Featherscape
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Featherscape's July Poll Update!
🕑 Added 2023-07-29 02:17:09 +0000 UTCF**/F (me), 18+, NSFW
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"Touch grass."
As overplayed as the sentiment had become, it’s still decent advice. I had found myself working off of a streak that had put me in a place to desperately need such an unburdened connection. I planned the event out several days in advance after meeting several crucial deadlines. I packed a small lunch for myself, picked out a comfortable little sundress to wear, cleaned myself up from my usual disheveled state under which I write, and headed out to my favorite park in my area.
Wilson Park is a beautiful little piece of land. While lacking in shady trees, it makes up for in plots of bright, green grass that stretch clean and wide. Several walkways with benches wind through the area, usually meeting at areas with monuments detailing some historical significance of the site. Fountains spray water and give a calming presence to the park’s soundscape. The play areas are colorful and whimsical. The birds always seem to be chirping when I come around. It had long since become one of my own personal getaways, and now I need it more than ever.
I walk deep into the park, far enough to get an actual walk in for the day. I distance myself from my car until I can no longer see it. I find a nice, shady area beneath a lone tree. The park is relatively empty, with a few others out enjoying the landscape. A mother plays with her son on the playground, an elderly couple walk side by side down one of the winding sidewalks, and a single biker whizzes by to be gone in a flash. I take a seat beneath the old oak, propping my back up with the trunk. I set my bag to the side and simply absorb the moment. I breathe deeply, taking in the scents of the flowers around me and the warm, basking blanket of heat from the day. I slip off my flip flops and let the sun-baked grass brush against my soles. Steadily, I guide myself through relaxation exercises to unwind from the weeks prior. The park is quiet and peaceful. For a moment I feel as if I could simply fall asleep where I sit.
I open my eyes after several deep breaths to a warm, softness grazing against my arm. I jump a little, startling the cat that had dared come up to me. Her eyes stare wide back at me, her tail swishing with eager curiosity. I slowly hold out my hand, easing back into my spot.
“I… I’m sorry,” I said to the cat. “You scared me.” The cat stands frozen for a moment before inching closer to my hand. Her fur is a soft white and orange, a little creamsicle calico. She sniffs at the tips of my fingers before pushing her cheek into my palm. I smile and tenderly pet the wayward visitor. “Aww, you’re a friendly little thing, aren’t you?” I can feel her gentle purring resonating through my fingertips. I stroke across her head and down her spine. She examines me closer. I see that she has no collar, yet is much cleaner and more approachable than many other feral cats in the area. I figure that she’s a park cat, easy around people who bring her food, even if she still has to find it from overflowing trash cans and unattended picnic supplies. I enjoy the cat's company until I’m started by a familiar voice.
“Taking some time off?” the voice says. It shocks me more than the cat. I know it well. For months now, she had been following me. My instant reaction was to shudder, to be annoyed or put-off by her lingering presence, but something about her company today seems oddly comforting, if only in a highly specific way.
“I think I’ve earned it,” I tell her. I look over to see Post leaning against the tree. She wears what she’s always worn, the white skirt and black shirt with the feathery skull and crossbones design on the front. Her hair is still the same shade of pink, pulled up in a playful pair of twintails. She holds another cat in her arms, a little black one. It too purrs and warms up to her gentle touch. It’s endearing, seeing Post smile so warmly at something instead of so devilishly at me. She pets the cat, nestled up comfortably in her arms.
“Oh, totally,” she says. “You’ve been working so hard, not to be too self-congratulatory.” I look down beside where I sit, opposite of the cat. It was my phone. The screen was lit, as if I had just been using it. At some point since sitting down, I had pulled my phone out and opened it to my Google Doc app, typing along– “with what’s happening in the moment.” I look back up at Post standing over me. “Even when you take a day off, you still never stop, do you?”
“It’s the price you pay to do what you love,” I tell her. I smile up at her, flipping my own hair back. The orange cat stayed by my other side. She traced her body against my hand, encouraging me to continue petting her.
“Absolutely,” Post says. “And it looks like you’ve made a new friend along the way.”
“You too,” I say. “Aren’t they just the sweetest…?” I pause for a moment, starting to remember what Post has planned with them. Post simply chuckles.
“This little guy came right up to me,” Post says. “I love how comfortable they are around people. You can really tell a lot about a place by how approachable the cats are.” She bends down to place the cat on the ground. The little midnight prowler looks over to me, coming up on my other side for more attention. “Well, I suppose that brings me to why I’m here.”
“Because of the poll that I let you design,” I say. “People got a big kick out of it.” Post grins proudly and stretches out her back.
