The Great Bimbo Hunt (bondage story)

The following story is based on a wonderful idea by alie112. 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 want 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 it showed 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 creature, 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 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 - pith 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 drawled nonchalantly.

"Why aye, pet man! What's yer name, lad?"

"Douglas."

"Slow down there fella, 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 bikini has to hide from us in the jungle, and it's our job to find her, truss 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.

"Howay! 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, and we 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 contest 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 winked 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 thousand 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 prize. 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."

"Howay, 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 disadvantage."

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 other nipple 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 winked 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 realise I was going to be trussed 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 strode 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 shown 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 faint 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 - struggling 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, trussed 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 noose.

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 crew broke 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 threw 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 trussed 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 leash 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 cheekily, winking at the camera. "I reckon some of these ropes aren't tight enough."

"Do you think so?" said Douglas thoughtfully. "Hmmm. 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 creature 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 circus!"

"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 hnmnmnnphnng!"

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 prize."

"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 delicately 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 explosive 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 neatly 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, fellas," Douglas said after a few minutes of this torment. "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 vaguely rat-like individual with an unconvincing moustache. "You need to use your fingernails. Just scratch them a bit."

"All right, I'll give that a try."

"Nnph phhm nnnlmph! Plmmnphm!"

DING-DING, DING-DING

Douglas slowed the movement of his fingers, but angled them slightly so his nails began to make a scratchier contact with Alie's skin. It felt like there was a tiny creature wandering across the sole of her foot; a scorpion, perhaps, let loose on her vulnerable skin with absolutely no way to stop it. It was agony.

"Hn hn hn! Plmmnphm! Hn hn hn hn! Nn mnrm!"

DING-DING, DING-DING

"Aw, poor baby," said Douglas eventually, when Alie seemed close to breaking point. "I think she's had enough."

The group of men all looked down pityingly at the exhausted damsel, still as tightly and comprehensively bound as ever, still silenced by the apple gag she mystifyingly hadn't spat out. She was shiny with sweat, bright red in the face, and flooded with relief that the ordeal was over. She hung in her bonds, panting, no longer even trying to escape, no longer caring how many people had just witnessed her total and complete humiliation.

"Goodbye, bimbo!"

He reached down and patted her quite brazenly on the bum, gave one luscious breast a generous squeeze, and then gave a last little tickle to the toes on her left foot. She absolutely shrieked into her gag, which fortunately was stout enough to reduce this to little more than a whimper.

"Okay, okay!" he laughed. "I get the message. Jeez, you should have told me you don't like being tickled. See you later, Bigfoot!"

The lads dashed off to collect their prizes, but the camera remained on Alie for several more minutes.

6

In truth the number of viewers who had witnessed Alie's degrading treatment on the live broadcast was relatively low: since it had taken place in the middle of the afternoon, no more than a million had been watching the stream at the critical moment. The real ratings winner was the evening show, when the hosts announced the results, showed highlights of the day's events, and interviewed the winners and losers. Unsurprisingly, word had got around that this particular night's episode was not to be missed. Clips of Alie's embarrassing failure to hide behind a tree, and of her being stripped, trussed and tickled, had been going viral all day on social media. The hashtag "#BigfootAlie" was trending on Twitter, while the audio of her hysterical gagged laughter had been edited into hundreds of cruel memes.

Thank to all this advance publicity, roughly 20 million eager viewers - most of them men, but by no means all - tuned in that night to hear official confirmation of what most of them already knew: that Douglas's gang had won and Alie had lost... and lost bad.

"Howay the lads and welcome to The Great Damsel Hunt: The Official Results Show! I'm Grant!"

"And I'm Jerk! Fog on the Tyne! Are you all excited to know who won our show today?"

"Too right they are, Jerk! It's been a thrilling day of bimbo-hunting action, and we've got a brilliant show lined up for you tonight. Auf wiedersehen, pet!"

"Howay man, don't say that yet, it means goodbye."

