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Day 1- Sunset on the Fairgrounds

A soft tittering could be heard escaping from between Katarina, despite her teeth being clamped down--albeit loosely--over her lower lip. It wasn't the offended squeal she'd offered earlier, meaning that it hadn't caught her off guard. She'd at least half expected his touch, though the use of straw was something she hadn't anticipated.
"Heeheheeeheeheeheeheehee..." She continued, reaching behind her to grasp the bed-frame and support herself. Her toes began to idly fidget, curling and spreading with the twist and turn of her ankles as she tried to avoid the stiff grass which was now encroaching on her heel. "I dohon't like surprise..!" She murmured somewhere in the midst of her giggling fit, before noticing that Alex had been talking.

Katarina tried to concentrate on deciphering his words, but it was a difficult enough task without his added distraction. She was convinced that she'd misconstrued the meaning of her earlier instruction of not tickling her when she wasn't looking, as it seemed to occur several different times in the course of the last ten minutes. Still, the shock of it was alleviated somewhat by their privacy, but she still worried about losing control of herself and injuring the small magic creature.
"Wahait!" she finally burst, letting herself fall forward a bit and catch herself on the ground. Whether or not he would comply with this request remained to be seen. "Bed...you say something about...bed, yes?"
 
(At the moment, my creative juices are going at 0 mph for some reason, but Carnivore, I shall take you up on your proposal.)

So Erimosi's presence had unnerved the two into retreating into the Phauxnorse's shelter. That was certainly not heartwarming. In response to a breeze, the remaining embers where the fire had been flared a bit. She sympathized. Drawn somewhat hypnotically to them, she approached absentmindedly and stopped at a distance. Believing that she was alone, she allowed herself to begin muttering and humming to herself as her mood swung from bitter to lightheartedly sarcastic to melancholy. Erimosi was what she was largely due to a troubled composition.

She noticed, at length, the silly fizz. "My only friend."
 
(Don't worry about it, EE. Creativity tends to come back sooner or later. Also, the "silly fizz" ended up being Isis's name for "slivovitz," a slavic plum brandy. She had trouble pronouncing it sober, and frankly drinking the stuff didn't help. I'm not sure Erimosi would know it as "silly fizz" yet, merely some kind of hard, clear liquor.)

With the fire the only light source keeping the night from enclosing everything and everyone, Isis may have been easy enough to miss. Her skin blended so easily into the darkness. True, her afro of hair was a creamy white, her scant garments were brightly colored, and her eyes glowed orange with the reflection of the fire. Still, if someone weren't looking for an Eboniaan, it would be easy to almost trip over her, especially since she had barely moved in so long.

Isis became aware of a woman approaching the fire. She was tall, with dark hair, and was talking softly. As Isis struggled to figure out what she was saying, she finally noticed the woman turn to her and say distinctly: "My only friend." Isis had no idea she was referring to the bottle of liquor sitting next to her. It seemed only logical that she was speaking to the only other person at the fire.

"What, really?" Isis spoke up suddenly. "I don't remember you, but I'll gladly be friendly with you! Especially if I'm the only one you have! Come here and share the rest of this silly fizz with me!" Isis extended the bottle to the woman, hoping her actions did not betray her intoxication. She wasn't sure if she was succeeding. At any rate it may not matter, as the newcomer appeared friendly enough.
 
(Right. Should have looked back to clarify that. Thanks.)

"Oh--!"

Erimosi abandoned all her previous thoughts at once and methodically--mechanically--identified the speaker in the dark before her mind approached anything else. She hadn't the time for fear; she had inadvertently caused a reaction to something she had said, and there was only time to counteract it. (Erimosi never did know whether this mode of approach meant that something was wrong with her.) She could not locate the visage of the speaker, but she could now vaguely place where her body was from her clothing and such. She would later be embarrassed that she had failed to detect her presence by sound. One is not always fully attentive when reflecting.

Since she was obviously not in the presence of a predator, the next item of concern was accidentally offending whomever this was (she had not yet reasoned that it was the Eboniaan, whom she would have met with more immediate distrust if she had). It was incredibly foolish to deliberately embitter the strangers one would be keeping as company for the foreseeable future. Also, while she felt very bitter herself at that moment, she felt rather sentimental and didn't feel quite in the mood for confrontation.

"Sorry--who's there?" She didn't yet take the bottle, mostly from an overload of sudden processing.
 
Isis noticed that whoever she was, she wasn't taking the proffered bottle. With a small shrug, Isis pulled it back to her, pausing to take one more quick swig of the silly fizz before setting it down beside her. The stranger's voice almost sounded afraid of her, and her eyes seemed to be darting around skittishly. Isis couldn't quite figure out why. She didn't usually consider herself that intimidating. Although she had to admit, she was taller than most here. Maybe that was it.

"Forgive me! I guess I need to introduce myself. My name is Isis Blackside, a new arrival just like most of us seem to be. It's a pleasure to make your acquantance! …don't look so nervous, I don't hurt you!" She tried to reassure the woman, but couldn't tell if she was succeeding. Isis paused a moment, deliberately trying to remember something. Then eyes lit up at the memory. Quickly wiping her right hand on her skirt, she extended it outward toward the woman. "Here, you can shake my hand if you like! That is what you Aygomen do when you meet each other, isn't it?" Her bare arm, black against the night but visible against the firelight, held itself outward towards the woman expectantly. It was her second gesture at friendliness after the first had failed. Isis also did not realize she was not in fact talking to an Aygomen, but with the dark of night and blur of drink, it was hard to notice everything.
 
