Post's New Years Eve Update! 🩷 (Patreon)

I had never been big on parties, particularly adult ones where the theme of the evening was always ‘drink as much as possible because joy is a fleeting emotion that can only be manufactured through mindless consumerism and inebriation’. 

“Oh wow, Scape, you must be real fun at parties.” I see you and I can’t even fully disagree with the sarcastic eye-rolling. I actually think I’m pretty fun, just never really had any interest in the culture of parties or clubs, that the incentives that would always be associated were never really worth the trouble. Telling me to come out because ‘we’re gonna get so wasted’ will never be half as appealing as ‘we’re gonna tear up this XXXL burrito bowl challenge’, but it’s never the latter. That’s why I only had myself to blame when I heard

“We’re gonna get so wasted!” Brittany said, handing me a shot. I stood amongst a gaggle of close friends and a few relative strangers at our friend Garret’s house, partially wondering how and why it was that I was there. I knew the answers; Brittany had driven me and it was New Years Eve, but it was one of those moments where you pause and find yourself questioning the choices you had made up to that point, for better or for worse. I took the shot of… something. That seemed to be the drink of most people there. Something. Whatever it was Garret was handing out. Personally, I’ve never been the type to seek out drinks for myself, but usually succumbed to the peer effect of accepting anything handed to me out of politeness. 

“You’re already there,” I said. Brittany threw back the shot with ease. She had already had a few to celebrate the big annual event and the effects were taking over. I sighed before stomaching mine, enduring the initial burn. “Ugh, I… yikes…” 

“Too strong for you?” Brittany asked, leaning against the counter and slurring slightly. She had on a puffy blue jacket that she wore over a nicer sweater. It wasn’t uncommon for Brittany to put a lot into her look for any and all events, even some as small as little get-togethers at friend houses. She was a beautiful woman, with or without her usual ritual of dolling herself up. I knew she had been looking forward Garret’s New Years Eve party since before his more composed Christmas party and came slightly bummed that the cold forced her into a jacket that didn’t quite match her outfit. Several drinks into the evening and her spirits quickly lifted. 

“Sure, if that’s what you call just not liking any of this,” I said. She tried to nudge me in the arm, ending up pressing half her body weight against me in the process.

“Come on, it’s… twenty… twenty four–five,” Brittany said.

“And?” I asked. “Same thing happens every year.”

“Yeah, but it’s gonna get better though,” Brittany said. “You’re gonna own it! We both are!”

“Well, we’ll see,” I said. “It’s fine to think that, but you’ve had a lot to drink and certainly weren’t this hopeful in November.”

“Ugh, fuckin… don’t… just don’t right now,” Brittany said, making and throwing back another shot. She grimaced through the taste, making me wonder what she enjoyed more, the drinks or what they did to her.

“We’re not gonna think about it, okay,” I said. “But you’ve probably had enough. Let’s get you some water or Coke or something.”

“You haven’t had enough,” Brittany retorted sloppily.

“Because someone has to drive your dumbass home,” I said, heading into Garret’s kitchen, looking through his cabinets for cups. The whole apartment had been crudely decorated with streamers and stray party favors. Overturned solo cups littered nearly every surface. Music played from a distant room while the large television overlooking the living room displayed a real-time countdown for the New Year from Times Square. The whole apartment smelled of sweat and liquor, scents that seemed to remain in varying degrees whenever Garret would host any sort of gathering. 

“Come on, you’ve been working so hard,” Brittany said, leaning over the edge of the counter. Several others occupied the kitchen and adjacent living area, though they were all fairly involved in their own conversations to notice ours. Her comment stalled me for a moment. She wasn’t wrong, yet my recent efforts had become so routine that I really think of it as ‘hard’, only doing what it was that was necessary. She didn’t know about Featherscape, none of them did. I made sure to keep it as far from my personal life as possible. But she did know that I wrote and did so with a fair amount of professionalism. That was Brittany, a good enough friend to care about my workload but not one good enough to care to read the stuff I actually did; the perfect middle-ground. 

“That’s just how it is,” I said. I found the cup cabinet and took out a plastic glass. I filled it with water from the dispenser on the front of the refrigerator and slid it across the counter. “Here.”

“Only if you liven up a bit,” Brittany said. “That’s the deal.”

“There’s no deal, just drink. For your own sake.”

“It’s the end of the year, you’re finally out with us, there’s so much to celebrate,” Brittany said. “You can let loose for one night.” I stared back at her, chuckling slightly. She wasn’t wrong, in a way. It was the end of the month and I had just finished scrambling to meet the necessary quotas. The evening was the time I had allowed myself to revel in the acknowledgement that most of my deadlines had been met and that I was going into a much more manageable workload in the coming months. I also was fairly hopeful for the channel for the following year, what with all my budding ideas and whatnot. Even if I was able to accomplish half of what I wanted, I’d call that a pretty good period. Of course, none of that came out in significant detail. At least not yet.

“Who’s gonna drive if I do?” I asked, gamingly. Brittany shrugged.