"Aw, I'm sorry canny lad. Mea culpa. Howay the lads."

"No worries, Grant. Now, without more ado, let's meet the day's contestants. Roll VT!"

First, viewers were introduced to the boys' team. The editors had put together a flattering compilation from their audition interviews, highlighting their jokes and most articulate comments, and generally making them look charming and capable. Then they started to show their "best bits", moments from the hunt when they had each demonstrated their skills or looked especially handsome. As the hosts reappeared, the studio audience whooped and clapped.

"Yes Jerk, we loved meeting Douglas and the Bimbo Busters. What a great team they were: young, clever, charming and good-looking... remind you of anyone, mate?"

"Yeah, Grant... they remind me of meself! Ha ha ha. But hang on, because we've got another contestant to meet. Can today's bimbo escape from the hunters? Everyone, meet Alie!"

This time the compilation had clearly been edited to make Alie look as foolish as possible. Someone had added a voice-over sarcastically mocking all the outlandish boasts she made in the audition tape.

"I believe that women can achieve anything they set their mind to!" Alie said brightly, with a big smile.

"Only if they have a mind in the first place," joked the voice-over drily.

"I would come out on top in any physical or mental competition!"

"Maybe if you were competing with a raccoon."

"I'm a lot more than just a pretty face!"

"That's right, love. You're also a nice set of tits."

"I could have been a gymnast!"

"Where, at Moron School?"

"I was practically born in the jungle!"

At this point they played the clip of Alie trying to hide behind the tree, and failing to realise that her feet, breasts and bum were all clearly visible. The audio track played circus music and a series of silly sound effects, and the studio audience fell about laughing.

"I don't like it when people draw attention to my feet."

The camera zoomed in on Alie's large feet in their open-toed sandals, while comical Oom-pah music played. The voice-over commented sarcastically on the likelihood of anyone being able to miss a pair of hooves so gigantic they would look ridiculous on a giraffe.

"I don't like it when people draw attention to my feet."

They repeated the feet audio, but this time they had applied a filter to Alie's voice so she sounded like an angry duck. At the same time, viewers were shown Douglas discovering the large footprint, and posing next to it like a dinosaur hunter.

"I don't like it when people draw attention to my feet."

The filter was turned right up for the third playing of the clip; poor Alie now sounded like a cartoon character. This time it accompanied the clip of her feet, securely trussed with rope and twine, being mercilessly tickled to the accompaniment of the nationally famous breathless grunting.

"Hn hn hn! Plmmnphm! Hn hn hn hn! Nn mnrm!"

DING-DING, DING-DING

The compilation clip ended, and Grant and Jerk reappeared. Both were struggling to keep a straight face.

"Oh dear, Jerk man! It looks like Alie had a bit of a difficult day. But did she win the contest? I hope she put her best foot forward."

"Ha ha, good one Grant! Howay the lads. Well, let's find out how our intrepid bimbo got on."

The two pint-sized presenters walked across the set to a door covered by a red velvet curtain.

"Alie is waiting behind this curtain, excited to meet her audience. But is she a winner, or is she a big stupid loser? It's time to play... Trussed Or Triumphant?"

The studio audience started cheering and whooping again, demanding that Alie be shown to them. Quite a few were chanting the word TRUSSED over and over again.

"Well, Jerk, it sounds like our studio audience have made up their minds about Alie's performance today. Shall we see how she got on?"

"Why aye, Grant man, good idea."

Jerklin stepped forward and took hold of the cord, and paused for a moment.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said in a solemn voice, "I give you: the feminist who believes women can achieve anything they set their mind to."

He yanked on the cord, and the curtain opened. The studio audience, who obviously had a good idea of what to expect, nevertheless gasped when they saw what was behind it.

"Hlmmp mm!"

It was Alie, of course. And it had been made very clear indeed that she fell into the category of loser.

