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Your Ticklish Modeling Job
🕑 Added 2022-03-19 01:50:53 +0000 UTCYour heart pounds in your chest.
You feel the trepidation leave your throat dry.
You swallow to clear it.
You swallow again to calm the nerves.
You take a steady breath.
It's the big day, the day of your first modeling job.
You never imagined this is where you would end up.
Not once did it cross your mind that you would take a job as a model.
Maybe you never suspected you had the look for it.
Or maybe you had not considered you could do such a job.
But you were approached.
A man at school had given you his card, suggesting that you had the perfect look for what they were needing.
You thought it could be a joke.
You thought that maybe it was a scam.
Even at the door to the building he told you to go to, on this day and at this time, you consider it to still be too good to be true.
But you were there.
Dressed professionally.
Standing outside a building with a legitimate-looking 'Royal Night Modeling' sign.
You started to think that perhaps the gesture wasn't a scam.
But this makes you all the more nervous as you ponder whether you actually have what it takes.
Before you can knock, the door opens.
A man stands before you, tall and handsome.
He smiles wide.
"Hey, you made it!" the man says.
It was the scout from school, you remember his face.
"Hey, yeah I'm here," you say. "Dave, right?"
"Yeah, we're all very excited that you could come out at such a last minute call," Dave says.
He steps aside to let you in.
"Of course," you say passively.
You step inside.
The first room seems to be a lobby of sorts.
Chairs line one wall next to a water cooler.
A vending machine glows a bright white light on the other side of the room.
Pictures of beautiful people hang all around.
The only other person there is a receptionist.
She is young and pretty, long black hair pouring down her neck and shoulders.
You smile at her.
She smiles back.
"Welcome," she says. "We're so glad you could make it."
"Thanks," you say. "To be honest, I've never done anything like this before."
Dave puts his hand on your shoulder.
"Don't worry about it," he says with a chuckle. "I'm just glad you could make it. You definitely had the look we needed and the model we originally hired dropped out at the last minute."
"Oh, I'm sorry," you say. "Is everything okay?"
Dave waves you off.
"Eh, it's fine," he says. "Or at least it is now. We'll pay you what we were going to pay them, don't you worry."
You smile.
You were simply honored to even be considered to model for anything.
Getting paid to do so feels like a bonus on top of that, one you didn't even consider.
"Oh, you don't have to," you say.
"Nah, nah, nah, don't pull that now," Dave says. "You gotta be careful, people in this business will take advantage of that. But no, we're paying you for the day and that's that."
He leads you over to the receptionist counter.
Dave walks around the desk and lays in front of you several pieces of paper all stapled together.
The writing across the paper is small, busy, and quite intimidating to look at.
He lays a pen next to it in front of you.
"Yeah, so basically this is the contract for the shoot," Dave explains. "It's just for today, we'll pay $300 for what we do today, plus another $100 for anything we need to reshoot later."
You blink in surprise.
You were not expecting such a pay from a job that came so suddenly.
Still, you decide to be professional.
You give the contract a glance over.
In your mind, you have no real intention of reading it all the way through, but you give it a quick scan nonetheless.
"It's not, like, a… nude shoot, right?" you ask.
He laughs.
"No, nothing like that," he says. "Just some shots of you with some other models. Should only take about two to three hours or so. Nothing major."
You nod.
The job still seems relatively unexplained, but simple enough to go along with.
You sign your name at the bottom of the page along where it tells you to.
Another few signatures on some other pages later and the man takes the sheets from you.
"Terrific," he says. "Now if you'll follow me, we'll get you all set up."
He leads you farther into the building down a long hallway with several rooms on both sides.
The look and feel of the place comes off as some office building, a complex designed for different small operations.
The door he leads you to is farthest from the front.
He opens it to lead you into a large studio.
You look around.
The room is dark and lit only by a scene in the distance just out of your view.
Through the darkness you see cameras, sound equipment, large boxes with labels, props, and backdrop scenery.
"This is all very new to me," you say to break the silence. "I've never even thought about doing any modeling."
"You might like it," he says. "A lot of people get super into it after their first shoot."
"What kind of shoots do you normally do?"
"Oh, all kinds," he answers. "Furniture ads, clothing catalogs, commercial work. Recently we've been taking more private jobs. The big boom has been more ‘focused entertainment’."
"Like what?"
He doesn't answer before he leads you up to a group of people working where the lights are pointing.