“I dunno, some Uber,” she said. The answer was simple yet obnoxiously effective. She reached for the half empty bottle of Something® and poured two more shots. “How ‘bout, I drink the water, all of it, if you have these. Then we’ll be even.” As much as I wanted to argue, and would have under most other circumstances, I found myself compelled. I stood, staring down at the small thimble glasses, and gave her proposition genuine consideration. “C’mon, you never. Plus it’s New Years! No driving, you’ll be fine!” 

“Alright, fine,” I said, sold by knowing that I had nothing serious on the schedule for the next day. I passed her the water cup and she slid over the two shot glasses. With considerable pain and difficulty, I managed to get them both down in two motions of quick succession. Swallowing through the second, I wretched and nearly gagged, but I managed to keep it down. Brittany was about half finished with the water I had poured for her before she set the cup down and cheered as if I had just accomplished something even remotely meaningful.

“There you go, let loose!” Brittany said, being every antagonist in every drinking PSA that I remembered watching as a kid. I laughed a bit, waiting for the alcohol to take its slippery hold on me. I’ve never been a big drinker, always a relative light-weight, and was usually much less encouraged by my friends’ teasing over the fact. I stood with one hand on the counter, feeling my lips starting to tingle as the dreamlike veil began to surface. I sighed, knowing how bad of an idea it was, but also wanting to let go of the stress and worries that I had been harboring for a while. With Brittany coming around to take my arm, the rest of the night flourished as a real party.

I spent the evening much more talkative than I normally am. The little clusters of conversations melded into larger groups that played games and discussed mutual friends and acquaintances. Many of those that Garret knew from work talked lively about the more engaging stories involving customers and coworkers alike. I joined in where I could, but enjoyed myself just as much by sitting back and listening to the stories being told while the counter on the television brought us closer to midnight. Along the way, I managed to take in a few more drinks and a glass of water myself, snacking feverishly on chocolate-coated pretzels and homemade cookies. 

The evening continued as many New Years Eve parties would: an excessive amount of drinking from all present, the discussions of resolutions for the new year, and the countdown to start it all off. We went through all ten seconds and cheered. I could be cynical about how silly it all was, how it always is every year, but honestly, it was nice. A little bit of comradery mixed with some relinquished inhibitions, it was, if nothing else, a fun little distraction for an evening. We cheered, we celebrated, and we gave ourselves over to the moment. 

After it was all over, I was eager to get home. Truthfully, I was pretty much eager to get home from the beginning, but it was still nice to get out once in a while. Some people drove others home while some even opted to stay over at Garret’s place, too drunk to safely drive. Brittany managed to get a ride with another friend of ours while I assured her that I would be fine calling an Uber. It was a quick discussion, nothing out of the ordinary. I sipped on a can of Mountain Dew while waiting just inside the apartment to stay out of the dark and cold twilight. With purse in hand, I stayed there for as long as it took my driver to arrive, upon which I hurried out and slipped into the backseat.

“Hey, “ I said, sighing and buckling my belt, looking forward to the warmth of my own house. “Thanks again, you guys are real life-savers tonight.” 

“Don’t mention it,” said a voice. It was hard to see right away, or more truthfully I just didn’t care as much in the moment to even look at the driver, but upon hearing her voice, I slowly began to piece together what was happening.

“Oh no…” I said, sitting back. My driver began to chuckle, pulling out of the apartment complex and onto the main road. 

“Cute little setup you have there,” Post said from the driver’s seat. “What? Couldn’t get out a Christmas update in time?” I grumbled and rolled my eyes a bit.

“No, I just figured I had already done a Christmas one of these, thought I’d mix it up,” I said. Post let out a laugh.

“Nice save,” she said. “I mean, you and I know the truth of the matter, but I’ll let you have that to save face.”

“Sorry, I’ve been busy,” I said, getting somewhat tired of spouting the same excuse again and again. Post, in kind, rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, how many times are we going to hear that?” Post asked. “I know, I know, ‘no less true’, but damn, girl, get some new material. Also, you keep saying you’re not a drinker, but this is the second time I’ve seen you such a lush.”

“Because you’re right, I do need some new material,” I said. “But hey, it’s a New Years Eve party story. What else are people doing?”

“Hey, whatever works, right?” Post asked. “No one’s poking holes, probably, I think they’re just excited to see what all’s gonna happen to you with me back.” She danced a bit in place, shooting me a wide grin in the rear-view mirror. Her hair retained the playfully pink twin-tails that bobbed with her head movements. Her eyes were wide and sparkled with on-brand mischief. I sat anxiously in the backseat of a car that began to look suspiciously like my own, roomy and relatively clean. I glanced out the window. The night was dark. Post had taken us out onto a road with few other cars in sight. I knew I could always trust in Post’s antics, even if they tended to leave me screaming by the end. 

“It has been a while.”

“Yeah, ‘cus ‘busy’ and all that, I get it,” Post said. “But cheer up. You have a lot to look forward to, don’t you?” 

“This one’s not going to involve a whole crowd of people, is it?” I asked. 

“You tell me, you’re the one cranking this one out way way past your bedtime,” Post said. “Seems like you’re feeling more intimate, more close-quarters and to-the-point. Don’t worry, I’m still gonna get you where you like it most.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” I said.

“But you’re not going to fight it, are you?” Post asked. “No pushing back, making me the bad guy or having me pull out some tricks to tickle those little tootsies of yours.” I breathed deeply through my nose.

