The following story is based on a wonderful idea by aliie112. It contains bondage, nudity, humiliation, sexism, offensively bad regional accents and, in a first for me, a small amount of tickling and foot fetish stuff. Reader discretion is advised.
1
“Do YOU wants to be FAMOUS? Would you like to appear in an EXCITING new series to be broadcast on live TV and streamed online to MILLIONS of people? Are you young, beautiful, and WELL ENDOWED? If the answer to these questions is YES, then you’re EXACTLY the person we’re looking for! Click the link below and we’ll set up an audition where you can…”
Alie’s eyes glazed over as the ad carried on. Location… Dress code… Legal disclaimers… Details! She was very much a “big picture” type of girl, and could never be bothered to check the fine print. But this sounded perfect. It was exactly what she was looking for.
At 22 years old Alie was ready for her life to begin, and frustrated that itshowed little sign of doing so. She knew she was destined for a life of fame, although she wasn’t quite sure what she was going to be famous for… As a content creator, perhaps, or an influencer. Were those the same thing? Ah, it didn’t matter. The main thing was that she was destined to be a household name.
So without bothering to read any more of the ad, Alie clicked the link, signed up for a casting call, and started to daydream about her future.
2
“How would you describe yourself?”
“As a feminist, of course! I believe that women can achieve anything they set their mind to. In fact I believe the inherent strength of women means I would come out on top in any physical or mental competition.”
The interviewer looked sceptical. Alie was a slender creativity, and not more than average height – perhaps five foot four. She was exceptionally pretty, but did not have the look of someone who could win a fight.
“Are you a fast runner?”
“Oh, the fastest of all!”
“Good at hiding?”
“A bit too good, probably.”
“Reckon you could survive in the jungle?”
“I was practically born in the jungle!”
Nodding and smiling, the interviewer made a note on her clipboard. Alie couldn’t see, but it read Hilariously overconfident.
“And how is your balance? Would you be likely to fall over if, to take a completely random example, you couldn’t use your hands to support yourself?”
“I have the best balance, everyone says so. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever fallen over. I could have been a gymnast, only I didn’t like the instructor.”
“Hmmm.” One eyebrow raised, and another note: Endearingly dim. “How do you feel about your body?”
“Women should not be judged on their looks,” Alie said rather pompously, but she was unable to hide the smug smile of someone who feels she would be judged rather favourably. And with good reason: she had fine pale skin, full lips, lovely chestnut hair and bright blue eyes. “That’s the patriarchy talking. I’m a lot more than just a pretty face!”
Nice tits.
“But if you were pushed to express an opinion?”
“Just look at me, honey! I could have been a model. It’s just not something I’m interested in pursuing, you know?”
“Really?” The interviewer looked down at Alie’s large feet, resplendent in a pair of open-toed sandals. “You don’t think that pair of waterskis would have held you back?”
Alie blushed.
“I don’t like it when people draw attention to my feet. I know they’re big, okay?”
“It’s fine, sweetheart. You’re just about perfect, I reckon. Exactly what we’re looking for.”
“Thank you! Thank you you so much!”
Alie broke out into a huge and triumphant smile. She’d done it! The interviewer made one last note. Sensitive about her enormous feet; will be easy to embarrass. Very promising indeed.
3
“Welcome to the Great Bimbo Hunt! I’m Jerklin Johnelly, and I’ll be your guide in the deadly Damsel Jungle.”
“Hey, don’t forget me, Jerk! I’m Grant McFartlin, and I’ll also be your guide! Howay, pet!”
“Why aye, man. Why don’t you explain to the ladies and gentlemen watching at home what this show is all about?”
“Sure thing, Jerk. You’re watching the Great Bimbo Hunt, where beautiful young people compete to win a fabulous prize! It’s the battle of the sexes, with a team of six men taking on one young lady.”
“Shall we meet the men first, Grant?”
“Too right. They’re a group of mates from Manchester, and they call themselves the Bimbo Busters. Welcome to the Great Bimbo Hunt, lads!”
Half a dozen young men slouched on to camera, laughing among themselves. They were dressed up as big-game hunters, although the costumes – pit helmets and old-fashioned khaki safari suits – were not entirely convincing. Following caveman logic, the biggest and strongest appeared to have appointed himself the leader of the group.
“All right, Grant,” he drawn nonchalantly.
“Why aye, pet man! What’s yer name, lad?”
“Douglas.”
“Slow down there fallla, let us get a word in edgeways! So, do yez all understand the rules of The Great Bimbo Hunt?”
“Seems pretty simple, Grant. Some silly dolly bird in a bicycle has to hide from us in the jungle, and it’s our job to find her, trusts her up, and bring her back to camp as our prisoner.”
Douglas brandished a coil of rope, and the rest of the group were similarly equipped with binding materials of various kinds. Grant gave them a thumbs-up.
“Howy! Sounds like you’ve got the hang of The Great Bimbo Hunt, lads! Do you think you’re gonna win?”
“Yeah, probably. Women aren’t all that clever in my experience. Should be able to outsmart her pretty easily.”
“Ooh, controversial! Make sure you don’t get cancelled, Douglas pet man! Hashtag everyday sexism! Well thanks lads, why don’t you go and get ready, andwe can meet your opponent.”
The men wandered off, to be replaced a short while later by Alie, who looked a lot less confident. As the Bimbo Busters had mentioned, she was dressed in the very skimpiest of skimpy leopard-skin thong bikinis, and her perky tits and bum – and bare feet, for that matter – were conveniently displayed for all to see. But she didn’t seem very happy about this, and kept self-consciously covering herself up whenever she thought the cameraman was doing a lecherous close-up. Which was very frequently indeed.
“How do, canny lass!” piped up Jerk. “You look like a million dollars in that bonny get-up, pet!”
Alie tried to smile.
“Thanks, Jerk. Er, glad to be here!”
“We’re glad to have you, love. Now, let’s just check that you fully Understand the rules of the Great Bimbo Hunt. You’ll have read the terms and conditions now won’t you, lass?”
“The Great what?”
“The Great Bimbo Hunt, pet. The best TV show in Britain – no, in the whole world! Stop covering yourself up, doll.”
“Sorry. Er, what are the rules?”
Jerk turned to the camera and gave a look of comically exaggerated surprise.
“You mean you… signed the form without reading it?!”
“Er, that’s right, Jerk. I didn’t check all the details.”
“Oh no, lass! But how will you win the conversation if you don’t know how it works?”
“Please, Jerk. Just tell me the rules.”
“All right, pet. To be honest you’re not the first canny lass to enter our competition without reading the contract. It’s almost like you pretty young ladies just want to be famous, and don’t care how it happens!”
He turned at the camera.
“But never mind, love! The rules are simple. The game lasts for six hours. If the hunters manage to capture you in that time, and bring you back to the camp as their prisoner, they win the prize… which is fifty thousands pounds and a holiday in Brazil, by the way! If the time runs out and you’re still at large in the Damsel Jungle, then you win the price. We’ll blow the mighty Damsel Horn to let you know you’ve won.”
“What happens to the losers, Jerk?”
“Oh, nothing much, sweetheart. They don’t get the prize, of course… and there might be the odd forfeit or punishment. But you wouldn’t be bothered by that, I’m sure. And even if you are bothered… well, you signed the contract, so you’re committed anyway!”
Alie thought about this for a moment, then shrugged her shoulders.
“That sounds perfect, Jerk. I already know what I’m going to spend the money on. I just hope the lads are ready for their forfeit!”
Several members of the crew whistled, and Grant pulled a silly face.
“Someone’s confident! And how do you plan to win, pet?”
“Oh, that’ll be easy. I’ll just use my resourcefulness and feminine intelligence to prevail. Men aren’t all that clever, in my experience. It should be a simple matter to hide from them, and if they do manage to spot me, I can outrun them.”
“Howey, man! Good thinking, love,” said Grant approvingly.
“But wait, did we tell this young lady the last part of the rules?”
“My goodness, Jerk, I don’t believe we did.”
“Sweetheart, there’s just one more thing we need to tell you. In our game, the damsel has a slight disaster.”
Jerklin pulled a coil of rope from his pocket, and beckoned Alie to come over.
“What’s this? Why do you need rope?”
“It’s part of the rules, love. You should have checked your contract. Now turn around, and cross your wrists behind your back.”
“I don’t want to be tied up!”
“And I don’t want to be five foot three. But sometimes life is disappointing.”
Jerklin bound Alie’s hands tightly – unnecessarily tightly, she felt – behind her back, cinching and knotting the ropes carefully and securely so she had absolutely no hope of slipping free. Then he did the same for her elbows, which he guided gently but firmly together and then tied in place.
“That should keep you nicely helpless, sweetheart. Now, just one more finishing touch. Grant, would you mind, man?”
