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From alt.TXT.fetish.feet: A story of torture by fo
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
Article #1187 (1197 is last):
Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.feet
From: [email protected]
Reply-To: [email protected]
Subject: Star Trek part 1 [Tickling Story]
Date: Wed, 27 Oct 1993 02:42:48 UTC
NOTE: The following story contains several trademarks of Paramount Motion
Pictures, Inc., which are used without permission. This use in no was is
indended to present a challenge to said trademarks, and is made in the same
vein as various Star Trek (tm) "fanzines" which routinely use them, which are
sold for profit, and whose useage has not, to date, been challenged by Para-
mount Pictures, Inc.
World of Laughter, World of Tears
by Kimberly Drake
"Captain's log, stardate 52341.8. The Enterprise is in orbit around Alpha
Draconis VII, here to investigate the disappearance of the Federation survey
vessel Kukulkan six weeks ago. The Kukulkan was on a routine mapping and
contact mission, and no cause for the ship's disappearance has yet been found.
I am sending down an away team to investigate what appears to be wreckage on
the surface."
Commander Riker, Lieutenant Worf, Counselor Troi, and Doctor Crusher
materialized in a shower of golden energy on the surface of the planet. It was
Class M in all respects-- an oxygen/nitrogen atmosphere, about 15 degrees
temperature, and gravity within a few points of Earth Normal. All in all, the
planet could have been described as idyllic. There were a number of plant
species around the beam-down point, all of which were closely analogous to
Earth types. The buzzing of insects and the chirping of small mammals could be
heard in the distance.
The away team had beamed down in a small clearing about a quarter of a
kilometer from the suspected crash site. Riker immediately produced a tricord-
er and began to scan the area for signs of higher life-forms. Worf immediately
drew a phaser and scanned the trees for signs of hostile life-forms.
"This way," said Riker, nodding roughly northward.
The trek through the light wood was pleasant enough, even if their mis-
sion was far from a pleasant one. They reached the site within a few minutes,
and it was immediately apparant. A long burned trench scared the landscape,
ending in a twisted mass of metal roughly recognizble as a Federation survey
vessel, roughly big enough for four people.
"I'm not sensing anything," said Troi.
All four of them began to fan out around the wreckage, searching for any
clues... or bodies. They found no bodies.
What they did find was the ship's log, an emergency back-up which Worf
found after only a few minutes' searching. All of them were grateful that Dr.
Crusher's services weren't needed. That meant that at least some of the crew
had survived the crash. But where could they be?
"Commander," said Worf, pointing to the ground. "Look here! Footprints."
The rest of the away team came over to the Klingon security chief, and
Riker commented, "Humanoid. But these were made by no Federation-issue boot.
Natives?"
Troi spoke up. "Our records indicate that this planet is inhabited by
humanoids, at a quite barbaric level of culture. Approximately class D on
Richter's Scale. That's about all we know about them; the Kukulkan was the
first ship to do a detailed survey of this planet."
"Okay," said Riker. "I think it's likely that the crew was taken by the
natives, either by force or by their own volition. Worf, where's the nearest
settlement?"
"Approximately one kilometer to the North, sir. And the footprints lead
in that direction," replied the massive Klingon.
"North it is, then," said Riker, and they all began walking.
The away team had reached a bluff overlooking a small primitive village.
Smoke from cooking fires could be seen trailing up into the yellow sky, and
the people looked quite humanoid. They were dressed in skins and rough cloth,
as far as the away team could tell.
"What do you make of it, Worf?"
"Nothing we cannot handle, Commander," replied the Klingon. He looked at
his tricorder. "There is some sort of interference that is making an exact
reading impossible, but it is likely that the crew of the Kukulkan is here."
"Source of the interference?"
"The underlying bedrock contains a sizeable quantity of Livirium. It is
interfering with the functioning of our tricorders, and will do the same to
the ship's sensors."
"All right. Worf, you and I will scout ahead, go to the edge of the
village. Deanna, I want you and Dr. Crusher to wait here. We won't be long."
Worf and Riker left into the trees.
They reached the edge of the village unopposed, and everything seemed
peaceful enough. Riker went back to were Crusher and Troi were...
