They'd agreed to keep me that long because my cousin Judy, who'd just finished her sophomore year at college, was in Europe as an exchange student in physics.  Her older brothers, twins, were sharing an apartment in the city.  My parents, by the way, were also in Europe on a combination vacation and business trip.

Besides needing a place to stay, according to my parents (I'd just turned 18 and thought I could handle being home on my own but they disagreed), I'd come for a change of pace, as well as to see the nearby sites like Washington, DC, Gettysburg, etc., though the latter was only on the weekends since Mike and Sandy insisted they go with me.

During the week, there wasn't much to do. Mike and Sandy had every cable station possible and a pool in the backyard, but I didn't really know anyone my age, and all my cousin's friend's were gone. That's why I was overjoyed when I read in the newspaper that a renaissance faire was coming to town later in the month for a whole week.

I planned to go every day, in costume if I could find something, since renfaires are more fun that way.  I decided to visit one day while Mike and Sandy were at work, but my plans were short-circuited when they left for a two-week vacation to Long Island, New York, after recruiting my other cousins, Judy's twin older brothers, to stay with me while they were gone.  Jack and John were in their mid-20's, and it had been some time since I'd even seen them since upon starting college they'd moved into a rented house in which they still lived in the city.

When I'd first started coming to their place for vacation in the summer, we were all in grammar school, they liked to pounce on me at every opportunity, hold me down and me from my armpits, ribs, sides, tummy, thighs, and knees to warm me up for coup d'grace, then they'd remove my sneakers with great ceremony and take turns tickling my sensitive bare feet until I was in tears.

The worst time was the summer the two of them had just finished their freshman year, Judy her first year of middle school, and me the 4th grade.  Judy liked to dress me in some of her clothes, style my hair, make me up, and play "girl party".  One day she and her girlfriends thought it would be cute to dress me up in a bikini to swim with them in the pool, and after she and her friends went to the mall, Jack and John came home from their soccer game to find me still in the bikini.

To "punish" me for crossdressing, they tied me down to a bed and tickle-tortured me all over for nearly two hours all over my exposed skin.  When Judy discovered what'd happened, she ratted them out to her parents and they were grounded for the rest of the summer, even from soccer, which they both loved and excelled at.  Since they were the anchors of the team, which their dad, Uncle Mike, coached, the team's ability was seriously compromised and they were eliminated in the first round of state finals.  The team never came that close to state championship again.

After that, the two avoided me whenever I came up for the summer until they moved out, and I'd not seen them in a few years.  That was also the last time Judy played "dress up" with me.

Though I was a bit worried staying at the house alone with them, it wasn't like I had much choice.  Of course, we were all older now and more mature, so I told myself such childish games were a thing of the past and old resentments dead and buried.

I have to admit to being a bit awed when I first saw them.  Both had gotten quite tall, around 6'5", and having been athletic all their lives were well-muscled and very much in shape, in addition to being very good-looking.

"Wow!" I said when they arrived the Sunday evening, "you two have certainly, um, grown a lot."

"And you're the same skinny kid you always were," said Jack, goosing my lower sides.  I jumped back, dissolving into giggles.

"Still ticklish, I see," remarked John.  I felt the little hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

"Our own little tickle slave," added Jack.  "This is gonna be a blast!"

"Yeah, we're just tickled to death to have you here," smiled John.

At the look on my face, the two doubled over laughing.  "We're just kidding you, Charlie, we're too old for that," said Jack finally.

"Yeah," said John.  "We just wanted you to know there aren't any hard feelings from before, in case you were worried."

Mike and Sandy left early the next morning, while Jack and John went to the office of the engineering firm in which they were partners.  When they came home that evening, they asked me if I had any interest in going to the renaissance faire that was opening on Thursday morning.  Naturally we'd have to wait until Saturday, though.

"Both of us are active in the Society for Creative Anachronism and have full costumes," Jack informed me, "so we're going in period dress.  It more fun that way, and sometimes you get invited to participate."

"Well, I don't have anything to wear," I replied.

"We don't have anything to fit you, but Judy might have something you could wear," John suggested.  "She'll get a kick out of seeing you crossdressed after all these years."

At first I laughed at the suggestion, especially considering what'd happened before, but they reminded me that the faire was all about creating a fantasy persona.  Curiously, I felt like they actually wanted me to do it for some reason, and with that subtle not-quite-peer pressure, I gave in.

