
I was huddled in the corner of the room, terrified of what would happen next. As I looked around, I saw dozens of pictures of young women just like myself, all displayed on the walls of the reception area. They each had a look of terror on their faces, and I knew that I would soon be one of them.

The door swung open, and in walked the receptionist. She was tall, her hair was pulled back tightly in a bun, and she had a look of determination and brutal disdain on her face. Up close, her appearance was even more daunting with her large, dark makeup-enhanced eyes and blood-red lips. Her heels clicked loudly on the floor as she stalked towards me. She was carrying a clipboard and what looked like a tape measure in one hand, and she placed it on the metal table beside me.

“Sit up straight and look at me when I’m talking to you,” she barked at me as I cowered, trying to clutch the ratty and small blanket I was given.

I straightened up, attempting to be as tall as I could. My long auburn hair fell around my shoulders, barely covering my bare skin. I couldn’t help but feel small and helpless in that chair. My pale and delicate feet, with their long, slender toes, did nothing to help ground me.

“What’s your name?” the receptionist asked, tapping her pen impatiently.

“A-Amber,” I whispered in a shaky voice, terrified to speak further.

“What did you say?” she snapped. “You need to speak up. What happens when the tickling torture is too much to handle, and your new owners can’t hear your words of submission? You need to speak. Clearly.”

“Amber!” I said, trying to make my voice loud and steady.

“Age, height, and weight?” she interrogated. I didn’t want to answer any more correctly and riskful questions. But I couldn’t risk her wrath either. I muttered my height and weight, embarrassed and feeling utterly vulnerable.

“Don’t think your owners won’t know if you’re lying, girl,” she threatened before continuing. “Place of birth? Ethnicity?”

“B-Brooksville, and I’m half Caucasian, half Latina,” I managed, shaking like a leaf.

She seemed slightly satisfied, scribbling the information onto her clipboard. But she was nowhere near done.

“Let’s talk about your feet,” she said in a teasing, malicious tone. “Do you take good care of them? Wax, trim, paint your toenails? I bet you do.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I forced myself to answer.

“Good. But I bet it’s not the same anymore, is it? Your pretty feet in shackles, all the soft spots exposed. It must break that pretty little heart of yours. But it’s important information for us to have. Your owners need to know what they’re getting. Now, tell me, how ticklish would you say your feet are? On a scale of one to ten,” she taunted, tapping my soles with her pen.

Shaking, I whispered, “A-about an eight. It’s unbearable, ma’am.”

“Tsk, tsk. You must enjoy making life difficult,” she smirked. “It would’ve been wiser if you tried to resist, Amber. But that’s your choice. Alright, let’s wrap this up and move you to the next room for the photo session. You’ll need to be strapped down for that part. Don’t want any of our little slaves squirming around.”

She paused, smiling icily and added, “And don’t even think of causing any trouble. You wouldn’t want me to go back and change your ticklishness rating to a ten now, would you?”

Horrified, I shook my head and followed her through the door, feeling the cold air on my feet as I walked. I knew that the photo room would be the next stage in my terrifying process, and I dreaded what would come next.  

As we walked into the photo room, it had an eerie and clinical atmosphere that instantly sent shivers down my spine. The receptionist stood near a table that held various writing utensils and markers of different colors. Her expression was cold and pitiless. The walls were almost entirely covered in mirrors, reflecting my own terrified expression back to me.

The receptionist crossed her arms and eyed me disdainfully. “Strip down, girl. Don’t keep us all waiting,” she commanded.

In humiliation, I removed my last bits of clothing, trying my best to cover myself. My cheeks burned with shame as I stood there, completely exposed.

“You think your modesty matters at this point? Now, let’s get on with it,” she scolded, rolling her eyes. “Stand on the pedestal and get into your first pose. Make sure your feet are visible and the soles are clearly exposed.”

Feeling utterly dehumanized, I took a slow breath and stepped onto the pedestal, assuming my first position as requested. She emphasized, “Hold them up, intentionally, so all the soft spots can be seen by the potential buyers.”

“Good, now hold your arms over your head and spread your fingers,” she instructed, clearly enjoying my humiliation.

I held back tears and obeyed, lifting my arms above my head, feeling more exposed than ever.

The receptionist wrote humiliating phrases on my naked body, words like “Ticklish,” “Submissive,” and “For Sale.” She smirked, cruelly watching my trembling form.

As I stood there, the sounds of the camera clicking away were a sad testimony of my current plight. I had no choice but to accept that I was nothing more than ticklish prey to these people and their sadistic clients.

“Now, lay on your back and arch your feet towards the camera. We want the soft lines of your sole on display. Show off just how ticklish you really are,” she taunted, snapping a few more pictures. I begrudgingly obeyed and held the pose, feeling more horrid by the second.

The receptionist then grabbed rope from a nearby shelf, winding it around in her hands as she smirked sadistically. “It’s time for the ‘tied and helpless’ poses. Trust me, the buyers love these.”

My heart sank as I realized there was no escape from this terrifying and degrading situation. As she began tying me up for the next round of photos, I knew that I was about to be subjected to the most vulnerable and humiliating moments of my life. And there was nothing I could do but comply and hope that one day, I could find a way to escape this terrible nightmare. 

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.