It's a small stage of sorts, one where several cameras and microphones are already pointing to a focused, well-lit station.
There, in the center of the stage, is a single peculiar-looking chair.
It's larger than most and appears to be of some function or model that seems odd.
The others in the cluster of people that Dave brings you to turn toward you.
"Finally," one man says, tinkering with some sound equipment.
He wears large headphones around his neck.
Two girls, both made up in slim, revealing outfits, with hair and make-up ready for their own potential shoots, turn to you and smile.
"Yay, we can get started," one says.
"Hey, I'm Lacey," the other says.
Lacey is slightly shorter than you, dark hair flowing down her shoulders.
"Christine," says the first.
Christine is a tall and beautiful blonde, clearly made for this kind of work.
You introduce yourself.
"You're a real lifesaver," says the man with headphones holding a boom mic. “I’m Barry.”
They shake your hand cordially.
Everyone seems really friendly.
"Thanks," you say. "Still don't really know what I'm doing, so sorry in advance."
"Don't worry about a thing," Christine says.
"That's what I said," Dave adds.
He walks over to Barry and starts talking about the scene they've prepared for.
Christine and Lacy stay to keep you company.
"It's really not that hard," Lacy says. "Best thing to remember is to try not to think about it. It'll come naturally."
"Thanks," you say, still not fully understanding.
"We're going to have a lot of fun today," Christine adds.
"I'm working with you two?" you ask.
"Yeah, it's a shot together," Lacey says. "So don't worry, you won't be alone."
"Yeah, me and Lace have been doing this for years," Christine says. "No pressure, we understand what it's like to be new."
"Yeah, I was just scouted, I guess, at the last minute," you explain. "I didn't really plan for this."
"That's totally okay," Lacey says. "You're really helping us out here."
"It's a lot easier than you might think," Christine says. "Though it can get exhausting after a while, but that's the worst it gets."
"Yeah, um… Dave said that it'll be about two or three hours?" you ask.
Christine chuckles.
"Only if these two idiots get everything right," Lacey says.
"Hey, cool it or we'll change the shot around on you," Barry says, catching her jab.
"Yeah, this kind of work can be kind of unpredictable at times, but that's the industry," Christine says.
"Yeah, so don't be surprised if it goes longer," Lacey says.
Christine smirks a little.
"We're going to have fun today, though," she says. "It'll likely go by real quickly anyway."
You smile, feeling relieved.
All the crew seems really nice and easy to work with.
"Okay, good," you say, easing into the atmosphere.
You look to the chair in the focus of the cameras.
Above it hangs another camera pointing downward.
"So what are we shooting anyway?" you ask, hoping you're using the right terminology.
Dave breaks away from Barry and walks up to you.
He puts his hand on your shoulder, walking you up to the chair.
"We're going to need you to sit here," he says.
Upon a closer look, you see what could be straps at the ends of the armrests.
Down at the bottom seems to be two indents where your feet would hang.
Even the headrest appears to have a strange belt locked into place.
You eye the chair quizzically, puzzled by the man's vague description.
"Okay?" you ask.
"Go ahead and we can get started," says Dave.
"What? Just like this?" you ask, gesturing to your clothes.
"Yeah, that's fine for what we need," he says.
You look back to the chair.
Hesitantly, you sit.
You feel yourself sinking against the chair.
Its plush exterior feels warm and comforting to your skin.
It's softer than you imagined it would be while still being firm in places.
You nestle back against the chair, finding a comfortable spot.
"You good?" Dave asks.
You swallow and nod.
"Yeah," you say. "So what's all this for?"
"It was in the contract," he says. "The one you already signed."
Lacey comes over to your right and carefully wraps the strap around your wrist, binding it to the armrest.
"Wait," you say, unable to pull away. "What's happening?"
Christine runs another belt over your waist, tightening you down.
"It's just a shoot," Dave says. "We just need natural reactions and attractive people. Don't worry, you're going to be perfect."
Lacey binds down your other wrist to the armrest, followed by both of your elbows.
You squirm but find yourself more and more unable to move.
"Wh-what are we shooting exactly?" you ask fearfully.
Lacey puts her hand on your shoulder.
"Don't worry," she says. "We're all professionals. You'll be just fine."
Lacey calms you slightly with a smile and gentle pat on your arm.
Christine starts belting your ankles to the footrest followed by both of your knees.
"You're going to be great," Lacey continues to soothe. "Just remember to breathe."