“Too tired,” I said, “in more ways than one.”

“Oh, poo,” Post said, smiling a bit. “I think you missed me though. Maybe that’s it.”

“Maybe,” I said, looking out through the window. “Maybe I’m trying to be more receptive to it, to you as a whole. Or maybe I feel guilty about taking so long with these and everything else. Why fight it, you know? It should happen. It needs to. I have a lot to say and I’ve made people wait long enough for it.”

“Girl, I’m about to start punishing you purely for being so hard on yourself,” Post said, more directly than anything she had ever said to me before. I blinked and looked her way. “Maybe that’ll be the theme of this one. Not for updates, but for me to get you to chill the fuck out because you work hard and you know that you do. People are always telling you how proud they are of you and about how hard you work and how much you shouldn’t keep stressing yourself out. Knock that shit off, it does no one any good. And seriously, if you can’t take this advice from me, who is you writing this, then I don’t know who can help you.” I laughed, falling comfortably into a stunned silence, if only for a moment of recollection. “But no, we’re here for updates, and I’m gonna get them the way we all want me to.” 

“No fluff this time?” I asked. “You know people like it.”

“You’re not really drunk, are you?” Post asked.

“I mean… does sleep deprivation count?”

“Just tab the damn paragraph,” Post said, grinning in the mirror.

She pulled the car over into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven. The light was still on inside with several cars stopped to get gas and others lined up beside us, the drivers likely inside doing some road trip snack shopping. Stars sparkled in the night sky, an evening far more serene than it had been through the events of the party. I stared up and at it all outside of the window. I smiled slightly, a strange ease flushing over me from such familiar company.

“Slurpee time?” I asked. Post chuckled cockily. 

“That does sound good,” she said, “but no, we have business to attend to first.” I sat back against my own backseat, feeling the seatbelt tighten against my lap and chest. Before I could really assess what happened, another belt lashed across my torso from the other side, pinning my arms against my body. Post's maneuvers worked quickly, placing me exactly as she wanted. Without the threat of humiliation and having gotten to know her, there was something charming to her antics. The exhaustion had left me more inhabited than the alcohol, leaving me far more receptive to her narrative magic than I had been before. She was right, the moment was more intimate, quiet in a way, and through that setting, I felt true contentment.

“Awww, that's sweet,” she said. “But you have to know that I'm not done…” With a flick of her finger, I found my feet suddenly caught in the vice of the passenger seat head rest. Tucked between the padded rest itself and the seat, my legs had been risen and gripped by the makeshift maw. I gasped, looking up to see my feet vanished behind the seat from where I sat, strapped heavily by a pair of hungry seatbelts. Post herself exited the parked car, walked over to the passenger side, and entered again.

“My, my, a little bit stuck, are we?” Post teased, raising one eyebrow. I tugged a bit at the seat's head rest, wondering if I could still lift it enough to slip out. To no one's surprise, I could barely budge the thing clamped around my ankles, keeping my feet helplessly pressed together. It was only then that I began to recall the full scope of Post herself. I remembered the rush from all the times she had visited me before, the rousing variations of emotions that always seemed to end with an undeniable bond being strengthened between us. The setting was much less intense than that of the previous encounter and as I sat squirming in place, I could only hope that such a deviation would be forgivable from Post’s eager audience. 

“There’s always next time, if you're worried so much about it,” Post said. “But that still sounds like you being too hard on yourself. Let's focus on something else, shall we?” Post climbed inside of the car, straddling the passenger seat and closing the door behind her. Through her own sadistic touch, she lowered the windows to make sure anyone else passing by would be able to see what humiliating plans she had for me and my trapped feet. “Isn’t that the whole point? Having fun being on display? Dirty girl…”

“Shut up,” I muttered, my face heating against the chill brushing through the open window.

“Oh no, you love it,” Post said softly. “Even right now, you're getting squirmy just picturing it. You can't hide anything from me. Especially not these cute, little feet…” Close and brazenly forward, Post smirked as she raised her hands to one of my shoes. I had opted for a nicer pair of sneakers for the evening event, electing to put my comfort before my presentation. As I squirmed in my seat, my feet shifting uselessly against one another, the only way I could move them, I felt one sneaker slip from my heel and quickly from my toes. 

“Mmm, always so nice,” Post said. “Didn't you say that you were going to enjoy this one a bit more than usual?” I swallowed, my face still deeply flushed with red.

“I mean… maybe not as much as last time…” I said.

“No, of course not,” Post said, her eyes focused on the shape of my socked foot. She raised her hands to my other shoe, plucking it off just as easily and letting both fall to the floor of the passenger side. The cold of the open air raced a chilling kiss against both of my arches. I swallowed again, still squirming in place as I could only anticipate what Post would do next. “But maybe that's what you need right now. Just some quiet, engaging fun. Let's try it.” 

Post cradled my feet like a close friend turned lover. She leaned in, smirking as if claiming her prize. My socks were light pink and ankle length with little blue snowflakes scattered throughout. She admired them closely, her gaze less about them and more about what laid beneath. Her look was tender, far more so than I would have expected from brash, abrasive Post. She knew what I liked all too well, whether I was in the mood for it or not. Leaning in gentle caress, she had caught me on a day better than I would have expected.

