Charity Stocks (+ /F)

[suedenym]

The early morning light danced playfully on the cobblestone street as a gentle breeze whispered through the leaves of the old oak tree standing guard at the town square. It was a quaint sight, reminiscent of a simpler time, when the townsfolk of Gravestock gathered for market days and town meetings. But today, the square held a different kind of attraction: a set of wooden stocks, old and a little rustic looking , yet still heavy and solid, with a small placard that read, "Charity Challenge: Gravestock’s Braveheart."

At the center of this peculiar spectacle stood Janice, a vibrant 55-year-old with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, her blonde hair tied back in a sensible ponytail. She had been a beloved member of the community for decades, town librarian, also known for her kindness and her unrivaled baking skills. Janice had accepted the town's challenge without batting an eyelash, eager to support the local children's hospital. The wooden stocks, a relic from the town's past, had been brought out of the museum for this very event, and now, she stood her bare foot besides the restraint whilst her arms were secured firmly in place behind her back, ankles and elbows bound with sturdy leather straps.

A murmur of excitement rippled through the gathering crowd as Janice took a deep breath, her cheeks flushed with a mix of excitement and nervousness. The town mayor, Mr. Thompson, stepped up to the podium with a megaphone, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "Ladies and gentlemen, children of all ages," he announced, "today, Janice McAllister, our town's very own Braveheart, will be spending the entire day in these historic stocks to raise funds for our cherished hospital. Each of your donations will earn you the privilege to throw one rotten tomato at her, all in good fun, of course! Orvto,tickle her feet for one minute. The townsfolk chuckled, some already rummaging through their pockets for loose change.

The Mayor’s wife, Mrs. Thompson, a stern woman with a heart of gold, approached Janice with a firm but gentle grip and guided her to sit on the wooden bench. Janice winced slightly as the cold, rough wood met her bare skin, but she remained stoic. Mrs. Thompson secured Janice's ankles into the stocks with a swift click of the locks, the wooden frame was secure. Meanwhile, Karen, the Mayor's daughter, stepped forward with a hint of mischief. Janice offered a reassuring smile, and Karen returned it with a nod of understanding, placing the leather collar around Janice's neck and locking it to the post behind her wooden seat. The sound echoed through the square, and the crowd grew silent in anticipation. This was followed by leather straps round the poor woman’s chest and tummy securing her firmly tomthe upright.

Karen then produced a black rubber ball gag, the kind that stretched the cheeks to their limits and muffled any sound. Janice's eyes grew wide, but she nodded, consenting to this additional challenge. Karen fastened the gag tightly, ensuring it was snug but not too uncomfortable. The crowd watched in a mix of fascination and sympathy as Janice's words turned to muffled protests, which grew softer as the ball filled her mouth, silencing Janice's voice, but not her spirit.

The event officially began with a town crier ringing a brass bell, its peal echoing through the square. The first few donations came quickly, mostly from children eager to toss a tomato at the town librarian. The smack of the rotten fruit hitting the wooden frame of the stocks was followed by Janice's muffled giggles, which grew louder and more frequent as the minutes tickled by. Despite the initial shock of cold, Janice's bare feet soon adjusted to the wood's temperature, and she even began to sway slightly to an imaginary tune, her toes wiggling in time.

As the day wore on, the line grew longer, stretching past the bakery and the coffee shop. People of all ages approached, some with tomatoes in hand, others with eggs or feathers, eager to watch Janice squirm or tickle her feet. The atmosphere was light-hearted, yet Janice's predicament remained a constant reminder of the seriousness behind the charade. With each tossed tomato, a sense of camaraderie filled the air, as if everyone was participating in a collective act of goodwill. The smell of rotting produce grew stronger, mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread wafting from the nearby market stalls.

Her simple grey one-piece dress, a symbol of her no-nonsense submission today, was now a canvas for the town's charitable fun. The fabric grew heavier with each splatter of tomato juice and egg yolk, the bright red and yellow stains stark against the grey. Janice could feel the sticky wetness seep through the material, clinging to her skin like a second, unwelcome layer. Butbless welcome ws the feelin if egg matted in her hair. The occasional break from being a target for rotten projectiles was when feather tickled her bare feet, and she had to wiggle her feet to,try and avoid the torment, which only made the children giggle harder.

The townspeople took turns, some with surprising accuracy, others with wild throws that sent the fruit splattering in every direction. Janice's eyes watered not just from the smell but from the occasional stray splash that hit her face. Despite the mess, she remained a good sport, her muffled laughter and playful wiggling of her feet serving as silent encouragement for more donations.

As the sun climbed higher in the sky, the shadows grew shorter, and the day grew warmer. The once-chilly wood of the stocks had absorbed the heat of the sun, and Janice felt the warmth seep through her clothes and into her skin. The chuckles and laughter of the crowd became a comforting backdrop to the steady rhythm of coins dropping into the collection bucket and the occasional smack of a tomato.

The hours passed, and the stocks became a stage for Janice's silent endurance. Her eyes twinkled with each new participant, acknowledging their contribution to the cause. Some faces were familiar, while others were tourists who had stumbled upon the peculiar event. A young boy, no more than seven, approached the stocks with a look of both excitement and trepidation. His mother whispered something into his ear, and his expression changed from uncertainty to determination as he handed over his coin. With a grin, he walked up to Janice's bare feet and began to tickle her, surprisingly well. He even kmeltbdown and began to lickmthe sole of her keft foot before beingbwulled away by his mother.

As the afternoon rolled in, the crowd grew denser, and the donations more creative. Some brought squirt guns filled with watered-down paint, leaving Janice's dress a Jackson Pollock masterpiece of colors. Others had brought handfuls of feathers, which they tickled against Janice's feet with gleeful smiles. The town had come together in a way that transcended the simple act of charity; it had become a communal event, a testament to their collective goodwill and Janice's unyielding spirit.

