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Rated: 13+ · Short Story · Adult · #1917983
Laura and Niamh both like the same boy; Who will win him?
Laura's Revenge.

A rich, mirthful laugh sundered the classroom's strained silence. The source earned herself a reproving stare and a ferocious, yet reluctant, tongue-lashing from the teacher, a man famous for his lusts. Normally, such lusts could be considered  perverse, but in the case of Niamh Belle, such attention was scarcely unwarranted. Her sapphire eyes shone from beneath a veil of golden hair, while her face and figure were such that they may have been carved by the Gods themselves. As far as her legions of admirers were concerned, she was goddess enough without the work of divine toil and tears. Toil and tears. Often the results of many a suitor's fruitless campaign.

Of course for every Julliet there must be a Romeo, who in this case was a dashing and dark hurling player named John - the source of Niamh's laughter. He was the sort of man that all women craved, tall and athletic with a loving disposition and wit that endeared him to all. The latter had particularly tickled Niamh - just as it had Laura Davis, who glared at her with an ill suppressed fury.

'How dare she? And how dare he want her?' Laura thought furiously. 'Maybe's it's time to teach them both a lesson...'

Laura's 'lesson' would see Niamh suffer first. Two weeks later, when Niamh was walking home from school, Laura figured she would make her move. Hiding in the partition between her home and that of her neighbour, Laura waited until Niamh was halfway down the road opposite the partition. Then, with rising anticipation, Laura released an ear-splitting scream that sent Niamh rushing to the source of the noise. It was here that Laura would make her move. Dousing liberal amounts of chloroform onto a rag, she waited for Niamh's elegant figure to draw close.

The poor girl never suspected a thing. Laura pounced upon Niamh with the swiftness of a tiger, forcing the rag over her mouth. Niamh, stunned by the ambush, struggled in vain against her assailant's vice-like grip and within seconds, the intoxicating fumes had stormed the fortress of her consciousness,  forcing her to yield to a reluctant slumber.


A chloroform induced groan heralded Niamh's awakening. Her head was smarting from Laura's administrations, while her body was utterly immobile - also Laura's doing. Her bound body struggled futilely against it's bond as she screamed desperately for aid, for the police, a neighbour, an enemy. For anybody.

Her saviour proved to be a tall brunette, like Niamh, immaculately attired in a scarlet school uniform. Her hair was a cascade of radiant ochre, with emerald green eyes gleaming maliciously at her captive. Laura, in all her unholy glory, had arrived.

Niamh was the first to react.

"Laura?! What ..."

"Shut up, slut."

. Niamh's eyes widened at the order, it's simplicity and force shocking her to terrified silence.

"Now," Laura continued, as if there had been no interuption. "You've been eyeing up John Hogan."
At these words, Niamh turned as scarlet as the uniform upon her rapidly rising and falling chest. She moved to interrupt, but Laura was ahead of her.
"Don't deny it, bitch, I've seen the way you look at him. So today, I'm gonna teach both of you a lesson. Who knows" she smirked "you might even enjoy it."

With those cryptic words, Laura moved to the foot of the bed where Niamh's shoed size 6 feet struggled to no avail. What, she wondered, was Laura planning. Well, whatever it was she wasn't about to make it easy for her. Niamh began to thrash wildly attempting to strike her captor with her bound feet.

"Aww, is the wittle baby upset?" Laura crooned. "Don't you worry, you'll be all smiles soon!" With that, Laura held Niamh's legs in place with her arm, before seizing her black flat and pulling it slowly from her foot.She repeated the process with the other foot, leaving Niamh's wine, knee-high, socked feet vulnerable.

Laura stooped to pick up one of Niamh's fallen flats, before raising it slowly to her nose. She coughed and turned to her captive:

"How could such a pretty wittle baby have such stinky feet? Smell."

Niamh gagged as laura pressed the worn shoe to her face, the leather and fabric damp against her flushed flesh. The stench was sickly sweet,with a strong tang of vinegar, which utterly stupefied Niamh. She could do nothing as this veritable goddess imposed her twisted will upon the her.