I felt my fingers clench and my teeth press against my lip as Post slowly and carefully began removing my socks. She used both hands for each foot individually. Part of me expected her to lash into a sudden ticklish frenzy, but she found just as much success in teasing my senses with a patient touch and gnawing anticipation. Steadily, she pulled one sock from one foot, letting it too fall to the floor behind her. She paused for a moment to soak in the sight of my trapped, bare foot, just as delightfully ticklish as it had always been. Her eyes drank in the shape and color and all the small details one praises in a partner. I could feel her look stirring me, making me long for a lengthy night in her grasp, for better or for worse.

“Can't keep stalling, Scape,” Post said delicately. She grinned upon slipping off the other sock. The cold breeze of the open window ran an alarming chill across my toes, warm and freshly bared. She tossed the sock behind her. Her eyes laid upon both of my soles trapped at her eye level. They were all hers to play with as much as she wanted and she wore a delighted expression that said just that. However, a reserved demeanor had fallen over Post that evening, another side of her that I was still discovering. Post herself eyeing my trapped feet so hungrily was thrillingly threatening enough, but she did so with a nuanced grace and a subtlety that I had not expected.

“I can’t be mean all the time,” Post said, rolling her eyes. “Doesn’t mean I’m letting you off easy, only showing your readers a different side to both of us. You’ve described me, now how about you?” Post looked past the head rest to meet my gaze. She pulled a feather out of her pocket, long and stiff. It came to a devious point and bore a pinkish hue most alluring. She twirled it in between her fingers, her eyes resuming their feast over how helpless and trapped my feet had become. The feather had always been a symbol of peculiar excitement, at least for me through my own tastes. The looks she gave, the almost threatening aura of her wielding such a tool by my vulnerable soles, it all left me squirming with ache in the seat in which I had been thoroughly strapped. There was no torture in Post’s mind, none that I could see, but the intensity of which I knew she was capable, was still there, reserved for a different kind of attack. I watched on with wide eyes and eager anticipation. My teeth dug into my lip, watching and waiting until I felt the urge to simply beg for it to happen. I wanted it, there was no denying that, though I had begun to suspect such an extent was Post’s newest form of torture mapped out.

“Just do it already,” I said, blushing slightly. 

“Only if you ask nicely, dirty girl,” Post said. I rolled my eyes.

“Now who’s the one who’s stalling?”

“You,” Post said, bluntly. “Still you, you delusional and exhausted moron.” 

“Alright,” I said. “Okay, I… I do really want it. So.. please… tickle my feet…” Post paused, her mind mulling over whether she should keep dragging out the moment until I relented into loudly confessing my not-so-secret love of being tickled and screaming for it to happen, but knowing that I would seemed to work just as well. 

“Awww, well… okay, since you asked nicely,” Post said, being uncharacteristically reasonable. Sitting upright and longingly close to my soles, Post raised the pristine feather. She smirked as she laid the tip against the base of my toes, dragging it down softly. I felt the sudden chill of contact, a shiver so familiar surging through my spine. The feathery lick against my feet, a timeless classing that I had long forgotten. It electrified my senses, tickling more than just my sole but reverberating a ticklish resonance through the rest of me as well. I clenched and squealed as the feathery tip dragged down my trapped foot. My shoulders raised, my hands clenched into fists, eliciting the kind of tickles that I would always do everything in my power to withstand as much as I could.  

“Eeeeeekkkhhhehehehehehheheheeheheee!” I giggled. My toes curled. My feet shifted one in front of the other. Post didn’t seem to mind, she simply kept the feathery brush continuing up or down whichever foot I put in front. Her method was more simplistic and even iconic compared to her usual, more experimental approach, yet the delicate tickles toyed well with my burning senses. It was a slow build, but one that I knew would be quite devastating with time. I found myself reveling in the supple licks of the feather against my soles. It still tickled, yet tickled in a way that enunciated my underlying yearning for more.

“Your laugh has always been so sweet,” Post said, letting the feather drape up and down the length of my soles. “I just love how much you love this!” She watched closely how my feet curled and squirmed in their makeshift bondage, unable to shift freely away from the feather’s loving kiss. The tool swished and flicked slowly at first, each little kiss that playful burst of tickles through my most ticklish spot. I squeaked and bounced in my seat. The belts keeping me pressed where I sat remained tight and clicked in place. I could only move to meaningless degrees, just enough to squirm and writhe and feel just how helpless I was right there in that 7-Eleven parking lot beneath the gentle strokes of Post’s feather. 

“Neeeeeaaaahhhhhhahahahahahahahaaaeeee! Naahahahahahahaaaooooo!” My voice cracked and peaked. The cold steadily crept in from the open windows where my laughter fluttered outside for any to hear. However, the warmth of the moment kept me from being too chilly, the rush of gentle, feathery tickles against my feet, just exhibited enough to be on selective display while also caught in a tight space with Post on the other end of the plume. She examined my motions, adoring how just slight feathery swishes could compound to an effect that would leave me shrieking with giggly squeals.

