’s index finger, she dragged her nail in the opposite direction, grazing from the top of Anaís’s heel up to the top of her arch.
“NYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA DOHOHOHOHON’T!”
That second nail alone multiplied her ticklish agony. Cilla ignored, though still greatly enjoyed, her victim’s begging. She now took to consistently dragging the nails of both index fingers up and down Anaís’s extremely responsive soles. They were never in symmetric motion; when the right finger dragged up, the left finger dragged down, and vice-versa, always moving, always applying the same amount of maddening pressure, and always following the same maddening route from heel to arch. It was this formula of precise tickling that drove Anaís to the limits of her sanity. She whipped her head from side to side, fought at her bonds with newfound strength, but still could do nothing to escape the unbearable tickle torment. At every long scratch Cilla’s nails made against her sensitive soles, she still had sense enough to pray for a loss of consciousness, a loss of reason, anything that would end the maddening torture.
No such help came. Anaís’s torrents of hysterical laughter echoed around the room and through the door. If only she could wiggle her feet or scrunch her toes to at least dampen the meticulousness of her tormentor’s ruthless nails. Tears streaked her face as her sensitive feet were kept completely still under the tickle torture. Each nail-stroke sent waves of electric fire coursing through her skin, discharging peal after peal of wild, unwilling mirth. It was absolutely agonizing, and she knew that Cilla loved every second of it.
The hungry smile never left Cilla’s face as she waltzed her nails up and down Anaís’s luscious soles. It was the frenzied movements of her captive’s bound toes that were most enjoyable to watch. At every brush against her soles, Anaís’s toes desperately fought against their bonds, making no progress and instead leaving little wrinkles of effort at the tops of her arches’ pads, right where they met her toes.
“You sound like you’re having fun, but I’m sure we can do better than that, can’t we?” Cilla happily teased her victim. She suddenly stopped and, without warning, began to scribble all ten of her nails against Anaís’s feet.
“EEEYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHACILAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAICAHAHAHAHAHAHANTHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The dam had broken; Anaís exploded with hysterical laughter, even wilder and louder than before. She would have gladly returned to the slow, methodical tickling of a single nail on each sole, hell, she would have gladly returned to it for thrice as long. Anything would have been better than the havoc Cilla now wreaked on her feet. Each stroke and scratch augmented the last, drawing out wave after wave of helpless, musical laughter.
Cilla giggled to herself every time her victim attempted to plead again. Anaís could only make it to the second or third syllable before everything was lost in her gushing mirth, but time and time again she attempted to plead, curse, occupy her overwhelmed mind with anything that would lessen the torture. Every nerve at the bottoms of her feet screamed with ticklish electricity. She was lost to the sensations, unable to distinguish left from right, up from down, able only to be painfully aware of the torment that was pushing her well past the limits of her sanity.
Cilla was unrelentingly in her assault. Her heart skipped beats at every particularly loud squeal or frantic half-plead that came and was soon forgotten in the flood of her victim’s helpless mirth. The feel of Anaís’s soft, moist soles under her fingers was absolutely mouth-watering. Cilla made sure to target all the right areas. The bases of her victim’s toes, the soft wrinkles in the middle of and under her arches, all of these sensitive spots were given ample attention, increasing Anaís’s already paramount distress. Cilla’s favorite place to torture, the one spot she knew was absolutely the worst for her victim, was the soft spaces just above Anaís’s plump, round heels. When her spider-skittering nails were satisfied with their conquest, Cilla redoubled her efforts there, scratching and raking along the supple lines of those exquisite wrinkles.
“EEEEENOHOHOHOHOHOHOGEHEHEHEHEHEHETOUHAHAHAHAHAHATOFTHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Gods know for how long the punishment went on. Anaís’s conscious understanding of her surroundings was long gone; her reality had since dissolved into tickle fire that devastated her every sense. Even her own frenzied laughter sounded distant to her. It was as if she was suspended in space, aware of nothing but the excruciating sensitivity of her feet and the vicious nails that mercilessly exploited it.
As soon as Cilla was satisfied with torturing those wrinkles, she let her fingers fly all over her victim’s painfully ticklish feet. Her mouth was watering and her breath escaped in pleasurable little pants as she descended into an almost trance-like state. Cilla lost track of time, nothing else mattered but satisfying her sadistic desire to draw out as much musical laughter from her helpless victim as possible. She raked her fingers up and down Anaís’s silky soles, she scratched hungrily at her captive’s desperately trembling, bound toes. Each stroke drew waves of sweet, hysterical laughter that only made Cilla want to tickle with even more cruelty.
But blissfully, and gradually, the tickling began to slow until it finally died down.
“Oops,” Cilla giggled. “I sort of lost myself there. I think we went a little overboard.”
It was an understatement; Anaís’s once creamy coral soles were now a glowing shade of red vermillion. Her breathless panting and idle giggling was interrupted by a soft shriek as her feet flinched and tensed under her tormentor’s rubbing touch.
“Plehe… hehehe… plehease… noho… mohohore… hehe…” Anaís quietly pleaded, surprised she was able to speak the words. She couldn’t believe she had survived. Never had she undergone tickling so intense before. The longest tickling punishment she had ever experienced was just a few minutes under an hour. Just as well, it was her most brutal too, (up until this one) dished out by the same cruel mage who now soothingly rubbed her tingling feet. All she wanted now was to get off the table. She’d never talk back to her teachers again, she’d study extra hard for all of her spells, she’d do anything if it meant never having to be tickled for so long.
“Our time’s almost up anyway, sweetie,” Cilla said, not without a hint of pouty displeasure. She licked her lips and smiled softly to herself as she caressed her captive’s hot soles, quietly marveling at how soft they were, how easily and smoothly her fingers glided through the silky skin. Perspiration marked the surface of Anaís’s soles in dewy little dots of moisture.
But now that Cilla had a better grasp of herself, she couldn’t help but feel curious.
“This was our longest (and most enjoyable, she couldn’t help but think to herself) time together. Kara must have been really mad. What’d you do this time?” she asked.
Anaís swallowed hard and tried to collect her thoughts. Her body still tingled terribly, but somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that the tickling was over, even if her body didn’t register it yet.
“I… hehehe... lehearned… a spehell… shehehe… chahanged hehehe…” she said through a flow of helpless giggles.
Cilla immediately grinned to herself and didn’t need to hear anymore. Had the bitch not done the same thing when she was a mage of the first circle? Even in her second circle, the magic and combat instructor still changed plans and spells at a whim.
“So you were actually prepared this time?” Cilla was genuinely impressed, and a frown immediately followed her words. She knew Anaís wasn’t one to take initiative and learn a spell beforehand. It upset her that the poor younger mage was punished for it. Not that Cilla didn’t thoroughly enjoy the last three hours they had spent together nor did it not immediately occur to her that Anaís’s smart temper had something to do with the punishment. It just seemed wrong. Why such a penalty for a student who was finally showing improvement?