“I suppose I can take credit for it,” Post says. “You are nothing if not a storyteller, after all.”
“You’ve become quite popular, it seems,” I tell her. “I’m proud of you.”
“Of course I have,” Post says, leaning in closer. “And of course you are. But aren’t you going to put up a fight? Tell me to fuck off? The whole ‘I’m tired, can we not do this now’ shtick?” I grin knowingly and look away.
“After the month I’ve had, I could use something like this,” I say. “Part of me has actually been looking forward to it.”
“Oh poo, well that’s not as much fun,” Post says. “We’ll see if you’re still saying that after we tally up the final word count. We both know how awful you are at planning out these things. And we certainly have a lot to cover now, don’t we?” I laughed and stroked my hair back again, the wind catching it in a light breeze.
“I guess we do,” I say. I pet both cats, my hands tracing down each of their spines.
“You’ve been keeping an eye on the poll, haven’t you?” Post asks, cocking her head to the side. “Of course you have. So you know roughly what’s going to happen. Is that what’s gotten you so excited?”
“Perhaps,” I say.
“You ready then?” Post asks. I pause for another moment, groaning slightly, before shrugging and giving Post a tired smirk. I sigh slightly and push myself up to my feet. I dust dirt and stray blades of grass off of my legs and shorts. The cats scurry off several yards before looking back at Post and me.
“You’re the boss here,” I say. Post laughs.
“Damn right I am,” she says. “Look.” Post points us over toward the playground. The mother and her son had vanished. It was completely vacant, standing among the park like a vibrant shell of times long past. I look around the area to see that same vacancy from every direction. An almost eerie stillness falls over the park. The trees still rustle in the wind, but there ceases to be any sign of anyone else around.
“You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” I ask playfully.
“That’s what I’m all about, baby,” Post says, flicking her hair back. “Though, can you really call them surprises if you already know exactly what’s going to happen?” She leads me closer to the playground. A jungle gym sits accentuated with winding, plastic slides and green bars. A couple of swing sets sit side by side, the swings wafting in the breeze. The ground is soft and mostly mulch, scratching softly against my bare feet. Post brings me up to a see-saw, with one end towering over the other.
“Is this where… it has to happen?” I ask. Post smirks.
“You tell me,” she says coyly. I sigh, having grown annoying charmed by her antics. I look at the see-saw and take a seat on one end. The entire thing is wood, slightly warped by rain over time. Red paint, covering the thing throughout, chips in places most common for contact. I hold onto a bright yellow handle on my end. It arches from one side of the plank to the other, allowing for the rider to hold on when going up and down.
“Like this?” I ask Post. “We gonna play?” Post shakes her head and sighs.
“No, get up,” she says. I shrug and stand once again, brushing off my dress. Post points to the center of the see-saw. “Sit there.”
“There?” I ask.
“You know you’re just wasting everyone’s time doing this,” Post says. “Yours. Mine. Theirs.” I giggle a little, walking toward the center of the plank.
“It’s not a waste,” I say, stabilizing the device and hopping up to sit. “People like the added flavor.”
“Sure they do,” Post says. “Sit with your legs facing one direction and point your toes.” I think for a minute before lifting my legs and sitting with them facing toward the heavier end of the plank. Without my feet on the ground, I have to hold on to keep myself from falling over.
“Like this?” I ask, pointing my toes.
“Just like that,” Post says. She steps on the lower half, pushing it down into the ground. She grins as she grabs my ankles and pulls me down the plank. My feet slip through the handle bar with ease, immediately getting caught by the metal arch. I gasp as I’m jerked down toward the end of the plank. With my feet through the bar, I hold on tight to the edges of the wood. I wiggle them in their makeshift bind, tugging at their position. Despite how easily they went in, I sit unable to pull either out.
“O-oh!” I gasp upon being jerked into place. My heart already begins to race. Post chuckles at my shock.
“Comfortable?” she asks.
“I… feel like I might fall over,” I say with a nervous chuckle.
“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Post says. “What narrative purpose would that serve? You and I both know why you’re here like this. Giving the people what they want, right?” I sigh and roll my eyes a bit.
“I’m still off balance,” I say, pointing toward the ground. Post groans. She walks away for a moment before coming back, dragging an empty trash bin behind her. It stands at about waist height. She fits it beneath the end of the plank holding onto my feet, perfectly leveling out the device.
“Convenient, right?” Post says. “Kind of an arduous detail, if you ask me.”
“It’s no less important though,” I say smugly. Post grins. I think for a moment that I hear a small groan echoing from her throat. I giggle, happy that I can prove to be as much a pain to her as she has been to me.
