Roy knew the drill by now. He arrived at Blake’s house by nightfall and barely had enough time to make himself comfortable before the dragonborn shoved his bare feet in his face. Blue, like the rest of the stoic barbarian, with a lighter shade over his smooth soles.
It always started with as simple command: “Lick.”
They had been doing this every week since they met. And though the polar bear did not deny how much fun it was to slather those beautiful feet in saliva, he did start to resent the cold mannerisms of the man they belonged to.
“Keep going, bear. I’m almost there!” the dragonborn moaned in a deep voice fitting of his imposing stature. He leaned back and stroked his erection in response to Roy droving his tongue right between his toes, stimulating that patch of seldom touched skin to extremely arousing effects.
Only this time Roy had no intention of letting him reach climax.
Just as Blake was about to reach the point of no return, he was pulled back down to Earth with a quick yet sobering lick from his heel all the way up to his splaying toes.
“Ack! Haha!”
Roy just barely dodged a kick to his face. “Ticklish feet?” He asked with a smirk on his face.
“No. And I won’t miss a second time so don’t do that again.”
Hilarious.
“Let me think…” he tapped Blake’s sole with the tips of his claws, eliciting a surprised giggle from him. “No.” He quickly wrapped his arm around Blake’s ankles and went wild on the massive soft soles - poking and scratching them. Ragged laughter boomed for a few seconds before Blake slipped his legs free and sprung up from the floor.
“What are you doing? You’re here to lick my feet, not tickle them.”
“Tough shit,” Roy shrugged. “Should’ve been a little nicer to me.”
“I was about to cum, you asshole!”
“You’d be surprised by the number of people I’ve tickled to orgasm. I’m pretty good at it.”
Angrily, Blake pressed his foot down hard on the bear’s face, pinning him to the floor. “Lick it! Now!”
“I don’t think so.”
Roy grabbed the bigger man’s leg and gave it a hard push to the side. Now free of the foot, he got up from the floor and jabbed his fingers right into Blake’s armpits.
“Hahaha! Don’t touch me!” the dragonborn laughed. Suddenly, it was as if his muscles declined to obey him. His strength taken from him as he tried and failed to push the bear away.
“So you are ticklish! I think you’ll make a fine tickle pet once we get rid of that ego of yours.”
“F-Fuck ohohoff!”
Roy smirked. Blake was trying hard to shake him off but the bear stuck to him like glue and kept scratching his surprisingly tender underarms - such a silly thing that could bring hulks of muscle to their knees.
Oh, yes. He was going to have a lot of fun with Blake.
He put the dragonborn in a tight chokehold. Ordinarily, Blake would’ve been able to easily break out of it, but with the constant tickling sapping him of his strength and concentration, it was only a matter of time before his struggle waned and his world faded into blackness.
Blake awoke to strange surroundings of torch-lit stone walls devoid of decorations, but only because he didn’t count the shelves lined with torture instruments as decoration. He was lying on a wooden surface, covered head-to-toe in thick leather straps… Or rather, covered except for his head and toes as his head and feet were indeed the only two parts of him that were left out of the leather cocoon. Struggling was useless, as he quickly found out. Even with his draconian might it was simply impossible to break free.
“Comfortable?”
“Fuck you.”
The insult came out instantaneously as soon as he recognized the bear’s voice.
Roy loomed over him with an eerily neutral expression on his face.
“Rude. But that’s okay, we have plenty of times to teach you manners.”
“What the fuck do you want from me- AH!” He was cut off by the feeling of the bear’s claw swiping up across his bare sole.
“To tickle your feet, obviously.”
Blake’s heart sank to the depths of the Earth.
“Well, I’ll do other things too,” Roy continued. “But mainly tickle your feet. You will be laughing for most of your time here. How long you’re allowed to rest for will depend on your behavior. Be a good ticklish little dragonborn for me and I’ll sprinkle in a reward here and there.”
“Once I’m out of these restrains, I’m going to redefine the word ‘pain’ for you- AH!”