"It'll be super easy," says Christine. "You just need to stay down and give us natural reactions."
Lacey pushes you back gently and runs the headrest belt over your forehead.
"What are you going to do to me?" you ask, your voice shaking.
"It was in the contract, silly," Lacey says.
"Nothing painful, we promise," Christine says. "Trust us, you'll be just fine."
She smiles and gives your side a little poke.
Unable to move much, your body tries to jerk slightly away from the sudden tickle.
You squeak.
You giggle.
Your face flushes slightly.
"Heehee! Th… that… uhh…" you start before stopping yourself.
"Tickles?" Christine asks.
You feel your heart racing a little.
"Y-yeah…" you say. "A little."
Both girls giggle over you.
"Good," says Lacey. "Then it'll be a good shoot."
"Wha… what do you mean?" you ask.
The girls turn away from you and back to Dave and Barry setting up the shot.
A small station off to the side appears set up with many wires feeding into boxes.
One is a monitor showing the image created by the camera above you.
"We about ready?" Lacey asks.
"Almost," Dave says.
He positions another camera in a straight-on shot of where you sit in the chair.
"Let’s get the position ready so we can get all angles set up," Barry says.
Lacey comes back closer to you.
She adjusts the chair slightly.
Doing so pulls the back of the chair down to where you're laying flat and staring up at the camera over you.
You can vaguely catch your distorted reflection in the lens.
At the same time, your legs raise and straighten, laying you out flat and perfectly horizontal.
Your eyes are wide.
Your chest pounds and mouth hangs agape with heavy breathing.
Your hands clench at the arm rests, unable to pull away from the straps belted around your wrists.
“Okay, and ready,” says Barry, standing by with a microphone.
“N-no, wait,” you say. “What’s happening?”
“Did you not read the contract?” Lacey asks.
Before you can answer, Christine speaks up with a giddy smirk.
“It’s a tickle shoot,” she says. “We’re gonna tickle you.”
“T-tick- no, wait…” you start to plead. “I-I’m… not ticklish…”
The girls laugh.
“Nice try,” says Lacey.
“Dave has a real knack for finding models that are always extremely ticklish,” Christine adds. “Just by looking at them. It’s crazy. No idea how he does it.”
“B-but I’m not…” you say, your voice shaking.
You’ve never been a good liar, but there is one thing you know you always were…
“Then you have no reason to be nervous, right?” Christine teased.
You paused, only thinking to beg more.
You try to look at Dave still setting up the shot, but can’t move your head against the strap holding it down.
“D-Dave, I… I’m sorry, but I-” you start to say before he cuts you off.
“You already signed the contract saying that you’ll do this,” he says, as if he’s said the same thing many times before. “Can’t back out now. We’re running late enough as it is. But keep that energy. Our audiences love that level of authenticity.”
“Please…” you continue to beg. “Please, I can’t… please…”
“I’m afraid we have to get started,” says Dave.
You only get a good view of what’s right above you, the camera pointed down at your face.
Lighting equipment points expertly at you and the girls.
“You’ll do great,” says Christine.
“Yeah, we’re going to have a lot of fun today,” Lacey adds.
“And if you need to, you can always say the safeword,” Chrstine says.
“Yeah, just say that and we’ll stop.”
“S-safeword?” you ask.
“Yeah, that too should have been written in the contract,” Lacey says.
“I-I may not have… wait, what is it?” you ask. “You know it. What is it?”
“Ladies, down at one,” Dave says.
You catch them both heading down to the bottom of the chair, where your ankles are still tightly strapped against the rest.
They kneel down by your feet.
You recall the other camera pointed in that position where they face.
Your chest pounds heavier as you anticipate their intentions.
“Please… please don’t… not there…” you try to beg, remembering well the sensitivity of the area from when you were younger.
“Save that for the shoot, cutie,” Lacey says.
Your heart races.
You feel them kneeling by your feet.
You hear them talking among themselves, chatting and giggling.
But you can see only the lens of the camera aimed at your face, no doubt to film your inevitable expressions.
“Wait,” you say. “What’s the safeword?”
"And rolling," Dave announces, sitting behind the capture monitor.
You listen for an answer, but get none.
You try to steady your nerves, to keep yourself from panicking.
Though rarely tickled much over the years, you remember being extremely ticklish.
Especially on your feet.
"Sound speed," Barry says.
The girls adjust themselves.