And stopped cold. They were gone. He tapped his communicator. "Worf, get
over here now!"
Within seconds, the Klingon was beside Riker. Both were staring down at
the ground. Signs of a struggle were obvious, and the only indication that the
women had been there at all were their two shining communicators glistening in
the loam. Riker picked them up, the only way they could have found Troi and
Crusher. He tapped his own communicator.
"Enterprise. Two to beam up."
Their capture had been swift and efficient. Right after Worf and Riker
had left them, Troi and Crusher had been set upon by four of the natives. With
blinding quickness, their phasers and tricorders had been taken, and their
communicators removed. Despite their struggles, both members of the away team
were spirited down the other side of the bluff and into one of the rude huts.
There, their hands were tied behind their backs with leather thongs and their
ankles were similarly bound. A single guard remained behind.
Soon after their arrival in the village, an attractive woman of middle
years entered the hut, motioning for the guard to leave. She was tall, with
blonde hair, dressed in the same animal skins that the other villagers had
been wearing. She carried herself with an obvious air of command.
"E'cho v'rontak porondo vessla?" the woman said. Without their communica-
tors, and the instant access to the ship's Universal Translator, they were
totally unable to understand her. The woman repeated the phrase, but got the
same blank stares. With frustration evident, she called for the guard and
pointed at Troi. She smiled evilly, and said "Pontu. Pontu era e'cha trondith
o menta." The guard nodded grimly and hefted Troi over his shoulder.
Without any outward signs, Troi reached out with her mind, tried to read
the state of the blonde woman's emotions. She found a remarkably well-ordered
mind. There were strong currents of duty, protectiveness, and apprehension;
all of which were normal for primitives confronting aliens. But Troi also
sensed an overwhelming aura of maliciousness from the woman; she meant them no
good, and there was no mistaking that.
"Recommendations?" said Picard. The command staff had been assembled in
the Observation Lounge as soon as news of Troi's and Crusher's abduction was
received.
"We could go in with a full security detail. The natives' weaponry is no
match for ours," commented Worf.
"And risk the natives killing their captives in the ensuing battle. No. I
won't risk the lives of my people, or the lives of the crew of the Kukulkan."
"Perhaps a more stealthy approach is warranted," suggested Data, the
android helmsman. "A discreet search could be accomplished by an away team, as
long as they were sufficiently cautious. A visual inspection will be neces-
sary, because of the ineffectiveness of our sensors."
"Make it so," said Picard. The meeting broke up, with Riker, Data, and
Worf heading for the bridge turbolift.
Troi's treatment was none too gentle, and she was hardly surprised. She
was led into a hut which seemed to be shunned by the other villagers and her
clothes were roughly stripped from her. Within the hut there seemed to be
various crude mechanical devices whose ultimate uses were totally obvious.
This could be nothing else but the village torture chamber.
Troi was set down on a long table, her wrists clamped within iron clamps
attached to the head of the table, ablove her head. The guard locked her
ankles in similar clamps at the other end. Troi was securely fastened and
quite helpless.
"E'chi trondith?" Asked the blonde woman. The guard had left the hut.
"I don't understand you!" Said Troi in frustration. "I don't know what
you want!"
The blonde woman let out a sigh. She walked across the hut to the foot of
the table. "Ursh pendro e'chi trondith," she said, the evil smile once again
playing across her face. Troi probed her mind and found anticipation, that
same overpowering malice, and... a touch of... lust? Troi could see the wom-
an's eyes scanning her naked form, bound spread eagle on the table. Yes, there
was definitely an undertone of desire to her thoughts.
"If you give me back my communicator, we could speak to one another!"
pleaded Troi. Of course, she knew there was no use; without the translator,
she could not get her communicator. And without the communicator, she could
not use the translator. By now, the woman was ignoring her, intently studying
something on the wall of the hut. She turned around, and in her hand was a
long frond, with dense leaves. It seemed almost featherlike in its softness.
Gently, almost delicately, the woman brushed the edges of the frond against
the sole of Troi's small foot.
