In the dimly lit dungeon, Rachel and Xena, their eyes covered, are helpless to the whims of their unseen tickler. They writhe, bare feet entwined, as a feather tickles their soles, sending shivers up their legs. The women's breath hitches, their bodies tensing and releasing, their bondage granting only the slightest movement. The feather's caress becomes more insistent, tracing their arches, their heels, their toes, igniting a fire within them that's far from ticklish.