They straighten their backs and look forward toward the camera.
You're only given slight hints and context clues as to what's happening around you.
Your scope of understanding has been severely limited.
All you know is what's going to happen to you and vaguely for how long.
"Ticklish Captive, take one," Dave says.
You shudder and clench up.
You try to imagine that it won't be so bad.
That they'll be reasonable.
That if it does get too bad, they'll back off.
They have to.
Right?
"Aaaand… action," Dave says.
You gulp.
Your heart races.
You can only stare up into the shimmering eye of the camera.
You hear the girls below start to speak in a completely new tone, one that sends chills through your body.
"Well, well, look at what we have here," Lacey says.
"Another plaything fallen into our trap," Christine says.
They snicker and speak in a slow, sinister cadence.
You don't know if you're supposed to speak back, if doing so would interrupt the shoot.
You continue to beg softly.
"Please…" you say with a heavy breath.
"Aww, 'please'," Christine taunts. "'Please' what?"
"'Please… don't take off my shoes'?" Lacey asks mockingly. "Heehee, that would be a 'no'."
The girls start unlacing the sneakers you had come over wearing.
They tease your helplessness with baby-talk describing their moves in real time, never dropping the 'sadistic captor' characters that they play.
Your shoes loosen.
With your feet about a foot apart from one another, nothing you can do can protect them.
A cool brush of air kisses one foot after its shoe gets lifted off.
"That's one," says Lacey.
Followed by the other.
"And two," says Christine.
Their attention seizes your socked feet, and by extension an audience of hundreds, possibly thousands.
The same pressure of exposure lingers on your face and every expression you make, no matter how slight.
You keep begging.
“Please don’t,” you say. “Please don’t. Please don’t. Please don’t.”
“‘Please don’t’ what?” Christine asks knowingly. “You’re really bad at using your words, you know.”
“Yeah, like, what is it that you think we’re going to do with you now?” Lacey asks. “What could we possibly do with you all tied up and your feet just right here to play with.”
You shudder and gulp, knowing the answer.
“Please… don’t…”
“Hm, if you’re not going to beg properly…” Christine says.
A single swipe of a fingernail down your socked sole jolts a surge through your body.
You yelp suddenly and giggle through the residual tickles.
“Aaahhhhhheeheehee!!”
The girls’ attitudes perk up in response to your reaction.
“Ohh, seems like we nabbed a ticklish one today,” says Lacey.
“I think we may have a new ticklish plaything on our hands,” Christine says.
“Two ticklish feet all trapped for us to play with for as long as we want,” Lacey says. “That’s my favorite.”
They tease with patronizing lines and slow delivery.
Another swipe against your other sole sends another ticklish shock through you.
“Eeekkheeeheehahaha!!” you laugh. “No! Please don’t!”
“‘Please don’t’ what?” Lacey asks this time.
“Yeah, you’re going to have to be more specific,” Christine says.
Both girls speak through mischievous grins.
Another burst of tickles comes with a brief, concentrated scribbling against your arch.
You shriek, unable to see or anticipate when any of the tickles would come.
You had remembered being ticklish on your feet from years prior, but you never anticipated to that extreme.
“Aaahhhheeheehahahaaa!! Tickle my feeheheheeet!!” you shout without thinking.
Both girls snicker.
“‘Tickle your feet’?” Christine asks. “Is that what I heard?”
“I know that’s what I heard,” says Lacey.
“Well then, if that’s what you want so badly…” Christine starts.
Christine and Lacey giggle louder as both reach up to launch their nails against your soles.
A wild scribbling against each erupts your senses.
A rush of tickles explodes through you, one unlike any you’ve ever experienced before.
You scream, your pleas only encouraging their joyful behavior.
“Nnnnaaaaaahahahahahahaahaahaaaa!! Daaaahahahahahahahannn!!” you shout with bellowing hysteria.
You struggle and jerk against the straps holding you down.
You try to look down to get a visual on the scene.
But all you’re faced with is the camera capturing your every look and laugh.
Your feet flail and try to flee from the girls and their devilish nails, but with no such luck.
The girls taunt and tease you all the way through it.
“Oh wow, you’re a really ticklish one, aren’t you?” Christine asks.
Christine’s fingers concentrate on your arch and down against your feel, keeping up with your wiggling attempts to evade her.
“You are going to be so much fun to break later,” Lacey adds. “Tickle, tickle, tickle…”
Her nails work the clothed dip beneath your toes.
