Featherscape's Ticklish Update : 12/05/22 (Patreon)

[Don't skip, this is a tickle story and the first early release of the month. Just trying something new here ❤]

It’s not often I go to the library to write, but there’s always been this odd mysticism with libraries. It’s one of the few places anywhere that’s intentionally quiet, open to anyone, and no one ever tries to sell you something. There’s something about being surrounded by literature, walls of varying text bound like mysteries, that awaken the urge to add my own. Not that I feel like I ever have anything useful to say, but I can’t deny the inviting charm of books. The scent, the feel, the enigma of what could lie behind the spines staring out at me, it’s intoxicating. Plus, it’s just nice to get out of the house once in a while.

I’ve been running the Featherscape channel for about 10 years now. It started as a hobby. Before that even, it was just me writing out my own ticklish fantasies as a means of visualizing my ideas and eventually uploading them out of sheer curiosity. Thanks to the (mostly) positive reception, it kicked off a desire to continue. All the positive comments and feedback had me thinking that I had some talent here, maybe. I didn’t know about that, but I continued nonetheless. It was a great way to escape to my worlds of ideas and ticklish pleasures. The tickle-based romances that I wish I had. The fantasy world based on tickles. The haunted house wherein I could explore ticklish ideas with more intensity. It was all experimental and escapism, a vehicle that I never imagined would get as big as it had.

I used to have reservations about writing my stuff in public, but as I grew older, I started to care less and less. Hell, I even began designing channel merch that I was tempted to wear myself, even if I was the only one. I took pride in the Featherscape channel and it was all thanks to the support that I had accumulated over the years. Through then, though, it began to take over my life. It was something I worked on everyday, some days never leaving my home office. It was a beast in of itself, a tickle monster that would go after the sensitive nerves of my mind, tickling the insecurities and the like. The rush was always fun, but never without its hills and valleys. The job became just that, a job. And soon after, it became a job in which doubts and poor time management had me feeling like I needed to branch out and potentially outsource smaller jobs like social media manager, merchandising manager (getting ahead of myself), and maybe a ghost writer for updates. It was intense. The risk of running and expending it all was like a high, but no high is without its lows.

The library was quiet, as most of them are. It was also relatively empty. A few other people sat around reading and working while a kindly older lady stocked shelves from a cart. I’ve said that watching people is important to do as a writer, but to an extent it’s nothing more than another excuse with which to procrastinate. I’m sure I could justify playing Pokemon and watching serial killer documentaries as also good to do as a writer, but it doesn’t help the channel as much as, you know, writing. My lack of discipline has always been my Achilles heel. I forced my eyes back down to the page to continue the commission I was working on. That’s when I heard someone approach.

“Whatcha doing?” she said. I looked up from my chair. Standing next to the table on which I was working was a girl. She was pretty, about my age, and seemed weirdly familiar, though I knew that I had never seen her before. Politely, I answered.

“Um, working,” I said.

“Whatcha working on?” she pried. She stood with her hands behind her back. She was slender, cute, with light pink hair that draped down to her shoulders. She wore a long sleeve shirt with a skull and crossbones on the front, except the crossbones with two feathers and the skull wore a pink bow. A short white skirt fluttered across her thighs. I glanced back down to the page in front of me before answering.

“Oh, just stuff,” I said. “I’m a writer.”

“Just ‘stuff’?” she asked. Her voice was sweet and mousey, something I’d expect to hear out of a girl much younger. “You don’t think that your readers would want you to elaborate?” I blinked and furrowed my brow, not knowing how to respond.

“Um… what?” I said with a nervous chuckle. She sat down across from me at the table.

“You’re Featherscape, right?” she asked. I swallowed. It was a conflicting moment, a storm surging in my head. I was taken back, excited by the prospect of being recognized while fearing the same realization suddenly thereafter. Never had I posted a picture of myself or been more public about who I was outside of my normal channel activity. I was always really private about it, and yet somehow she had figured out who I was, so specifically that there was little use in denying it. I paused and felt a warm flush hurry to my cheeks.

“Um… uh… yeah, how did you know?” I asked. I figured the easiest explanation was that she had seen something on my laptop from behind, but even that was somewhat alarming. She giggled and nodded.