“Don’t think you can talk shit about me in the narrative, like I’m not reading every word you write,” Post says. “You love me and you know it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say dismissively. Post stays down at my trapped feet. She eyes them curiously, her stare gleaming with devious intent.
“Then I suppose you already know that things may get a little more… naughty today?” Post asks. A warmth comes to my face. I look around again, glad to still see no one else lurking around the park.
“I guess that was in the poll, huh?”
“You have some sweet followers though,” Post says, her hand drifting closer to my bare, trapped feet. I stare at her fingers as her hand creeps in. “They really wanted me to be… nice to you this month. Relatively speaking.”
“I know,” I say cheerfully.
“Still, doesn’t mean I’m going easy on you…” Post says. I sigh.
“I know,” I say again.
“Well then,” Post starts. She smirks and looks back down to my feet. Her hand slides to the other side, positioned just outside of my soles. I squeal a little in anticipation, clenching up where I sit. My fingers dig into the wood beneath me, my arms squeezing against my sides. “How about you tell us all about what you have going on…”
“Well, the thing is— eeeekkkhhehehehehhhaahahahaa!” I am thrust into a sharp fit of giggles. A sudden fluttering of tickles flutters up from my soles, pouring through my senses. Post lightly skitters her nails up and down one of my bare feet at a time. She casually switches from one to the other when they switch to protect one another, leaving me jolting with a constant stream of tickles. I squeak and wiggle around atop the plank. I hold on tight to try and keep from falling off while my feet writhe and squirm beneath the hold of the metal bar.
“‘The thing is’ what, Featherscape?” Post asks. She teases my feet with faint skittering of her nails, a lazy display to emphasize just how sensitive I am to such a method. She tickles with the techniques of someone who knows exactly how to push my limits, even when done so gradually. Her fingertips flick against my soft, warm soles. They scribble in concentrated sections, traversing my soles with every intent to ignite every single ticklish nerve throughout.
“Neeeeehhhahhahahahahaaaaa!! I daahahahahaan’t have as maahahahahch to update!!” I squeal. It was true. My work had relatively plateaued to keeping up with commissions and original projects. That work alone had been a lot to keep up with over the previous months, so further planning of any new projects had been put on hold until I could get caught up. Though even as I sit and endure Post’s ticklish teasing, I know she won’t buy ‘nothing’ as an explanation, and I know that I’d feel bad not keeping my readers updated on what’s coming. I have to think of something as I try my best to withstand Post’s tickling nails on my soles.
“Of course you do,” Post says, staring longingly down at my feet. “There’s always something with you. And none of this ‘keeping up with commission or Patreon work’, I mean something good.” Post assumes a comfortable position from which to focus on my feet. Both remained effectively trapped and vulnerable. I can do little more than hold onto the plank beneath me, giggling along to Post’s ticklish playtime. Her eyes feast on my reactions. My squeals of laughter echo through the area, chirping out through the park like a constant birdsong.
“Neeeehhhahahahahahaaaa! I daahahahahaaaan’t!!!” I continue to push back. The tickling is far from as bad as I know she can make it. The tingles race up from my soles, coursing through my senses like electricity. The teasing is only exacerbated in such a public place, where anyone could find us and witness my ticklish ordeal. Post tickles on, knowing this well, letting her nails scribble and scratch all over my helpless, bare soles.
“You know what’s coming,” Post says. “The sooner you tell us, the sooner you can continue with the project that you’re being so secretive about, even though you’ve been talking about this forever.” Post tickles both of my feet with both of her hands. A pair of tenacious fingers scribble and skitter up and down my blushing, warm soles. I shriek into a new fit. I bounce and teeter side to side, my legs still squirming to try and get my ankles free. Post merely smirks. She takes her time tickling my feet, drinking in my explosive expressions.
“Eeeeeekkkkhehehhhehhahahahahaaa!! Stahahahahahaaap!!” I cry out. My laughter begins to echo more loudly over the wide plains of grass. I toss my head side to side, my body shuddering at the constant stream of tickles shooting up from my feet. No matter how I move or try to protect them, Post always seems to find the best method to tickle. Her fingers lap at my soles. Her nails flick up and down my soft, white arches. Sweat begins to bead against the back of my neck as another ache starts to become more and more apparent.
“Dirty girl,” Post comments. “Why should I stop when I know how much you like this?” Post giggles. Her nails flick up to my toes, causing a harsh squeal from my lips. I buck and bounce against the plank. Post’s nails skitter all over my defenseless toes, playing with each like individual little toys. She scrapes at my pearly, pink pads before attacking the warm, sensitive pockets in between. I howl into a screaming bout of laughter. My feet wiggle, my toes curl, but nothing deters her efforts to see me in absolute ticklish hysterics.