Every pass of their fingers, even through the socks, activates every sensitive nerve.
The tickles never cease after they start.
You try to keep begging, but can only spew flowing, giddy laughter.
“Eeeehhehhahahahahaahaahaa!! Staahahahahahappp tickling my feeheheeeheheheheheet!! Plehehehaahahsse!!” you cry out.
“Ohh, but honey, we’re just getting started,” Lacey says.
“Yeah, you’re ticklish little tootsies are all ours to play with,” says Christine. “And we’re having way too much fun to stop now.”
Their scribbling assault lasts for several minutes, much longer than you’ve ever been tickled before at one time.
When it does finally stop, you gasp for air.
The constant stream of laughter had left you light of breath.
Your face is flushed, your body starting to warm.
Your feet slump weakly and tired from all the feeble squirming.
You hope it may be over, that the shot will be broken up into segmented sections with cuts and edits.
But the girls make the contrary perfectly clear.
“Aww, all worn out already?” Christine asks.
“That’s too bad,” Lacey says. “Because I think I want to see more of these ticklish little feet you have here…”
Your heart leaps.
Your chest sinks.
Two sets of fingers pinch the end of one sock.
You try to shake your head, but can barely manage that.
In your rising panic, you resort to all you can do.
“N-no… please… not that… please… I can’t take it,” you say, hoping something you could say anything that may bring you mercy.
Your pleas are met with more giggling and teasing.
“Maybe not,” Lacey says. “But you will take it. That’s the important part.”
With your feet apart and tightly cuffed down, there’s nothing you can do to keep your sock on, no matter how hard you try.
The coolness of the air greets your foot once again as the band of your sock slips over your heel.
“Is that a ticklish little foot, I see?” Lacey asks.
With her fingers pinching the tip, she continues to slowly expose the rest of your foot.
Christine starts working on the other, carefully peeling the sock off.
“I think so,” she says.
They giggle as they slowly bare your feet for all to see, exposing your incredibly ticklish soles for their delight.
One sock pops off.
Followed by the other.
You feel naked without them.
You’re dreadfully aware of just how much worse it can still get and how it’s all for the sadistic pleasure of a whole viewer base.
“Awww, you have the cutest little feet!” Lacey says.
“I know, right?” Christine says. “So adorable and soft and all ours to play with…”
You shriek when another single nail swipes down your foot from the base of your toes.
The giggles that follow pour out in a stream of desperation.
“Aaaahhh!! Heehahahahaaaa!” you laugh. “No! Please! Don’t tickle… don’t tickle my feet!”
“Mmm, sorry cutie,” Christine says.
A sudden burst of tickles comes only slightly telegraphed, but still manages to send your senses reeling.
Five of Christine’s nails dance against your delicate, bare arch.
You scream, lurching against the binds holding you down.
“AAAAHHHHHHHhahahahahaaahaaahaaa!!! Naaahahahahaha!!!!”
“You and your ticklish feet are our captive now,” says Christine. “And we’re gonna play with you for as long as we want.”
Five of Lacey’s nails join against your other sole, worsening the tickles coursing through you.
“Heehee, that’s right,” she says. “I don’t think we’re ever going to stop.”
The teasing continues.
Despite the volume of your laughter, you can still hear every word as if said right in your ear.
Your feet wiggle, your toes scrunch, but nothing blocks out the scribbling tickles pressed against them.
"Awww, what's the matter?" Christine asks. "Can't handle being our tickle toy?"
"Shouldn't have gotten caught in our trap then," Lacey says.
The girls pick up by each adding their other hands.
Ten scurrying nails rush over your sensitive, warm soles in maddening bursts.
"Staaaaahhahahahhahahahappp!! Pleehehahaaaaaahahahaha!!" you scream.
Your eyes start to water.
Your chest heaves with deep breaths.
The scurrying nails ravish your soles with devilishly light scratches.
Faster and faster their hands explore every inch of your wiggling feet.
"Awww, who's our ticklish little prisoner?" Christine asks tauntingly.
Her nails raise to scribble just beneath your toes.
You shriek louder and melt into another fit of mad hysterics.
"AAAHHHHHHHahahahahaaahaa!!! Stahahahahahaaapp!! Nahahaht there!!!"
"That's right, you are," Christine answers.
Five devastating nails rake against your arch while the others tease and toy with your toes.