“Poor sweetie,” Cilla softly said. She was still stroking her captive’s feet, still mesmerized by their beauty. She felt Anaís could definitely use a break. Not because of the tickle torture; Cilla definitely had no regrets about that, but still… it wasn’t exactly fair for Anaís to have been sentenced so roughly. Cilla kneaded her captive’s abused flesh, stroking firmly, almost lovingly against her soles. The blushing had died down a shade lighter, though now the pearls of moisture had been rubbed into a thin sheen that covered the entirety of her soles. Cilla’s lips unconsciously parted as she rubbed Anaís’s feet, admiring the way their soft, sensual curves glistened under the light. A wicked idea suddenly entered her head, one that fanned the fire that was slowly beginning to grow below her belly.
Anaís’s panting slowly evaporated with the last of her giggles, leaving her breathing deeply as her body began to readjust. She closed her eyes and felt the last of her tears trickle down her already tear-stained cheeks. She couldn’t believe the tickling was over; that she had survived it. Her body still tingled all over, though Cilla rubbing her feet certainly did help ease the aftermath of the tickle-shocks there. She bit her lip, angry at herself for so quickly forgiving Cilla and enjoying the massaging. But from the absolute hell that her poor feet had undergone, it was exactly what she needed. Her entire body was drenched with sweat; her hair was a wild mess of tangles that stuck to her face. Anaís tried to struggle against her bonds anew but found that there was no strength to be found in any of her limbs. She was still stuck. Grudgingly, she let more of herself give into the pleasure of having her feet rubbed, though not without wariness present in the back of her mind. Those were, after all, the very same hands that had devastated the soles they were now soothing. Sighing softly, she tried to collect her thoughts and hopefully begin rebuilding the spirit that had been so methodically broken. Suddenly the rubbing stopped.
“EEEYAHA! Cilla, what are you doing!?” Anaís squealed at the sudden alien sensation that attacked the big toe of her right foot. It was wet and slick and just the slightest bit rough. It came again. Anaís screamed and bucked against her bonds, now realizing what it was.
Cilla was licking her toe.
“Please,” Anaís’s voice broke; her eyes began to fill with fresh tears. “Cilla, please… I can’t take anymore…”
“Relax, sweetie,” Cilla’s voice came soft and comforting, but was filled with something else that Anaís couldn’t quite read. “With feet as sensitive as yours, you’ll definitely enjoy this.”
Anaís bit her lip. The tongue came again, but this time without the previous speed. It lapped softly at her big toe, from the bottom up. A burst of giggles erupted from Anaís’s mouth, but there was something different this time. The sensation still tickled greatly, but was laced with another sensation that jolted and danced where Cilla’s tongue licked. Anaís squeezed her eyes shut and waited in anticipation of the next lick. She gasped her surprise when a kiss greeted her big toe instead. This time the tickling was minimal and it was the little electric dance that remained. Another kiss, stronger this time, and Anaís felt her lips part.
“Wait… Cilla… don’t…” she weakly tried to say, afraid of how the kisses felt, of what they were doing to her. Was it a spell? After the merciless tickling that her feet had suffered, it was absolutely absurd to think. But she couldn’t help but think it. The way Cilla’s lips met her toe felt… good.
I lost my mind when I was tickled, she thought to herself. It’s the only explanation. It can’t feel good… My gods after everything she did to me… There’s no way this can feel good.
Another kiss. The little jolt danced wilder and now spread to pleasantly tingle across the rest of her foot.
“Please… No…” Anaís’s face burned with humiliation. It made no sense to her. After everything her poor feet were subject to, how could it feel good? Was her mind so easily lost? Shame filled her as she tried to struggle again. Useless. Even if her arms had the strength, the bonds that immobilized her were as strong as they were when the torture had begun. Anaís held her breath. No lips came. Could Cilla finally have found her mercy?
“NYAHAH! Hah… ahh….” She immediately pursed her lips shut. The screamy laugh when Cilla’s tongue made contact with her heel was normal; it was already well established that she was extremely ticklish. But what was that that followed when the older mage licked up her sole? Did a moan pursue the laugh? Anaís was trembling now. The electricity that followed the wake of the tongue was spreading much wider now… It danced up her leg and settled between her thighs, where it teasingly remained. She was trembling as much from fear as she was from the sensation. How could she have found the feeling pleasant? What was happening to her?
When the tongue came again, Anaís’s awareness of the tickling was lost in the wave of pleasure. Cilla’s tongue began at her heel again and slowly dragged up her sole to her arches. Anaís whimpered through her pursed lips. The electricity was stronger this time; outright sparks of fire shot from her nerves, up her leg, and directly into the warm crevice that was hidden by her long dress. When Cilla licked again, even slower this time, Anaís could barely contain the sigh of pleasure that burst from her lips. Her mind wandered back to earlier that morning, when she had playfully licked at her partner’s feet. It tickled him, yes, but what would his reaction have been if she had continued? For that matter, how would she have felt if she had continued? The thought of tasting Vynnen’s feet pleasantly played with the wild sparks that flickered in her pelvis.
“Please…” she was determined not to give in. Her face and chest were bright red, her ears were ringing, and she could only hope that Cilla would spare her modesty and let her go.
It was an empty hope. Cilla lost herself the moment her tongue made contact with her captive’s toe. She licked her lips and smiled. Anaís’s soles tasted better than she imagined they would the second the dark idea planted itself in her mind. She let her tongue trail up her victim’s sole again. The saltiness of her sweat and the sweetness of her flesh combined to create an alluring, exquisite taste. Cilla licked again. Her tongue sank into the irresistibly soft skin and this time lingered on Anaís’s arches. She closed her mouth over those plump parts and let her lips sensually brush over the skin. The whimper that rose in Anaís’s throat gave way to a helpless moan. It made Cilla smile. Her captive was having as much fun as she was.
“Nyaa… haaaahhhhh… Cilla… hah… stop…” Anaís breathed when the older mage’s mouth closed over her middle two toes. She wasn’t sure if she wanted the sensations to stop now. She was past the shame, past the helplessness. All that mattered now was the warm electricity that danced from her feet to the bud between her legs that was slowly growing moister and moister. Anaís felt liquid drip from her pussy’s lips when Cilla wrapped her tongue around the toes she had in her mouth. The tongue caressed around them, between them, over them, as Cilla sucked on the pads with her mouth. Anaís made no effort to stifle the moan that drifted from her mouth this time.
The first shockwaves of an orgasm shook through her when Cilla switched feet. She couldn’t help it. As soon as Cilla’s tongue made contact with her other foot, the fresh jolts that rushed to join the growing fire deeper below her belly overwhelmed her. Anaís gasped softly as rolling waves of pleasure coursed through her pussy, shaking her entire body. All previous apprehensions were behind her now. All that Anaís wanted now was more.
And more was what she got.
Cilla licked up and down her captive’s foot, the fire in her own loins growing steadily hotter as she tasted every bit of the mouth-watering flesh. She wrapped her lips around Anaís’s toes and savored every last inch of her captive’s warm soles, which had begun to blush again as their owner climaxed again and again. Each orgasm made Anaís’s soles taste all the sweeter to Cilla, who was now using a free hand to rub her own throbbing pussy. It didn’t take long for the older mage to climax as well, with her lips around Anaís’s heel and her fingers exploring the soft expanse between her legs. Cilla gasped and moaned into her captive’s sole before she began to hungrily nibble at it, alternating between gentle bites and long, relished licks.