“NAAAAHHAHAHHAHAHHAHAHA!!! QUIT IT– AAHAHAHAHHAHAAAA!!” I beg of her. Post continues toying with the girl she had bound upon the playground equipment. She tosses her hair back , unleashing a complete assault of tickles onto my soles and toes. The sweat beads trickle. Tears begin to form. My face burns. My seat aches with gnawing pressure. A wetness surrounds me, it seems, as Post merely toys with my abundant ticklishness for the entertainment of many.
“Just say one thing and we can move on,” Post says. Even after that, she doesn’t stop. Her nails trace up and down both of my feet in concentrated clusters. They skitter and scratch, shooting bursts of tickles through my senses from my overwhelming sensitive soles. I hold out for as long as I can. I clench and bare it all until my voice starts to break as I beg for mercy.
“OKAAAHAHAHHAHAHAAAYYY!!” I scream. “PLEAAHAHAHAHSE STAHAHAHAAP!!!” Post steals a few more tickles for fun before she finally pulls her hands away. She stands back and watches me collect myself with heavy breathing. I pant and slump over, still clinging onto the wood beneath me. My body itches. I can still feel the residual tingles across my soles, emphasizing just how much they continued to be in Post’s apparent possession. A soreness begins in my chest, overshadowed by the pressure building up beneath me.
“Whenever you’re ready,” Post says. I groan and swallow. I reach up to guide my hair out of my burning face. I sniffle a little as I ready myself to speak.
“O… okay…” I say. “I… I plan to have the, uh, Featherlands book ready by the end of the month…”
“That could come across as confusing…” Post says.
“Trapped in the Featherlands, the first one, is getting an official release,” I say. “Like I did with Shrieking Manor…” I sit and continue recovering my composure. My breathing steadies. I sit up, huffing slightly. “It’s still called Monsters of the Featherlands on DA, but I’m changing that for the official release on Gumroad.”
“Why would anyone buy a book that’s already online for free?” Post asks. “You’re not taking it down, are you?”
“No, the current version will stay up,” I say. “But the official release will come with its own cover art, edits that it so desperately needs, and five more chapters exclusive to it. It should be a lot of fun for those that enjoy the series and it’s a great way to support me and the channel.”
“Well said,” Post says, smiling wide. “And that’ll be done by the end of the month?”
“That’s the plan,” I say. “I’ve already compiled the chapters for editing and started the additional content.”
“Alright then, sounds exciting,” Post says.
“I think so,” I say warmly. Post smirks. She pulls out a phone and stares into the screen. I sit and watch her, waiting for whatever it is she has planned next.
“Now then, this wasn’t going to be my first choice, but since your subscribers are just so damn nice, we’re going to try something new…” Post says. She grins and glides her finger up the length of her screen. A familiar rumble becomes more prominent beneath my seat. I look down to my lap. Vibrations tremble and hum against me between my thighs. It feels as if it’s touching bare skin, hiding away beneath my dress. My mouth opens wide. An involuntary gasp melts into a soft moan. My fingers clench around the wood. My toes curl and my seat shifts ever so slightly.
“Wh…. mmmm…. oooohhh…. what?” I begin to groan. Post continues to wear her all-knowing, devilish grin. She goes back down to where my feet tucked beneath the metal bar.
“Blame your subs,” she says. “You’re here to put on a show, it seems. Hmm, speaking of which…” She looks over to the side, attracting my attention to do the same. Around the park, people begin to gather. A crowd starts building and going about their business again, as if nothing unusual was happening at all. They laugh and talk among themselves. Some even play catch while others set up picnic supplies. Several look over to me curiously, leaving me wondering if what I’m looking at is actually real and not just another part of Post’s invasive, meta experience.
“Mmmmm…. stop this….” I say. My face blushes so deeply that the burn echoes what I feel stirring beneath me. I grind my seat against the wood. The vibrations continue to tease and push my senses. I bite down on my quivering lip, my chest heaving deeply.
“No can do,” Post says. She looks back down at her phone. “‘Tickle her until she cums over and over again until she’s begging me to stop’. Number one vote, twice as popular as number two.”
“Please…. mmmmm…. o-okay, I’m begging you….” I say.
“Not how it works, FS,” Post says. She puts away her phone, standing before my trapped, bare feet. “But don’t worry, I know exactly how to get you through ‘over and over again’ fairly quickly.”