“Because you created me,” she said. She kept a smile on while my brain started to hurt processing the weird prank she was pulling on me. I could only chuckle.

“Um, no,” I started. “S-sorry.” I just figured that she was some fan, maybe playing a character of mine. Maybe the whimsical fairy Erica or perhaps some version of Holly. But what she said next made me think that she was just confused.

“I’m Post,” she said. I had to smile at that one.

“Post?” I asked. “Like… post office or the cereal brand?”

“Nope, like Post, your character,” she said. I was already tiring of the bit, but she was cute, so I humored her.

“I don’t have a character named Post,” I said dryly, not acknowledging the ridiculousness of the situation even if I did.

“Yeah huh, you do now,” Post said. “You just made me.” She was fun, I gave her that, but I could tell the schtick was going nowhere fast. I figured I could humor her for a little while longer, she would get bored, she would leave, and I would get my work done. Easy as that.

“I didn’t,” I said. “I’m writing about a girl trying to spend time with her friends before college.”

“To tickle them?” Post asked. She grinned wide, squirming in her seat. Obviously, she was familiar with my work, far more familiar than I was comfortable talking about it out in the open.

“Uh, ye-yeah,” I said.

“That’s hot,” Post said. My heart beat noticeably faster. I gave her another nervous laugh as we inched into the territory of talking about tickling.

“Yeah, it is,” I said.

“So that’s what you’re working on right now?” Post asked. I nodded.

“Yep,” I said.

“What’s next?” Post asked. I squinted a little.

“What?”

“What’s after that?” she asked. I scratched at the side of my face. I had no idea just how invested she would want to be with the channel, but ask a writer what they’re working on and watch any of them get immediately eager to tell you all about it.

“I have a really busy month ahead,” I said, to give the easy answer.

“That’s all?” Post asked, tilting her head.

“Well, it’s a lot of stuff.”

“And you don’t want to update them?”

“Who?”

“Your readers,” she said.

“I already did, at the end of November,” I said. “Not much has changed.” Even as I spoke, I realized how boring I sounded compared to how I conduct my updates. All my energy went into text form.

“You sure there’s nothing else?” Post asked. I thought for a second.

“Nothing concrete,” I said. She looked slyly off to the side. “How’d you find me anyway?”

“I told you, you created me,” she said again. “You needed a better way of getting updates across and figured this would be the most entertaining way of doing so.”

“That’s… pretty out there,” I said. “Sorry, it’s not easy making updates entertaining. I still need to focus on content.”

“What if they could be both?”

“How?” I asked.

“I’ll show you,” she said. I don’t know how exactly, but the next thing I felt was my leg straightening and my foot ending up in her lap. It was almost as if she had reached down and grabbed it, but if she did, she must have moved too fast for me to see. I gasped and sat back, tensing in my seat.

“Hey, o-oh sorry…” I started, not knowing what had come over me. Post merely giggled.

“It’s okay,” she said. “You did it. I’m just here to help.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. Post started untying my shoe. I had put on sneakers that day, a pair of blue and white Vans. It was chillier than usual, and I knew it would likely be colder inside the library. My foot stayed in her lap as she flung my laces apart. She dropped the plucked shoe to the floor beneath the table. For whatever reason, I kept my foot in her lap. My cheeks burned more as I looked around. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Nothing you don’t want,” Post said cheerfully. She flung her hair back. None of the other library patrons had turned their attention to us. I was thankful, yet still sat anxiously in my seat.

“What do you mean?” I asked. Post rolled her eyes.

“If I’m wrong, take your foot back,” she said. I thought for a second. It was out of my vision, but I could feel how my foot laid in her lap. I had become more aware of the atmosphere around it. I felt how the shallow pink ankle sock clung to it. I could feel the coolness of the room brushed against the warmth that bloomed from it. As much as shame overcame my senses, being in such a weirdly intimate situation with a stranger in public, I still managed to keep my foot in her lap. Call it curiosity, politeness, or a legitimate desire to see what would come next. Post’s smile widened. “See?”

“What is this?”

“Just us making your channel updates more entertaining,” Post said.

“How?” I asked. Post laughed.

