Tickling Emma - A Short Story

Emma stepped cautiously into the room, carefully allowing her silk skirt to graze her freshly painted pink toes ever so softly with every step taken. She breathes deeply, the Victorian-style corset restricting movement, feeling a sense of purpose and calm wash over her. Her silver stilettos click softly as she proceeds forward, her eyes fixed on the wood beneath her.

“Eyes up, girl,” snaps a stern yet comforting voice. Emma lifts her head slowly, her orange hair shimmering in the light as it settles into place, allowing her delicate face to show. The voice belonged to her trainer, a woman with whom she has become well acquainted in the past months.

∙∙∙

Four months ago, Emma was working as a waitress at a run-down old restaurant, trying to find any other way to make money. While scrolling through job postings with no luck, she came across an especially interesting post. Full Time Personal Assistant Needed. No Experience Necessary. On a whim, she sent in her resume.

At the interview, she was offered 800 dollars a week in addition to a monthly shoe and pedicure allowance. The duties were strange, but Emma was desperate for money and would do anything to get out of waitressing.

“I don’t have to have sex with him, do I?” She bluntly asked Maria, who was conducting the interview on Mr. Greene’s behalf.

The sharply dressed woman laughed, “Only if you want to,” and winked at Emma. “Mr. Greene is a very… sensual man.”

In that moment, Emma made the decision to leave behind everything she had to work for a man she had never met.

∙∙∙

“Sorry, miss.” Emma winks and continues walking, her eyes now focused on the large velvet chair to which she is headed. Gracefully, she sits, and the beautiful, black-haired woman in the corner nods. Without breaking eye contact, Emma bends at the waist and slowly unclasps her shoes before lifting her small, soft feet onto the antique wooden table before her. Gently, her feet rest on the table, her heels barely touching the wood and her toes, relaxed, fall outward. Also on the table lay a variety of instruments, including a feather, a hairbrush, and a rough sponge, arranged neatly.

“Go on, Emma, show me what you’ve learned,” Emma’s trainer leans forward, her raven-black hair falling softly over her shoulders, and fixes her bright blue eyes on the young girl.

Emma looks down at the table and chooses the brush. She runs the horsehair bristles over her inner wrist and smiles. Starting gently but getting quicker with every stroke, she runs the brush up and down, back and forth, on the soles of her feet. She pays close attention to how it feels, knowing Maria would ask later. On her left foot, the bristles are incredibly effective on her heel, causing her toes to curl uncontrollably, but on her right, there is only a moderate effect, although it is consistent throughout the whole sole. Emma returns to her left heel, knowing that the sensation is much greater, and finds herself smiling and giggling, but she feels as though there is not much more she can do.

“Maria?”

“Yes?”

“Could you take a turn? I feel as though this isn’t quite working.”

Maria smirks. “I have just the thing.” She opens her hand, revealing a small, remote control spider with long legs. It’s black with silver speckles and covered in a rough texture much like a tarantula’s hair. Emma’s green eyes widen, slightly concerned she had made the wrong decision, but she sits still as the slender woman places the device atop her right ankle. Maria, sitting gracefully on the edge of the table, opens a controller app on her phone and taps the spider’s head. Eight green lights shine from the face of the toy, indicating that it is on and simulating a spider’s eyes.

“Are you ready?” Emma smirks playfully and nods her approval. With a tap of her finger, Maria instructs the spider to begin walking towards the sole of Emma’s right foot. The eight long legs create a tingling sensation that spreads throughout the young girl’s body and causes her to grin. As the legs wrap themselves around her foot and sneak in between her small toes, Emma begins to giggle. In her four months of training, no object has ever worked as well as this tiny, 3 inch, plastic spider. As the toy slides in between her toes, making its way from the right foot to the left, Emma begins to laugh. It’s been over a month since she became able to control her reactions, but the strong-willed girl, so used to being tickled, finds herself now clenching her sides. Maria uses one hand to firmly keep Emma’s feet in place as she writhes and tries to get away.

“Oh my god. Oh my god. Maria.”

“Yes?” Maria looks up at her friend and laughs. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Yes… No… No, please don’t stop.”

“Such a good girl.”

“Will you put it back between my toes?” Emma manages to burst out quickly as she’s catching her breath.

On cue, the spider climbs back between her toes. Maria lets go, and Emma, still giggling but now in control of herself again, manages to keep her feet on the table. She squirms, her toes curling, pointing, and flexing, her knees bending, and her feet pulling away, but the well-trained slave relaxes, sits back, and enjoys the giggles being forced out of her.

Maria presses a button on her phone, telling the spider to keep walking around without her control, and she kneels by Emma’s feet. With her pointed red nails, Maria traces circles and spirals around the sole of Emma’s left foot while the spider works its magic on the right. Emma lifts her head and smiles at Maria. “I can take it.” She winks, and Maria speeds up, focusing her nails on the arch, gliding each gently but quickly up and down until Emma tries to pull her foot away.

“Did you just pull away from me?”

Emma grins. “Yes. Yes I did.”

“You bad little bitch. You know better.”

“What are you going to do about it?” Emma replies with a smirk.

Maria swiftly slaps Emma across the face. “Bad answer.” She grabs Emma’s hair and drags her out of the chair and to the floor. “Hands and knees. Now.” Giggling, Emma does as she’s told. “I thought we were done with your training but it looks like there’s only one way you’re going to learn.” From beside the table, Maria retrieves a switch and holds it in both hands. “Now, I’m going to tickle your feet. If you move at all, this…” she sharply whips the soles of Emma’s feet in demonstration, causing her to yelp in pain “…is what will happen. Do you understand?”

Emma, feeling much less playful than when she talked back, responds bravely and clearly. “Yes, miss.”

Emma is on her hands and knees on the wooden floor. Her legs are slightly spread for balance, but her toes point inward, touching slightly in the center. Maria, in her tight black pants and busting white button-down, kneels behind her victim.

“This is for your own good. You have to be ready for him.”

Emma nods, accepting her punishment, and Maria begins the lesson. With a loose but steady grip, the trainer roughly scratches at Emma’s heels with a dry sea sponge. The texture and technique is extremely effective, and within thirty seconds, Emma’s toes curl, resulting in a swift smack to her soles with the switch. Emma yelps but stays still, knowing how much fun she will have when her punishment has ended.