Anaís came once more, screaming and gasping as her wildest tremors yet shook through her. It was her last orgasm before unconsciousness finally claimed her.
Cilla glanced up, breathing deeply, and smiled when she saw Anaís’s face.
“What a day, huh?” she whispered softly and brushed some of the hair that had fallen over her face. Professor Kara’s spell still hadn’t worn off it seemed. The branches that had tied Anaís to the table remained there, infused with the woodwork. But it must have been close to its expiration time. Even a second circle mage like Cilla could dispel it with relative ease. But there was another spell she would cast first.
She prepared two circles and targeted Anaís’s head and chest. When all of the proper symbols and sigils were glowing a bright orange, Cilla willed the spell into being. The targeted areas glowed for a moment before dimming away; the spell had worked. Anaís would slowly begin to recover her wits and her strength until she was conscious again.
The next spell involved two parts. First Cilla visualized an orange circle directly in front of her, encompassing her own eyes. When those symbols were set, she willed the spell into existence and blinked away the flash of light that momentarily blinded her. When it passed, she knew it had worked because she had a clear visual of all the enchantments in the room. The floor glowed a flowing pattern of creamy beige and white, and the bindings around Anaís’s wrists, elbows, ankles, and toes, were glowing in branchy patterns of olive and green. They intertwined within each other and led under the table in their respective sides. Cilla bent down and saw the place where all the lines met, a magic circle that was pulsing faintly underneath the table. Visualizing her own circle with opposing symbols, Cilla placed it over the table’s circle and concentrated until it was bright. After a moment of channeling, her circle was glowing dimly and the other circle disappeared entirely.
She rose and smiled. The binds were uncoiling from where they bound Anaís and were dissolving into the wood of the table. Cilla couldn’t help but breathe a little “aww” when she saw the binds withdraw from Anaís’s adorable toes, leaving behind red rings in the creamy skin. The other spell began taking effect as well. Anaís stirred with a soft moan.
“Had fun?” Cilla grinned and came over to the side of the table, where she rested her elbows with her face in her hands.
“You’re… so fucking dead… when I learn more…” Anaís mumbled, panting lightly as she gingerly eased herself to a sitting position on the table.
Cilla laughed. It was her same promise every time her punishment was over. This time however, Cilla couldn’t help but notice a hint of sweetness hidden in the otherwise venomous words. Her captive definitely must have enjoyed herself.
“Drop by anytime, sweetie. I’ll be waiting,” Cilla said with a happy little wink. Anaís shuddered and slowly slid off the table, whimpering when her tender feet slapped against the floor. Its magic immediately began to send waves of gentle relief to those sensitive nerves.
Vynnen was collapsed on the bed when Anaís entered their room. He was stretched out on his back, his limbs splayed around him. Though his feet rested vulnerably in front of him, she thought better than to tickle them and potentially invite his wrath. After everything she had been through today, the last thing she wanted to think about was tickling. Vynnen lifted his head when he saw his partner come in through the door. His glasses were by the bed and his hair was attractively strewn about his forehead. From the look of it, his training with Professor Kara had been equally rough.
Without a word, she crawled under the covers by her partner’s legs, disappeared for a moment, then reappeared and on his chest where she nuzzled her head. His heart was hammering rapidly. A large part of it must have been the result of his training, but Anaís blushed and wondered just how much of it was because of her when he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her closer.
It was a while before either of them spoke.
“You okay?” Vynnen asked first, his voice just barely above a whisper.
Anaís blushed again, deeper this time, feeling the warmth spread across her face and tingle on the tips of her ears. The last minutes of her session kept replaying itself in her mind. The feeling of Cilla’s tongue on her soles just after her terrible treatment of them still tingled on the edges of the young mage’s skin. She had no idea how to answer.
“Mhm…” Anaís finally managed to murmur into his chest. “You?”
She felt his chest rise and fall with a sigh.
“She did that slow-tickle thing… between my toes and above my ribs… Ugh...”
Anaís bit her lip to stifle the giggle that bubbled in her throat. His whimper was so adorable. But her smile slowly dropped to a quiet frown when a realization dawned on her.
“Are you… mad at me?” she lifted her head to meet his gaze, and couldn’t help but blush again when she felt his heartbeat intensify the moment their eyes met.
“Mmm… no… You’re very damn hard to be mad at, you know that?”
His heart hammered all the harder at the little smile that rose on his partner’s face.
“But let’s check if you were punished enough,” he added with a grin.
Anaís’s eyes shot wide open when Vynnen released her from his hug and snaked his fingers into her underarms.
“EEEYAHAHAHAHA! VYNNEHEHAHAHA DON’T! HAHAHAHA!” she screamed with laughter and squirmed against his chest, and he laughed in turn. She was unbearably cute when she laughed.
“Yeah you didn’t last long at all just now. You’ve definitely learned your lesson down there,” Vynnen said with a grin and finally stopped. She plopped back down on his chest and slapped feebly at his shoulder.
“You’re… a dick…” Anaís giggled weakly, but felt strange that this time, despite her protests, she didn’t really want him to have ended the tickling so quickly. Her own heartbeat picked up. She was thinking about Cilla again. Her thoughts came and raced in a jumble of emotions and sensations. Had her tormentor not been so rough, would she have enjoyed the gentle tickling of that tongue on her feet even more? She curled her toes at the thought and bit her lip as even more questions began to dance in her mind.
“Umm… Vynnen?” Anaís whispered. He looked down, a little puzzled at the timid tone of his partner’s voice. She rose from his chest and he saw the bright glow of red that was flushed across her pretty face. Anaís’s every movement was one of self-conscious shyness as she crawled down the bed away from him and then sat to face him. It took him a moment to understand. Vynnen’s breath caught in his throat when Anaís turned her face away, but lifted one bare foot and gently let her heel rest on his chest, nervously wiggling her toes toward her smitten partner’s face, particularly at his now half-open mouth. She turned back to him, her face still blushing, and nibbled her lower lip.
“There’s… something I wanna try...”
----
--
-------------------
The trip was relatively short. After a series of passages, Anaís found herself in a dimly lit chamber, where the roots melded themselves into a nearby table. They took great care in binding her to the table, making sure that her arms were stretched tightly and securely over her head and that her madly wiggling feet were spread a foot from each other. Smaller branches from the table began to wrap themselves against the bindings of her feet, creating an almost stock-like effect. She screwed her eyes shut and screamed uncontrollable laughter into her gag when tiny branches began to brush between her toes as they wrapped around them, tying them back into the larger branches to keep her feet perfectly immobile and helpless.
When it was all over, bright lights illuminated the all too familiar chamber and the root that had gagged her, slowly began to move away from her mouth. Anaís knew how much the torturers loved to listen to their victims. The table was waist-high above the ground and set in the center of the circular room. The walls were covered in bark that united above her in a decorative dome. The floor was the same here as it was throughout the tower, and now, more than ever, Anaís cursed what it had done to her already unbearably sensitive soles.
