
I was still disoriented from the drugs they had used when they captured me, so stepping into this sterile office was a shock to my system. The cold white walls and floors combined with the gleaming metal furniture made my stomach knot with anxiety.

The receptionist was sitting behind a large, imposing desk, tapping away at the keys of her computer, not even acknowledging my presence. She was an older woman, probably in her forties, with a face that looked as though she’d seen one too many horrors for her liking. Her eyes were sharp and cold, and there was a cruel smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

I shivered and pulled my thin cotton robe tight, trying to cover my nakedness and vulnerability from her dispassionate gaze. My bare feet felt like ice on the cold, hard tile.

The receptionist finally looked up from her computer, her expression a mixture of disdain and boredom. Her gaze flicked to the various photos hung on the walls, which displayed rows and rows of ticklish women who had been processed like me. She seemed to take some perverse pleasure in those photos.

“Name?” she asked, without so much as glancing at me.

“K-Katrina…” I stammered, trying to hold back my tears.

“Weight?”

“Um, a hundred and five pounds.”

“Age?”

“Eighteen.”

“Height?”

“5’5.”

“Place of birth?”

“Boston, Massachusetts.”

“Ethnicity?”

“White, I guess.”

“Ever been tied up before, have you?” she said, smirking.

I blushed, realizing that she was trying to humiliate me. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Her smile faded, and she glared at me. “Answer the question, or I’ll have a dozen men lined up to ravish those feet of yours. Finish the questions without speaking out of turn again or else.”

Breathing heavily, I was afraid of what would happen if I didn’t comply. “Yes, I’ve been tied up.”

A wicked grin spread across her face. “Thought so, that pretty little face of yours says it all. Look at you, all those wavy auburn strands and those doe eyes, must’ve been Daddy’s little princess, right?”

I only managed to nod, wondering how this woman could be so cruel. I closed my eyes, thinking of my father, envisioning him waiting for me, but unable to do anything about it.

“Well, those days are over,” she said, pulling a file from her drawer. “Now for the really fun part… We’re going to document your lovely little feet.” She gave an exaggerated laugh. “Aren’t you excited?”

I couldn’t stop a strangled sob from escaping my lips as she pulled out a camera.

“Stand over there,” she ordered, pointing to a spot on the floor. “And don’t you dare move until I tell you.”

I walked over sobbing, my feet still cold and sore, wondering how I could’ve ended up in this nightmarish situation. I knew I had no choice but to obey her, or risk causing more trouble for myself.

“Now, let’s take a good look at those feet of yours, shall we?” she said, zooming in with her camera. “Cute and small, I must admit. Size six?”

I nodded, praying that this would be the end of it.

“Tsk, tsk,” she clucked her tongue. “Look at those soft soles, practically begging to be tickled, teased and tormented. And those delicate, slender toes, oh, the things that could be done with those…”

I couldn’t help but feel a shiver of revulsion at her musings.

“Alright, that’s enough for today,” she said, smirking as she looked over the photos on her camera. “Don’t worry. It only gets worse from here. Off you go, next door. They’re waiting for you.”

I hesitated for only a moment before steeling myself and stumbling out of there, knowing all too well that this was only the beginning of my ordeal as the door closed ominously behind me. 

As I entered the next room, I fought the urge to run. It was lined with photo backdrops and bright lights, with the floor covered in soft, padded mats. There was no escaping what was about to happen.

The receptionist followed me into the room, still holding the camera. “Alright, sweetheart,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Time to lose that robe and show us what you’re made of.”

With shaking hands, I untied my robe and let it fall to the floor, leaving me naked in the harsh light, feeling utterly exposed. Goosebumps prickled my skin and I longed to cover myself, but the look in her eyes told me that wouldn’t be allowed.

“Now, let’s try some poses, shall we?” The receptionist said, slowly walking around me, as if circling her prey. “First, stand up straight with your arms above your head. Look straight into the camera and give me the cutest little smile you can manage.”

I did as I was told, feeling mortified. I tried to focus on anything but her mocking tone and the camera pointed at me.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart,” she clicked her tongue. “I need to see those lovely feet. Stand on your tiptoes. Perfect.”

My feet ached as I strained on my tiptoes, but she showed no sympathy. Instead, she mercilessly snapped photos, criticism falling on me like acid rain.

“Next, sit down on the floor with your legs spread wide. Spread your toes for me,” she leered as she continued taking photographs. “Oh, look at those rosy little soles. I bet they’re more sensitive than you’d ever admit.”

“What’s your favorite animal?” She suddenly asked, pausing only briefly to allow me to answer.

In my confused and terrified state, I blurted out, “A bunny!”

With a cruel smile, the receptionist produced a marker from her pocket. “Now, as a treat, we’re going to immortalize that choice on your body.” She crouched down and scrawled the word ‘BUNNY’ on my ankle, pressing hard with the marker, like a metaphorical knife digging into my psyche.

“Now tell me, sweetheart, what’s your favorite color?”

I hesitated, my voice barely a whisper. “Purple.”

She wrote ‘PURPLE’ just below my knee, snickering as she did. Her inky, mocking graffiti crawled up my leg like a marauding army intent on humiliating me from within.

“Now, my favorite,” she began. “What’s the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”

Tears welled in my eyes as I stammered the memory, unable to hold it back. “I-I w-wet myself during a pub-public s-speech.”

Her eyes lit up with sadistic glee. “Oh, that’s a good one. I’m going to write it in capital letters.” She wrote the words ‘PEE SPEECH’ above my knee, then said, “I’ll make sure everyone who sees these pictures knows that little secret.”

She continued taking photos and writing demeaning comments on my body while forcing me into increasingly humiliating poses. By the time she was done with me, I had been broken to the core, and my body was covered in mocking words that would live on forever in the photos she had taken.

“Now, for the grand finale,” she announced with a sickening grin, producing a coil of rope. “Time to tie these lovely feet of yours together, and then we’ll finish your scrapbook. Are you ready?”

Tears flowed freely down my cheeks as I stared at the rope and the woman who would be my tormentor. I wanted to beg her for mercy, but I knew she wouldn’t have any compassion.

No words came out of my mouth, but my expression was enough answer. She had won, leaving me bare and shattered, my soul stained with my own shame and vulnerability. 
Generate the next part. Maximum length salacious detail. Generate mostly dialogue. The receptionist continues her mocking as she motions her through the next step. She is tied, then gagged with her own socks, opening her mouth like a good little girl(if she wasn't wearing socks, use the receptionist's socks instead). Even her big toes are tied. The receptionist begins tickling, mocking her as she does so. She eventually cannot help but pee herself, which the receptionist finds most amusing and makes sure to get a picture.