Another swipe.
“…and if you misbehave like you just did, you’ll get punished.”
Blake’s blood boiled. Who the hell did the bear think he was? He wanted to grind his bones into dust. Still, all that anger was but a thin shell cover something deeper.
Fear.
Blake, in all of his mighty, stoic glory, was afraid. Pain he could endure, but tickling? With feet as sensitive as his, he worried he might indeed break down under prolonged tickle torture. Sadly, that seemed to be exactly what he would have to endure.
He hoped to still have his sanity by the end of it.
“I’ll get back to your gorgeous feet in a minute. First, a test.”
The table creaked as the polar bear climbed up on it. Blake half-expected it to break under the weight of his steps. Instead, he was treated with view of one of Roy’s large soles as he hovered a paw above his face.
“Lick.”
“You must be joking.”
“Last chance. Lick.” He wiggled his toes making his padded sole wrinkle. Blake turned his head to the side. “Fine. Can’t say I expected you to obey but I want you to remember this in a few days when you’re begging for a chance to lick them.”
“Yeah, right…”
He jumped off the table and headed towards its end - towards Blake’s bare feet.
They were big. Really big.
Each foot was as long as Roy’s entire forearm and as wide as the space between his ears. The toes were large, and bulbous. Three on each foot like it was common for dragons and those of draconian ancestry, all packed with dense clusters of very excitable nerve endings that the bear was eager to stimulate to their physical limits.
But all in due time.
He perused the selection of instruments at his disposal for a specific kind of brush and held it over Blake’s head for him to see. It had a simple wooden handle with a pin-shaped head made of what looked like densely packed straw.
“We’ll start with this. Be a good boy and don’t hold back.”
The brush tip fell right in the middle of Blake’s left foot just below the arch.
“Hnf!”
“Ah! No holding back, I said!”
A quick swipe up and the brush was now drawing circles over the ball of Blake’s foot.
“Shit! N-Not there! Ha… Haha! Hahahaha!” Blake laughed.
“There we go. Good draggy!”
The floodgates were wide open now, and the dragonborn’s booming laughter flowed freely out into the chamber as Roy continued his methodical inspection of the gargantuan foot. Having gauged the sensitivity of the center and the ball, he proceeded to drag the brush along the slight curvature of the arch to very pleasing effects. Despite their impressive width, Blake’s arches were relatively flat, as Roy found it to be the norm with most large-footed species - his own arches were quite flat as well, after all. Still, they were high enough that less of them touched the ground than the rest of his sole, resulting in less calloused (and thus more sensitive) skin.
It was time to test the heel. As a rule of thumb, the heel was among the least sensitive areas of the sole.
This was not the case with Blake.
“Stohop t-tickling mehehe!” he begged as Roy stroked the brush across the heel of his foot.
Roy frowned curiously. “Is your middle name ‘Achilles’, by any chance? Most of my lees’ heels are nearly dead to the touch. That makes you special, you know?”
Blake didn’t know what the hell a ’lee’ was but he did not like the implication that other people had been subject to the bear’s madness in the past - nor did he like the thought of being considered special in any way. He was hoping he could have been a very boring kidnap victim, but alas, his hopes were dashed and it was all his own fault.
Regularly engaging in acts of foot fetishism meant he took great pride on his own feet, going to great lengths to keep them as soft and well cared for as he could. That meant leaving every last inch of them as smooth as silk. Including the heels.
His toes were next.
“Not there! Not thehehehere!”
Just as Roy expected. Blake’s toes were the weakest spots on his foot. The soft stretches of skin between them were by far the most responsive areas. As soon as he touched them, they curled defensively so he had to resort to holding them back with a surprising amount of force. Surely, he would need toe restrains at some point.
“Splendid! I can see your feet are extremely ticklish already.”
No shit, Blake thought.
“But we can still make them more sensitive.”
Oh shit.
“Actually, you could say that’s my specialty.”