Suddenly she heard naked feet echo dimly from the door somewhere behind her. Panicking, the helpless young mage struggled against the branches that bound her to the table. Not only did they not budge, but there was barely any movement on her part. Her wrists were joined above her head but her arms were spread in a diamond-shape above her, effectively preventing any resistance that would hinder the tormentor’s exploration of her extremely responsive underarms.
Anaís whimpered and tried her best to keep her frustrated tears from flowing. The footsteps were growing closer and closer. If only she had double-checked with Vynnen instead of rushing to master the wrong spell. If only she had kept her quick temper in check. It was too late now; for the next three hours, her fate was sealed. And even if she had learned the correct spell, would Professor Kara have been satisfied? It seemed that wicked professor was always out to send Anaís to this room for performing inadequately. She always tried her hardest to master new spells, but simply did not have the quickest intuition. Was it her fault? Professor Kara certainly seemed to think so.
A trembling peep escaped her lips when the door finally opened and her tormentor entered the room.
“Ah! Anaís! Back again so soon?”
She recognized the voice almost immediately. Oh gods no, she thought and whimpered again. Oh gods please no, anyone but her.
“I didn’t realize you liked it here so much,” a giggle followed the teasing voice. “You’re definitely one of my favorite playthings.”
“Cilla, Cilla, please, it wasn’t my fault this time,” Anaís desperately pleaded as she heard the bare footsteps approaching her. Cilla appeared on her left side, beaming broadly and propping her elbows on the table. Had they met under different circumstances, Anaís could have appreciated the playful beauty of Cilla’s lightly tanned face, with its smooth cheekbones and delicate nose, and her straight, layered auburn hair that tapered off away from her face at its ends. Any other conditions and Anaís would have been more than happy to have been her friend.
Seeing that pretty face now only spelled certain doom for the young mage.
“Oh I’m not interested in what you’ve done,” Cilla said and gently traced idle patterns in the table, edging that playful finger closer and closer to the naked skin of Anaís’s underarm, knowing full well what effect that teasing had on her vulnerable victim. Anaís pursed her lips together and tried to hold back the giggling whimpers that bubbled in her throat.
“All I know is that you’re down here now.”
Cilla suddenly jumped and set both of her palms flat on the table beside Anais’s underarm, giggling excitedly at the fearful squeal it loosened from her victim.
“And that I have threeeeee whole hours to play with you! Oh what fun we’ll have!”
“Pl-please, please don’t,” Anaís stammered and yelped again when her tormentor removed her hands from the table.
“But where to start… I guess right here! I’m already standing here…” Cilla raised her fingers and wiggled them right above Anaís’s helpless underarms. The psychological torment worked wonders. Anaís was already laughing before her tormenter even set her nails into those smooth, inviting hollows. She cried out and laughed harder every time Cilla brought her fingers close to them. It became a small game, one that delighted Cilla to no end. Every time she lifted her hands, Anaís would begin to plead and pant, and every time she swiftly lowered them, her captive would sputter and begin laughing. It was so fun that for a moment, Cilla wasn’t sure whether she would start the actual tickling.
But that thought only occurred for a silly moment.
Cilla lowered her nails into Anaís’s underarms and began to draw slow, raking lines from top to bottom, starting at the top again when she reached the bottom. She absolutely savored her captive’s musical screams of laughter the second her fingers made contact with the soft, yielding flesh.
“PLEHEHEHEHEHEEEASE NAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Anaís shrieked in ticklish agony as Cilla kept the pace even and unrelenting on her underarms. She could feel every single nerve titillated by the skilled tickler’s touch, fighting against her binds without budging them so much as a single inch. It was the fact that she was unable to wriggle away that made the tickling all the worse. She could have been bound and left with a little free room to squirm and perhaps it would not have been so bad on her. But her arms were fastened strong to the table and her tormentor was given complete freedom in how she chose to torture Anaís.
She used that freedom to trace a wide variety of patterns in Anaís’s tender underarms. When she was tired of mere slow lines, she began to trace slow circles, and then slow figure eights, and then spelling out words and phrases, loving how the silky skin moved under her nails and especially loving the hysterics they sent its owner into. Cilla knew her victim’s sensitive spots well and only restrained herself from unleashing complete ticklish hell because she knew how the slow, gentle scraping toyed with Anaís.
“AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHSTAHAHAHAHAHAP IHEHEHEEEETHAHAHAHA!” Anaís screamed between peals of raucous laughter, shutting her eyes as tears now freely streamed down her face. Time seemed to be lost as her world dissolved into a flurry of precise, slowly scratching nails. She absolutely hated the steady pace of the fingernails as they played with her underarms, but hated them more because she knew their purpose. Midway through whatever complex pattern she was tracing, Cilla stopped her assault.
“Pleehee…pl-please… noho… no more…” her victim panted through stray giggles.
“But it’s barely been ten minutes, sweetie,” Cilla cooed. “I still didn’t get around to counting your ribs.”
Anais’s eyes shot open.
“Noho, no don’t, Cilla, I mehean it!”
The sudden change from pleading to demanding caused Cilla to giggle. She found it incredibly cute that Anaís thought she had a say in the matter.
“Oh but I want to. And you know where I’m going to start!”
“Cilla, pleeheeheease!” The young mage cried as she tried to buck against her restraints. Her begging fell on deaf ears as Cilla set her fingers on her underarms again, though this time with neither slowness nor gentleness. She dug her digits deep into Anaís’s soft flesh, finding the beginnings of her ribs and taking her time to firmly press and glide over every inch she could reach, driving Anaís insane in the process. The poor captive shook her head from side to side and wiggled tiredly at the bonds that still strongly held her immobile. There was nothing she could do to stop the tickling, and it was that helplessness that drove her wild most of all. All she could do was resign to her ticklish fate and laugh for as long as her cruel torturer would tickle her. From the looks of it, there was going to be no end in sight.
“I CAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAN’T TAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAKE EEEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Cilla licked her lips and giggled excitedly to herself as she dug into her victim’s sensitive skin. She was very thorough in her inspection of Anaís’s ribs, spending a good long while exploring the shape of one rib before jumping down to the next. When she reached the bottom of Anaís’s ribs, she simply began to work her way back up again, with no less enthusiasm or enjoyment than when she first started. Anaís however, was in her own personal hell. Her thoughts came and went and were soon lost entirely to her as her ribs were relentlessly assaulted by Cilla’s probing fingers. Each touch sent unbearable shocks of electrical sensations through her nerves, exploding in her brain, overwhelming her every sense and driving her to the brink of insanity. Cilla was utterly relentless, never staying in one spot for too long, tickling along her victim’s ribs with a sadistic thirst for laughter.
Blissfully, just when Anaís was sure she would lose either her mind or consciousness, Cilla stopped her onslaught. She leaned over the table and happily, almost lovingly, peered at her captive’s pink, panting face. Anaís’s hair was plastered all over her pretty face. Her entire body was coated in a shimmering layer of sweat, which ultimately worked against her. It provided Cilla with less friction and an easier time gliding over Anaís’s terribly sensitive flesh.
