"Let me go now or I'll scream!" she threatens. Heedless, I lift her bound legs onto the sofa and use them as a handle for flipping her roughly onto her stomach. She makes good, letting out a plaintive, desperate cry that no doubt reverberates around the empty building impressively. I allow her to exhaust her breath while I reinforce her hastily-tied bonds with additional rope, then stuff my handkerchief into her open mouth to silence her. Holly's predicament worsens quickly as I bend her knees backward and stretch a one-foot length of the cotton rope between her bound ankles and the bonds around her wrists. She renews her struggles, but my superior leverage and the steadily-tightening grasp of the hogtie soon combine to wrap her into a snug, neatly helpless package. With one hand on the small of her back, I am easily able tokeep her virtually motionless.
Her soft leather shoes slide off without hindrance. In the unseasonably warm weather she has decided against wearing socks, and as I secure her big toes together with a short piece of twine from my pocket I admire the pleasant, soft curves of her bare feet. They are as slender as she, arched gently, with second toes not quite equal in length to their larger inside neighbors. The nails are smooth, even and unpainted, the soles a pale pink a shade deeper than the palms of her hands. I test their softness and sensitivity with a fingertip, tracing a smooth curve along her right sole from toes along the arch and back up the instep. Holly yelps through her gag and jerks once, hard,against her bonds. I repeat the motion, this time with the back of one fingernail, and am rewarded by a stronger convulsion and a sharp, muffled squeal. Pleased, I firmly grip the ropes securing her ankles with my left hand, and with my right apply the single fingernail again, this time tracing a figure eight from the toes of her right foot down the instep, across both arches, along the toes of the left foot, down the left instep and back. She wails miserably behind her makeshift gag and squirms fitfully, obviously deeply affected.
Preliminaries done, I set about tickling her in earnest. The heel of my right hand against her left instep, I curl my fingers over her foot and wiggle them gently against the arch and flat, the tips just brushing her skin. More plaintive noises and fruitless struggles,these more vigorous than the last, tell me that I've found a weaks pot, and I exploit it mercilessly. Applying just a hint more pressure,my fingers move back and forth across both soles, lightly dustingfrom instep to instep, but focusing on the inner arches. Ankles flexing wildly, Holly bucks and writhes in time with my movements,her voiceless pleas and threats giving way to deep, throaty giggles.
Her initial outrage and fear now overcome by a reflex forgotten since childhood, my captive wriggles impotently in her bonds,bleating with helpless laughter. I watch with amusement and delight as her slender, clever fingers tear at the deceptive softness of the cotton rope, desperately seeking a weak spot or an improperly-tied knot. Her proud, haughty face, so often turned my way with a sneer or a feigned grimace now twists and contorts with forced hilarity,pert nostrils flaring, eyes streaming with involuntary tears.
The double effort of fighting for both freedom and breath quickly tires her; her struggles grow so weak that I no longer need togrip the ropes to keep her still. Flanks heaving with effort, Holly seeks to muster enough wind to renew her struggles, but my bag of tricks is deeper than she anticipates, and I steal each hard-won breath with some new outrage performed against the soles of her feet. I vary my technique every time she quiets even slightly: first stroking, then gently scratching, then applying firm, deep pressures at rapid intervals. I keep her at a fever pitch, torturing pitilessly, for several long, satisfying minutes, her muffled screams and howls a testament both to her hidden vulnerability and my skill.
Only when her face flushes the deep red of near-hyperventilation and glistens with perspiration do I show mercy. I remove my sodden handerchief from her mouth with the admonition,"Not a sound, or I'll start all over!" For nearly two minutes Holly is unable to speak, her breath coming in hard, wheezing gasps, butt hen, as expected, she shrieks lustily for help. I carry out my warning, reapplying my fingertips to her soles for a ten-second reminder of the state of her predicament. Holly squeals loudly in protest, but her breath begins to fail again almost immediately.When I remove my hands from her feet again, she remains quiet.
"You may speak quietly," I tell my captive. "Anything more,and you get it again for another ten minutes."
"Let me GO!" Holly hisses from between clenched teeth, then yelps apologetically as the fingers of my right hand kiss the smoothness of her arches for a lingering thirty seconds. I replay only the highlights of her earlier ordeal, but her cries make it clear that the lesson is understood. When she speaks again, her voice is achildlike whimper, contrite and yielding. "Please let me go," she begs, head and shoulders twisting aboutas she tries to make eye contact.
"Head down," I command, and tickle her again briefly for emphasis. "Eyes closed." She complies immediately on both counts,resting her right cheek against the sofa cushions and screwing her eyes closed almost comically tightly. I rest my right hand gently across the paired soles of her feet, drawing a wince, and then trace my fingers lightly along the entire width of her right sole.
"Please stop," Holly pleads uncomfortably, squirming.
I repeat the motion, more slowly, flowing my fingertips with gentle ease from toes to heel and back again, avoiding the inner arches with all but the most gossamer of touches. "Relax," I command. "Go limp."
"I can't" Holly whines, the merest ghost of a smile beginning tot ug at the corners of her mouth.
"Yes, you can," I encourage her. "Just relax and lie perfectly still."
"You're tickling me" she protests, wriggling. The smile flickers teasingly across her face; she strains to banish it.
"Yes, but the harder you resist, the harder I'm going to do it." I apply just the faintest degree of additional pressure to her arches onthe next pass, and the first reluctant giggle fights its way past her resolve. "Just relax and I won't do it any harder than this. Try to relax. Just try, and I won't tickle you hard."
The smile steals its way across her flushed face in an unguarded instant, and with it comes a trace of coquettish resignation. Her resistance diminishes with every gentle stroke as she honestly, earnestly begins to surrender herself to the sensations coursing through her weary body. Holly succumbs to the giggles willingly, buying insurance against a repeat of the evening's earliert ortures by finding pleasure in a watered-down version. Her face is impish, playful in its acceptance of an indignity which a mere hour before she would have fought against with all her strength.