The sun dipped lower, casting a warm glow across the square. Janice could feel the beginnings of a cramp in her right leg, but she remained steadfast, her eyes never losing their sparkle. The Mayor's wife, who had been keeping a close eye on the event, approached with a gentle pat on the shoulder and a knowing smile. "Almost done," she murmured, and Janice nodded her understanding. Mrs. Thompson turned to her daughter, Karen, who had been handling the donations, and gestured to the two eager Labrador dogs sitting patiently at her side.

With the day's entertainment coming to an end, Karen stepped forward with a small paintbrush and a cup of chocolate sauce. The crowd leaned in, curious about the new twist. She began to paint Janice's bare soles with the sweet substance, her strokes careful to cause maximum tickling discomfort. Janice felt a shiver of excitement run through her and squimed in extacy and agony as the cold sauce met her skin, and she couldn't help but let out a muffled giggle through the gag. The dogs' tails wagged furiously, their eyes fixed on Janice's now deliciously coated feet.

As soon as the last stroke was finished, Karen stepped back, and the two Labradors, Luna and Max, were released. Their tongues lolled out of their mouths in anticipation, and they eagerly approached Janice's stocks. Luna took the lead, her wet nose snuffling around Janice's chocolate-covered feet, while Max waited patiently for his turn. The crowd watched in delight as Luna began to lick away the sauce, her tongue rough yet gentle. Janice's eyes rolled back in her head, and she let out a muffled squeal of pleasure mixed with the pain of the tickling and Max began tomcopybhis sitervon the other foot.

The sensation was unlike anything Janice had ever experienced—a strange blend of comfort from the warm, wet tongues and the unbearable tickle from the dogs' enthusiastic lapping. The townspeople erupted in laughter as Janice's legs jerked and her muffled cries grew louder. The dogs took it as a sign to double their efforts, their tails wagging so hard they could have powered a small wind turbine. The sound of the leather straps and the stocks' frame creaking in protest against Janice's squirms added to the symphony of laughter and barking.

Karen, ever the attentive host, reapplied the chocolate sauce after each round, ensuring Janice's soles remained a tantalizing treat for the eager canines. Janice's eyes grew wide with each new coating, the anticipation of the next round of tickling agony written clearly in her expressive gaze. Despite the situation, she couldn't help but feel a sense of glee at the sight of the children's delighted faces, their laughter echoing through the square. The event had become a carnival of charity, with Janice as the star attraction.

As Luna and Max took turns licking away the sweetness, Janice's legs kicked and jerked in response to the unrelenting tickles. Her cheeks were flushed a deep red, not from embarrassment, but from the exertion of trying to keep still. Her eyes danced with a mix of pleasure and pain, and she struggled to maintain her composure, which only served to make the crowd laugh harder. Each time the dogs retreated, panting and satisfied, Janice took a deep, shaky breath, her chest heaving against the leather straps.

At six o'clock sharp, the crier rang the bell once more, signaling the end of the charity event. The townsfolk clapped and cheered, and Janice felt a wave of relief wash over her. Her eyes searched the sea of faces for her saviors, and she found them in the form of Mr. and Mrs. Thompson and the ever-watchful Karen. They approached her with smiles and the key to her freedom. Mrs. Thompson unlocked the collar around Janice's neck, and the leather felt cold against her skin as it was removed. Karen then worked on the straps around her wrists and chest, her movements gentle but efficient.

As Janice felt the last strap come loose, she took a deep, unobstructed breath, filling her lungs with the cool evening air. Her ankles were freed and she stood up slowly, her legs wobbly from hours of forced stillness. The crowd parted to give her space, and she stepped out of the stocks, her bare feet landing on the cobblestone with a soft thud. The Mayor stepped forward, a proud smile on his face, and offered Janice a handkerchief to wipe away the residue of the day's entertainment.

Her dress was a soggy mess, and her feet were sticky with chocolate and paint. The gag was removed, and Janice stretched her jaw with an audible pop. She took a moment to compose herself before speaking, her voice a little raspy from the rubber's grip. "Thank you all for your generosity," she said, her voice carrying through the square. "Every rotten tomato, every feather tickle, and yes, every loving lick from our furry friends, brought us closer to our goal."

The crowd applauded, and Janice felt the warmth of their appreciation. She took a tentative step, her legs protesting after hours of being bound. The Mayor's wife handed her a pair of flip-flops, which she shrugged off preferring the warm cobblestones her feet had grown accustomed to. Janice took a few more steps, the crowd parting like the Red Sea, allowing her to move towards the collection bucket. It was brimming with coins and notes, a testament to the town's generosity.

Her legs felt like jelly, and she had to lean against the podium for support as she addressed the townsfolk once more. "Thank you all for coming out and making this event a success. Remember, it's all for the children's hospital!" she called out, her voice hoarse but filled with genuine gratitude. With a final wave, she began her slow, wobbly journey home. Each step was a victory, a declaration of her endurance and the town's goodwill.

The cobblestone path leading to Janice's cottage was lined with the warm glow of the setting sun, casting long shadows across the ground. The aroma of her favorite lavender soap filled her nose, a sweet reminder of the comforts that awaited her at home. Her thoughts drifted to the steaming hot bath she would draw, the bubbles enveloping her in a warm embrace, soothing her bruised and tickled feet. The promise of a cold bottle of wine chilling in the fridge was like a siren's song, calling to her exhausted spirit.

[Janbound]

It’s got everything, tickle torture, public humiliation, messy slime


But dogs licking chocolate off bare feet

Oh noooooooooooooo