“N...noho more… Plehease…” the poor young mage panted. She was exhausted from the torment, unable to even attempt to thrash against her bonds anymore.
“We can’t stop now, there’s still soooooo many fun parts of you for me to play with.”
“I c…can’t… I’ll do… anything…
Cilla perked up at that. She loved when her victims began to bargain. “Anything” was usually the one commodity they were most ready to offer. Too bad she was under the employ of the tower. Had her adorable captive offered it under other circumstances, she would have most certainly taken her up on the offer. But suddenly a wicked idea ran through Cilla’s mind.
“Anything huh?” she giggled.
“Yes… anything… you want…”
“Okay then,” Cilla happily beamed. “I want to tickle you more!”
Just like that, Anaís found the strength to struggle against her bonds again.
“No! Please…” she whimpered.
“Oh but you said anything! And right now your belly just looks too yummy for me to pass up.”
Cilla happily bounced down the table to Anaís’s abdomen. She slid a hand over the moist, soft skin, enjoying the way the muscles underneath contracted under her touch. The gliding motion was all it took to get Anaís giggling again. For now, Cilla wanted to enjoy the soft melody of her victim’s giggles before she would turn it into a symphony of helpless hysteria. Anaís’s belly wasn’t her most ticklish spot, but her tormentor knew quite a few tricks that would stir her to a frenzy.
Cilla glided her nails over her victim’s abdomen again, and then some more, each time with slightly more pressure than the last.
“Plehehehease lehehehet mehehe gohohoho.” It was all Anaís could manage, too tired to resist the flurry of giggles that gushed forth. The tickling wasn’t so bad yet, but it was definitely bad enough to get a constant reaction.
“Don’t get too comfortable, sweetie. Remember what happens when I move over here?” Cilla asked as she slid her fingers from the center of Anaís’s abdomen to its soft sides.
“YEHEHEHES! DOHOHON’T TOUCH THEHEHEHEREEEEEYAHAHA!” she was able to roar before the last remnants of her light giggling became a flood of frantic laughter. Cilla squeezed the tender sides of her belly, prodding here and there. Each touch seeming to garner an equally intense reaction from her horrendously ticklish captive. Her fingers danced all over, though her favorite spot seemed to be just where the sides of her belly met her curving hips. And for good reason too.
“NAHAHAHAHAHAT THEHEHEHEEHEHEREAHAHAAHAHAHAHAHA!” Anaís howled and tried to desperately buck, using every last inch of her strength to try to wiggle her belly away from Cilla’s squeezing fingers. Her hips felt like they were on fire, aching under each ticklish burst of electricity that dominated all her other concerns. There was nothing she could do to escape. Even the light wiggling that she managed to achieve seemed only to drive her tormentor to greater heights of cruelty.
“Oh but that’s not even your most fun spot, is it?” Cilla asked when she stopped again gods know how many minutes or hours later. To Anaís, the three hour sentence might as well have been one for eternity. How much time had already passed? She was barely able to collect such thoughts from the tickling fire that surged through her every nerve, even when Cilla had stopped her assault.
“No, no, I know exactly what spot you want me to play with,” she said with another little giggle.
Tired, her throat and cheeks hurting from her unwilling laughter, Anaís could only babble incoherently in reply, which broadened Cilla’s smile when she laid both hands flat on her belly and slid them down slowly. Cilla blushed and bit her lip as she snuck her fingers below the belt of her captive’s dress. Under any other circumstance, she would have taken advantage of the warm, wet flesh below in a different way. As fate would have it however, she found just where Anaís’s thighs began to meet her lower belly and gently pressed down on the soft skin.
“CIHEHEHEHELAHA DOHOHOHOHON’T!” Anaís managed to sputter before she dissolved into uncontrollable mirth again.
“Ooooh! That certainly is a fun spot!” Cilla happily said to herself and began to firmly knead against it. She squeezed and snaked the pads of her fingers all around the tops of her captive’s thighs. Even after so much tickling, it seemed Anaís still had quite a few laughs in her, and her tormentor was determined to let them all out. The strength of her lungs did inspire quite a bit of awe in Cilla. That awe in turn inspired the cruel older mage to dish out her tickling punishments with even more zeal and speed, pressing here and there, letting her nails scratch against the insides of her victim’s thighs when she was tired of using the pads of her fingers. Each hysterical squeal and cry of laughter seemed to be louder and more powerful than the last. It was a wonder that the poor young mage was still able to speak and breathe when Cilla was satisfied with her probing of those excruciatingly receptive thighs.
“Hehehe… plehease… I’m… hehehe… dying…” was all that Anaís could whimper. She was utterly broken. Her entire body tingled with ticklish electricity, her throat was sore from laughing, and yet she knew that her hell was not yet over.
“Not yet, sweetie, there’s still one place left to play with. And soooo much time left to play with it.”
Cilla leaned in and coyly ran her teeth over her lower lip, unable to stop herself from giggling hungrily at the way Anaís’s bright, teary eyes fearfully widened, her expressive eyebrows arching upward in a silent plea for mercy.
“I just looooove tickling there. It’s my favorite spot of yours to tease,” she continued, adoring the way Anaís flinched and whimpered at her emphasis on the words tickle and tease.
“Nohoho... please… goho back to… my thihighs… anywhehere else… nohoho,” Anaís desperately struggled to say, still panting and giggling from the sensations that clung to her delicate skin. Tears stained her pretty face; her hair was a mess of wildly strewn locks.
This was Cilla’s favorite part of her job. She greedily savored Anaís’s begging, licking her lips as she let her eyes run down the length of her captive’s dress until they finally rested on the objects of her desire.
“Dohohon’t… I’ll hehe… do… anything…”
There was nothing she could say that would dissuade her tormentor. Still licking her lips, Cilla felt a rush of heat fill her body as she unhurriedly made her way down the table. There was always a delicious thrill for her when she came around the table to behold the tender bottoms of her captive’s feet. She could never get tired of it. Male or female, it never mattered to her; just seeing their shape, so vulnerably bound at her nonexistent mercy, sent shivers of hot liquid pleasure coursing through her body.
And Anaís’s feet were always a pleasure to see, no matter how many times the young mage was sent to her chamber for punishment. Seeing them now, Cilla could not help but release a quivering sigh before biting her lower lip, thinking of all the possibilities.
Anaís’s soles were a gorgeous creamy coral color, lightest at her soles and attractively pronounced along her delectable arches and heels. Cilla absolutely loved the form of her captive’s feet. They were wide at her plump, well-shaped arches, gently sloping down her elegant soles to her cute round heels that were only a touch less wide than the arches. Her soles were very smooth and pleasing, and when Cilla leaned closer to them, she could see their utter softness in every barely visible wrinkle that lined the spaces where her heels met her soles and the middles of her inviting arches. Her round little toes were flushed pink from being tied back. It was exactly how Cilla wanted those irresistible feet, completely immobile, completely defenseless.
“Please don’t… oh gohods… I’ll die… I can’t stahand it…” Anaís frantically tried to plead.
It was completely futile. Cilla gave both feet one last ravenous assessment before she let her right index finger’s nail brush down the luscious line that ran between the pads of her victim’s alluring arches. It was a good place to start.