“Take your time, though, Scape,” Post said, tossing back her hair. “I can do this all night long… and I’m sure you’d love it.” The feather brushed up and down my soft, milky arches. The gentle caress twirled around my heels and insteps. It remained firm enough to easily slip beneath and in between my toes, causing sharp squeaks to erupt through my giggles, helping it become more a fit of laughter. The tip brushed across the pad of each digit, making sure to give every toe a firm and highly ticklish kiss. My body twitched against the straps locking me down to the seat. My face reddened as laughter spilled freely from my lips, my eyes staring forward into the back of the head rest when not closed in accepted defeat. 

“Gaaaaaaaeeehhhahahahahaaaa!! Okaaahahahahahaaaay!! Okaahahahhayyyy!!” I gave in. I could have continued enduring the feather’s embrace. Honestly, having my feet toyed and teased with a feather all night long would not be a bad way to spend a sleepless night. Post, and I suppose everyone else now, knew that well. She could have kept going too, pushing my senses through lengthy exchanges and an endless barrage of taunting phrases, yet she merely smiled almost lovingly at me finally giving in. The feather continued to explore across my soles, getting to know them intimately from all angles and across all inches. I giggled and laughed and begged, though I felt nothing but a heated desire for more the entire time. 

“Well?” Post said, finally pulling the feather back. “What’s going on?” With my trapped feet briefly free from the tickles, I laid my head back, breathing heavily. My face was flushed, my eyes weary from not having slept in however long it had been. Still, my smile remained. 

“With what?” I asked, the cold from the window helping to keep me cool and awake. “What do you want to know?”

“How about something simple,” Post said. “Are you currently accepting commissions?” 

“That one’s not as much fun though.”

“Hey, that’s what you put down.”

“I know, I know,” I said, dismissively. I drew in a deep breath to center my mind. “No, I am not.”

“Why’s that?” Post asked.

“Mainly because I accepted a lot of commissions this past year and commissions need to take priority,” I said. “I love doing commissions, don’t get me wrong, but to keep up with a commission schedule, I had to prioritize them over original stories. That’s why there haven’t been as many Featherlands chapters in the recent months. So after I finished my last commission list, I decided to take a break from it so I can focus on the serieses that I’d like to do and that people have been asking for.”

“Are you going to open up again at all?” Post asked, twirling the feather in between her fingers. “And if so, when?”

“I don’t have a set schedule yet, so I don’t know exactly when I’ll open commissions again, but it will certainly be within the year, after I’m a little more caught up on the stories that I’d like to do. When I do open up again, I will make an update post about it, which… will probably have you in it, I’m sure.”

“Heh heh, can’t do anything without me making it official first, can you?” Post asked.

“I guess not,” I said, smirking slightly. Post looked over my feet once more. She slipped the feather back into her pocket and tossed back her hair, her head raising in attention. 

“Now then, you know you’re not done here, right?” Post asked. 

“That’d be too easy,” I said. “And whenever do I make things easy for me?”

“Exactly,” she said. “How about we make this next one… better?” She raised her hands back up to my soles. I could feel her thumbs press against the edges, holding them with a firm tenderness that emphasized complete control. I braced myself, swallowing nervously and clenching in anticipation. I could feel her nails, long enough to extend from the ends of her fingers, press their sharp edges into my skin. I sat nervously, Post making me wait again until I could scarcely deny my own wishful desire. My seat burned and ached, though slowly and with more focus on the rise than the resolve. I bit my lip again, knowing what was to come. 

“Please tickle me…” I muttered beneath my breath. Post chuckled. 

“How could anyone say no to that?” Post said. She steadily repositioned her hands at my feet, aiming her fingertips downward against my plush, warm soles. Just feeling the static pressure of the nails alone left more chills racing through my nerves. I clenched more, bracing myself further, yet my composure quickly waned into another giggling fit as Post began to softly scribble. 

“Geeeeeeeaaaahhhhahhahahahahahahahaha!! Ohhhh geeeehhhehehehehhhahahahahaaad!!” I started to giggle. Post’s efforts, retaining full command over my trapped and extremely ticklish feet, were teasingly lazy. Her fingers worked slowly and delicately, taunting me with that lack of intensity of which I knew she was capable. It was all that was needed, however, just a frail, skittering tickle against both of my feet at once to get me effectively squirming and squeaking with wild laughter. Her nails licked at my soles, digging faintly into both at once while they danced before her eyes. Post snickered as she worked, further teases coming with being so transparent with how much she was enjoying herself.

“Don’t think I’m always going to go easy on you,” Post said, her nails scraping up and down my soft, pale arches. “And don’t think you’re always going to like it.” Her fingers dashed about my squirming soles. They attacked my heels with concentrated scribbles before rushing across my arches. Post snickered to herself while scratching faster still at the base of my toes. She kept up with the rapid wriggling, making sure to keep the tickles in constant contact no matter how my feet moved. Still, they swayed and curled defensively on impulse, alluring Post’s attention for more tickles. Stuck within the mouth of the head rest with the rest of my body effectively bound to the back seat, my feet flailed with each passing second of Post’s impishly skittering tickles.