The bear rummaged through the cabinets once more, building up a small arsenal of tools that he arranged neatly side-by-side on the table right next to the dragonborn’s feet. Blake couldn’t see it, but there was a large glass jar with a cork lid which contained a viscous transparent liquid. Roy opened it and dipped a large paintbrush into the fluid.
“Ah! Whahat’s thahahat?!”
“Oh, nothing special,” Roy said nonchalantly as he dragged the paintbrush painfully slowly along the middle of the dragonborn’s sole. “Just my special sensitivity oil. I concocted it myself.”
The liquid felt cold despite being at room temperature and left behind a strange tingling sensation as it was absorbed by the skin of Blake’s sole. He could feel the affected area grow exponentially more sensitive, and this was only confirmed when Roy repainted the same area again… and again… and again…
“It’s quite a hassle to make this, you know? Half of the ingredients are highly illegal so I use this stuff sparingly. You should feel lucky.”
Blake felt the opposite.
He felt that, by now, his entire foot should be covered in the substance, but Roy kept hyper-focusing on the stretch of sole between his heel and arch, ignoring everything else and coating it with multiple layers of the liquid. Blake’s cheeks were beginning to hurt from non-stop laughter.
“Right, I think that’s enough for the middle of your foot. Let’s see…” Roy switched out the wide brush for a much thinner, circular one. The sort of brush a lady might use to apply make-up. He coated it in the liquid. “This one will do nicely for your toes. Now spread them nice and wide.”
Blake could not comply even if he wanted to. As soon as the wet brush made contact with his toes, the entirety of his neuro-muscular system took a new full-time job dedicated to keeping them curled. Soon he had loops of string running around each and every digit, tethering them back to his ankle cuffs and keeping the sole taut and the toes nice and open.
“Your toes are really ticklish, aren’t they?”
Blake was too busy going insane to reply.
As with the middle of his foot, his digits received coating after coating of the substance and grew exponentially more sensitive after each stroke of the brush. It was much softer than the one that had ravaged the middle of his sole, but the sheer number of bristles created a sensation that was more akin to being enveloped by feathers rather than scratched by claws. It drove Blake insane, but no matter how much he struggled, the straps held firm. He had no choice but to endure it while deeply regretting all the care he put into making his feet that soft.
When his toes glistened with substance, Roy took an even finer-tipped paintbrush and began to paint the yet uncoated areas of the sole.
“Aww, don’t like the brush, Blake? That’s too bad! Coochie coo!”
Oh, how Blake wished to break free and tear the bear a new one. Why did he have to use the smallest brush to apply the liquid to the widest areas of his foot? Only so he could take longer to paint his heel, ball, and the edges of his sole. Deliberately prolonging his victim’s torment for his own sadistic amusement. There was no doubt about it. Roy was cruel.
“Et voilà! All done!”
Blake’s chest heaved up and down under the straps as he was finally granted a break from the torment. His sole glistened under the torchlight with an unnecessary amount of that terrible substance… or maybe it was his own tortured sweat. He couldn’t tell.
“Now to test the results.”
“Please… No…”
It was too late to beg. The bear already wielded a cotton swab that was rapidly approaching his sole.
“Please! I’m too ticklish!”
He was right. A quick test of his Babinski reflex threw him into a wild fit of laughter. Roy grinned. That oil really was one of his greatest inventions. If he had to guesstimate, he’d say it made Blake’s foot about three times as sensitive as before. He played around with the cotton swab until the dragonborn became hysterical. If this was how he reacted to a blunt instrument, he wondered how he would cope with something pointier… He uncapped a pen.
“No! No, please! Don’t write on my foot!”
“Fine, I’ll doodle instead!”
Blake made a mental note to keep his mouth shut from that moment on.
Stars, spirals, and a dozen other indecipherable squiggles adorned the plush dragon sole in black ink by the time Roy was putting the cap back on.
“That was fun, wasn’t it?”
A pathetic mewl wafted out of the dragon’s lips. Trails of tears ran down his scaly, blushing cheeks.