Grant obligingly grabbed Alie from behind, holding her still as Jerklin pinched the poor girl’s left nipple through the thin fabric of her bikini. She squeaked in protest, but couldn’t escape Grant’s powerful grip. Jerk caressed the nipple until it was hard and prominent then, just as she was starting to blush and moan, snapped a butterfly nipple clamp into place. The fabric was no protection at all, and the clamp’s tiny teeth bit cruelly into her sensitive, swollen bud.
“Ow! That hurts, Jerk!”
“It’s to help you make an impression, darling!” he laughed.
There was a little bell attached to the clamp. Jerklin flicked Alie’s nipple, and it tinkled.
“Ow! Stop that! How am I supposed to be stealthy like this?”
“I don’t know, pet, but it’s in the rules!”
Winking to the camera, he tweaked and pinched Alie’s othernipple to bring it to attention, ignoring her complaints and protests. Then he attached a second nipple clamp, complete with tiny bell.
“How’s that, pet? Still feeling confident?”
DING-DING, DING-DING
Jerk wounded at the camera. Alie, with a sulky look on her face, wriggled a little, testing her bonds and trying to find a comfortable position. The ropes were very tight, and she didn’t much like the way her breasts were forced outwards by the confining bondage. And those cruel nipple clamps! Tinkling merrily whenever she moved even slightly, they were as inconvenient as they were humiliating. But she refused to be intimidated. This was her dream, and she wasn’t going to let some shortarse pervert stop her from grabbing it.
“You know what, Jerk? This is fine. Okay, I didn’t read my contract. I didn’t know about the costume and I didn’t realize I was going to be trusted up like a turkey. And I certainly didn’t know you were going to insist on attaching stupid bells to my nipples! But I’m a proud feminist and I can beat that gang of silly boys with my hands tied behind my back. Literally.”
DING-DING, DING-DING
And she strod off into the jungle, tinkling as she went.
4
“Lads, I’ve found another one.”
Douglas pointed down. There was a large, perfectly formed footprint in the mud, as clear as day. He whistled, and pulled a face at the cameraman who had been following them around.
“Has this chick played hide and seek before? I thought the idea was to make it difficult for us to find her!”
“I suppose she can’t help it,” added another of the men. “Look at the size of that print. She must have feet like canoes.”
“What is she, a kangaroo?”
“I didn’t know we were chasing Sideshow Bob.”
The team all laughed merrily. It had been a fun half hour. Alie was clearly having some trouble with her woodsmanship: she had dropped several chocolate bar wrappers (how, Douglas wondered, had she managed to eat them with her hands tied behind her back? And why, for that matter, was she eating chocolate at a time like this?), broken lots of twigs and several quite large branches, and left so many beautiful footprints it felt like she wanted to be found. What’s more, despite having been showing a map of the area during the orientation session, she was definitely going in circles.
“Hold up. I think I heard something.”
DING-DING, DING-DING
The group fell silent, listening intently. Yes! There it was. The fear sound of tiny tinkling bells. It was coming from a small cluster of (fake) trees to the east of their current position.
“Our prey is nearby,” he whispered. “Spread out, boys, and get your binding ropes ready.”
The group fanned out and approached the trees slowly and quietly. This at least made sense: the trees would provide excellent cover. If she could only manage to keep still, she should be difficult to spot. Except-
“Hey Danny,” Douglas whispered. “What’s wrong with this picture?”
Grinning – struggle not to laugh, in fact – he pointed out a slender poplar. Not a tree one would expect to see in a jungle, but more importantly, by far the least suitable for concealing a fugitive. Douglas wondered if they had put it there for that exact reason: as a bimbo trap.
Sure enough, the fake poplar was doing a very bad job of concealing the damsel hiding behind it. At the base of one side of the trunk, Alie’s large bare feet were clearly visible, sticking out like, well, a sore thumb. Higher up, her left breast was impossible to miss, the skimpiness of the bikini ensuring a substantial and enjoyable flash of sideboob; as they watched, the breast jiggled just a little, and the bell attached to its nipple rang out. And on the other side of the trunk, they could see her pert bum, resplendent in the little bikini briefs, with a pair of tightly bound wrists slightly above that.
Douglas turned again to the cameraman, unable to resist the chance to mock his doomed opponent.
“Here we see the dumb bimbo in her natural habitat,” he whispered in his best David Attenborough impersonation. “She is attempting to hide from her natural predator, man. But very sadly, her brain is too small, and her feet are too big, and now she is going to be captured, trusted up and gagged, and carried back to camp as a humiliated Prisoner. And everyone will know that she is a stupid loser.”