“Neeeaahahahahahahahahaa!! Staaahahahahahahahaaaaap!!” I pleaded disingenuously. I barely had focus enough to consider my laughter drawing the attention of anyone else in the vicinity. There were people still inside the store and others pumping gas behind us, people around that could hear and see Post scribbling her sharpened nails against my bare soles. As much as the idea of being watched in such a state tended to both humiliate and excite me, Post’s efforts were far less involved. Still, her attention was put solely onto my vulnerable, ticklish feet, hanging before her like toys designed only to be played with. 

“Coochie coochie coo!” Post teased through her own giggling. Her nails enveloped my feet with pure stimulation. I bounced and bucked in my seat, each little scribbling swipe sending flurries and jolts of tickles all through my senses. It had been so long, so many sleepless nights, that I had all but forgotten what it felt like to be played with, to have my own passions explored with no sadistic ploy to cause genuine woe. At least not at that point; I wasn't prepared to put such mischief behind the most vexatious force I knew. 

“Neeeeaaahahhahahahahahahaaaa! Naahahahhhahahaaat my toesssahahahahahahaa!!!” I squealed as Post’s firm nails ran tightened scurries across my bare, delicate digits. They explored all around the fragile creases and spots that retained abundant sensitivity. Post knew well how to work my toes, spanning her touch out and back into certain spots. She dug in feverishly. I could tell by the way she laughed, and the feasting approach to her spidering tickling, just how much she too was enjoying herself. I could hardly deny my own allure, even in the throes of ticklish hysteria. My laughter flooded through the car and spilled out from the open windows for anyone nearby to enjoy.

“Tickle, tickle, tickle…” Post said, taunting me with a babying tone. We both laughed together. Scribbling around my soles and toes faster and faster, she reveled in the sensations that flushed through me and every explosive reaction I gifted her in return. As intense as it was, or had become, I found myself drawn to the feelings of ticklish helplessness. It all left me squirming and aching, charming me with a nostalgic dip into my own buried fantasies. I threw my head back, sweating trickling down the side of my neck, as the tickles left me bucking and thrashing back and forth in my seatbelt binds.

“Aaaaahhahhahahahahaaalright!!! Aaahahhahahahhahahaaa– okaaahahahayy!!” I shouted. The effects had compounded in my senses enough to leave me gasping for air. As welcomed as the tickles were, like old friends in the familiar hangout spot of my feet, I knew too much would quickly wear me out or overstay the pleasure. Post groaned, stealing a few more licks of her fingers against my petite, blushing soles, before pulling back again. I panted. My head had grown heavy, followed soon by my eyelids. I grunted and heaved, sucking down refreshing gulps of cold air like water on a hot day. 

“Well?” Post asked. I closed my eyes.

“Let me breathe first, damn…”

“Do I need to keep going?” Post teased, raising her hands again.

“N-no, I'm good!” I said swiftly. My toes curled as I sat upright in my seat, my eyes shooting open once more. Post laughed.

“You know, I'm still not done with you,” said said.

“I know,” I said, reluctantly enjoying her company and the overall exchange. She raised one eyebrow.

“So then,” she said, “what else did you want to tell everyone?”

“I… have an idea,” I said, still catching my breath. I breathed slower and more steady, though my face retained a dense flush of red. “For something new.”

“An idea?”

“Yeah, I… I wanted to get more involved in communal engagement,” I said. “Particularly with my supporters on the Featherscape Discord.”

“Oh?” Post said. “How so?” I took another second to collect my thoughts and fill my lungs with air.

“Well, first off… all of my Patreon patrons get access to the server, but people can also join through DeviantArt,” I said. “I'm, like, always there. It's usually the best place to reach me quickly and has really become an awesome little community of fans and friends.”

“Huh, fun,” Post said, giving a little grin. “Hey guys! Thanks for the bot!”

“I'd like to host more little fun things here and there,” I said. “Game days, streams–”

“But no Featherscape voice or face?”

“I just said streams, okay?” I said, rolling my eyes a bit. “Still working out the details. We also have the rest of the Featherscape Moemon Nuzlock to stream, I'd like to do that again.”

“Cute,” Post said.

“But also something else I thought I'd try out,” I said. “The server has roleplay channels and I do get a lot of requests and comments regarding whether or not I roleplay.”

“Uh huh…”

“Truth is, I really don't,” I said. “Not anymore. I used to, but I just don't have the time a whole lot. And when I do, I don't have the energy or focus to be a good partner. But what I am considering is hosting roleplay events for the Featherscape Discord server. What I'm thinking is that, once or twice a month, I will schedule a time slot with one active member of the server. They and I will roleplay together for that time in the roleplay channels. It would be a way to organize time for me to roleplay, a way to connect more with people, and something that all members of the server would be able to spectate and archive.”

“Could be quite interesting,” Post said.

“I haven't quite worked out all the details yet, but I'll see what I can do about starting this upcoming month,” I said.

“Alright then, sounds like a nice new thing to try out.”

“It is a largely experimental idea; I have no idea how it'll play out logistically, but I'll do what I can to make it a fun experience for everyone,” I said, having recuperated from the ticklish resonance still tingling across my feet.

“Very nice,” Post said, “But I think we can do just a bit more than that.”