Leaning in for the handshake brought Isis more into the light of the fire.

Oh. The charmer. She should have expected as much. Isis was not being quite as smooth as she had been before--Erimosi had speculated that their introduction would constitute a triumphant display of immunity to the girl's charming and flirting. This was, in fact, almost embarrassingly forward. Erimosi reasoned that the alcohol she offered must have had some impact, though she wasn't yet sure how much. In any case, she was still in no mood for confrontation. Also, the girl had a rich appearance and was (not at all to the extent of the Phauxnorse girl, but still considerably) larger than her, an inevitably exciting trait to Erimosi. Still not entirely fond of the girl, she thought she'd see what fun she could have.

"Erimosi," she said with brevity but an amicable tone. Noticing her wipe her hand before extending it mildly concerned her, but she took it anyway. "I'm sorry; I didn't see you." She was now becoming embarrassed at having been caught talking to herself, but she tried not to let it show. She sat down by Isis to show good intent, as she was not one for pleasantries.
 
Isis shook her hand lightly, almost awkwardly. While she had seen the gesture done a number of times, this was her first attempt at it herself. She tried to mimic her counterpart as best as possible, retracting her hand in equal time to mirror the cold yet amicable tone. The nuance escaped Isis, for all she knew it was quite a friendly handshake.

"Hmhmm, I suppose I am hard to see at night! Maybe I should try my hand at thievery instead of more honest work!" Isis said merrily, grinning at the thought. While the skin helped, she was a bit tall and noticeable for a cat burglar. "Ah, Erimosi was it? Interesting name. What were you saying earlier? I couldn't quite over hear." Isis wasn't sure if those mumbles were meant for her or not, but in any case satisfying her curiosity probably couldn't hurt.

As Isis turned to Erimosi, she leaned over in her direction. The lack of personal space was equal parts the result of Isis's natural lack of inhibitions, curiousity, and drink. She looked over her features, and began to notice that she had pointed ears! A Labyrinthian, not an Aygomen! Isis was inadvertently towering over the other woman, gazing at her intensely. The effect might have been intimidating or alluring, depending on the recipient. Isis was aware of projecting neither.
 
Her sense of mischief evaporated. Isis, now large to the point of intimidation from Erimosi's new perspective and devilishly alluring, loomed over her. She did not know what to do; she no longer knew what she wanted to do; but she longed passionately and slightly fearfully for what could unfold. The Eboniaan had made her timid, and she now began to lightly blush through a dumbstruck silence.

What did she want? She saw fingers. Isis's hands were lovely: slender and long, capable of imposing irresistible sensualities. But, for that matter, every part of Isis was lovely--and, on top of it, she was dark, rich, and exotic. Her skin seemed just as tender as Erimosi's. Did Erimosi want power or helplessness? Though she scolder herself harshly for it, she felt it might have been the latter. She was swarmed and overwhelmed by the many ways in which she suddenly wanted this impressive stranger staring down at her forwardly. She thought of more yet--tickling her to incompetence; humiliation (could she sink so low?) at her feet. She was, in fact, entirely unable to give Isis a response of any kind; only a bashful, flustered, stare.
 
Smoldering orange irises stared back at the brilliant blues as Erimosi seemed frozen in place, fire and ice gazing at each other. Isis held her stare a moment or two too long, enjoying the chance to see Erimosi in depth in the firelight. She had intense features, and in another situation it might have been Isis intimidated by her demeanor, but each of them seemed in a different mood. Isis was emboldened by drink, and Erimosi seemed cowed by that same clumsy forwardness.

The moment was enjoyable, but it inevitably had to pass. Suddenly aware of Erimosi's awkward silence, Isis snapped out of the reverie with a deliberate blink. "What's the matter?" Isis asked her in a half whisper. "Cat got your tongue? I didn't realize you were the shy and quiet type." With their proximity and at this time of night, the tone of voice seemed appropriate, although as it passed her lips it became devastatingly sultry.

In order to coax a response out of Erimosi, Isis reached over and began wriggling her fingers lightly up Erimosi's right side. The fingers of Isis's left hand softly stroked and pinched, starting near her hip and making its way up and over her ribs. From afar, she might as well have been examining Erimosi's garments, not giving a forward tickle. The gesture was forward even for Isis, but something in Erimosi's manner and her inebriation egged her on. The movement became almost an invitation, but whether to speak or do something more, even Isis wasn't sure.
 
Alex was intrigued with the reaction he was getting from the giantess. Although it seemed clear she wanted him to stop, he was too engrossed in hearing her reactions. They were sometimes loud mixed in with some quieter giggling. She had finally managed to answer him about the bed so he answered as he abandoned the piece of straw, and began running both index fingers along her soles. Even though she was attempting to defend herself, he found no matter where she moved...there was still plenty of pallet to paint with.

He smiled and nodded as he continued his evil game. "Yes...it doesn't seem large enough to suit your size." He switched between quick repeated scratching to long strokes to keep her off balance. "If you like, as for payment for you..." he paused as he switched to quick scratches again...letting layer upon layer of tickles build on eachother. "...helping me." He looked at the back of Kat's head and heard some fast giggles escape her lungs. He spoke over her giggling as best he could. "It really wouldn't take long." he continued, slowing his pace again, "Less then a days labour in fact."

He slowed his pace even more, giving her time to collect her thoughts...
 
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She wished he could understand that she could not understand him. