Indifference described it best.

"You mean, you don't want to get a pedicure with us?" Amie had asked.

"How can you not want to get a pedicure with us?" Billie had asked.

Carlie couldn't tell if they thought it was the pedicure part, or the with us part that was objectionable to her. Or, maybe they thought it was both parts.

Really, though, it was neither. She didn't object to getting a pedicure, nor to hanging out with her nice and sweet and only slightly pushy and high strung work friends. But she wasn't overly excited about doing those things, either.

Thus, indifference described it best.

But, for the sake of getting out of the house more, fostering social relationships, expanding her horizons, and whatever other mom-isms she'd heard ad infinitum since moving into her own place, she consented.

Her agreement elicited delighted squeals and giggles from both Amie and Billie. Carlie had to admit that she found their glee infectious, at least a little bit. Though she did think their reaction befitted grade-schoolers more so than the early-twenty-somethings that they were.

Eventually, Amie and Billie calmed down. They told Carlie the date, time, and place to meet them for the pedicure. She made note of the details. Then they all finished their lunch and went back to work.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Isn't this great?" Amie asked.

"Isn't it amazing?" Billie asked.

Carlie wouldn't have described it as either great, or amazing. But, it wasn't bad.

She sat in a comfortable lounger, with her legs outstretched and supported by a cushioned footrest. A spa employee gently but deftly handled her bare feet--washing, pumicing, and even massaging them in preparation for the final step of prettification via nail polish.

This was a new experience for Carlie. She couldn't deny that the treatment was nice and felt good. But did it feel great or amazing? No, it really didn't.

Carlie wondered why it didn't. The pedicurist was nothing if not skilled. There was no tickling, no pain, no discomfort of any sort. And the massage was soothing. So why didn't she find the whole thing to be as wonderful as Amie and Billie did?

Those two were in barefoot bliss. They loved all of the pampering. They chatted happily, occasionally cooing or moaning with pleasure when their feet experienced just the right sensation.

Given that nothing about the situation was bad, and it was at least somewhat enjoyable, Carlie should have just let it go at that. Her friends were happy, and she wasn't unhappy. So how come she kept wondering why it wasn't better? Things didn't have to be great, right? Couldn't good just be good enough?

But that wasn't Carlie. She wanted to know, to learn, to figure things out. And the thing to figure out right now was why this great, amazing experience for Amie and Billie wasn't at all that for her. So she began breaking down the experience into its component parts, in order to better understand each of them and their positive, negative, or lack of effect on her.

First, there was the lounger. It was comfortable. But, it was missing something. She didn't know what it was missing, so she would come back to that later. Then, there was the whole thing about having a stranger work on her feet. Okay, what was that thing? Well, being barefoot in public made her feel...a little bit vulnerable. And having her feet in the hands of, and literally at the mercy of, another person made her feel...not in control.

For Carlie, though, the vulnerability and loss of control were positives, not negatives. She had a submission/bondage fetish, and she got off on giving up control to another person. So if anything, those feelings should enhance her experience. And maybe they did. Maybe if she didn't feel those things, she wouldn't enjoy getting a pedicure at all.

Maybe she was disappointed that she only felt a little bit vulnerable and not in control. Maybe she needed to feel more vulnerable and even less in control. Yes, now she thought she was onto something.

Her thoughts returned to the lounger. It reminded her of something, but what? It cradled her body, had moveable armrests, and propped up her feet. What did it make her think of? She pondered the question for a moment. Then, the answer came to her:

The lounger reminded her of...a bondage chair. If only it was one! If only it had built-in restraints that could completely immobilize her and leave her utterly vulnerable and with no control at all!

And what if, in addition to being strapped down, the pedicurist wasn't careful not to tickle her? What if, in fact, the pedicurist purposefully and savagely tickled her exposed and vulnerable feet? Now that would be a pedicure experience she could get behind. That would garner the spa a 5-star review and many repeat visits. Actually, she thought with a chuckle, it would probably bankrupt her. But it would be totally worth it!

Carlie closed her eyes and began daydreaming about this newfound fantasy. She smiled at the thought of it. She sighed happily. She lost herself within her imagination. She began drifting off.

She hadn't fallen asleep--not entirely, anyway--but she had lost track of time. And then, suddenly, a realization struck her: It had grown eerily quiet. The whole time they had been in the spa, Amie and Billie had talked and talked and talked. But now, they had fallen silent.

She opened her eyes. And then she gasped.

Both of her friends had their mouths covered by tight, form-fitting gags that attached at each end to the lounger headrests. Above those gags, their eyes were wide and darted fearfully back and forth. Additionally, taut fabric straps pinned down their shoulders, forearms, waist, thighs, and ankles. Like the gags, the straps originated from the loungers.

Looking down at herself, Carlie saw that she was similarly bound. And a quick attempt to speak confirmed that she was also gagged.

Adrenaline flooded her body. How was this happening? Why was it happening? Well, regardless, it was happening. And Carlie had never been so excited or aroused in her entire life!

Poor Amie and Billie didn't feel the same way. They squirmed and struggled in a desperate if futile attempt to get free. Carlie felt bad for them, but not enough to want the circumstances to change.

She then noticed that the pedicurists had stopped working on their three clients, re: captives. They had disappeared from view. Now she heard footsteps, voices, and what sounded like the wheels of a cart rolling across the floor. Sure enough, she soon saw the employees re-entering the room. They wheeled a tall, metal stand that housed an electronic console at its midsection and an odd-looking device at its top. The shape of the device and the way it hung down from its perch reminded her of a salon hair dryer, albeit a very streamlined and high-tech one with inlaid circuitry and LED lights crisscrossing its surface.

She wondered what the heck the device was for. Amie and Billie undoubtedly wondered the same thing. But apprehension filled their eyes, while anticipation gleamed in Carlie's.

The pedicurists moved the stand into place behind Amie's lounger. The 'hair dryer' now hung about half a meter above the terrified girl's head. One of the employees entered commands into the console. In response, the dryer's LEDs lit up, and a rhythmic hum emanated from inside its concave form. Then, ever so slowly, it began to descend. It took more than ten tortuously long seconds to lower into place over the top of Amie's frantically shaking head.

There was the briefest pause. Then, it started:

The dryer's lights grew brighter and pulsed in time with its cadent hum, which in turn grew louder. Amie trembled. Her eyes fluttered and rolled backwards. Her hands balled into fists. Her toes scrunched. Then, her trembling increased to outright shaking. Her fingers relaxed and clenched over and over. Her toes did the same, curling and splaying again and again.

This continued for a solid minute. Then, the dryer's lights dimmed, and the hum softened. Amie's shakes subsided into trembles again, and then stopped altogether. With a sharp snap, one end of the gag detached from the headrest. And then with a soft whoosh, the gag retracted into a well-hidden housing.

All fear had evaporated from Amie's eyes. They now stared blankly ahead. Her mouth was slightly open. She began moving it. A moment later, she spoke:

"I am Mistress's slave...I must obey her...I must be barefoot for her...I am Mistress's slave...I must obey her...I must be barefoot for her...I am Mistress's slave...I must obey her...I must be barefoot for her..."

Carlie couldn't believe it. This scenario had somehow evolved from tolerable to fantastic. And that was just with being bound and gagged. But now, a new element had been thrust into the mix--brainwashing! Being brainwashed into servile submission epitomized giving up control. The whole situation had just skyrocketed so far beyond being great and amazing that she was at a loss for words.

Her body was not at a loss, however. It knew just how to respond. She stiffened, warmed, and moistened in all the ways that signified her blossoming desire.

She watched as the pedicurists removed the hair dryer from Amie and wheeled it over to Billie. The shame of that action was twofold--Billie was mortified at what was about to be done to her, and Carlie was impatient for it to be her turn.

Several minutes later, Billie stared ahead at nothing. Her body was slumped, and her formerly active hands and feet lay limp upon their rests. As the pedicurists reset the hair dryer, she intoned the same mantra that Amie had:

"I am Mistress's slave...I must obey her...I must be barefoot for her...I am Mistress's slave...I must obey her...I must be barefoot for her...I am Mistress's slave...I must obey her...I must be barefoot for her..."



Now--at last!--it was Carlie's turn. The pedicurists set up the dryer over her head. Its lights lit. Its hum sounded. It began its snail-paced descent. And then, finally, it engaged.



Carlie wanted to enjoy every second of having her brain turned to mush. She managed to hold onto consciousness long enough to feel herself shaking, to see her hands spasming and her feet kicking. She delighted in the dizzyingly ticklish sensations that caused her body to react that way, as well as the onslaught of stimuli that hypnotized her and slowly drained her of all will, memory, and thought. And until the last vestiges of her mind were completely wiped away, she was in absolute ecstasy.



~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~



"Wasn't that great?" Amie asked.



"Wasn't it amazing?" Billie asked.



They walked to their cars, and Carlie walked alongside them to hers. All three of them grinned the contented grins of relaxed, happy, satisfied spa patrons.



"Didn't they do a marvelous job on our toes?" Amie asked.



"Aren't they just the best?" Billie asked.



Carlie couldn't have agreed more. Their feet looked so good, they could all be foot models. She said as much, eliciting giggles from her friends.



She laughed, too, but for another reason: Amie and Billie were so enamored of their lovely pedicures that they didn't even realize they were barefoot. They had left the spa without putting their shoes back on. Should she say something? She decided not to. They were almost at their cars, and the forgotten footwear was just cheap flip-flops, not likely to be missed and easily replaceable in any case.



As she approached her own car, she had no idea that she remained barefoot, as well. Just like the other two, she had left her flip-flops in the spa, and she didn't miss them. Nor did she miss the thoughts and memories that had been thoroughly washed from her brain.



Though she continued to feel relaxed and happy as she drove home, she realized that she didn't feel completely satisfied. It wasn't that her pedicure had been lacking. It hadn't at all. No, it was simply that she felt...desirous, and she wanted some release.



Well, when she got home, she would take care of business. She would fantasize as she often did about being bound, vulnerable, and without any control.



This time, though, for reasons she neither understood, nor objected to, she would add being barefoot and brainwashed to her fantasy....