Lacey laughs and continues running her assault across your arch and heel.
"Your feet are so soft!" Lacey says. "Oh, I could tickle them for hours and hours…"
Her threat gets accentuated with a flurry of scratches, alternating slow and quick.
You lay, unable to do anything but stare up at the camera feeding off of your reactions and take the ticklish torment for as long as they please.
Your feet wave and scrunch and wiggle in feeble desperation.
It's the only movement you can make in the chair holding you down.
After several agonizing, gasping minutes, the girls stop again.
Your feet blush and tingle after it's over.
You wheeze for air.
Your cheeks burn bright red.
Sweat leaves your face glossy and pitiful.
All you can do is try to catch your breath again, no energy or air left to even beg anymore.
The girls lean back a little.
"You know, they are wiggling an awful lot," Christine says.
"They sure are," Lacey agrees. "Luckily, we have just the thing for that."
The girls snicker slightly and reach down for something that is well out of your vision.
"Here, let's try this," Lacey says.
A thin string wraps around each of your big toes.
You don't think anything of it right away.
But both strings pull your feet back.
As your feet become forcibly flexed, leaving your soles fully exposed and taut, the girls tie the other ends of the string to the cuffs holding your ankles.
Before long, you pick up on their efforts.
As they pull back, you try to wiggle your feet.
To swing them in any direction.
To curl your toes.
But you can't.
No matter how much you try, you can't move your feet an inch.
"There, that should keep them still,” Christine says.
You feel your nerves pressed up against the skin of your soles, frail and unprotected.
Every spot on your feet is fully exposed for exploration.
“No! Please stop! I’ll do anything!” you shout, finding your voice.
The helplessness of being unable to move your feet presses against your chest.
“‘Anything’, huh?” Lacey asks.
“But I think we already have you doing what we want.” Christine adds.
She drags a slow, single nail down the length of your stretched sole.
You squeal, never having felt a tickle quite as immediately unbearable before.
“NNNNEEAAHHHAHAH!!”
Your feet jerk against the cuffs and ties keeping them in place, unable to free themselves from their highly vulnerable position.
The girls cackle.
“Oh, I like that sound!”
“Me too!” Lacey says. “I think I want to hear it again.”
Another delicate swipe exploits both your immobility and your exaggerated sensitivity.
You burst into a shrieking fit of laughter.
“STAAAHAHAHAHHAHAAAAP!!!”
“Poor, poor ticklish feet…” Christine says.
“All tied up and trapped for two tickle fiends.”
“Nowhere to go… and no one around to save you…”
The tickles start off slow again, but with far more explosive reactions.
Lacey taps a few scratches against your warm, plush heel.
Christine uses a single nail to scratch a concentrated area right at the base of your toes.
A torturous degree of tickles pulses through you.
You scream with laughter, your voice breaking and gasping through fits of ticklish frenzy.
“AAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!! STAHAHAHAHAAAAAAHAHAPPP!!” you bellow.
Tears spill down the sides of your face.
Your chest burns trying to keep up with the laughter gushing out of you.
Your mind starts to fall blank of anything beyond the ticklish sensation in the moment.
Being so farther immobilized emphasizes how your whole world, in this moment, is dedicated to enduring unimaginable tickles.
Your thoughts continue to beg, though your mouth can say nothing intelligible through the laughter.
“How lucky was it that you came stumbling into our trap?” Christine asks.
With five nails skittering up and down your arch, her other five start scratching at your vulnerable toe stems.
“I think you wanted to get caught,” Lacey says. “That you secretly love to be tickled and were just looking to be our new tickle toy.”
She spiders all ten nails together, moving up from your heel, across your arch, up to tease your delicate toe pads.
“Aww, is that it, cutie?” Christine asks. “Did you just want to be tickled that badly?”
“I think so,” Lacey adds. “Probably just too shy to admit it.”
The two girls speak over your laughter, managing to be loud enough for you to hear every word.
“Aww, that’s so cute!” Christine says, her skittering nails leaving your soles a blushing pink shade. “Well, don’t you worry, because we’re here to help.”
“That’s right,” Lacey says. “You’re going to be our tickle toy for a long time.”
They giggle while both unleash a storm of scribbling tickles across your taut, hypersensitive soles.
“AAAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAAA!!!! PLEEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!!!” you scream through gasping laughter.
Your feet tremble.
Their sensitivity seems to rise the more the girls tease and the longer they tickle.