Post takes hold over one foot with a single hand, holding it steady. She kneels on the ground and leans in closer. Her lips remain pulled up in a smile as they touch down against my warm, bubbly toes. She kisses them briefly before parting her lips and extending her tongue onto them. I gasp at the warm, wet embrace. My muscles clench slightly before surrendering to the pleasure coursing through me. I slowly feel myself giving into Post’s affection, watching her close her eyes as she slowly enjoys the taste of my toes.
“Oooohhhhmmmmmm!” I moan atop the see-saw. I have to bite my lip again to keep from making so much noise, but I continue to whimper as I watch the display sending waves of delight coursing through my senses. The vibe between my legs rumbles on. Second by second, it chips away at my composure. I feel every last bit of the pleasure rising up within me, building and building, but I fight back against the urge to let it out. I feel the eyes of more people watching from afar. My face burns beneath a sheet of sweat and tears. Post runs her tongue through my toes one at a time. When she finishes, she pulls back, still grinning.
“Just let it out, FS,” she says. “No sense holding back now.” Her other hand rises to my sole. With the one holding my foot back and steady, the other proceeds to skitter her nails once again up and down my creamy white arch. I jump and yelp, laughter bursting through my weakly bitten lip. A new surge of sensitivity courses through me, one that makes Post’s tickling many times more potent than it had been before.
“Naaaaaahhhahahahahahaaaaaaa!!! Mmmmmmhahahahahaaa!!!” I squeal. My body bucks and bounces against the wood, slamming my seat onto the vibes rumbling against my area. The laughter leaves me vulnerable to the moans pushed through me from the vibrations and the rising pressure. I groan through the fits of squealing giggles, my body having become nothing more than a sensory playground for Post’s sadistic desires.
“You blame me, but you and I both know that your creations stem from your own imagination, your own little bank of hidden pleasures,” Post says. Her nails continue to skitter and scrape against the soft instep of the one foot. She snickers and leans back in, enveloping my toes with her lips and tongue. Another laughing moan escapes my throat. I throw my head back, my hair a tangled, sweaty mess. My face beams a bright shade of red. The vibrations continue without mercy, pounding harder and harder against the wall of my own constitution. The tickles against my sole. The slow, intimate licking of my toes. The vibrations between my legs. Coupled with the eyes staring at the degenerate sex-toy from afar, I know I cannot hold back my pleasure much longer.
“MMMMAAAHHAHHAHAHAHAAA!!!! OOOOHHHHHAHAHHAHAAAA!!!” My moaning laughter bellows across the grassy fields. I clench hard onto the wood at my sides. I hold out for as long as I can. My body trembles at every tickle, every lick, every vibration until it all collides into an eruption that leaves my body surging. I throw my head back. I let out a moaning, squealing cry as a massive orgasm tears through my body. The pressure built up from each of Post’s tickling fingers and warm, moist licks comes rushing through my senses, my body quivering uncontrollably in place. I ride out the climax for as long as it persists. Post, however, continues to lick and tickle down at my feet, rushing my reactions from groaning, orgasmic cries into a newly invigorated fit of hysteria. “GAAAAAAAHHHHHHAHHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!”
“‘Over and over again’, remember?” Post asks coyly. “I’m not even close to through with you yet.”
Her nails dance and skitter up and down the single foot. Her tongue brushes against my wiggling toes, the vibrations still toying with my frail, wet area. The orgasm had knocked my composure free, leaving me openly laughing and moaning to her devilish tactics. People continue to watch from afar. They close in, coming closer and closer the more of their attention that I summon. I can’t seem to care in the moment. My entire world had been reduced to the pleasure born of Post’s attention to my feet. She licks and suckles at each of my toes while her nails trace scribbling scratching up and down my sole. Her tickling, along with the constant vibrating against my area, further ignites the ache once again. I rub my seat against the wood beneath, caring less and less about how I present myself to those watching. Post continues to lick and tickle until the pressure builds up once more, only to come erupting into a new orgasmic explosion.
“AAAAAHHHHHHHHAAAMMMMMMM!!!! OOOOHHHHHHAHAHAHAHHAHAAA!!!!” I climax once again, my senses lit ablaze by the steady onslaught of over-stimulation. Post continues to tickle and suck at my foot even after my composure subsides. Yet, with the completion of another orgasm, I find my senses far more receptive to her form of play. The tickles rush through my body faster and harder. The vibes command more of my attention, building on more and more pleasure. The licks and the peering eyes closing in around me only serve to get me there more and more quickly.