I should mention that at the time I was very slim (about 125) for my height (5'9"), my auburn hair was shoulder length and cut in an androgynous unisex style, my legs were slender and shapely for a guy, and I had what could've been A-cup breasts with abnormally large nipples, so I made a very passable "girl". I'd even cultivated a "girlish" voice and walk. Judy and I were about the same build and she was 5'6".

No one in town knew me, other than my uncle, aunt, and cousins, so I figured I could get away with it. I knew that somewhere in all of her mountains of clothes and old costumes my cousin was bound to have something appropriate.  A quick search proved I was correct.

The first renfaire outfit I found was her gypsy belly dancer costume, and though Jack and John said I looked good when I tried it on, I felt it was a little too much, or rather too little, for me to wear in public, so I searched again, finding her peasant girl outfit all the way in back.

The outfit was composed of an off-the-shoulder white cropped blouse with sleeves that stopped a couple of inches below my elbows, a low-cut strapless black cloth bodice that would cover what would otherwise have been my bare midriff, and an emerald green skirt with a four-inch wide white strip down the front, which Judy had modified with splits on both sides, the hem of which came down to about three inches above my ankles.  A small white apron completed the costume.

"Of course, you're going to have to shave all over," John told me, "and then treat your body with delipatory crème so you don't have to shave every day."

Applying liberal amounts of 55+ sunscreen head-to-toe would also be a necessity with my fair, freckled skin.

"You'll need a manicure too, if you're going to pass," added Jack, "and a pedicure too, since peasant wenches at these things don't wear shoes."

Which wasn't an issue, really, since Judy's shoes were a size and a half too small for me.  Besides, I'd often been teased about having "girl's feet" (very small for a guy my height--size 8--and narrow, with high arches, long straight toes, and soft pink soles), so I realized immediately being barefoot would only add to the illusion.

"You're going to fool everyone," smiled John.  "This'll be great."

"Yeah," Jack added, "it'll be our own private joke".

The rest of the week was filled with anticipation.

While they were at work Thursday, I went to the faire in street clothes, just to get a taste of what it was like to be there as a male "civilian" attendee to contrast with what it would be like Saturday as a "female" semi-participant.

Friday evening, I shaved my body everywhere (and I mean everywhere), followed with the delipatory crème.  I was completely hairless and noticed my skin seemed much more sensitive.  I'd gone to a salon that afternoon for a professional manicure and pedicure, the latter finished with a paraffin footbath.  If only I'd left out the shiny blood red toenail polish, maybe I wouldn't have been such a tempting target.

The next day, while Jack and John got into their costumes, I dressed up in Judy's peasant outfit.  We were taking separate cars in case I began to feel uncomfortable and wanted to leave.  About ten o'clock, we drove out to the faire, Jack as a knight, John as a minor lord, and me as a peasant tavern wench-a barefoot peasant tavern wench.

The faire was much more crowded than it had been Thursday.  At first I was a bit awkward out being out in public crossdressed and worried everyone would see through the disguise, but after the first few appreciate glances and one or two outright leers, I relaxed into my role.

I'd known I was bisexual since puberty (even though I'd only had sex with girls), so the fact that guys were looking at me like that didn't bother me, even if the intensity was a little much at first.  Besides, I was playing a part, after all.

Fortunately for my lack-of-footwear, the grounds were mostly soft, thick grass, fine sawdust, and sand, except for the gravel parking lot.  Of course, there were the occasional small, sharp rocks, pointy sticks, and various other hazards, but these proved to be few and provided an opportunity to solicit sympathy and to show off my soles.

Of course, I enjoyed having so many guys and older men, even some obvious lesbians or at least bi women, staring at my long, sexy legs and especially at my bare feet, and had a lot of mischievous fun flirting, teasing, and smiling coquettishly as if I weren't aware of what they were staring at even as I displayed my feet more alluringly.

Sometimes, though, their expressions seemed almost like hunger, which made me feel as if I may as well have been stark naked.  I really enjoyed playing with them.  Instead of pretending as if I didn't know, with these I'd look down at my feet then lift my eyes to look directly into theirs with a knowing smile, deliberately catching them indulging their secret fetish, or else play dumb and "innocently" ask what they were staring at.  Then I'd laugh to myself when they'd turn away embarassed.

The older men were the most fun of all, because not only was their secret fetish exposed, but they were caught becoming sexually aroused by what seemed like such an obviously underage girl, since I look a few years younger than I actually am.

At first, Jack and John told me to behave myself, goodnaturedly ribbing me about being a cock-tease and playfully telling me to stop being such slut ("You're worse than Judy!"), but after I continued to ignore their admonishments, they gave that up.

About an hour after our arrival, I had to take a piss really bad, and when I came out of the port-a-potty, Jack and John had disappeared.  I figured they'd wandered off to see a joust or a melee or some other event, but was only slighty worried because we'd come in separate cars in case I felt too uncomfortable being in public the way I was attired.  And besides, I was having too much fun.

Throughout the day, there were two middle-aged men, both in period dress, who seemed to be a professional photography team taking pictures of the various exhibits and events. One was the photographer while the other seemed to be acting as a combination director/assistant, carrying a bookbag over his shoulder, apparently for camera supplies.

Every once in a while, the photographer would be snapping pictures and I'd notice the other watching me in a way that seemed critical.  Unlike the other men, he looked at me as if he wondered if I were hiding something (which, of course, I was), and it made me feel exposed and more than a little uncomfortable.

Early in the afternoon after I'd been wandering around for most of the day, taking in the sights, playing coy while being an outrageous foot-tease, and enjoying my charade, I passed by them again, with the photographer again taking pictures.  The other saw me, looked down at his cellphone, then looked back up directly at me with interest.

Suddenly uneasy, I turned around and walked back, then dashed around the corner of one of the exhibit tents to pass between it and its neighbor and almost smacked into the assistant/director doing the same from the opposite side.

We both stopped dead in our tracks, and, startled, I sucked in breath before looking down toward my feet. As I brought my eyes back up I noticed he had long, sharp fingernails, like a banjo player.  I also noticed a rather large bulge at his crotch.

When I looked all the way up, I saw him staring at my bare feet too before raising his head with a smirk on his face.  His eyes grew wide for a moment as if in sudden recognition, then he smiled with that same semi-lecherous expression I'd been seeing from other men throughout the day.

"Excuse me, Miss," he said, winking, "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Oh, that's OK," I replied smiling with reassurance, though feeling shy and unsure of myself.  "You didn't run into me, so no harm done".

"I'm sorry, but I had to get close enough to see," he told me.  "That's an amazing masquerade; you look beautiful."

Not knowing what else to say, I replied, "Well, thank you, sir."

"I mean, I wouldn't believe it if I weren't this close," he continued, "close enough to see your Adams apple."

I stood there in shock, with my mouth hanging open. No one else had shown any sign of seeing thru the façade.   How'd he know?  What else tipped him off before?  The growing of the bulge in his pants did nothing to ease my apprehension, especially given the lewd grin and a smug expression of satisfaction he showed now.

"Don't worry, sweetie, we won't tell anyone that the pretty young girl with the pretty little feet isn't really a 'girl'," he reassured.  "You're secret's safe with us."

"I really appreciate that," I said gratefully.  "I'm may be here in Baltimore the whole summer, but my two cousins I came here with have to live here."

"Well, since my partner and I are so willing to be discreet," he asked, "I wonder if you'd do us a little favor."

"What kind of favor?" I asked warily, my suspicions aroused and tittilated at the same time.  Blowjobs?  Anal?  A threeway?

Seeing the look on my face, he laughed.  "Nothing like that!"

For a brief moment I was almost disappointed.

"As you may have noticed," he continued, "we've been shooting every event and exhibit at the faire.  There's just one we haven't done because we need a model.  Since I've been admiring you all day, and have seen all the others admiring you, I'm hoping you'll be willing to pose for some photos in the faire's stocks."

"You want me to sit in the stocks??" I asked incredulously.  "In the town green in the center of the faire?"

"We'll pay you for your time, of course."

"I dunno...," I demurred.  As I said, this man had been giving me the creeps most of the day.

"Look, we've been trying to get a model all day," he urged. "But I'm glad the others we asked turned us down because you have the perfect look." Then he added, "And we'd especially love to have a model with such pretty feet."

Suddenly any resistance I had melted away.  Disarmed by his flattery, I eagerly agreed in my sweetest girlie Southern accent even he knew about the charade

I followed him across the grounds to the stocks, thrilled to be the "girl" chosen as the model because he knew what was behind the disguise.

"So, what's your name, sweetie?" he asked, now that we were among others.

"Charlene," I answered, "Charlene Lafitte.  You can call me Charlie."  (Charlie is what I go by in real life, and the surname was chosen on the spot.)

"Well, Charlie, I'm Frank, and my partner is Henry, and we're from Connecticut.  We call our little outfit 'Frank & Hank, the Yanks'."

"Nice to meet you," I smiled.  "To tell you the truth, the bottoms of my feet are so tender right now, I'll be glad to get off them for a bit. They're really soft and very sensitive, so walking on all these sticks and tiny gravel lying around really hurts, especially since I just had a pedicure yesterday."