“Oh come on,” she said. “You know how.” She reached down and cupped my foot with both of her hands. Her fingers felt all over it, brushing from the tops and gliding around the sides. I tensed as she came to my sole, my toes clenching defensively. I grabbed at the edge of the table. I felt my muscles tighten as a wide smile came forcibly to my lips. My foot jerked a little as her nails tapped against my socked sole. I grabbed the edge of the table and raised one hand to cover my mouth.

“Mmmmheehe… stop…” I said. Post sighed and rolled her eyes again.

“You know that’s just drawing it out, right?” Post asked. “You’re going to keep putting up this front instead of just cutting to the chase.”

“I don’t know wha-aaahahahaheeeheee!” I started. Post caught me off guard with a sudden scribbling of her nails against my sole. I jumped in my seat, slamming my hand back over my mouth while I squirmed and giggled wildly. Post’s nails danced lightly over my foot in her lap. She scribbled and fluttered her fingers from my heel up to the base of my toes. Tickles flowed through my body, flooding me from my sensitive little foot.

“But I guess that’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Post asked, her nails scraping against my warm, plush sole. “Such a cute laugh. Coochie coochie coo…” She spoke knowingly, as if pulling the best words to tease me right out of my own head. A warm flush stayed on my cheeks. I tried my best to stifle my laughter and more exaggerated reactions, but couldn’t deny just how ticklish I’ve always been. My feet especially, and Post knew this well.

“Staaaahheeheheeop,” I giggle and snicker. “Peeeheheheople are waahahatching.”

“They are, you’re right,” Post said, her nails skittering across my foot. “About 1.4 thousand. Not bad. You better be putting on a good show for them.” My foot remained in her lap with little resistance holding it in place. Her other hand had cupped the top tenderly while she scribbled her nails lightly against my sole. I twitched and giggled in place, still only succumbing to frantic giggles.

“Aaaaheheeehehehehehee! Nahahat my footaaaahahaha!” I squealed. Every swipe shot surges of tickles up through my body. I bounced and jerked in my seat, a familiar heat pressing down on me.

“No, no, I know exactly where you like it,” Post said. I hated how right she was. As much as it did tickle, and as hard as I was trying not to draw attention, situations like that were rare and pined for. Fantasized about, even. Maybe that’s why I had such a hard time pulling my foot back. This adorable stranger had it in her lap, well within the perimeters of her ticklish mercy, and she knew exactly what to do about it.

“Pleeheehehahahassee!” I laughed, starting to get louder. I looked around briefly to see who, if anyone, was looking over at me. None of them were. They all seemed to just be minding their own-

“Nope, you can do better than that,” Post said. I blinked. When I opened my eyes, I saw them. The few straggling library visitors had looked up from their work and reading to peer over at us at the table. A few smirked knowingly while others in small groups snickered and whispered in obvious gossip. The warm flush grew on my face. My ticklish reactions had gained the attention of everyone around me. Post had put me on display, giggling as she toyed with my ticklish little foot. I tried to block them out, but just like I tried to pull my foot back, I couldn’t. A lingering part of me didn’t want to.

“Whhhaahahahat is haahahahappening?!” I giggled loudly. With everyone seemingly enjoying the show, I felt almost freed to allow myself more volume. A wash of shame rushed over me like a stormy wave. Her fingers tickled so much, and yet I could not escape their intoxicating influence.

“What now, Featherscape?” Post asked. “Is that guy over there going to shyly come up and ask for a turn? You know you’d let him. Or maybe the librarian is going to need to punish you for being loud and already knows the perfect way to do that. Or are you going to give in and tell everyone what you’re up to?”

“I doaahahahan’t know whahahat you waaaaahahahant!” I laughed. My face had darkened to a cherry red. My foot squirmed in her hand and yet never seemed to pull away. Post sighed and rolled her eyes a bit.

“That’s fair,” Post said. “I guess you need more convincing.” She chuckled and stopped long enough to pinch the tip of my sock. My heart jumped. Post was confident, grinning back at me. She had my foot cupped lovingly in one hand while she slowly pulled up on the sock, peeling it away to expose my bare foot. I sat up straight. The anxiety of what was to come began gnawing inside my chest. I swallowed, trying to get a good view of my foot in her lap, hidden away beneath the table. “But you and I both knew it was going to come to this.”