Your toes become a popular target.
The ties keep your toes from curling too much, allowing them access to the incredibly sensitive spots underneath.
Your mind swims, unable to concentrate on anything else but the tickling.
And for a moment, you really start to believe that you may be there forever.
That there would be no end.
No mercy.
No relief.
And just when you think you may not even get another break, it comes.
Many agonizing minutes after they tied your toes back, they pull away.
You can only gasp at first.
You can only breathe, struggling to catch your breath.
Words escape you.
Thoughts escape you.
Only the tickling feels grounded in reality.
Your feet tingle still with residual sensations.
They burn and blush, still caught tied back, positioned as if they were begging for more tickles.
The girls give you a short chance to regain yourself.
“You know, I brought with me a little bag of toys,” Lacey says.
“You don’t say,” Christine replies.
You hear rummaging.
You can’t see what they’re doing, but start to picture it, dreading the inevitable conclusion.
“Ohhh, what a fun collection!” Christine says.
“I know,” Lacey says. “Now, do you think that these feet would rather play with these… or this?”
“Definitely that.”
“I think so too.”
“What about this… or this?”
“How about both?” Lacey asks.
“Ohh, I like that!” Chrstine says.
The girls snicker.
Their attention shifting back to your feet leaves a dreadful hollow in your chest.
You try once more to plead.
“Pl-pl… ease… l-let… me go…” you pant.
“And why would we ever let go of such a perfectly ticklish pair of feet?”
“Especially when there’s still so much fun left to have!”
Their taunts are quickly followed by a switch and a low hum.
You have little time after to contemplate what it could be when a jolt of tickles leaves you building your laughter once again.
You’ve barely caught your breath from the last one when a highly focused source of tickles singles out your toes.
The spinning bristles of an electric toothbrush press against the pad of your big toe.
You soon melt back into desperate, screaming laughter.
“NNAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAA!!! NAHAHAHA MY TOEEHHEHEHSSSHAHAH!!!”
“Mmmm, I think this toe likes my little toy,” Christine says, slowly covering the whole space of your toe with the spinning brush.
“What about the other ones?” Lacey asks.
“Let’s find out,” Christine says.
She steadily guides the brush down in between the two toes, leaving the bristles ravishing that delicate space for a bit before leading it to your second toe.
You scream with crying, wailing laughter, unable to comprehend how your toes could possibly be that ticklish.
“Yep, I think so!” Christine teases.
The girls laugh.
“Well then, I think it’s time this toy met my other toy,” Lacey says.
Your other foot surges with the frail scraping of a plastic comb raking up your arch.
The many delicate teeth scratch the tender, extremely sensitive skin.
The comb assaults your foot with every pass.
Your voice shrieks as it picks up a new expulsion of laughter.
“AAAAAAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAAHAAAHA!!! PLLEEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHHAHAHA!!!”
Your body jerks instinctively against the binds.
Your feet still try to squirm and protect themselves, blushing in the shame of their own defencelessness.
Christine covers every single spot on and around your toes with the apathetic, spinning bristles.
“Such ticklish little toesies,” she teases. “Got to make sure they’re nice and clean.”
Lacey glides the comb up and down the length of your sole, each fine tooth its own stream of agonizing tickles.
“Listen to that adorable laugh,” she says.
Through the explosive surge of tickles searing against your feet, more come shortly after.
“I love it,” Christine says. “I want to hear more…”
As the brush works in between your third and fourth toe, a feather swipes across the same sole.
Lacey too begins running another feather underneath and between your other set of toes.
The added tickles erupt your senses.
Your voice cracks as you scream with pitiful laughter.
“AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAHAAAAAA!!!” you shriek, not knowing how much more your body and mind can take.
The girls laugh gleefully.
Their efforts coat your soles and toes in waves of tickles of varying sensations, all chipping away at your mental stability and physical endurance.
"You're laughing so much, you must really be having fun," Lacey says.
"I know I am," Christine adds.
"Me too! I don't ever want to stop playing with these cute, little feet."
The comb rakes with no hesitation.
The electric toothbrush passes from one toe to the next, roaring and spinning mercilessly.
The feathers swipe and dance and stroke all over your feet liberally and without resistance.
Tears and sweat trickle down your skin.
Your back arches.
Your chest aches.
Your body jerks less and less as it begins falling into its own exhaustion.
Your pleas melt into only laughter, your mind succumbing to your fate.