What was this? thought Troi. She flinched, and her toes curled reflexive-
ly at the sensation on her sole. The woman stroked her other foot with the
featherlike frond, and Deanna's reaction was similar. She tried to pull her
foot away, but it was no use; the iron bands held her tight. Since she had
been a little girl, Troi had been quite ticklish. It was a fact her playmates
had caught on to early and taken advantage of at every opportunity.
She sensed satisfaction from the woman. "E'chae trondith," the blonde
said, nodding her head knowingly. Troi was still confused. But soon everything
was made clear. Her captor began to wiggle the edge of the frond against the
soles of her feet, causing the most maddening, ticklish sensations she'd ever
felt. And with her feet held so securely by the iron bands, there was no way
for her to escape! She flexed her toes in frustration.
On and on the blonde went, and the tickling torture continued. The frond
was flicked against her soles, heels, and toes, and it was all Troi could do
to keep from laughing out loud. A tear formed in her eye, and it silently
rolled down her cheek.
When the featherlike frond was dragged between her toes, however, it was
too much for her.
The laughter bubbled up from within her, and, once released, it would
never be contained. The tickling continued, and she began laughing uncontrol-
lably.
"Hehehehehehe!!! No more!!! Plehehehehehese!" she begged. But the blonde
went on, satisfaction evident in her thoughts.
She began to use her fingertips, rather than the frond, to continue the
tickling, but it was no relief to Troi. The woman's fingertips glided over
Troi's soles, from her heels to her toes, and everywhere in between. "E'chae
trondith!" shouted the woman in glee. Troi could do nothing but continue her
convulsive laughter.
Soon, however, the object of the blonde's attentions moved from Troi's
feet. She once more held the frond in her hand, and began stroking the half-
Betazoid's stomach with the supple tendrils. Immediately Deanna, already
exhausted from the tickling of her feet, began to laugh uncontrolably. The
very tip of the frond was flicked gently against her skin at the very verge of
her bellybutton, and it was like all the torments of hell rolled into one.
Deanna's stomach began to hurt from laughing so much.
The woman kept up the torture, combining the tickling on Troi's stomach
with fingertips grazing her soles, resulting in the utmost agony for the
ship's counselor.
Then, however, the tickling gently, slowly, stopped. Deanna could sense
that the emotions of malice were being overwhelmed by those of lust. Troi
could feel the blonde's mouth surrounding her big toe, the hot, wet tounge
dancing around the pad of the toe like a Regulan eel-bird. The woman went to
each of her toes in turn, sucking, rhasping, using the tip of her tounge to
gently tickle Troi's toes. Troi realized that it was more than a little excit-
ing in a sexual way-- the feel of the hot, wet tounge on her sensitive flesh,
the knowledge that she was completely helpless to prevent it. And, she real-
ized, the tickle torture she had previously endured had only hightened her
sensitivity sexually. She was quite wanting at that point.
Just as abruptly as they had been captured, the sensations stopped. Troi
looked closely at the blonde. She was perspiring profusely, breathing in short
pants, glaring at Troi with what she knew was a mixture of contempt and nearly
uncontrolable desire. She moved towards the table on which Troi was secured
with a look of feral desire on her face.
The second landing party consisted of Riker, Worf, and Data. They crept
silently into the village, night having fallen some hours ago. The light from
nuerous cooking fires and torches illuminated the village, and the many shad-
ows hid them from view.
They moved towards the nearest large hut, realizing that, since the vast
majority of the huts were of the same size, those would probably be the living
quarters for the village inhabitants. Data went first, and peered through the
doorway. Before him was a communal workshop of some kind, but it was what was
being made that caused him alarm. "Phasers, sir," he told Riker soon thereaf-
ter. They are making unmistakeable copies of Federation phasers."
"How is that possible, with this level of technology? Could they be
merely replicas?" Asked Worf.
"Negative. I was able to positively identify both a Federation crystal
alignment chamber and an Andorian coil impact mold. Such implements would not
be necessary to merely emulate the exterior characteristics of a phaser, and
are beyond this planet's current level of technology. I believe we are faced
with the inescapable conclusion that some exterior force is at work here." The
android looked expectantly at Riker.