"Oh, Lord, if that's the case, then why in the world did you come barefoot?" he laughed.  Then he smiled conspiratorily and said in a low voice to match, "Oh, I know what it is...you want all the boys to see those pretty little feet of yours, right?"

My heart skipped a beat, and I must've blanched or blushed, or both.

He laughed again. "Nevermind," he said, putting his arm around my shoulder, "I'm just glad we can help each other out."

We arrived at one of the faire's vendor tents, a small one, and went inside.  Henry was there adjusting his equipment.

"Henry, meet Charlie Lafeet," Frank said, with a curious stress on the last syllable. "I found us a model for our stocks shoot!"

Henry smiled at me. "And a pretty one at that girl, especially for a boy."

I smile back coquettishly and I'm sure I flushed, feeling both flattered and exposed at the same time.

Then I noticed him glance quickly at my bare feet, and then back up at his partner, smiling conspiratorily.

"And, as I see you've noticed," Franki grinned impishly, winking at Henry, "she's already barefoot!"

"What do you mean by that?" I asked nervously.

"Oh, it's nothing to worry about," he replied, patting me on the shoulder. "Being barefoot when you were in the stocks was part of the punishment, so if you had shoes on, we'd have to remove them. So see, you've already helped by saving us time."

After I signed a model's release, Frank told me, "Part of the stocks punishment was the 'walk of shame', parading the offender thru the town wearing a sign with their offence around their neck.  So, let's get you ready."

While Henry held my wrists together, Frank looped rope three times aroun my wrists, brought the ends around the loops, binding my wrists separately and more securely,  then tied it off.

"One more thing," Frank said, "usually those in the stocks were also gagged, so I need you to open wide, and say 'Ah'."

I complied, even though I felt uncomfortable about it. But I'd gone this far, so I might as well go all the way.

"Wider," Frank said as I opened my mouth partially, and when I did so he immediately stuffed a raquetball in my mouth, slapped duct tape across it, and covered both with with a linen cloth tied behind my neck that hung well past my chin.

Saying, "You will find breathing easier without this," Henry began unlacing the bodice until was able to remove it, while Frank tied another rope from ankle-to-ankle, with about two feet in between.

"My, my," noted Henry, "look at all this bare skin!"  Immediately, he and Frank attacked my smooth bare midriff with tickling fingers.

I erupted into howling laughter and fell to my knees, Henry's growing cock right in my face.

"Just a little kidding around, sweetie," Frank said as he hauled me back to my feet by my arms.

Tying another rope around my waist, he left about five feet to use as a leash while he followed behind me, and Henry hung a sign around my neck.

As Frank pushed me outside, with Henry proceeding to get into position to start taking pictures, I looked down to read what crimes I was charged with:

"For Lewd Conduct,

Lascivious Behavior,

and Unlawful Carnal Knowledge"

Oh my God, I realized, I'm being called a whore!

Of course, by looking down I missed the silent high five and thumbs-up the two gave each other.

I thought I was going to die of embarassment.  Frank had me walk all around the central part of the faire grounds weaing that sign, with Henry taking pictures about halfway until leaving to get set up at the "town green".

Whereas most guys at the faire watching before had at least attempted to be discrete, I now faced open leers and lascivious stares that made me feel as if I may as well have been stark naked.

I may as well have worn Judy's gypsy dancer outfit.

When we got to the town green, Henry was waiting at the stocks, which were constructed on a small foot-high scaffold next to a pillory, a whipping post, and a block for beheadings.  The two-part restraint for ankles and wrists, composed of two six-by-fours, was secured in place between eight-by-fours drive deep into the ground resting a foot above the floor of the scaffold.

Three eybolts stood on top of the restraints, the large one in the center and the two smaller to either side.

What are those for? I wondered briefly before puzzling over the bucket of water on the ground before the stocks and the fact that Henry had erected a digital videocam in a tree several feet back and ten feet off the ground.

As Frank led me around to the side of the device and ordered me to sit down on the foot-high padded bench, Henry pushed the button of the remote for the vidcam and began photographing the scene.

After untying my wrists, Frank instructed me to put my ankles in the center holes and my wrists in the outer ones, which I obediently did, then he shut the top bar and padlocked the latch.

When I heard the "click" of the padlock, I felt a slightly queasy feeling that you get just before a roller-coaster ride as I realized that I was now completely helpless.

The camera snapped away continuously, and I'm sure Henry got a good shot of the look on my face.

After pulling the front of my sides-split skirt through my legs, Frank then tied my the latter together just below the knees with several loops of rope and fastened a period leather belt around my thighs.

While he was doing this, Henry stopped photographing, untied the rope tethering my ankles together the retied it around them like Frank had the one around my wrists before.

"Time to clean off the bottoms of your feet," he said.  "They're filthy.  After all, you do want your feet looking their best for these pictures that other people, women and men, are gonna see, don't you?"

A small crowd had begun to slowly gather, curious as to what was going on, forming a small semi-circle about a few feet away from the stocks in which I was held captive. Looking out, I could see the people watching the proceedings with eager anticipation.

One at a time, he held the back of a foot with one hand while wetting, soaping up, scrubbing off with a washcloth, then rinsing.

Seeing me wince, bite my lip, and clench my fists when he started scrubbing the bottoms of my feet with the washcloth, he stopped. "Are you ok, sweetie? Does that hurt?"

I shook my head and tried to control my giggling. A few chuckles came from the small crowd, not that I really noticed.

"Well, ok, if you say so," Henry said, with a knowing, mischievious look in his eyes before continuing.

When he finished and dried off my wet feet, he asked Frank, "How's that?", winking as he did.

"Perfect," Frank replied, winking back. I suddenly felt somewhat uneasy, and began to squirm.

Herny stepped back and resumed taking pictures

By now everyone was staring with eager faces at my bare, naked size 8 (9 1/2 in women's) feet sticking out of the stocks.  The thought suddenly occurred to me that, being the cock-tease I am, this was almost too good to be true; here I am trapped and helpless, with my bare feet on display for everyone to see, the perfect excuse to "put on a show".

Well, I told myself, if y'all want a show, I'll give you one, and pointed my toes forward all the way to show off my painted toenails, flexed my feet back to display my flawless pink soles (buttery soft and satiny smooth from the previous day's pedicure) while spreading out my toes, circled them outward and brought them back together with my toes pointed again, then began paddling them back and forth, alternating with moving them aimlessly while wiggling my toes.

During my foot-teasing exhibition, Frank, picked up a sign attached to a wooden stake that had been lying facedown behind the scaffold, and planted it in the ground beside the stocks.

All the onlookers smiled, and several of them began snickering.

I look around nervously and nodded toward the sign off to my left.

"Oh, that's just a notice that you're being punished," Frank answered.

Why is everyone laughing? I wondered. What does it say?  My thoughts had to have made their way to my face.

"Are you sure you want to know?" he inquired, cocking his head and raising his left eyebrow.  I nodded.  "Well," he smiled mischeiviously, "here goes then:"

"This naughty little wench is fickle

A shameless coy tease

So her bare feet are yours to tickle

However much ye please"

My eyes grew wide open and everyone laughed, including Frank and Henry. My feet stopped moving and I froze.

"Oh, don't worry, silly," Frank chuckled, "that's just for the camera. We'd never do anything like that, would we, Henry?".  Turning to his partner behind him, he winked at the crowd, many of whom giggled and chuckled.

"No, never," Henry deadpanned, adding, "not a million years."

Of course they wouldn't do that, I told myself desparately, not in public, with all these people watching. I relaxed, and my feet started pedaling again, only much faster.

The onlookers' disappointment was very apparent, but no one left. Instead, more trickled in, making the crowd several layers deep, and their disappointment, like my relief, proved to be momentary.

With a sinister smile, Frank announced, "Someone's moving her feet around way too much," then pulled out a thick white cotton cord, bound my big toes together, and secured the other end to the center eyebolt on top of the stocks, first pulling back so that my soles were taut.

Now I couldn't move my feet at all.

What the hell? I thought.

Then I saw my two captors now grinning like hyenas, and a chill ran down my spine.

All I could do was sit and wait for was about to happen next, whatever that was. As if it weren't all too obvious already from the smug, knowing looks on the faces of most of the people in the crowd.

"These pretty little bare soles are crying out for some 'special attention'," Frank said, squatting down and taking something from his bookbag at the foot of the stocks.  Turning around, holding up what he had in his hands for the now much larger crowd to view, being careful to keep it out of my sight.

The sudden expressions from the audience, which it now became, exaggerated my apprehension and made me even more frantic.

Frank turned around slowly, keeping his hands below my line of sight until he was facing me dead on with his left eyebrow raised and a sadistic smirk on his face, then lifted his hands level with his shoulders, first his right then his left.

In each hand he held a stiff turkey feather.

My stomach dropped hard when I realized what he was going to do to me, my eyes wide as saucers as he waved the feathers from side-to-side for emphasis.