"You've had those flats for, like, forever. No wonder they smell so bad! How long have you had them, slave?"

Her final words goaded the haughty Niamh into a blind fury.

"Slave? You little bitch, I'll kill you when I get out of here!"

Laura laughed at this show of bavardo.

"Bitch? We'll have less bad language from you, wittle lady! Let's curb that dirty little tongue of yours..."

Removing the shoe from Niamh's nose, Laura once again retreated to the foot of the bed, where she placed her hands upon Niamh's damp feet.

"No wonder your shoes smell so bad, your socks are soaking!" Laura chided "We'd better fix that..."

Laura seized Niamh's socked feet, and began to drag the sodden fabric from about her knees. Slowly she pulled at the sweat stained socks, the cotton exaggerating her leg's every angelic curve. After what seemed an eternity, Laura finally swept the socks from her feet with a flourish. Her efforts were well rewarded, for she was now faced with what were easily the most beautiful pair of feet she had ever laid eyes upon.

Niamh's feet were a glorious size 6, short yet heart-stoppingly elegant. The tops were as white as marble, with pudgy, painted toes and soft, meaty soles. Laura smiled indulgently at the sight.

"Now to keep you quiet." Laura smirked, picking up Niamh's fallen socks and advancing menacingly to the bedside, where Niamh lay prostrate and helpless.

Niamh, who had not several minutes ago been afire with defiance, was suddenly seized by panic. Surely Laura wasn't about to...

"L-laura, what are..."

Niamh's question was cut off, as in one swift motion, Laura thrust Niamh's sweat stained socks into her open mouth. The socks bore a strong, pungent taste, akin to vinegar and salt, which caused Niamh to choke on her new and humiliating gag.


"Aww, is the wittle baby girl fwightened? Don't worry bitch, I'll make you smile yet!" Laura mocked, striding once more to the foot of the bed where she placed her hands upon Niamh's sweaty feet.

"What cute little feet you have! I hope they're not... ticklish."

At these words, Niamh's eyes widened. Tickling? She wouldn't... There's no way...

Niamh's thought process was abruptly cut off by a sensuous assault on her bare feet, which drove her into a fit of cute, girlish giggles.

"Aww, so you ARE ticklish! This is gonna be so much fun!"

With this, Laura laid into Niamh, her fingers spidering across Niamh's soft, meaty soles, eliciting a gale of raucous laughter from her.


"You want me to stop? But you look like your having so much fun!"

Laura continued her ticklish onslaught, finding between her victims toes to be particularly sensitive. Niamh could do nothing to allay Laura's sensuous administrations, nothing but attempt to suppress the rising pain in her sides, and tears of laughter pouring down her scarlet face.

After an hour of utter torture, Laura stopped, her face contorted by ill suppressed glee.

"How you feeling, Niamhy? Had enough?"

Laura's victim could do nothing to make reply, nothing but lie exhausted in her bonds. She found herself to be still giggling sporadically, as Laura caressed her sweaty feet,  now tinted crimson by her captor's handiwork.

Laura seemed not to want a response.

"Don't feel like talking? No matter, you'll love this!"

Laura grinned as she fell to her knees and drew her face close to Niamh's feet. Then, like a serpent, she slowly swept her tongue about Niamh's cute size 6 sole. This simple action drove Niamh to new heights of ecstasy, as Laura's slimy tongue slithered across her sole, up her arch, before coming to rest between her pudgy toes.

After ten minutes of this treatment, Laura had grown tired of her toy. It was time to get Richard.

"Alright Niamhy, I'll give you a break. But don't worry, I'll be back."

With those words, Laura slipped her shoes from her feet and sat upon the bed.

"Nighty night, bitch."

Before Niamh could rally a protest, Laura had placed her sweaty feet upon her nose and was depriving Niamh of air. A harsh, cheesy scent invaded Niamh's nostrils and the world began to flicker before her eyes, as she was swept away in a dead faint.

Laura looked on with pride. She had taken a proud and beautiful girl, and broken her down to a giggling mess. Now she would make John into the very same. A giggling little foot slave.

To be continued.... ;)
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Printed from https://www.Writing.Com/view/1917983