“Don’t, I-I’m so ticklish, please…”

“Aww, but you love it,” Post said with a wide smirk. She popped my sock off completely. The coolness of the room brushed against my warm, humid foot. She held the small, pink sock up high enough for everyone to see. “And more importantly, so do they.”

“Post, seriously…”

“And your little foot is so cute!” Post said loudly, making sure everyone heard. “And so ticklish too, which makes it even cuter!”

“Please, I… I, um…”

“Yes?” Post asked, tilting her head. “Something you want to say?” I think for a moment. My toes wiggle against the chill, the anticipation raining tingles across them.

“Um… I-I’ll… have a new short book coming out later this year… it’ll be free for my Patreon subscribers,” I said.

“Mmmm, you said that last month,” Post said. “Naughty girl.” She wiggled her fingers in the air, showing off a set of glittery pink nails. My chest caves in again.

“Also, Patrons get discounts on my other stuff!” I said quickly, my eyes fixed on the wiggling nails inching closer to my foot. “Like my book, Shrieking Manor. They get $5 off!”

“Hmmm, all this we’ve heard before,” Post said.

“Well, duh, I said I’ve already done a upda-aaaaaaahahhahahahaahahaha!!” I jumped into a shrill shriek of laughter. Post launched her scribbling nails down against my bare foot in her lap. It squirmed in place, my toes wiggling and curling, though it never seemed to pull away. She kept a firm hold on it still, in an embrace that always seemed particularly intimate and burningly vulnerable to me.

“Tsk, tsk, can’t do better, huh?” Post asked. Her fingers gave light, quick scrapes against my sole. She wore a smile that delighted in my obvious embarrassment, my ticklish suffering. I could barely deny the appeal myself, sitting there blushing and giggling and squirming in my seat. The eyes of the room were all upon me. I knew behind the darkness of my own tightly clamped eyelids. Post continued to tease, skittering her nails across my bare foot. She giggled and chuckled along with me, emphasizing the joy she retained from my reactions. “Hehe, awww, tickle tickle tickle…”

“Staaaahahahahahaaaaap!!” I squealed. I jumped more in my seat. My body squirmed every which way possible, at one point falling over before I forced myself back up. My foot wiggled as well in her grasp but it never left her lap. Her scribbling nails had drawn it in, attracted it in a way that left my ticklish foot exposed and vulnerable to her playful sadism.

“You like being watched, don’t you?” Post taunted. “All helpless and embarrassed. Everyone seeing just how adorably ticklish you are, wishing they could be next to tickle your little tootsies. Maybe you should write more about that. But I guess you are now, huh?” Every little flick of her nails against my foot was its own shock of tickles coursing through my senses. They assumed more and more of my perception, quickly becoming all that I could think about. My cheeks burned. I clamped my hands over my face, shielding my eyes and apparent shameful elation. It was true. I wanted it. I didn’t know how she knew, or at least I didn’t think that I did. But deep down, I did. I knew how she knew. I knew why she was there and what she wanted. It was all so surreal, as if plucked out of a dream. In the moment, however, all I could do was squirm and shriek with ticklish giggles.

“Aaaaaaaahhhehehehehehehehaaaaa!!! Staaaahahahahahahaahp! Naahahahaha my foootttahahahahahaha!!!” I laughed and laughed until my chest began to ache. Post’s fluttering nails worked so quickly against my highly sensitive foot. She was steadily bringing to light my desires, my fantasies, of having my feet so helplessly tickled, all in a way that exposed this carnal need to so many people. I could sense them all watching, reading, staring down at me while I endured and laughed for their amusement.

“Such a ticklish little foot you have,” Post teased. “Take all the time you need. I know you’re loving this just as much as everyone else is.” Her nails swiped up to my toes. Five pearly digits clenched defensively, yet could do nothing to shield themselves from the skittering of Post’s nails raining across my soft, pink pads. A yelp broke through my laughter. I succumbed to a deeper surge of giggles once she started brushing her fingers against my toes.