“Now for the coup de grace. Ever felt a pinwheel on your feet?”
Blake didn’t have the time nor sufficient mental capacity to answer that before the pointy metal prongs began rolling along the edge of his sole. He screamed.
Each touch of the cold metal pins felt like thunder striking directly at his artificially awakened nerves, each heralding the one that was to come next. It was hell on sole. That sole in which he took so much pride, that he loved having worshiped and pampered by those he considered lesser than him. It was as if fate accounted all of the pleasure it brought him in the past and made him pay for it in suffering. In laughter.
In sheer tickling.
“I think that’s enough. How are you feeling?”
Terrible. Blake was feeling terrible. Pathetic. Tired.
Weak.
He closed his eyes and hoped to wake up from that nightmare, ideally to the feeling of a nice foot rub or a tongue tenderly licking his sole. He couldn’t stand another minute of tickling.
“Now let’s do your other foot.”
Blake didn’t remember much after the fifth round with the pinwheel. As the sharp sensations ravaged his sole, his mind slipped into blissful unconsciousness. All that he knew is that he was in a different position now, trussed up in a hog-tie and suspended from the ceiling, naked.
Roy entered the chamber carrying a bucket.
“Morning, sunshine. Sleep well?”
“When I get out of this, I’m gonna-”
“Ah! Ah! Temper control, Blake!” the bear chastised. “Do you really think you’re in a position to make threats?”
The dragonborn growled.
Roy set the bucket on the floor just under him and he saw it was full of soapy water.
“I can bathe on my own if you just untie me.”
“And give you a chance to run? I don’t think so.” He plunged his arm into the bucket and removed a large horse brush from it. “Besides, it wouldn’t tickle nearly as much.”
He slapped the water-soaked brush on the dragonborn’s upturned soles and started brushing. Whatever thoughts of defiance Blake still had instantly vanished, replaced by an irresistible urge to laugh.
“Stohohop! It t-tickles so muhuhuch!” he roared as the straw-like bristles ravaged his soles.
“That’s the whole point, silly! Besides, I want these beautiful feet as clean as they can be during your stay so we will be washing them twice a day every day from now on.”
There was simply no way he was going to be able to survive these foot baths, let alone whatever else the bear had planned for him and his absurdly sensitive feet.
He felt his toes being gripped and bent back before the bristles dug between all six of them.
“My tohohoes! Please nohot betweeeheeheen my thohooes!”
“Oh yes between your toes! I’m going brush your soles all day long. What do you think about that?”
“I cahahaan’t taheheke ihit!” he laughed.
“But you will take it, whether you like it or not. Thought you could kick me in the face with these, huh? Pathetic.” Roy dunked the brush in the water again before scrubbing both of Blake’s soles at the same time. A wheeze, then silence. Then, all at once, an unyielding torrent of tortured laughter.
The footbath would go on for an unnecessarily long time…
Roy led a pair of goats into the chamber.
“Please, not the Goat’s Tongue!” Blake pleaded as he squirmed in his straightjacket, toes trying to fight the restraints that kept them spread against the wooden stocks.
“Ah, I see you’re familiar with this torture method already, Blakey-boy. Good. Then I won’t need to explain how I’m going to pour brine over your soles and let these goats lick them clean.”
“No! Please, I’ll be good! Get them away from my feet!”
His pleading dissolved into giggles as Roy painted his soles with a brush soaked in the salt water solution. Like with most other things pertaining to the dragonborn’s feet, Roy took an agonizingly long time to do it.
“Dinner time, girls!”
The goats immediately bolted towards Blake’s feet and, upon getting a whiff of the tasty treat spread on them, they started lapping it up with their pebbly tongues.
“No! Plehehease, no! Ahahanything but thahahaat!” he begged, wriggling like a snake in the restrictive comfort of the straightjacket.
“Aww, but I thought you liked having your feet licked!”
“It tihihickles! It tihihickles so muhuhuch!”