"I am forced to agree with you, Mr. Data." Riker tapped his communicator.
"Riker to Enterprise. Three to beam up."
The night had passed without Crusher seeing anything of Troi. She had no
idea where Troi might have been taken, or what might have happened to her.
Crusher had tried not to sleep, tried to be alert for any opportunity to
escape. But the guards were changed every few hours, and there was no chance.
By morning Crusher had slept for a few hours, despite her wishes. Her
wrists and ankles felt numb, the tight leather cords digging into her flesh.
But she counted herself lucky; she didn't even know if Deanna Troi was alive.
At the first hint of morning, a guard entered the hut and carried her
outside. The morning was still chill, but bearable. She noticed that the
village seemed to be rousing itself in this hour or so before the day's light.
The fires were started once more, and the scents of cooking reached her nose,
reminding her how hungry she was.
The guard carried her, without seeming effort, to a small bowl-shaped
depression at the center of the village. Some sort of wooden contraption was
evidently in permanent place there, and it was towards it that her guard
steadily walked. Reaching it, Crusher noticed that it consisted of a bench of
some sort, next to a vertical board with two circular holes cut in it. The
guard sat her down on the bench and untied her ankles. With a sigh of relief
she rotated her feet, trying to regain the lost circulation in her ankles.
Crusher, still somewhat dazed from the whole experience, hardly noticed as the
guard took hold of her legs and swung her around. It was only then that she
noticed the vertical board opened up. The guard set her ankles in the circular
holes and closed the wooden topbar down. It was only after he began tying the
length of leather cord around the end that Crusher noticed that she could not
move her feet. It was some sort of primitive stocks. And, since her hands were
still tied behind her back, there was no way for her to free herself!
The guard, satisfied that Crusher was secure in the stocks, proceeded to
yank off her boots. Her long and slender feet stuck out of the wooden frame.
Crusher was left barefoot and helpless in the stocks, her hands tied behind
her. The guard left.
The first person who happened along was a small girl, hardly more than
six or seven years old. She had scraggly blonde hair that fell about her
shoulders, and her face was smudged with dirt. Crusher tried to smile, gain
some sort of trust from her. To her immense relief, the child smiled back at
her, and then spoke.
"E'chi trondith?" the child asked. Crusher, having no idea what she said,
merely kept smiling. The young girl then reached towards Beverly's left foot,
and traced a line with her index finger down the length of the doctor's sole.
Dr. Crusher let out a startled gasp and started to giggle, despite herself.
This apparently delighted the child, who proceeded to wiggle her fingers
against Beverly's helpless soles. The doctor started to laugh out loud, unable
to help herself. She began to beg the girl to stop, even though she knew it
was useless without her communicator.
"Heheheheheh!!!! P-please stop! No more!!! Hahahahah!"
But it was no use. The small girl continued to tickle her trapped feet,
brushing her small fingers from Crusher's soft heels to the tips of her toes,
treating it as if it were some sort of game. Crusher was in agony, her help-
less laughter filling the air. She barely managed to gulp down enough air in
between bouts of convulsive laughter.
As the tickling torture went on, Crusher began to notice something beyond
the haze of the torment she experienced. A certain heat within her, a fire
that was being fed with every stroke against her soles... The tickling, though
she would have done anything to make it stop, was making her incredibly
aroused! It was thus doubly maddening-- the incessant stimulation of her soles
and the unfulfilled agony between her legs.
Eventually, the girl seemed to tire of her sport with the doctor's feet.
She ran away, laughing and waving at Crusher, whom she left exhausted. Tracks
of tears streamed down her cheeks from the forced laughter.
Having regained both her breath and her composure, Crusher noticed that
the village had come to life, with its many inhabitants going about their
daily business, largely ignoring her. Occasionally, one would stare at her, or
whispers would be spoken between two people as they passed. As if she could
understand what they said in the first place!
Riker, Data, and Worf had beamed down once more, and this time they had
much better luck in finding their missing comrades. At least, they found one
of them. Skulking around between several of the rude huts, they heard the
unmistakable sound of Dr. Crusher's voice, laughing. That struck them all as
highly odd, and they went over as stealthily as they could to investigate.