“Oh please…” I said, huffing slightly. “I'm so tired…”

“Which is why I've been taking it easy on you,” Post said. “But you know how these things go: you start slow, build up, then crescendo on that big finish.”

“Don't talk about my formula…” I said, dryly.

“Then it turns out that you have just a bit more to give me, in more ways than one,” Post said, her tone raising cheekily. I sighed, looking wayward out the window. A nervous rush chilled through my limbs. I pulled slightly at my belts, still holding me down. I had been long exhausted by that point, wanting nothing more than the new year to bring a fresh sense of relief to my workload, an attitude to start off the new year relatively at ease and ready to go. I swallowed and whimpered, thinking in the moment about the very last thing I'd have to do to see to that graceful dawn.

“What are you going to do?” I asked. Post snickered again. She reached behind her into the passenger side glove compartment. She pulled out a thick, wide hairbrush, wielding nearly a hundred ball-tipped bristles, and an electric toothbrush. She held up the tools to show me. A churning pit plummeted in my gut. An anxious smile washed across my lips as I tried to pull back, shaking my head. “No, no, no please, I can't!” 

“Oh, sure you can,” Post said. “And you will. But we're not playing that way in this one, are we? No, you can be as nervous about it as you want, but you and I and everyone else here knows the truth. You want it, don't you? Just a little, just to remind yourself what the rush really feels like. I'm here to help give you exactly what you've been craving for so long. All you have to do is be a good girl about it.” 

I groaned as my wide eyes remained fixed on Post. I saw the tools in her hand and knew well how devastating they could be in her hands. My feet continued to tingle from the tickling of her nails, beaming with a warm sensitivity. I whimpered slightly. My seat burned and ached. As my eyes thoroughly examined the brushes that she had produced, I knew I would not last long beneath their touch. And yet, just as well, I knew that Post was right. I quivered where I sat, breathing heavily as I gazed upon the various bristles that would soon be upon my soles. I did want it. In that moment of ethereal exhaustion, I think that I wanted it more than anything. Post was being kind in her own cruel sort of way. I felt a rush of heat rise to my cheeks. I steadied my breath and carefully summoned the words that I believed to soon regret. 

“Okay…” I said, bracing myself. “You're so mean… but… oh god, I hate you so much… mmmm please… tickle my feet.”

“My pleasure, dirty girl,” Post said with a cheery disposition. She switched on the toothbrush and raised it up to my toes. The tool made a horribly loud rumbling sound. I clenched tightly before contact, preparing myself for the worst, and yet still succumbed to the sudden impact of the spinning bristles as if I hadn’t. One touch down and I had dozens of tiny fibers all spinning against the pad of my second toe, launching a violent surge of tickles through my senses. The belts holding me creaked as I shot forward, my composure all but relinquished to deep, manic laughter.

“OhhhhggaaaahahahAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAD!!!” I shrieked. My toes curled defensively, trying to hide behind the other foot, but Post was anything but sloppy in making sure her tactics were effective. She smiled as she leaned in, studying the erratic movements of my feet to best keep the tickles tearing through my nerves. My body erupted with ticklish bolts, all screaming up from the diminutive range of the brush’s whirring head. It scoured across my toes, scrubbing around every tightened inch and forcing its way into my much more delicate stems. I could barely keep track of where it was, unable to see, but all I knew was the devastation it unleashed onto my small and extremely sensitive toes.

“Never forget, you asked for this because you love it!” Post said. “And I can say that freely because I’m you, there’s no denying it.” She stuck her tongue out playfully as she mapped the tool in and around each of my toes. Post was quick, however, to raise the hairbrush up to my other sole. The thing was large enough to cover nearly my entire foot. With careful precision, she began to lightly and teasingly scrub up and down, getting the feel for the coordination. Before I had gotten a fair chance to acclimate myself with the toothbrush and all that did to my nerves, I was thrust into a new wave of intense stimulation and the lingering humiliation of knowing, and unfortunately sharing, that I wanted all of it.

“FAAAAAAHHHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!! OHHHHHH GAHAHAHAHAHHAA STAAHAHAHAHAHAHHAAAP!!” It was still so much, far too much for my mind to willingly endure at one time. Part of the appeal, though, was being forced into such exposure through the conventional means of bondage and exhibition. The gnawing excitement building within my seat continued to rise, even if what I could feel before had all but faded from conscious thought in the wake of such nerve-rattling tickle torture. My feet, caught and made to be Post’s eternal playthings, were set ablaze with tickles. Tickles covered my soles and toes like water in a pool, lathering my senses in tormenting stimulation again and again with each passing second. As she tickled faster with the hairbrush and continued to explore my toes with the toothbrush, the compounding effects left me screaming in the backseat, tears trickling down my cheeks. No matter how badly the tickles tore through my feet, devouring my nerves and forcing me to buck and twist and fight against my binds, what remained true was how much I enjoyed myself, even at the cost of my own sanity.