“EEEEEEEEYAHA!” Anaís squealed as soon as the sharp nail made contact with her sole. Even that one brush, that mere taste of what was to come, tickled and scared her much more than any of the previous tickling she had suffered. Cilla licked her lips and brushed her nail against the line again, this time stroking from the bottom up.
“EEHEHAHAHAHA!” her victim frantically erupted again. “Cilla please! I’ll die! I can’t take it!”
“Oh you’ll be just fine, sweetie,” Cilla was almost breathless when she spoke. The softness of her captive’s soles never ceased to amaze her. The enchanted floors of the tower really did wonders to them, rubbing away rough spots and undetectably pampering the entirety of the foot for as long as they were walked upon. She traced her finger in a wavy pattern down Anaís's sole, marveling at how smoothly and effortlessly her nail sank into the silky, yielding skin, creating mouth-wateringly supple wrinkles in their paths of motion. With her other hand’s index finger, she dragged her nail in the opposite direction, grazing from the top of Anaís’s heel up to the top of her arch.
“NYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA DOHOHOHOHON’T!”
That second nail alone multiplied her ticklish agony. Cilla ignored, though still greatly enjoyed, her victim’s begging. She now took to consistently dragging the nails of both index fingers up and down Anaís’s extremely responsive soles. They were never in symmetric motion; when the right finger dragged up, the left finger dragged down, and vice-versa, always moving, always applying the same amount of maddening pressure, and always following the same maddening route from heel to arch. It was this formula of precise tickling that drove Anaís to the limits of her sanity. She whipped her head from side to side, fought at her bonds with newfound strength, but still could do nothing to escape the unbearable tickle torment. At every long scratch Cilla’s nails made against her sensitive soles, she still had sense enough to pray for a loss of consciousness, a loss of reason, anything that would end the maddening torture.
No such help came. Anaís’s torrents of hysterical laughter echoed around the room and through the door. If only she could wiggle her feet or scrunch her toes to at least dampen the meticulousness of her tormentor’s ruthless nails. Tears streaked her face as her sensitive feet were kept completely still under the tickle torture. Each nail-stroke sent waves of electric fire coursing through her skin, discharging peal after peal of wild, unwilling mirth. It was absolutely agonizing, and she knew that Cilla loved every second of it.
The hungry smile never left Cilla’s face as she waltzed her nails up and down Anaís’s luscious soles. It was the frenzied movements of her captive’s bound toes that were most enjoyable to watch. At every brush against her soles, Anaís’s toes desperately fought against their bonds, making no progress and instead leaving little wrinkles of effort at the tops of her arches’ pads, right where they met her toes.
“You sound like you’re having fun, but I’m sure we can do better than that, can’t we?” Cilla happily teased her victim. She suddenly stopped and, without warning, began to scribble all ten of her nails against Anaís’s feet.
“EEEYAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHACILAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAICAHAHAHAHAHAHANTHAHAHAHAHAHA!” The dam had broken; Anaís exploded with hysterical laughter, even wilder and louder than before. She would have gladly returned to the slow, methodical tickling of a single nail on each sole, hell, she would have gladly returned to it for thrice as long. Anything would have been better than the havoc Cilla now wreaked on her feet. Each stroke and scratch augmented the last, drawing out wave after wave of helpless, musical laughter.
Cilla giggled to herself every time her victim attempted to plead again. Anaís could only make it to the second or third syllable before everything was lost in her gushing mirth, but time and time again she attempted to plead, curse, occupy her overwhelmed mind with anything that would lessen the torture. Every nerve at the bottoms of her feet screamed with ticklish electricity. She was lost to the sensations, unable to distinguish left from right, up from down, able only to be painfully aware of the torment that was pushing her well past the limits of her sanity.
Cilla was unrelentingly in her assault. Her heart skipped beats at every particularly loud squeal or frantic half-plead that came and was soon forgotten in the flood of her victim’s helpless mirth. The feel of Anaís’s soft, moist soles under her fingers was absolutely mouth-watering. Cilla made sure to target all the right areas. The bases of her victim’s toes, the soft wrinkles in the middle of and under her arches, all of these sensitive spots were given ample attention, increasing Anaís’s already paramount distress. Cilla’s favorite place to torture, the one spot she knew was absolutely the worst for her victim, was the soft spaces just above Anaís’s plump, round heels. When her spider-skittering nails were satisfied with their conquest, Cilla redoubled her efforts there, scratching and raking along the supple lines of those exquisite wrinkles.
“EEEEENOHOHOHOHOHOHOGEHEHEHEHEHEHETOUHAHAHAHAHAHATOFTHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Gods know for how long the punishment went on. Anaís’s conscious understanding of her surroundings was long gone; her reality had since dissolved into tickle fire that devastated her every sense. Even her own frenzied laughter sounded distant to her. It was as if she was suspended in space, aware of nothing but the excruciating sensitivity of her feet and the vicious nails that mercilessly exploited it.
As soon as Cilla was satisfied with torturing those wrinkles, she let her fingers fly all over her victim’s painfully ticklish feet. Her mouth was watering and her breath escaped in pleasurable little pants as she descended into an almost trance-like state. Cilla lost track of time, nothing else mattered but satisfying her sadistic desire to draw out as much musical laughter from her helpless victim as possible. She raked her fingers up and down Anaís’s silky soles, she scratched hungrily at her captive’s desperately trembling, bound toes. Each stroke drew waves of sweet, hysterical laughter that only made Cilla want to tickle with even more cruelty.
But blissfully, and gradually, the tickling began to slow until it finally died down.
“Oops,” Cilla giggled. “I sort of lost myself there. I think we went a little overboard.”
It was an understatement; Anaís’s once creamy coral soles were now a glowing shade of red vermillion. Her breathless panting and idle giggling was interrupted by a soft shriek as her feet flinched and tensed under her tormentor’s rubbing touch.
“Plehe… hehehe… plehease… noho… mohohore… hehe…” Anaís quietly pleaded, surprised she was able to speak the words. She couldn’t believe she had survived. Never had she undergone tickling so intense before. The longest tickling punishment she had ever experienced was just a few minutes under an hour. Just as well, it was her most brutal too, (up until this one) dished out by the same cruel mage who now soothingly rubbed her tingling feet. All she wanted now was to get off the table. She’d never talk back to her teachers again, she’d study extra hard for all of her spells, she’d do anything if it meant never having to be tickled for so long.
“Our time’s almost up anyway, sweetie,” Cilla said, not without a hint of pouty displeasure. She licked her lips and smiled softly to herself as she caressed her captive’s hot soles, quietly marveling at how soft they were, how easily and smoothly her fingers glided through the silky skin. Perspiration marked the surface of Anaís’s soles in dewy little dots of moisture.
But now that Cilla had a better grasp of herself, she couldn’t help but feel curious.
“This was our longest (and most enjoyable, she couldn’t help but think to herself) time together. Kara must have been really mad. What’d you do this time?” she asked.
Anaís swallowed hard and tried to collect her thoughts. Her body still tingled terribly, but somewhere in the back of her mind she was aware that the tickling was over, even if her body didn’t register it yet.
