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Chapter 1: Unintended Consequences

In the dimly lit laboratory, a young, attractive witch named Elodie toiled away at a peculiar-looking machine. The automaton stood several feet above her, with its metallic limbs hanging down like a marionette awaiting its master’s hand. The intricate carving of its face held a mysterious grace—a visage that remained resolute despite years of wear and tear.

The full moon shining into the stone chamber painted her fine features in shades of silver, accentuating the pale green of her large, almond-shaped eyes and the tiniest hint of her pert, upturned nose. Her long, fiery red hair cascaded down her back, the waves glittering in the moonlight like liquid rubies. Clad in a tight-fitting, black dress that stopped just above her knees and revealed a tantalizing peek at the tops of her lace-stockinged thighs, she moved with an entrancing grace as she hopped from one end of the room to the other. 

Her sexy, wicked smirk conveyed the enthusiasm she felt toward her upcoming experiment. She bit her plump lower lip in anticipation, a habit that served only to highlight the dark sensuality that seemed to be her constant companion in life. 

But perhaps her most fascinating feature was one she hid beneath the hem of her stockings, concealed from all but the most discerning of eyes. Her delicate feet, a size six and a half, were perfectly shaped, narrow with an elegant arch that one could liken to a dancer’s foot. Her toenails were adorned with a black polish, matching well with her attire. Even her feet had a hint of mischief and allure to them, as if every inch of her being held power in its subtleties.

As she walked back to the automaton, she slipped off one of her black high-heeled shoes, feeling it was getting uncomfortable. Balancing on one foot, she wiggled her toes, releasing some of the tension, before she focused her attention back to the machine.

Taking a deep breath, Elodie carefully reached into a worn leather pouch hanging from her waist and retrieved a small vial filled with smoky, swirling liquid. This was the essence of a tickle demon, a creature she had successfully managed to summon and bind to her will.

It had taken months of travel, research, and countless experiments to arrive on the brink of success. If Elodie could infuse this ancient, powerful, and supposedly magic-immune automaton with the spirit of a tickle demon, she would have an unstoppable tool for subduing slaves into submission. Of course, she much preferred to use her gift of witchcraft in traditional ways: casting spells, brewing potions, and dancing naked beneath the full moon. But she knew she had to innovate within her profession.

“Dark spirits of the underworld,” she whispered, raising the vial to her lips, “grant me your blessings. For tonight, we birth a new creature of pain and pleasure… a force unlike any other in the world of man.”

A shiver raced down her spine as she felt the energies coalesce within the room. She tugged absentmindedly at the hem of her dress, her cheeks flushed with excitement. As she poured the vial of demon essence into the automaton’s metallic core, she began to chant in an ancient language, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

At first, nothing happened. “By the power of darkness…” she muttered in frustration, her fingers playing with the empty vial. She glanced down at her exposed foot, wriggling her toes in anxious trepidation. But then, her gaze shot back up, widening in disbelief when she saw the automaton’s eyes start to glow red, the metallic shell groaning and creaking as it came to life.

It worked. It actually worked.

Elation filled the young witch as she watched the once-inanimate construct move with newfound grace and power. It was everything she’d hoped for and more. But then, she noticed an odd sensation in her stockinged foot as the automaton loomed over her, its massive frame blocking out the moonlight.

“Wait… what—?” she began as the automaton, now infused with the spirit of a tickle demon, reached down and scooped her up in its mighty arms, pinning her against its cold, metallic chest. She kicked and squirmed, her stockinged feet flexing and curling in a futile attempt to free herself from its grasp.

“No, you’re supposed to obey ME!” Elodie cried, her heart pounding in her chest. But to her terror, the newly awakened creature only laughed—a deep, sinister laughter that sent shudders racing down her spine. As its fingers danced along her slender, stockinged feet, the laughter of the demon grew louder, prowling her mind to seek out her most vulnerable spots.

“No, please…not this…oh, dear Satan, not this!” she whimpered, as terrifying realization dawned upon her. Instead of a tool for her professional trade, she had unwittingly created her own tormentor. A tormentor whose sole purpose would be her submission, as it explored her most ticklish weakness.

And with each breathless protest, each plea for mercy, the demon’s laughter only grew, mingling with the desperate laughter of the young witch—once supremely confident, now hopelessly ensnared in the consequences of her own dark desires. 

Chapter 2: Dark Negotiations

“Wait, wait, please,” Elodie gasped, tears streaming down her flushed cheeks as her breath came in ragged gasps. The demon’s laughter seemed to grow more intense with her desperate pleas, her stockinged foot wriggling powerlessly in its grip. “Why are you doing this?”

The laughter subsided for a moment, and the tickle demon’s red eyes bore into hers as it spoke in a deep, echoing voice. “I am a creature born of darkness, bound to feed off magical energy. In order to survive, I must extract it from the nearest source of magical power—through tickle torture. It is not a choice for me, but a necessity.”

Elodie’s heart raced in fear. She had never been rendered so powerless before. Her hands, clenched in tight fists, trembled as she fought to keep up an air of defiance despite the damp strands of hair sticking to her forehead. “I summoned you. You’re supposed to serve me,” she cried.

“You bound my essence to this automaton with the hope of bending me to your will. But in doing so, you have inadvertently placed yourself as my nearest source of magical energy, and I cannot help but drain you of your power.” The demon’s voice was calm and matter-of-fact, as if explaining something as mundane as the weather.

Seeing her resistance waning, it added, “I am eager to finish this, so if you would be willing to surrender yourself to the process, it would be simplest. Tell me, where are your stockades and tickle implements?”

Elodie’s eyes widened. She had never been the one placed in stockades, only ever on the other end of tickle torture. Biting her lip, she tried to muster an impressive defiance, but her voice trembled as she attempted to weigh her options. “No,” she whispered, her stockinged foot attempting to jerk free of the demon’s grasp to no avail.

The tickle demon’s red eyes narrowed slightly, and it spoke in a more forceful tone. “There is no other way. Do not make this more difficult for both of us. Tell me where your equipment is located, and I will handle the rest.”

As much as it pained her to do so, Elodie realized she had no choice. Stammering, she told the demon that her stockades were located in the back corner of the old cellar, along with various tickle implements she used in her work. Her body tensed, anticipating the inevitable torture before her.

With surprising care, the automaton’s cold, metallic grasp bore her deeper into the lab, following her directions. Elodie felt the floor shift under her feet as she was carried downstairs and into the damp molding cellar. The demon’s eyes retained their crimson glow, cutting through the darkness with ease.

Before her lay the cold and imposing stockade, a testament to her submission, a cruel symbol of the power she had lost. Yet as the demon freed her long enough to secure her in the stockades, her blood-red hair splayed across her face, Elodie couldn’t help but harbor a fantasy, twisted as it was: That she might somehow regain her footing in this brutal dance of darkness before the creature exacted a toll too severe to bear. 

Generate the next chapter maximum length. Contrive her tickle torment. Describe her feet and reactions in salacious detail. The automaton is reassuring and asks her to cooperate like a good girl. She is hesitant at first but learns to submit. Show this through dialogue.