Andrea and the Gym Abduction

There I am, sitting on bench with a towel draped across my neck at the gym, cooling down at the end of my workout. I'm wearing a white t-shirt, gym shorts and running shoes. My body is glistening with sweat. Then I see you walk in...

You strut in with a white tank top and very short shorts. I peer you from top to bottom, noticing the shapely curves of your fit, little body. I watch as you climb onto a treadmill in front of me. I continue to move my eyes down your body and finally get to your feet. They're covered in a cute little pair of running shoes and I can see tiny little, white ankle socks poking out of the shoes.

I become instantly entranced as you start to run on the treadmill. I become more mesmerized with each step you take, fantasizing about how sweaty your feet are getting with each stride. Someone taps me on the shoulder and startles me. They ask to use the bench I've been using to gawk at you for the last 10 minutes. I get up and move closer to you. I'm now close enough to see visible beads of sweat on your skin. I start to get hard when I see the sweat. All I can think about is how sweaty your feet must be. I think about how amazing it would be to slowly take off your shoes and bury my face in your socked feet, feeling how warm and damp your socks have gotten from all the sweat. I think about just grabbing you, pinning you down and tying you up so that I can have them all to myself. Then my mind wanders and I imagine peeling back your wet socks ever so slowly to expose your sweaty bare soles. I fantasize about climbing on top of your legs so that you can't move them at all as I put my whole face into both your sweaty soles. I dream of sticking my nose right above the balls of your feet and inhaling the smell of your incredibly smelly feet. Then I picture tying your big toes together so your feet are completely immobile, hoping that they are as ticklish as they are sweaty. I dream of tickle torturing them for hours.

You turn your head toward me and we lock eyes for a split second as I turn away. I quickly realize how hard I've gotten in the process of thinking about these things. I look down at my pants and realize how obvious it is. I try to readjust and turn discreetly, but the whole process just looks awkward. Time passes and after 45 minutes of running, you finally step off the treadmill.

Your body is covered in sweat. You wipe your forehead off with your hand as you walk past me. You crack a nervous smile at me as you walk by. You recognize me as the creepy guy who you've been catching staring at you the whole time you've been there. You walk over to the lobby area to grab a towel. The receptionist tells you to wait a few minutes as they just ran out. You become a little frustrated.

I walk over to you and ask what you're waiting for.

"They're out of towels," you say. "Oh, I have a bunch of fresh one's in my car if you want? It's right outside," I say.

You measure the situation to see if it's worth it. On one hand, you've never met this person and you think he's been creepily staring at you working out for the last hour. On the other hand, you are covered in sweat, and really uncomfortable. You move your feet around inside your running shoes and can feel how wet they are from all the sweat.

You reluctantly accept my offer. "Yeah, sure," you say hesitantly. I begin to walk out and motion for you to follow.

We both walk out to the back parking lot. It's dark now and there isn't a single person in the parking lot. You start to get a bad feeling as you look from side to side. This particular parking lot has always been poorly lit. There are only two or three small street lights and usually one of them doesn't work at any given time.

"Here's my car," I say as I approach a dark-colored SUV. I pop open the trunk. Your stomach starts to drop as you realize that anything could be in my car. Now you notice how alone and vulnerable you are. As the trunk open, you see there is a stack of towels inside. You breathe a sigh of relief, maybe this guy was telling the truth.

"Sorry, I realize how weird this situation looks now," I say to calm you down. I hand you a towel off the top of the stack. "It's, fine," you say. "I've just never seen you before, but thank you for being so nice." You press the towel up against your face and wipe it off. After that, you take a deep breathe in and notice something weird about the towel. It's already a little moist and it smells funny. As you bring it down off your face, you see me smiling at you. You raise your eyebrow and put the towel back up to your face again and smell it as you start to feel dizzy. At that moment, I lunge forward and press the towel firmly into your face and hold it there. "Oh, you might be wondering what that smell is. It's chloroform, my dear..." Those are the last words you remember before passing out.

You wake up in a complete fog. You see a bunch of bright lights flashing past you. They're still too bright for your eyes to adjust to, but you realize that you're moving. You squint your eyes and try to rub them to see more clearly, but realize you can't move your hands. They're tied firmly behind your back. You do the same with your legs, but realize they're tied even firmer than your hands. You try to call for help, but are completely gagged. You realize that you're in the back of my car and slowly remember that the last place you were was the parking lot with me. Panic sets in.

You jerk around trying to get free, but are unsuccessful. You try to scream, but only inaudible muffled speech makes it through the gag. Despite your futile cries for help, you hear a voice.

"Oh, you're awake already!" You immediately recognize the voice. "Don't worry, dear. We're almost there."

You try to make sense of what's going on, but you're completely confused. Before you can make sense of any of it, the car pulls into a driveway. "We're here!" I park the car. "Don't worry. I'll help you out." I get out of the car and walk toward the trunk. I open it up and see you inside. Your face in dressed in crippling fear. "Oh, I'm gonna have fun with you."

I pick you up and carry you into my apartment. You vision is still pretty fuzzy and can't make out an descriptive details of what the place looks like, expect you see a bed that we're approaching. I lay you down onto the bed face down, still in your sweaty workout clothes. I climb onto your legs facing your feet. You're so confused still as to what's happening. Then, I start to untie your running shoes and you feel my slide each one off. You struggle to get free.