“Oh, I bet. And you should know that my Goat’s Tongue is a bit unorthodox compared to what you may be familiar with.”
Blake didn’t like the sound of that, and he liked it even less when Roy left him alone in the chamber with the goats. He endured the terrible tickling until they had licked the brine clean from most of his feet, praying that once they had lapped the last of it that he would get a break from the torture.
Just as they were about to lick the last patch clean, Roy reentered the room carrying a wooden box.
Just in time to spread another coat of brine on Blake’s soles.
“Sorry, took me a while to find this. Haven’t had the chance to use it in a while, you know?”
As the dragonborn was once again thrown into desperate fits of laughter, Roy got to work setting up the contraption. It consisted of a small iron boiler with a fist-sized opening near the bottom and a reservoir on top. He placed it near the squirming dragon before filling up the reservoir with water and sealing it with a lid. He tossed a small piece of burning firewood into the opening which he had lit using one of the torches in the wall. He then took another item from the box - it was heavy iron cylinder which he slipped over Blake’s shaft - now erect due to all the attention being given to his feet. It slipped effortlessly around his cock, and the inside felt like a tight embrace of polished, lubricated leather. When steam whistled out of a small opening atop the reservoir, the bear attached a thin semi-flexible copper tube from it to the crotch piece and watched.
Slowly, the cylinder began massaging the dragonborn’s arousal, moved by a piston powered by the steam that the small boiler fed it. It was a steam-powered milking machine!
“There we go. Bit of a hassle to set up but now I can just sit back and watch. Neat, huh?”
It was horrifying.
For how good it felt to have his feet mercilessly licked while his cock was treated to the milker’s mechanical massage, Blake knew full well what would happen after his inevitable orgasm. As the first spurts of pre dribble out from the top of the metallic cock sleeve, he tried his darndest to hold himself back, but alas, relentless foot tickling was a concentration killer, and he lasted only a few seconds before shooting his first load.
Just as he expected, the bear didn’t do a thing. He merely watched with sadistic glee as the goats kept licking his hypersensitive soles and the milker stroked the one part of his body that he did not want to have touched.
“Mehehercy, plehehease! I’ll d-do ahahanything! Plohohow your fihihields! Defehehend yohour hohohohome! Ahanythihing!!”
“Anything, you say? Then do this for me,” the bear wrapped his arms around the straightjacket-bound dragonborn and planted a tender kiss on his flustered cheek. He whispered: “Cum, Blake.”
His mind truly broke at that moment. A pathetic whimper left him along with another orgasm and any semblance of hope he had of being released. Over the next few hours, he understood that he was nothing but a tickle toy. A pet for his master to play with.
When all the brine had been licked and his balls were empty, Roy decided it was time for another bath.
Days passed, and Blake learned to accept his new life. He learned that obedience was rewarded and misbehavior was punished, and even that there was fulfilment to be had when satisfying his master.
“…and who’s my ticklish dragon?”
“Me! I am your ticklish dragon!”
“Good draggy! Now lick.”
Roy’s bare foot hovered over his face. He rolled out his reptilian tongue and gave it a long lick from heel to toe before taking one of those round digits into his maw and suckling on it like he had done so many times before.
He was on the floor, wrapped to his neck in cloth with the exception of his feet and genitals which were already inside the milker.
“Good boy. Now beg!”
“Please tickle my feet, master!”
“Since you asked so nicely~”
Roy threw a piece of burning firewood in the boiler and grabbed his trusty brush. As the piston began dragging the smooth leather insides of the milking cylinder up and down Blake’s cock, the bear put the brush to work on his feet. Blake screamed as soon as the bristles touched his soles which, by now, had been made unnaturally smooth and sensitive over many a session with that terrible sensitivity-heightening substance.
The once rough and tough dragonborn barbarian, who happily pinned Roy underfoot and demanded to have it licked was now nothing but a horny tickle slave - his whole world centered around his milked cock and ticklish feet.
Such was the downfall of a dom.