“NAAAAHHHHHHHheeeeheehehehahahahahahaha!!! Staaaaahahahhahaapp!!!” I laughed into my palms. I could feel my face burning. I hid in the darkness, shielding out the eyes enjoying my boisterous display, my shameful exhibition. I cried and squeaked as the tickles only grew more intense. Post dug her fingers into my toes. Her nails reached underneath and scraped against the especially sensitive stems. I shrieked when she managed to slip her nails in between each, easily overpowering my reactionary defenses. It had been so long since I had been tickled like that. I was squealing and laughing and crying, caring less and less about who saw. My heart pounded in my chest. All I could feel were the raging tickles shooting up from my delicate little foot. All I could hear was Post’s voice in my head teasing and encouraging my ticklish surrender.

“So precious, I love the way your little toes wiggle,” Post said, her fingers brushing and dancing across them. “But if you don’t hurry up, I just may lose my patience and reveal more secrets about you. Liiiiiike….” My mind raced against the tickles flooding my thoughts, like trying to swim up a raging stream. I endured and fought to regain my composure, but my ticklish foot could barely handle her methods that somehow knew exactly how to tickle me.

“Aaaaaaaaahhheheehehehehahahahaaa!!! Okaaahahahahahay!!! Okaaaaahahahahayyy! I’ll tell!!” I shouted, officially apathetic to the crowd which had given me their full attention. Post delighted her fingers a bit more against my warm, soft foot before pulling back.

“Yes?” she asked sweetly. Her other hand petted my foot in her lap like a small kitten. I panted. My chest ached as I struggled to catch my breath. Sweat had dampened my face. I brushed a strand of hair back behind my ear as I searched for the words that she would want to hear, that they would all want to hear.

“I… I, uhh…” I stuttered, racking my brain. “I… I’m going to try and start a new series. A short one… I haven’t told anyone…”

“Oh?” Post asked.

“Yes, it’s… it’s going to be a more… um, colorful way to get out updates,” I said. “I want to provide more content in a way that reflects the appeal of the channel and I thought that this would be a fun way to go about that. Kind of a ‘kill two birds’ situation.”

“Interesting,” Post said. “I like that. Kind of the whole reason I’m here. Thanks for that, by the way. Anything else?” I shrugged and shook my head slightly.

“I… uhmm… still working on commissions,” I got out. “Still working with a tickle media production company. Still trying to get my other books fleshed out and re-released. Maybe some new RedBubble designs, time permitting. There’s a lot going on…”

“I can tell,” Post said. She shot me a playful smile. As she let go of my foot, I could feel my leg drawing it back out of her lap. Post stood up from the other side of the table. She flipped her hair back, still grinning. “Well then, I guess we’re done here.”

“What… what do you mean?” I asked. Post looked around the room. My eyes followed hers. All the other people in the library had turned their attention away from me. Not only that, but it was as if none of them ever even were looking at me. People continued to read and work, invested in their own little worlds, just as they were before Post arrived. When I looked back over to Post, she was gone.

I remember the stupor that followed. It was the kind that leaves you wondering whether or not you’ve been dreaming. Not in the cliche way that many stories uphold, or at least not fully, but I was more left feeling as if I was teetering across the line of being awake and being asleep. It was the state where dreams seem to flash and strange images come and go as if bouncing off of reality. I figured that the workload had probably been a bit too much, that maybe the exhaustion caught up with me faster than I realized. I hadn’t eaten anything for a while prior, so maybe that was it. My mind raced to rationalize the situation, but it all seemed so pointless.

Pulling myself back to the real world, I looked down to the table in front of me. My sock laid out, completely removed from my foot. It was only then did I feel the room’s standard coldness bearing down against my toes. I blushed, more eager to slip it back on than I was to question anything. I put my foot back into my sock and then back into my shoe. Everything felt right. Swirling with fatigue, like I needed to get to bed right then and there, but at least right. I sighed and rubbed my eyes. I turned back to my laptop to see the page that I had been working on.

“Wh-what…” I muttered. I squinted and stared into the screen. The story that I had been writing was no longer there. The characters had been replaced, nowhere to be found in the narrative. The story was completely different and yet strangely familiar, invasive even. The page wasn’t even my usual Google Doc page, but a Patreon page. One that had been written out and already uploaded. I scanned through the rest of the story that was there. I had no recollection of writing any of it. But there it was. On my page. Already scheduled to go up on DeviantArt a week later. When I got to the end, I thought that I would know what happened, like I could predict it. The words felt like memories, every single one until I got to the very last line.

“Love the idea, cutie,” Post said. “I guess I’ll be back for the next big update.”