They managed to reach a place of concealment in a pile of old barrels, from
which they had a clear view of the doctor.
She was sitting on a bench, her hands tied behind her back, and her feet
locked into stocks of some kind. Two of the natives were in front of her,
stroking the soles of her feet with some kind of soft leaf frond. Each native
girl had taken a foot, and were apparently engaged in some kind of contest.
First one of them would brush the frond against Beverly's foot, forcing a
steady stream of laughter from her. Then that one would stop and the other
would take over, tickling Crusher's other foot. The two of them alternated
like that for some time, and Crusher was nearly beyond reason. All she could
do was laugh helplessly, incapable of even moving her feet.
The native girls who were torturing the doctor in this way were two of a
kind; both wide and plump, with long brown hair and dressed in the same animal
skins they all seemed to wear. Once in a while, one would decline to use the
frond and would take to tickling Crusher with her fingertips, which would
cause yet another eruption of laughter from the exhausted doctor.
"Is there nothing we can do?" asked Worf, frustrated. "They are torturing
her!"
"I know," replied Riker. "But we have to wait until she's left alone. If
we can get just a few seconds alone with her, we can beam out of here."
"But what of Counselor Troi, Commander?" asked Data.
"We'll have to come back for her, Data. I don't like it any more than
you, but now that we've found Dr. Crusher, we can't take the chance of losing
her again." The android nodded, satisfied with the reasoning.
At length, the two native girls wandered off to do their chores, their
game completed. Crusher still shook from the residual sensations, and was
gasping to recover her breath.
Riker looked around, and none of the villagers seemed to be looking in
the doctor's general direction. "Now," he said.
The three rushed across the short expanse of open field that lay between
them and the doctor, and finally reached her. "Thank goddness!" she said once
they had made it to her. "I don't think I could have taken any more!"
Data snapped the leather strap holding the stocks closed, and they freed
Crusher's feet. She stood up hesitantly.
"Do you have any idea where Deanna is?" asked Riker hurredly. He was
looking around to make sure the villagers didn't notice the escape.
"No," replied Crusher. "She was taken last night, and I haven't seen her
since."
"Damn," said Riker as he tapped his communicator. "Riker to Enterprise.
Four to beam up."
"Everything fits," Riker was saying in the briefing room. "The phasers
were being produced with modern methods and materials, and I can't believe it
was an accident that the village just happened to be located on top of a
Livirium deposit. Someone is definitely at work here from off-world."
"Agreed," said the Captain in his deep baritone voice. "But who? And
why?"
Data spoke up. "Unknown sir. But I believe I may have a way of piercing
the natural sensor interference and pinpointing the location of the Kukulkan's
crew, as well as that of Counselor Troi."
"Make it so, Mr. Data," replied the Captain, standing to return to the
Bridge. "And quickly. Based on Dr. Crusher's experiences, there is no telling
what could be happening to them down there."
Troi had spent the day chained to a stake in the same building in which
she had been tortured-- and pleasured-- the night before. She was still with-
out clothing, but at least she had been fed, and that raised her spirits. She
knew that the Enterprise would never abandon the search for her, but she also
knew how hard it would be to both rescue her and stay within the boundaries of
the Prime Directive. They couldn't just march through the place with a squad
of Worf's security people.
Around nightfall, a guard (Troi couldn't tell if it was the same one she
had seen before-- the previous night was all a blur to her) unchained her
ankle and led her out of the hut. The night was chill against her bare skin,
and she began to shiver. Soon, however, she was led to a large fire. There,
she saw a long bench with another board perpendicular to it. The second board
had holes cut into it at regular intervals. Across from her she saw two other
women. They were barefoot and their clothing was badly torn, but there was no
mistaking what they were wearing. Starfleet uniforms!
"You're from the Kukulkan?" asked Troi, as they were led over to the
stocks.
Both women looked startled. One was tall and blonde, and wore the insig-
nia of a Lieutennant. The other was about the same height as Troi, and was
black. Her uniform was torn off where her rank would have been displayed.