Ever since that last torture at the hands of my cousins, I'd been fascinated with the idea of tickle-torture as a form of punishment.  Being as ticklish as I am, however, I'd never told anyone for fear of someone actually doing it.  In truth, I can't stand to be tickled, and my fear of tickling had grown into a phobia.

And now my greatest fascination was about to be realized and my worst fear was going to come true, in a more horrible way than I'd ever imagined!

"What's the matter," Frank taunted, smiling that mischievous smile of his again, "are you ticklish?"

At those words, I panicked, struggling wildly in fear and shaking my head in protest, to the audience's great amusement.  My desparation merely riveted the attention of the crowd more intensely in anticipation of what was about to happen.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes'," Frank smirked, arching his left eyebrow.

I looked around frantically from Frank, who gave me that smile again and winked at me, to Henry photographing nonstop, to the audience, trying to plead for someone, anyone, to help me.  I couldn't believe this was really happening.

"What do you say, friends?" Frank asked the crowd.  "Do you want to see 'Little Miss Pretty Feet' here suffer her just punishment?"

Everyone in the audience shouted a loud and whole-hearted affrimative, and began chanting, "TICKLE, TICKLE, TICKLE HER, TICKLE HER BARE FEET! TICKLE, TICKLE, TICKLE HER, TICKLE HER BARE FEET!...," over and over and over again.

While they were chanting, Frank leaned forward and said in a low voice, "Jack and John send their regards!"

I have no idea what they thought Frank said to me then, but the look on my face must've been quite comical judging from the reaction of the crowd.

A hush fell over the crowd as Frank walked back around and sat down before my defenceless and hypersensitive bare feet.  We looked each other in the eyes, Frank with predatory mischievous intent, me with fear, embarassment, humiliation.

"Nobody as ticklish as you obviously are will be able to bear me tickling your little tootsies for even one minute," he said merrily. "And I'm going to tickle you and tickle you and tickle you, until you can't take it anymore. And then you know what? I'm going to keep right on tickling!"

He winked at me, slowly licking his lips all the way around them.  Suddenly I jerked as I felt the feathers touch my soles and begin sliding upward, but that was my only reaction at first because they didn't bother me initially. I started to relax and was almost disappointed. Almost.

"I think you knew this was coming," Frank taunted as he continued sliding the feathers up and down my poor soles from heel to toe-tip and back. "You had to have known. I certainly dropped enough hints."

Soon, the sensations from the feathers became more intense with each stroke and were beginning to drive me crazy. I was once again wincing, biting my lip, clenching my hands, even wiggling my toes as the ticklish feelings became more unbearable and my feet started twitching reflexively.

If I can just hold out long enough, I kept telling myself, keep from laughing, he'll give up.

I bit down harder attempting to prevent the inevitable giggling, but with no escape from those hellish feathers even for a brief instant, I was soon giggling helplessly away and pulling frantically at my bonds. The sensations from the feathers on my feet were making my bare legs quiver.

"I think you wanted this, didn't you?" Frank teased. "After all, you came here voluntarily, placed yourself in the stocks, let me padlock them, let me tie you up more, even let me gag you."

My giggling became louder and faster, and even with my soles twitching and wrinkling, my toes wriggling spasmodically, and my body beginning to tremble convulsively, I made one last futile effort to stifle it.

"Perhaps you were just so eager to these pretty little bare feet of yours on such public display for everyone to see and stare at that you willfully ignored the warning signs. That's right, isn't it?"

As Frank said this, my last attempt to stop my uncontrollable giggling shattered in a piercing squeal that ended with an eruption into loud, agonized laughter. I'd been broken in less than a full minute.

"See?" chuckled Frank, "I told you resistance was futile."

Thank God, now he'll quit, I hoped futilely even as I guffawed. He's won. He's broken me. He's...

But the tickling didn't stop. There was no relief. None whatsoever. Only...more tickling. Frank was completely without mercy. Up and down my soles the feathers went, in between my toes, and around my ankles, in constant motion all the time.

The most humiliating of all was the intense involuntary sexual arousal, all the more intense for being so totally out of place.  Here I was being tortured by having my helpless bare feet being tickled against my will, in public, and I was getting turned on?

Fortunately for my "Charlene" persona, my cock was firmly secured with a Maxi-pad and duct tape, but that didn't mean there weren't other visible signs of my state.

"Ooh, look everyone, I think she's actually enjoying this!" Frank teased. "See her nipples?  They're sticking out like pencil erasers!"

I was laughing hysterically and struggling almost violently enough that Frank had even ceased his taunting because he knew none of it would get through.

He continued nonstop for thirty minutes, then reversed the feathers and started dragging the quills up and down my soft, tender soles. This new torture felt like electric shocks passing through my body. I'd never felt anything like it. And there was nothing I could do to escape it.

Pleased with my reaction, Frank continued this new torture for another half-hour as I literally screamed with laughter and hot tears ran down my face as I thrashed about even more wildly on the bench. Since sawing the feathers back and forth between my toes had produced such violent screams earlier, he did this occasionally too.

Henry, of course, continued taking pictures, and by this time, the audience for my torture was HUGE.

And no one was doing anything to stop it! They were all just standing around the stocks watching me be tortured, many taking pictures with their cellphones and some recording with digital cams.

Here I am, clearly in agony, and they're being entertained? Worse, they're even cheering my torturer on to greater effort!

"TICKLE, TICKLE, TICKLE HER, TICKLE HER BARE FEET! TICKLE, TICKLE, TICKLE HER, TICKLE HER BARE FEET!..."

Finally, Frank ceased tickling with the feathers.

After giving me less than a minute's rest so he could spread baby oil on my soles and toe pads, he untied my toes, telling the crowd, "Let's give her feet a chance to move around so we can enjoy watching them squirm in desparation."

Frank immediately attacked my vulnerable feet with his long, sharp fingernails. The baby oil made my poor feet even more sensitive, and also enabled his fingernails to slide more easily across my soles and toepads.

Clearly he wasn't lying about being an experienced tickler, hitting every spot he targeted even with my poor bare feet twisting, writhing, and jerking around in desparation, trying to block one with the other, and my toes wriggling madly in the air.

No part of my poor tortured soles was spared. First his fingers danced like a spider all over my delicate soles. Then he focused on my naked heels with circular motions, ran his fingernails up and down my arches, attacked the balls of my feet with fast side-to-side scratching, and dug into the ultrasensitive area under my toes.

He varied from figure-8's to jiggling his fingernails all over the bottoms of my feet to running them side-to-side to hard to spreading them out four wide and raking up and down my soles, constantly changing intensity from slow & light to fast & hard to slow & hard to fast & light.

After half an hour, Frank called out, still tickling, "Henry, I need a volunteer!".

Every hand in the audience went up.

When Henry had selected one, another middle-aged man in period dress, Frank quit for a moment so the volunteer could tie a blindfold around my eyes while he himself retied my big toes in place, adding ties securing my pinky toes to the two smaller eyebolts.

"Now watch this," Frank said gleefully, "after being able to move her feet around, this will drive her really crazy!".

He immediately started in on my bare soles with both hands, raking his fingernails up & down, across, and diagonally on my soles. The sounds spilling out over the faire grounds went beyond hysterical laughter, more a mixture of screaming, gasping, and attempted muffled begging which wouldn't have been coherent even without the multiple gag. Also there was the sound of loudly creaking wood as the sturdy stocks withstood the tensions of a tortured body trying madly, but fruitlessly, to break free.

Meanwhile, as Frank tortured my soles, the helpful volunteer retrieved the two discarded feathers and used them to tickled in between my toes, sawing back and forth and in between and fluttering underneath them, and using the quills to torment my toepads.

That's when I really beserk, the team-tickling of my poor bare feet caused such violent screaming and spasms of convulsive writhing that everyone watching had to have realized I was being tortured for real, but instead of intervening the crowd eagerly savored every second of my hellish torture.

"TICKLE, TICKLE, TICKLE HER, TICKLE HER BARE FEET! TICKLE, TICKLE, TICKLE HER, TICKLE HER BARE FEET!..."

In between screaming with hysterical agony, I had reached the extreme of silent laughter. My two tortureres had a toy to play with, and play they did. They continued torturing my defenceless bare feet with Frank's talented fingernails and the volunteer's feathers without ceasing and without mercy for the next thirty minutes, and the whole time the bottoms of my feet felt like they were on fire.

Finally, the tickle-torture ceased for good, but only after a full TWO HOURS since my torment had first begun.

I had been tickle-tortured to absolute hysteria. My hair was plastered to my head with sweat and my outfit was soaked. My sides hurt from laughing, my throat was so sore from screaming, laughing,  and loud sobbing, and every muscle in my body ached from involuntary spasms.

"You are absolutely the most ticklish 'girl' I've seen," said Frank standing up. "I'd be glad to play with you anytime. Here's our card," he dropped it in my lap, "give us a call if you're ever up for replay."

"Oh, and by the way," he added as he started to leave, "I should let you now-we never would've let you leave after getting you in the stocks. Once there, you and your pretty little feet were all mine."