She was naked, first of all, which added to the sense that she was a helpless trophy on display for all to enjoy. She was bound tightly to a vertical pole with bright red rope, and it was obvious that she couldn't move a muscle. Her wrists were crossed and tied behind her back, and behind the pole, while whoever had roped her up had managed to get her elbows touching and had tied them together too. Her chest was covered by an intricate harness of rope, weaving around and between her lovely breasts and keeping her arms and shoulders well restricted. And there was a particularly tight loop of cord around her waist, from which a crotch rope descended between her thighs. This seemed to be causing her more than a little distraction and discomfort.

Her legs too were bound with admirable thoroughness: they were tied together, and to the pole, at her upper thigh, above and below her knees, at mid-calf, and at the ankle. Alie would plainly have been struggling to keep her balance were it not for the assistance of the stout pole on which she was leaning so closely. And there was a large red ballgag in her mouth, which was muffling her complaints pretty thoroughly, and causing her to drool onto her bare breasts.

Alie's bondage had been applied with the utmost professionalism. Each bond had been carefully wrapped with multiple horizontal strands, then carefully cinched and drawn tighter with crosswise loops. Not a rope showed the slightest sign of moving a millimetre. She was completely and utterly helpless, scarcely able even to twitch.

But as a final indignity, a sign had been hung around her neck (and carefully positioned so it didn't cover up her breasts). The sign read, "I took part in the Great Damsel Hunt... and I LOST."

The gasps gave way to laughter, and then cheering and clapping. Alie wriggled and squirmed in her bonds, but quickly realised that she wasn't going anywhere. In any case, she was soon relegated to the status of background ornament, as the boys came on to the set to receive their prizes and gloat over their humiliated opponent.

It was going to be a very long night.

7

It was several months later.

Alie's life had changed, although not necessarily in the way she had expected. She was moderately famous, to a degree that brought more annoyances than benefits.

Every now and then she would be asked to appear on a reality TV show, or compete in a celebrity quiz; more commonly she was asked to smile and cut a ribbon at the opening of a new supermarket. From time to time she would notice her name trending on social media, and hope to see some positive comments, but it always ended up being a lot of lecherous men laughing at clips of her getting stripped, tied up and tickled. Her Wikipedia entry was three paragraphs long, and nearly all of that - and the only photo - related to what the site called her "High-profile humiliation".

But there were compensations to this disappointing demi-fame. Namely, Alie loved to meet her fans.

It wasn't like she had a lot of fans, but she had obviously touched a few people deeply. She would meet them at the oddest times: sometimes while buying stockings she would be accosted by teenage boys asking for an autograph; while trying on boots she might be asked to pose for a selfie with a group of teenage boys. Occasionally a single teenage boy would say hello while she was getting a pedicure and tell her how much pleasure she had brought to so many people, then stick around loyally and watch the rest of the procedure.

On this particular day, to be honest, Alie was feeling a little down. It had been some time since the last celebrity quiz, when the host had remarked rather pointedly that she didn't appear to know anything about anything, and she suspected that her brief flirtation with the limelight was coming to an end. She was therefore delighted when a teenage boy stopped her in the street and said he was a big fan of her work. In fact, the boy seemed even more pleased than she was; he was laughing with joy.

"Could I have a selfie?" he asked.

"Of course, sweetheart," she replied, beaming, and put her arm around the young man. But he laughed even more, and moved her arm away.

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"It's not that, Alie. It's more that... I didn't actually want your face in the photo."

"Gosh, I don't-"

"I just want your feet. Your big, bare feet."

"Oh. I see."

Alie sighed, and obeyed. She took off her stockings and high heels, exposing her cute toes and bright red nail varnish. The teenager crouched down next to the feet and pulled a face while snapping a selfie on his phone.

"That's great, Alie! Now, for the next photo, I'd like you to be tightly bound and gagged. That's not going to be a problem, is it?"

Yep, meeting fans was fun, but fame came at a cost. Alie sighed again, turned around, and crossed her wrists behind her back.

"Of course not," she said brightly. "Anything for my fans!"

FIN