"You're not going anywhere, my little slave," I say. "Now, let's have a closer look at these feet." Your eyes widen as you hear me say this. Your face turns bright red at the embarrassment of how disgusting you think your feet are after that long workout. You feel my face on the bottoms of your feet. I take a deep breathe in as I enjoy the sweat, still wet as your socks cling to your feet.

"Wow, they are so sweaty right now." you struggle a bit more, almost crying from humiliation. You try to form a sentence, but the gag just muffles every word. "I wonder what they smell like bare?" You struggle a bit hard to get free, but tire yourself out in the process. I start to peel your socks off. You turn your head to catch a glimpse and see me in the corner of your eye rubbing your sweaty socks all over my face. The strangeness of this situation has you more frightened than if I just started taking all your clothes off. Then you feel my face against your sweaty bare soles.

I take another deep breathe in a inhale 45 minutes worth of sweat that's caked onto your feet. I start to get hard and your legs can feel it grow. You try to at least get your arms loose, but have no luck. Then you feel something small press against your feet. It feels wet and you realize it's my tongue. "Oh, God. They taste so good," I say as I run my tongue up and down each and everyone of your wrinkles. You try to tell me to stop, but still can't get a word out.

"What's that? Are you trying to say something? Here, let me help..." I move up to your face and pull down your gag.

"WHAT THE FUCK!?" You blurt out. "What the fuck are you doing to my feet you fucking weirdo? Let me go!"

"Oh, I will. But not yet. I just wanted to hear you for this next part," I say.

"I'm not going to give you the satisfaction you creep," you reply.

"I don't think you have a choice," I say smugly.

"Why? What are you going to do?" You start to become a little frantic.

"Let me ask you something? Are your feet...ticklish?" Your stomach drops as I say the word ticklish. You gulp involuntarily and try to gather yourself to respond.

"Don't you fucking dare..." you say with extreme stress.

"So they are ticklish?"

"Seriously, don't tickle my fucking feet. You can keep doing whatever you wanna do, just don't tickle my feet. They are DEATHLY ticklish."

"Mmmmm, just what I like to hear..." With that i run each of my index fingers down the length of your soles. You shriek and jolt your body straight up as the sensation drives a shiver down your spine.

"STOP! Let me go you fucking asshole!"

"Now now. There's no need to curse." Now I run my fingers up and down your high arches continuously, sending you into a frenzied laughter.

"Hahahahahaha!! STOP IT!! Hahahahaha not my FEET! ANYTHING BUT MY FEET! Ahahahahahahaha"

"That's all I'm gonna focus on, dear. I didn't realize how ticklish these smelly little feet would be." You turn bright red as I run all of my fingers up and down your feet relentlessly. You immediately burst into hysterics with tears streaming down your face.

"HAHAHAHA ok OK!! HAHAHAHAHA NO MORE!! I CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"

I slow down to a halt as you try to catch your breath.

"Please, I'm begging you...you...you have to stop...my feet are so fucking ticklish...I can't take this anymore...please just smell my sweaty feet...just...just keep licking them...but please...I can't take anymore of my feet being tickled..."

"Ok, fine. How about I just give you a nice foot massage?"

"Yes, fine," you say, still panting and catching your breath. The tickling has made you twice as sweaty as you were in the gym.

I grab a bottle of baby oil and coat your soft feet with a layer of it. I really start to work it in with an ulterior motive. "See, the great thing about baby oil is not just that it's great for foot massages. It also makes the feet even more sensitive to tickling."

"Wait...no...please..."

"And the best thing to use after you apply baby oil is..." I grab a hairbrush and put it in front of your face. "...a hairbrush."

"WHAT!? Fuck, please. Don't do this. I'm begging you. I'm gonna pass out. Not my feet. Anything but my feet..."

"Anything but what???" I say as I begin to scrub your vulnerable bare feet with the hairbrush.

"MY FEEET!! AHAHAHAHAHA HOLY SHIT!! HAHAHAHAHAHA STOP! PLEASE!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA"

"Oh, no. I need to take care of something before I stop." I begin to unzip my pants and pull out my dick, which is now rock hard and throbbing in anticipation. With some baby oil still left on my hands, I begin to stroke myself right above your feet.

"That's it. Beg for me, baby." I start to scrub hard and faster than before, keep pace as I jerk off at the same speed.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA FUCK!! PLEASEEE!! I'M BEGGING YOU!! STOP TICKLING MY FEET!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA LICK THEM! SMELL THEM!! JUST STOP TICKLING MY FEET!! HAHAHAHAHA THEY'RE SO FUCKING TICKLISH!! AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA I GIVE UP! I GIVE UP!! HAHAHAHAHA"

With that, I can't hold out any longer and I cum all over your helpless little bare soles. I keep scrubbing with the brush and scrub the cum right into your sensitive little feet. You thrash and buck violently, but can't seem to move whatsoever or avoid any second of the tickling. I start to submit in exhaustion and just lay there still and screaming as I torture of you extremely ticklish feet.

The tickling continues for what seems like hours, but your sense of time is completely gone. You finally notice that I've stopped tickling your feet, but the lingering sensation feel like I still am. You can feel my warm breath against the side of your neck as your panting and heavily. You can barely hear me say, "Thank you," and then again, "Goodnight," as I wrap another towel around your mouth. Your eyes begin to close and you realize you're on the verge of passing out just the same as last time. The only difference, is that your finally memory is the fear of going through this torture...again.