As I sat there still trying to get my breath, wondering why I hadn't been released yet, Henry came over. He pulled out a $1 bill and stuffed it down the front of my blouse.

"You know, Charlie," he said, "while I've been taking pictures, several men told me about your blatant teasing and how glad they were to see you getting what you deserved. We asked ourselves why should we be the only ones having fun..."

It was then that I noticed Frank forming the audience into a line, mostly men, pointing at the sign and selling turkey feathers for a dollar apiece.

"We've never done this part to anyone before," Henry added cheerfully. "It'll make great subject matter for more photos!"

I was dazed with disbelief. This couldn't be for real.  But for the next few hours, until the faire closed for the evening, it was all too real.  It was the worst tickle hell I'd ever endured to that point.

When I was finally released, I was so exhausted and sore all over that I stumbled only a few steps before collapsing behind the nearest big oak tree, passed out cold.

* * * * *

When I finally awoke, I was cold, but not too much. I was actually grateful no one had kidnapped me to hold captive as a tickle slave. Or worse.

I had to climb over the chain-link fence in my bare feet to get to the parking lot where my car was, appreciative of the momentary pain to distract me from the intensity of the still lingering itchy, tingling feelings on the bottoms of my feet.

Somehow I'd never broken out of my "Charlie" persona even for a moment, though that may have saved me hours of torture. On the other hand, maybe not. Or maybe it would've been worse.

Next time I come to one of these damn things, though, it'll be as a knight, in a full suit of armor.

Walking to my car gingerly over the sharp gravel, I had just arrived when someone grabbed me from behind, pinning my arms to my sides, while another person clamped a damp cloth over my mouth.  I quickly lost consciousness.

* * * * *

I woke up to smelling salts, groggy, blinking my eyes against the light.  My eyes flew open wide at the realization I was completely naked, tied down Y-spread (wrist together, ankles spread) to a bed with my feet hanging over the bottom edge, and covered all over in baby oil, including the bottoms of my feet.  Most shocking of all was the fact that my cock was rock hard and standing at attention.

Looking around in panic struggling in my bonds, I saw I was in the basement den of Mike and Sandy's house, off of which was the bedroom I was using.  One of the twins beds from that room had been dragged into the center of the den, and it was that to which I was tied.  Then I noticed the five figures standing on around the bed, one at either side, one above the head, and two below the foot.  All five figures wore black monk's robes, with hoods over them, and Scream showing only their eyes.

"You have been handed over to the Inquisition in an attempt to purge the evil from your soul," said the figure on the left side.

Oh my God, no, it can't be!

As he finished speaking, the monk unfastened and dropped his robe, revealing a well-muscled body but less toned than someone younger, leaving him in a hood, mask, and black leather G-string.

"You will be chastised without ceasing until brought unto repentance," said the monk on the right.

Oh God, it is!  It is!

Then Henry removed his robe just as Frank had done before, revealing a similar well-shaped body.

"Contrition will be repeatedly tested for sincerity," said the monk at the left foot, before Jack dropped his robe, revealing his well-muscled AND well-toned body.  "Fainting will be punished severely."

"Pleading for mercy will go unheeded and ignored," said the monk at the right foot, then John dropped his robe, exposing his equally admirable physique. "You will be revived only to have your punishment continue."

"Until you truly learn to obey and submit, with your heart, with all your mind, with all your body, and with all your soul," finished the monk above my head, the most shocking of all, before my Uncle Mike removed his own robe, revealing that his own conditioning was no less than his sons.

I had a brief moment to glance around from well-muscled bodies to enormous bulging crotches before Mike tied a wide, thick black blindfold around my head, robbing me of my sight.

I felt a circled thumb and forefinger begin sliding slowly up and down my oiled cock ten times, then ten times rapidly, then ten times slowly and so on.  Soon I was whimpering for release, but every time I got close, whoever was taking his turn (they changed several times) would clamp the base of my cock until it subsided.

After God knows how long, the unseen "monk" grabbed firmly with his whole fist and began pumping rapidly, much to my grateful relief, until I exploded everywhere, and another took his place without missing a beat, until all five monks had made me cum.

My skin had never in my whole life felt so alive with tender sensation, everywhere, and I knew the slightest touch anywhere would make me scream in ticklish agony.  Being tickle now could literally drive me insane.

And just that terrfiying realization, I heard Mike command, "Now let the teasing begin and never end!  Welcome to Tickle Hell!"

I had no more conscious thought the remainder of the night.

It was going to be a long, LONG summer.