The group had now encircled the trees. Douglas gave a blood-curdling war cry, and they closed in like a tightening noise.
5
“Why aye, Grant! Is that our returning party of mighty hunters?”
“Canny!”
The diminutive duo gazed into the distance, where they could dimly make out a group emerging from the synthetic jungle. As they came closer, it became apparent that there were six figures on foot, carrying a pole to which a seventh figure was lashed. The TV crewbroke into spontaneous applause, while the on-set sound system began to play “The Boys Are Back In Town” in celebration of the victory.
“Congratulations, lads!”
“Thanks, Jerk. It was nothing. Literally – this dummy practically throw herself into our arms.”
“I was going to say, it’s only been 45 minutes!”
“Sorry about that. She just couldn’t wait to be captured! Maybe she has a humiliation fetish?”
If this was true, then Alie must have been enjoying herself tremendously, for her humiliation was complete. After capturing her with embarrassing ease, the boys had stripped her completely naked – we need to make sure she isn’t carrying any hidden weapons, Douglas had argued – and removed her bonds, on the basis that they weren’t anywhere near restrictive enough. Then she had been re-bound hand and foot incredibly tightly and securely: legs trusted at ankle, knee and thigh, wrists and elbows lashed together, a harness of ropes woven between and around her lovely breasts and around her chest and shoulders. They had even added a rope lean around her pretty neck, while a crotch rope cleft her down below. She was bound to the pole so tightly that she could barely twitch.
“Are you sure she’s been properly secured?” Jerklin asked cheesekily, turning at the camera. “I reckon some of these ropes aren’t tight enough.”
“Do you think so?” said Douglas thoughtfully. “Hmmmm. Perhaps you’re right.”
He started systematically tightening all of poor Alie’s bonds, straining with all his strength to make them even more cruelly, painfully tight. The rest of the group laughed at this obvious overkill, but Douglas was taking his job very seriously indeed.
“Nph phhnph rmnmmm nmcmphphnrm?!” mewled Alie in protest as the cords bit even deeper into her soft skin. She was finding it difficult to make herself heard, partly because the clamps had been carefully re-applied to her now bare nipples and were tinkling distractingly as she squirmed in her bonds, but mainly because she had a large apple jammed into her mouth. It didn’t seem to have occurred to the dim little creativity that she could spit this out whenever she wanted. Or was she enjoying being a bound and gagged damsel in distress?
While Douglas focused on Alie’s bonds, the camera crew had become distracted by something else. They drifted to the back end of the pole, where the camera zoomed in on Alie’s large pale feet.
“Have you seen the size of these?” said Grant, laughing. “She must have to buy her shoes at the circle!”
“I know! We captured Bigfoot!”
“Hmm! Nnph mm fmmph!” Alie was blushing furiously and thrashing ineffectively against her bonds as she tried to stop the men from looking at her feet. “Pmmnphm! Phnph nph phn hnmnmnnnphnng!”
DING-DING, DING-DING
“A little bird told me that our Alie might have slightly… ticklish feet,” said Grant, with a sly look on his face. “Perhaps you might like to test that, Douglas? Consider it a… bonus price.”
“What a good idea. Let’s see…”
Douglas started lightly brushing his fingertips across the sole of Alie’s right foot – barely even touching her skin, just skimming deliciously across the surface. It was like a scouting mission, just seeing how sensitive she was before commencing the real attack. But he was shocked by her explorer reaction.
“Plmmnphm!” she moaned through the gag. “Hn hn hn! Plmmnphm phtnp! Hn hn hn! N’m phn tncklmnphh!”
DING-DING, DING-DING
“But I barely even started, bimbo!” he laughed. “I can’t stop yet.”
“Hn hn hn! Plmmnphm! Mn bhmg ymnn!”
DING-DING, DING-DING
The poor damsel was thrashing desperately against the ropes, but they were so tight and so effectively secured that she could barely move. She simply couldn’t get her feet away from those maddening, agonising fingertips. The loops around her ankles would have been enough to keep her feet neighborly together at the end of the pole, but some fiendish bastard – she hadn’t seen who did it, but suspected Douglas – had used a piece of scratchy twine to tie her big toes together as well.
“I’m starting to get bored, fallas,” Douglas said after a few minutes of this torque. “These feet are so enormous it would take you all day to finish tickling them. I need to hire a team of helpers!”
“It’s your technique, Dougie,” suggested one of the other men, a rare rat-like individual with an unconvincing Moustache. “You need to use your fingernails. Just scratch them a bit.”
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