“Awwww, man, I wish everyone, each and every one of your readers, could have a turn tickling these feet,” Post said. “Gah, that would be so much fun to watch! But right now, they’re all mine, and I’m okay with that.” Getting her bearings over the coordination of movements, Post was able to scrub more efficiently with the hairbrush. It pushed my feet back, keeping them more trapped for her ticklish antics. Regardless of how they moved on their own, trying to protect themselves, they could never seem to slip past Post’s arsenal of brushes. Laughter poured from my mouth in screams. Through the window and a veil of tears, I could see people watching from inside the store. I made out more watching from their cars, all surrounding eyes on me getting my feet so thoroughly tormented with merciless tickling. I could see their eyes just as much as I could feel their smiles, their pleasure, at my plight. The burn only grew warmer from there.

“STAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!! PLEEEAAHHAHHAHAAASE!!! I CAAHAHHAHAHAHAN’T TAAHAHHAHAHAHAAAAKE IT!!!” A dense humidity glowed across my feet more and more with each pass of the brush. Every scraping lick of the bristles up from my heel, across my arch, and back down from the base of my toes, over and over again, sent storms of searing tickles through my nerves. Post laughed as she tickled more quickly still. The toothbrush, and its many spinning fibers, danced from toe to toe, tasting the delicate bellowing of each being so ruthlessly tickled. It pushed in and around the digits, every inch of ticklish skin free for Post and her toys to explore. My chest was on fire. My breathing grew heavily labored. I cared little for all those spectating the incident in my car. If anything, much like the last time Post visited, being watched only added to the ache in my seat that, in turn, contributed to my paramount sensitivity. Still, I could only scream with laughter for so long. More tears fell. More sweat pooled. The heat blooming through my body more and more from each passing second of ticklish agony made me tremble in my binds. It was only by the mercy of my captor that I eventually found relief.

“Fine,” Post said with considerable reluctance. She pulled the brushes away from my feet. My soles burned and glowed a vibrant pinkish hue. They fell limp and spent after so much defensive toiling. My whole body laid back against the seat, my arms and legs having grown achingly weary from pulling and thrashing in my binds. My head fell back. I closed my eyes, stinging slightly with sweat, as I struggled to catch my breath. I sucked down quick fits of cool air before I was able to breathe deeply again. My hair was damp with sweat and thoroughly disheveled. I waited for a moment before I was finally able tio speak agin.

“Awww, thats so cute,” Post siad. “I wore you down so much your too tired to edit.” Post chuckled. She sat back, knowing fair limits, and waited for me to recover. I breathed slowly and deeply. With my eyes closed, a large part of me just wanted to drift off to sleep right there, but I knew I still had to share one more update. 

“Y… you… you’re the worst…” I mumbled. I laughed softly under my breath, feeling just how sore my stomach had become. 

“Yeah, but you love it,” Post said. I groaned into another weary sigh, wanting nothing else from the evening than to just be back in my bed, sleep off 2024, and wake up fully refreshed. I collected my thoughts and energy and opened my eyes again.

“So…, kinda on point with the first thing I said…” I began, breathing heavily and slurring several words as sleeplessness had become just as potent on my presentation as inebriation. “Mpore original works are coming. With commissions finished, and with postponing opening commissions again, the whole point is to focus more of my time on Featherscape oirginals. That’s right, we’re going back to the Featherlands finally. I know I’ve been putting it off for so long, but I still have big plans for Return to the Featherlands, hoping even to have it finished completely this coming year.” 

“Wow, that’s a pretty bold claim,” Post commented, cocking one brow.

“Listen, I’m just saying what it is that I have planned, what I will be aiming to do this year,” I explained. “Of course, I don’t want to let anyone down, including myself, but at the same time… like… I don’t always know what’s going to happen, only what I’m going to try and make happen.”

“Seems reasonable enough,” Post said. “Anything else?”

“As far as plans go, ‘more originals’ includes more Sara and Demi and Sorority stories,” I said. “I have novella ideas in mind for Holly and Valerie as well. Empress will also be continuing throughout the year within the intention on finishing too sometime in 2025.”

“Alright, a lot to do, then?” Post asked.

“It is, but it’s a lot that I’ve been putting off for too long,” I said. “Including a contracted book that is a collaborative effort with another popular and talented tickling content creator. I’ve been working on that for a couple years now, but because of commission prioritization, it too kind of got pushed back. I would like to have that done in 2025 also.”

“Wow, that’s already a lot,” Post said.

“I will also be working on bettering my own… production… strategies, man I don’t know what you’d call it. I haven’t slept in, like, three days.” 

“Heh, you’re good.”

“Basically I’m going to try and get out just as much, if not more, content paced and scheduled in a way that doesn’t stress me out so much,” I said. “I love what I do, but I also work really hard and that can really diminish the magic sometimes, you know? Thankfully I have amazing friends and a whole family of support in the community that keeps me going and my passions fully realized. So thanks to all of you.”

“Yeah!” Post said. “All of you awesome readers and supporters and lovers of fun and engaging tickling stories, you guys are awesome!”

“Alright, alright, we did it,” I said, sleepily. “We got out everything we needed to. Now please drive me home.”

“Okay,” Post said, rolling her eyes a bit. “But I’m gonna pop in for a Slurpee real quick. Be right back!” Post grinned and quickly slipped out of the car, leaving the door wide open with me still bound in the back seat and my bare feet fully trapped in the head rest. I sighed, wondering if anyone else would come by for a turn.

“Post, you’re the worst,” I mumbled, smiling softly.