"Yes," said the black woman. "Are you Starfleet, too?"
Troi realized that she was totally naked, and blushed, seeking to cover
herself in any way. "Yes, Counselor Deanna Troi, from the starship Enterprise.
We were here to rescue you, but it seems that I'm the one who needs to be
rescued," she added ironically. "We found the wreckage of your ship. What
happened?"
They could not continue, as they were seated at the bench. All three
women found their feet being placed in the holes, their ankles secured in the
stocks. Their hands were then tied behind their backs. They then, all three of
them, were bound in the stocks, right next to one another. They were no more
than a foot apart from each other.
Troi had a good idea of what was about to happen, and was dreading it.
She saw the blonde woman from the night before, and could sense more lust
within her. That made Troi blush once more. The blonde native made a short
speech to the assembled villagers, who cheered and clapped as three young
native girls, each about fifteen years old, stepped forward, one in front of
each of the prisoners.
"E'chi trondith?" each native asked her respective prisoner. When no
answers were forthcoming, each grinned at the others and the crowd cheered
once more.
"They've tortured us like this every night for the last six weeks," the
blonde said hastily to Troi. "I'll go mad if I have to go through it agahehe-
hehehehehehehen!!!!" She began to laugh as the raven-haired native in front of
her began to wiggle her fingertips across her captive's soles.
The black woman was whimpering, obviously trying to hold in her laughter.
But it was a useless gesture. She wiggled and crossed her toes, trying to
delay what was inevitable. Within minutes, the merciless stroking of her soles
had tears streaming down her cheeks and her laughing out loud.
Troi held out the longest, enduring the maddening caresses, trying to
fight back the laughter that welled up within her. But then, just as it had
done before, it was being tickled between her toes that opened the floodgates.
She began to giggle uncontrollably, and then the giggles turned into outright
uncontrolled laughter.
She heard the helpless laughter of the other women, and was joining in
wholeheartedly. Every stroke of the young girl's fingertips against the soles
of her trapped feet increased the maddening torments she felt. At one point,
the girl would gently glide her fingers slowly up and down the arches of her
feet, and then would suddenly shift to rapidly wiggling them against her toes.
The other woman had been right-- it was maddening! Vainly, she tried to wiggle
her feet, cross her toes, anything to escape the torturing touch of the native
girl. But it was no use. She was obviously an expert at what she was doing,
and none of Troi's desperate tricks slowed the pace of the tickling one bit.
The torture continued for what felt like hours, without any respite. But
then, suddenly, Troi felt a rush of hope. She began to feel the familiar
tingling sensation that preceded transportation! She began to see the charac-
teristic blue sparkle around her body, and the bodies of the other Federation
captives, and then she was suddenly sitting on the floor of the transporter
chamber. Reflexively, she curled up in a ball and began to sob with relief.
The two other captives were there with her, and joined her in her emotional
release. Riker was there, and put a blanket around Troi, covering her naked-
ness, and hugged her gently.
"You're home," he said. "It's over."
Picard was filling the Counselor in on what exactly had happened. "Short-
ly after Commander Riker and the away team returned to the ship the last time,
we picked up an alien vessel entering the system. She didn't respond to our
hails, but we were able to positively identify her as an Orion ship. It seems
that the Orions have been selling high-technology weapons to the natives here
in exchange for their minerals."
"What of the rest of the Kukulkan's crew?" asked Crusher, also standing
on the bridge, cleaned up and recovered from her ordeal on the planet.
"According to Commander Hardy's report, the other two crewmen were killed
on impact. It seems they encountered another Orion vessel, which opened fire
and caused them to crash. The Federation is lodging a formal protest against
Orion and there are going to be reparations made, rest assured."
"Reparations," repeated Troi.
"Deanna," said Picard, with great feeling in his voice, "if there were
any way I could undo what happened to you and Dr. Crusher on that planet..."
"I understand, Captain," said Troi. But, remembering the wild, blonde
woman, with her sensations that were both horrible torture and wildest pleas-
ure, she wasn't sure if she would want to have it undone.
Although they didn't realize it, Troi and Crusher were thinking the same
thing.
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