Again and again, I’m thrust back to that state of primal, erotic need. Post switches from one foot to the other at will. She keeps me trapped in this state until both of my feet had been explored with licks and tickles. Over and over, I’m brought back to mind-numbing orgasms. My body trembles and drips against the see-saw until I’m little more than a sloppy pile of nerves relieving herself in the most undignified way. Four. Five. Nine. I quickly begin to lose count. I cry out with each passing, crushing climax, each becoming more painful and strained than the last.
“MMMMOOOHHHH!!!! AAAHHHAHHAHAHAAMMMMM!!! PLEEHEHAASE STAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!” I can barely put the words together in my state. My body and mind both crumble in tandem to the waves upon waves of raging stimulation. My voice reaches the ears of the onlookers, staring and wondering what kind of sick, classless pervert I could be. I scream and cry and laugh and beg until I’m reduced merely to a creature mewing desperate sounds, an animal in heat. Only when I reach the hardest and most nerve-shattering orgasm of them all does Post finally stop.
“You’re such a mess,” Post says, shaking her head. The vibes stop, but I can still feel where they were. I leak against the equipment. I lean over, huffing and heaving. My face burns with the rest of me. My hair clings to my sweaty neck and shoulders. I can still feel the licks and tickles against my feet and toes. Post wipes them off. I gasp and shudder, but she treats them with kind tenderness.
“W… w-wow…” I stutter. Post comes up next to me and wipes my hair out of my face.
“Hope you’re not too tired to keep us updated, are you?” Post asks. “Come on, even if it’s just something small.” I try to focus my mind. In a weird, juxtaposed dance, my thoughts are both empty and scattered. Too many to focus. Too clear to find anything to focus on. I huff a little bit more before finally speaking, committing to the first thing to come to my mind.
“M… more… Return to… the Featherlands… is coming soon…” I say. “This month.”
“There you go, see?” Post gives me a little rub on the back. “I know people have been looking forward to you continuing that.” I give her a tired nod. I try my best to sit up and shoot her a weary smile.
“It… it’s nice…” I say. “I’m really enjoying that one.”
“I know you are,” Post says. She chuckles a little, staring back at me with a mischievous grin. “But you’re fading pretty early here and we still have more personal matters to cover, so…”
Post snaps her fingers. My eyes widen. It sit up on the see-saw, overcome with a sudden rush of energy. It isn’t a new energy, or so it feels like, but rather an absence of weariness. The aching pain in my chest and down between my legs is gone, but not the wetness that either the tickling nor the orgasms left behind. That all happened, but the exhaustion had been all but wiped away in a single moment. I look around. More people continue to close in around me. My eyes shift back to Post, my heart racing with anxious nerves.
“Wha-what’s happening?” I ask. She just shoots me a knowing smirk before turning to the crowd.
“Good afternoon everyone!” Post says. “I’ve caught me here a dirty girl; a dirty, ticklish girl, who wants to tell you all of her most filthy, naughty secrets.”
“Post!” I shout, my face still glowing bright red. She turns back to me and shrugs.
“What?” Post asks. “You did say you didn’t have that much to update and this was one of the more popular options on the poll…” Post gives me a little wink before turning back to the audience. “I have something very special planned for our little writer here, something that I’m sure she’ll enjoy just as much as all of you.” My gut sinks. What it leaves behind is this cold, hollow chill clashing with the heat pulsing through me. A sick excitement. My hands tremble as my fingers gnaw into the wood. The crowd around me murmurs among themselves. I cannot hear what they say, but every time I look over, there seems to be more and more of them watching, their expressions turned from disgusted curiosity to legitimate intrigue.
“Please…” I find myself begging again. I can feel their eyes peering down at me. It’s as if all of my clothes had been stripped away. That might as well be the case when it comes to Post and her habits for manipulating the narrative.
“You think I’m completely devoid of nuance?” Post asks playfully.
“Yes.”
“Well, don’t you worry,” Post says. “I’m going to have some help for this one.”
“Some… help?” I ask. She grins at me.
“Like you don’t already know,” Post says. “Sure, it could have been everyone here taking a turn. You would have liked that too, wouldn’t you? Probably more than what I have planned, dirty girl. But no, you know what’s coming.” Post chuckles a little and whistles. I fall silent and look around where I sit. My answer doesn’t take long to arrive. Post looks down, her hands planted on her hips. “There you two are. Now where did you run off to?” Post bends down and picks up both of the cats from before.
“O-oh no…”
“Nice reincorporation, by the way,” Post says. “A little clunky, but the story’s only but so long, right? Really adds character to the thing.” The black cat nuzzles up against her cheek while the other purrs happily in the crook of her arm. Post puts both cats down on the seat of the see-saw, right in front of my feet. They each almost smile back at me with carefree, chipper expressions. My feet still tingle with sensitivity, enough to get me squeaking even as their playful noses brush against my soles. The crowd stands by with a soft chorus of chatter.
“Post, please, I have to get back to other stories,” I beg her.
“Can’t spare some time for your fans, though?” Post asks.
“Please, I have to get back to–”
“Nuh uh uh, you belong to us right now,” Post says. “And more importantly, to them.” She reaches behind her and pulls out a small glass bottle of milk, shaking it slightly for me to see.
“Where did you get that?”
“No poking holes in what people want to see.”
“Well, that just sounds like you being lazy.”
“That’s you being lazy,” Post says, “all while dragging out this word count, so if you don’t mind, I’mma just…” Post proceeds to pour the chilled cream down my soles. She aims it right at the base of each of my toes. The cool streams leave me yelping once more. It doesn’t take long for the cats to take notice, sniffing around the area before coming even closer. I grip onto the plank underneath me, bracing myself for what was to come.
“Okay, but just don’t le– aaaaaaahhahhahahahahaahaaaaaaa!!!” I start to speak before being thrust back into a squealing fit of laughter. The cats proceed to lick and lap at my helpless, wet soles. Each little dash of their tongues comes with an unforgiving ticklish spark, coming quickly enough to compound onto one another as the cats lick away with vicious hunger. I squeak with ticklish laughter. My body jerks and writhes in place as I continue to hold onto the wood beneath me to keep from falling over. The tickles ignite the burning ache beneath me that I had just quelled over and over again. The crowd watches on with amusement. They snicker and laugh and mock my desperately ticklish disposition. Post just stands by, watching the ordeal of her own making unfold.
“Awww, cute, right?” Post asks the audience. “But that’s too simple. How about we…” Post takes out her phone yet again. With the swipe of a finger, the vibrations against my seat start up once more. I cry out with a groaning moan piercing through my giggling. The sensations begin stirring once more, gnawing at the aching pressure already growing from the tickles against my soles. The cats merely lick on, happily content with where they are and what they’re doing. They mew and purr and hungrily try to lick at every last inch of my squirming, trapped feet without a care to the ticklish devastation they create storming through me.
“Mmmmmmooohhhahahahahahahaaaaa!! Stahahahaahahhhhhhhhp!!” I start begging again. The raspy cat tongue dash all over my heels and work up both arches. The vibrations rumble and hum against my quivering, wet spot. The ache from suffering too many consecutive orgasms had faded. What was left was the beginning of a new cycle, a fresh means of reducing my composure to mush yet again. Post just laughs. She stands by, making no effort to cease the turmoil. She flips her hair back and mirthfully engages the audience into witnessing my humiliation and sensory destruction.
“Awww, look at these cuties enjoying their little snack,” Post says, standing by the cats. Their tails waft side to side. They position themselves comfortably, keen on not moving from their positions anytime soon. I can do nothing but sit and endure the tickles that their tongues inflict on my helpless, bare feet. I moan as the vibrations bring me closer again, sweat and tears trickling down my shivering frame.
“Staaaahahahahahaaaap!!! Mmmmmm ohhhhhhhhahahahaha gahahahahahaad!!” I cry out. Every little lick tickles more than the last. Every vibration brings me closer and closer to another crushing orgasm. I buck and clench against the see-saw. My moaning, laughing shrieks fill the air for all around me to hear. More and more people continue to gather around, putting my shame on full display.
“Got nothing else to update with, huh?” Post asks. “Maybe you do, but that’s not why we’re here, is it? Not according to the poll, at least. No, no, we’re here for dirty secrets. Real personal stuff. Feel free to start sharing whenever you’re ready.” My face glows a telling rouge. I clench my eyes shut and try to drown out the murmuring of the spectators still observing my deviant exhibition. I begin to give into the sensations filling my body again, warped into a libertine perception of nothing but irrelevance beyond my corrupt, carnal reality.
"Moooohhhhhahahaaaaa! Okaaaaahahahayyy!!" I lean my head back and shout. With that, the vibes begin to lessen to a soft purr. Post picks up one of the cats while letting the other still lap away at my delicate, ticklish foot.
"Okay then, tell us something about our horny little writer that we might now know," Post says, fumbling with the cat trying to get back to the ticklish treat before her. A hush falls over the crowd. I continue to giggle, the sensations having been reduced to a more manageable degree.