“I… hehehe... lehearned… a spehell… shehehe… chahanged hehehe…” she said through a flow of helpless giggles.
Cilla immediately grinned to herself and didn’t need to hear anymore. Had the bitch not done the same thing when she was a mage of the first circle? Even in her second circle, the magic and combat instructor still changed plans and spells at a whim.
“So you were actually prepared this time?” Cilla was genuinely impressed, and a frown immediately followed her words. She knew Anaís wasn’t one to take initiative and learn a spell beforehand. It upset her that the poor younger mage was punished for it. Not that Cilla didn’t thoroughly enjoy the last three hours they had spent together nor did it not immediately occur to her that Anaís’s smart temper had something to do with the punishment. It just seemed wrong. Why such a penalty for a student who was finally showing improvement?
“Poor sweetie,” Cilla softly said. She was still stroking her captive’s feet, still mesmerized by their beauty. She felt Anaís could definitely use a break. Not because of the tickle torture; Cilla definitely had no regrets about that, but still… it wasn’t exactly fair for Anaís to have been sentenced so roughly. Cilla kneaded her captive’s abused flesh, stroking firmly, almost lovingly against her soles. The blushing had died down a shade lighter, though now the pearls of moisture had been rubbed into a thin sheen that covered the entirety of her soles. Cilla’s lips unconsciously parted as she rubbed Anaís’s feet, admiring the way their soft, sensual curves glistened under the light. A wicked idea suddenly entered her head, one that fanned the fire that was slowly beginning to grow below her belly.
Anaís’s panting slowly evaporated with the last of her giggles, leaving her breathing deeply as her body began to readjust. She closed her eyes and felt the last of her tears trickle down her already tear-stained cheeks. She couldn’t believe the tickling was over; that she had survived it. Her body still tingled all over, though Cilla rubbing her feet certainly did help ease the aftermath of the tickle-shocks there. She bit her lip, angry at herself for so quickly forgiving Cilla and enjoying the massaging. But from the absolute hell that her poor feet had undergone, it was exactly what she needed. Her entire body was drenched with sweat; her hair was a wild mess of tangles that stuck to her face. Anaís tried to struggle against her bonds anew but found that there was no strength to be found in any of her limbs. She was still stuck. Grudgingly, she let more of herself give into the pleasure of having her feet rubbed, though not without wariness present in the back of her mind. Those were, after all, the very same hands that had devastated the soles they were now soothing. Sighing softly, she tried to collect her thoughts and hopefully begin rebuilding the spirit that had been so methodically broken. Suddenly the rubbing stopped.
“EEEYAHA! Cilla, what are you doing!?” Anaís squealed at the sudden alien sensation that attacked the big toe of her right foot. It was wet and slick and just the slightest bit rough. It came again. Anaís screamed and bucked against her bonds, now realizing what it was.
Cilla was licking her toe.
“Please,” Anaís’s voice broke; her eyes began to fill with fresh tears. “Cilla, please… I can’t take anymore…”
“Relax, sweetie,” Cilla’s voice came soft and comforting, but was filled with something else that Anaís couldn’t quite read. “With feet as sensitive as yours, you’ll definitely enjoy this.”
Anaís bit her lip. The tongue came again, but this time without the previous speed. It lapped softly at her big toe, from the bottom up. A burst of giggles erupted from Anaís’s mouth, but there was something different this time. The sensation still tickled greatly, but was laced with another sensation that jolted and danced where Cilla’s tongue licked. Anaís squeezed her eyes shut and waited in anticipation of the next lick. She gasped her surprise when a kiss greeted her big toe instead. This time the tickling was minimal and it was the little electric dance that remained. Another kiss, stronger this time, and Anaís felt her lips part.
“Wait… Cilla… don’t…” she weakly tried to say, afraid of how the kisses felt, of what they were doing to her. Was it a spell? After the merciless tickling that her feet had suffered, it was absolutely absurd to think. But she couldn’t help but think it. The way Cilla’s lips met her toe felt… good.
I lost my mind when I was tickled, she thought to herself. It’s the only explanation. It can’t feel good… My gods after everything she did to me… There’s no way this can feel good.
Another kiss. The little jolt danced wilder and now spread to pleasantly tingle across the rest of her foot.
“Please… No…” Anaís’s face burned with humiliation. It made no sense to her. After everything her poor feet were subject to, how could it feel good? Was her mind so easily lost? Shame filled her as she tried to struggle again. Useless. Even if her arms had the strength, the bonds that immobilized her were as strong as they were when the torture had begun. Anaís held her breath. No lips came. Could Cilla finally have found her mercy?
“NYAHAH! Hah… ahh….” She immediately pursed her lips shut. The screamy laugh when Cilla’s tongue made contact with her heel was normal; it was already well established that she was extremely ticklish. But what was that that followed when the older mage licked up her sole? Did a moan pursue the laugh? Anaís was trembling now. The electricity that followed the wake of the tongue was spreading much wider now… It danced up her leg and settled between her thighs, where it teasingly remained. She was trembling as much from fear as she was from the sensation. How could she have found the feeling pleasant? What was happening to her?
When the tongue came again, Anaís’s awareness of the tickling was lost in the wave of pleasure. Cilla’s tongue began at her heel again and slowly dragged up her sole to her arches. Anaís whimpered through her pursed lips. The electricity was stronger this time; outright sparks of fire shot from her nerves, up her leg, and directly into the warm crevice that was hidden by her long dress. When Cilla licked again, even slower this time, Anaís could barely contain the sigh of pleasure that burst from her lips. Her mind wandered back to earlier that morning, when she had playfully licked at her partner’s feet. It tickled him, yes, but what would his reaction have been if she had continued? For that matter, how would she have felt if she had continued? The thought of tasting Vynnen’s feet pleasantly played with the wild sparks that flickered in her pelvis.
“Please…” she was determined not to give in. Her face and chest were bright red, her ears were ringing, and she could only hope that Cilla would spare her modesty and let her go.
It was an empty hope. Cilla lost herself the moment her tongue made contact with her captive’s toe. She licked her lips and smiled. Anaís’s soles tasted better than she imagined they would the second the dark idea planted itself in her mind. She let her tongue trail up her victim’s sole again. The saltiness of her sweat and the sweetness of her flesh combined to create an alluring, exquisite taste. Cilla licked again. Her tongue sank into the irresistibly soft skin and this time lingered on Anaís’s arches. She closed her mouth over those plump parts and let her lips sensually brush over the skin. The whimper that rose in Anaís’s throat gave way to a helpless moan. It made Cilla smile. Her captive was having as much fun as she was.
“Nyaa… haaaahhhhh… Cilla… hah… stop…” Anaís breathed when the older mage’s mouth closed over her middle two toes. She wasn’t sure if she wanted the sensations to stop now. She was past the shame, past the helplessness. All that mattered now was the warm electricity that danced from her feet to the bud between her legs that was slowly growing moister and moister. Anaís felt liquid drip from her pussy’s lips when Cilla wrapped her tongue around the toes she had in her mouth. The tongue caressed around them, between them, over them, as Cilla sucked on the pads with her mouth. Anaís made no effort to stifle the moan that drifted from her mouth this time.
The first shockwaves of an orgasm shook through her when Cilla switched feet. She couldn’t help it. As soon as Cilla’s tongue made contact with her other foot, the fresh jolts that rushed to join the growing fire deeper below her belly overwhelmed her. Anaís gasped softly as rolling waves of pleasure coursed through her pussy, shaking her entire body. All previous apprehensions were behind her now. All that Anaís wanted now was more.
And more was what she got.
Cilla licked up and down her captive’s foot, the fire in her own loins growing steadily hotter as she tasted every bit of the mouth-watering flesh. She wrapped her lips around Anaís’s toes and savored every last inch of her captive’s warm soles, which had begun to blush again as their owner climaxed again and again. Each orgasm made Anaís’s soles taste all the sweeter to Cilla, who was now using a free hand to rub her own throbbing pussy. It didn’t take long for the older mage to climax as well, with her lips around Anaís’s heel and her fingers exploring the soft expanse between her legs. Cilla gasped and moaned into her captive’s sole before she began to hungrily nibble at it, alternating between gentle bites and long, relished licks.
Anaís came once more, screaming and gasping as her wildest tremors yet shook through her. It was her last orgasm before unconsciousness finally claimed her.
Cilla glanced up, breathing deeply, and smiled when she saw Anaís’s face.
“What a day, huh?” she whispered softly and brushed some of the hair that had fallen over her face. Professor Kara’s spell still hadn’t worn off it seemed. The branches that had tied Anaís to the table remained there, infused with the woodwork. But it must have been close to its expiration time. Even a second circle mage like Cilla could dispel it with relative ease. But there was another spell she would cast first.
She prepared two circles and targeted Anaís’s head and chest. When all of the proper symbols and sigils were glowing a bright orange, Cilla willed the spell into being. The targeted areas glowed for a moment before dimming away; the spell had worked. Anaís would slowly begin to recover her wits and her strength until she was conscious again.
The next spell involved two parts. First Cilla visualized an orange circle directly in front of her, encompassing her own eyes. When those symbols were set, she willed the spell into existence and blinked away the flash of light that momentarily blinded her. When it passed, she knew it had worked because she had a clear visual of all the enchantments in the room. The floor glowed a flowing pattern of creamy beige and white, and the bindings around Anaís’s wrists, elbows, ankles, and toes, were glowing in branchy patterns of olive and green. They intertwined within each other and led under the table in their respective sides. Cilla bent down and saw the place where all the lines met, a magic circle that was pulsing faintly underneath the table. Visualizing her own circle with opposing symbols, Cilla placed it over the table’s circle and concentrated until it was bright. After a moment of channeling, her circle was glowing dimly and the other circle disappeared entirely.
She rose and smiled. The binds were uncoiling from where they bound Anaís and were dissolving into the wood of the table. Cilla couldn’t help but breathe a little “aww” when she saw the binds withdraw from Anaís’s adorable toes, leaving behind red rings in the creamy skin. The other spell began taking effect as well. Anaís stirred with a soft moan.
“Had fun?” Cilla grinned and came over to the side of the table, where she rested her elbows with her face in her hands.
“You’re… so fucking dead… when I learn more…” Anaís mumbled, panting lightly as she gingerly eased herself to a sitting position on the table.
Cilla laughed. It was her same promise every time her punishment was over. This time however, Cilla couldn’t help but notice a hint of sweetness hidden in the otherwise venomous words. Her captive definitely must have enjoyed herself.
“Drop by anytime, sweetie. I’ll be waiting,” Cilla said with a happy little wink. Anaís shuddered and slowly slid off the table, whimpering when her tender feet slapped against the floor. Its magic immediately began to send waves of gentle relief to those sensitive nerves.
Vynnen was collapsed on the bed when Anaís entered their room. He was stretched out on his back, his limbs splayed around him. Though his feet rested vulnerably in front of him, she thought better than to tickle them and potentially invite his wrath. After everything she had been through today, the last thing she wanted to think about was tickling. Vynnen lifted his head when he saw his partner come in through the door. His glasses were by the bed and his hair was attractively strewn about his forehead. From the look of it, his training with Professor Kara had been equally rough.
Without a word, she crawled under the covers by her partner’s legs, disappeared for a moment, then reappeared and on his chest where she nuzzled her head. His heart was hammering rapidly. A large part of it must have been the result of his training, but Anaís blushed and wondered just how much of it was because of her when he wrapped his arms around her and hugged her closer.
It was a while before either of them spoke.
“You okay?” Vynnen asked first, his voice just barely above a whisper.
Anaís blushed again, deeper this time, feeling the warmth spread across her face and tingle on the tips of her ears. The last minutes of her session kept replaying itself in her mind. The feeling of Cilla’s tongue on her soles just after her terrible treatment of them still tingled on the edges of the young mage’s skin. She had no idea how to answer.
“Mhm…” Anaís finally managed to murmur into his chest. “You?”
She felt his chest rise and fall with a sigh.
“She did that slow-tickle thing… between my toes and above my ribs… Ugh...”
Anaís bit her lip to stifle the giggle that bubbled in her throat. His whimper was so adorable. But her smile slowly dropped to a quiet frown when a realization dawned on her.
“Are you… mad at me?” she lifted her head to meet his gaze, and couldn’t help but blush again when she felt his heartbeat intensify the moment their eyes met.
“Mmm… no… You’re very damn hard to be mad at, you know that?”
His heart hammered all the harder at the little smile that rose on his partner’s face.
“But let’s check if you were punished enough,” he added with a grin.
Anaís’s eyes shot wide open when Vynnen released her from his hug and snaked his fingers into her underarms.
“EEEYAHAHAHAHA! VYNNEHEHAHAHA DON’T! HAHAHAHA!” she screamed with laughter and squirmed against his chest, and he laughed in turn. She was unbearably cute when she laughed.
“Yeah you didn’t last long at all just now. You’ve definitely learned your lesson down there,” Vynnen said with a grin and finally stopped. She plopped back down on his chest and slapped feebly at his shoulder.
“You’re… a dick…” Anaís giggled weakly, but felt strange that this time, despite her protests, she didn’t really want him to have ended the tickling so quickly. Her own heartbeat picked up. She was thinking about Cilla again. Her thoughts came and raced in a jumble of emotions and sensations. Had her tormentor not been so rough, would she have enjoyed the gentle tickling of that tongue on her feet even more? She curled her toes at the thought and bit her lip as even more questions began to dance in her mind.
“Umm… Vynnen?” Anaís whispered. He looked down, a little puzzled at the timid tone of his partner’s voice. She rose from his chest and he saw the bright glow of red that was flushed across her pretty face. Anaís’s every movement was one of self-conscious shyness as she crawled down the bed away from him and then sat to face him. It took him a moment to understand. Vynnen’s breath caught in his throat when Anaís turned her face away, but lifted one bare foot and gently let her heel rest on his chest, nervously wiggling her toes toward her smitten partner’s face, particularly at his now half-open mouth. She turned back to him, her face still blushing, and nibbled her lower lip.
“There’s… something I wanna try...”