You know nothing in the moment beyond the constant stimming of incapacitating tickles.
Where you are.
Why you're there.
How you got there.
It all escapes your mind.
You are their captive.
Their ticklish plaything.
This is the only truth you're able to comprehend.
Just when you think you may finally be kissed by the ailing relief of faint, the girls stop once again.
You gasp for air at the first chance you get.
Awareness of your own actions and reactions has faded from your mind.
You groan, sweat and drool tasting your lips.
Your eyes flutter.
You stare up in a daze at the camera, the eye of your whole audience watching your anguish for their own amusement.
You mutter unintelligibly through deep, wheezing breaths.
The girls show no remorse for your condition.
"Aww, do you think we broke it?" Lacey asks.
"I don't think so," says Christine.
A cool drizzle of something slippery running down your soles jolts your senses.
You barely register what it is before your body jerks from the sensation.
You gasp, your easing heart rate starting to pick up again.
"Not yet, anyway," Christine follows.
"Heehee, yeah, it can still take more."
"It's going to regardless, aren't you, tickle toy?"
The oily substance being coated all over your trapped, taut soles gets suddenly emphasized by a swipe of three nails running from your toes to your heel.
A new energy overcomes you as you let out a piercing shriek, the very brief tickles enough to shock you out of your stupor.
"AAAAHHHAHAAAA!!"
You scream, your voice having grown hoarse.
The tickles from such a simple swipe down your newly oiled sole come much more fiercely than any other.
Your eyes shoot open.
Your mouth drops.
Your toes still try so desperately to curl.
You shudder after it's over, knowing whatever they did to your feet would make anything to follow a hundred times worse.
"N-no! Pl-plee-! D-don't! Sta-!"
“Oh, I think our ticklish plaything here likes the oil treatment.”
“Well then, it’s really going to like what comes next.”
You whimper, knowing begging does nothing to deter them.
A pause follows where you’re left painfully anticipating what they plan to do to you next.
But they don’t keep you waiting long.
The next thing you know is an unbelievable, immeasurable explosion of tickles tremoring through you.
Dozens of round-tip bristles from two hairbrushes saw and scrub against your slippery soles at once.
Your scream carries out and melts into crying, gasping laughter, louder than any other you’ve ever produced.
“AAAAAAAHHHHAHHAHAAHAAAHAHA!!! NNNAAHAHAHAAAAA!!!”
The brushes make harsh rushing sounds as they ravish your still and slick soles as roughly as both girls can manage.
“Aww, I think our new toy likes the brushes the most!” Lacey says.
“Me too,” Christine says over your laughter. “Plus it’s quite the workout.”
“Good, I’ve been needing a good workout,” Lacey adds. “And this one might be my favorite.”
Neither girl holds back in speed or furocity in scrubbing your soles.
They demonstrate no mercy or sympathy for your cries of hysterical desperation.
They feed off of it, your ticklish laughter only encouraging them to further your torment.
They continue to tease you with their own giggles and dehumanizing phrases.
All the while, your entire consciousness has been lit ablaze with a tempest of torturous tickles.
You scream.
You gasp.
Your eyes roll and tear.
Your body shakes.
Your toes still try so desperately to curl.
But you can do nothing but endure unimaginable tickles.
Every bristle sends a bursting shock of sensations through your body with every pass.
And dozens of them scrape and glide effortlessly over your soles several times every passing second.
They scrub over your warm, helpless feet violently, unimpeded by movement or friction.
Your mind can barely comprehend what your body is forced to endure.
“AAAAAHHHHHHAHAHAHAHAAAHAHAA!!! PLAAAAHAHAHAAH!!! NNNNAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!”
“Look at how much fun we’re all having!” Christine says.
“I know, right?” Lacey says. “I don’t ever want it to end!”
“Me either. I bet I can keep this up longer than you can.”
“Nuh uh! I can go way longer than you.”
“I could do this for a whole hour straight.”
“Well, I could go for two!”
“Wanna bet?”
“You’re on!” Lacey says. “First one to stop, loses.”
Both girls scrub faster in competition with one another, still giggling from your screaming laughter and pitiful reactions.
You can only scream.
You can only laugh.
All else fades from your mind.
Your memory.
Your conscious thought.
Your reality.
It all becomes the tickling coursing through you, tormenting every nerve in endless damnation.
And all from the first hour.
Of the three hour shoot.
That you signed up for.