"Okaahahay," I keep laughing. "I… mmmm…. heheheeee… uummmmhehehe… s-sometimes… t-aaahhhehehe-touch myself while writing!" The words spill from my lips with virtually no consideration to who hears me, though the heat of their collective presence bears down on the ache pulsing beneath me.
"Oh wow, that's a shocker," Post says sarcastically. "Is that why it takes so long to get stuff out? Typing with one hand?"
"Shahahaat up!!"
"Fine, naughty girl," Post says. The vibrations against my spot increase. Post puts the cat back down at my feet. She begins licking the same foot as the other. The sudden surge coming all at once collides against the pressure that I had been holding back. With a newly invigorated excess of pleasure, I give into my body's crying need for release. My arms and legs clench up. My head falls back. My mouth drops open. My hands clamp at the wooden seat as another orgasm tears through my petite figure in front of a crowd of strangers.
"AAAAAHHHHHMMMMMHEHEHEHEHEEEEE!!!" I scream. I cry. I laugh. I moan. All at once, urges and reactions all crash into one another within the helpless, pale vessel of my body. Much like the fallout from the previous orgasms, I'm left still enduring the tickles against my soles with a fresh and destructive rise in sensitivity. The vibrations continue to hum against my spot. The cats lick eagerly against my hypersensitive feet, leaving me squirming and squeaking with uncontrollable giggles.
"Very nice," Post comments. "Next." I shudder hearing her voice over my own primal, hysterical display. I groan thinking that I would still have to embarrass myself further. I barely comprehend what it was I had just said, my body operating on little more than pure impulse now. Before long, the urges return. The pressure builds again, as it had before, and the need for release pounds against the door of my composure.
"MMMOOOHHHAHAHAHAAA OKAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!" I scream. Post snickers. The vibes lessen again as Post takes away the other cat, cradling and petting it in her arms. What she leaves me with is another quiet moment where I can catch my breath, though with marginal difficulty as I giggle from the other cat still licking up and down my soft, creamy arch. I struggle to steady my breath again. The wetness clings to my skin. My chest heaves and aches. I cough a little before allowing my lips to spill another of my personal secrets. "I… nnneheheheee… I used to…. mmhehehe… tease a babysitter with my feet so…. neeeheheeee… so he'd tickle meeehehehee!"
"Heh heh, flirty girl," Post says. "I bet your readers would love to read that story." The mumbling chatter around me rises again. Post puts the cat back down at my feet. They both begin lapping away at each set of toes, their sandy tongues scraping at the delicate, sensitive undersides of my toe pads. With the flick of her finger against her phone screen, the vibrations return stronger than ever. I gasp into a groaning surge of ticklish squeaks and giggles. "Think about that while you finish this thing off."
"MMMMMAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!! STAHAHAHAHAHAAAAP!! PLEEEHEHEHAHAAHAHSSSEE!!" I press my seat against the wood with desperate, needful presses. The gnawing urges stir and build toward another massive climax. I surrender my body to its presence. My desperate arousal leaves me bouncing and writhing against the wood. Through my groaning and constant laughter, I drown out the commotion of those standing by, watching, and commenting their judgmental platitudes.
"Do it, dirty girl," Post whispers into my ear. The cats continue to torment my ticklish toes with their licks. The vibrations bring me closer and closer until I think I may explode. My body and mind have been so spent from the experience that I don't know how much more either can take. I clench onto the wood. I throw my head back again, letting out a loud, piercing wail.
"AAAAAMMMMMHHHEHEHEHEHEEHAHA!!! OOOHHHHHEHEHE!!" My body spasms with pleasured quakes. My muscles tighten. My toes curl and hands ball into shaking fists. An explosive orgasm, more commanding than any of the others, floods my senses. The pleasure overwhelms me to the point of no longer feeling the tickles. I can't hear the people circling or even Post’s demeaning snickering. I merely exist in this plain of absolute rapture for as long as I can.
When it eventually subsides, all I can do is pant. I heave and sit slumped over. The voices are still gone. The feeling of the cats licking at my soles has faded into memory. A gentle coolness greets my burning body like a glass of ice water. Post’s voice too fades like the whistling of the wind brushing against my window. I slowly open my eyes. I'm still left sitting and catching my breath, but the brightness of midday sun has vanished and left behind only a darkened room and the harsh blue glow of my computer screen. I stare back at words detailing the ordeal, the spectacle, the fantasy born from my own dampened fingers.
I smile. It's a tired smile, but one of complete satisfaction. I breathe a relieved sigh as I near the end. I let out a little chuckle and press the enter key.
"Alright," I say, with a beleaguered sigh. "Now, to edit."
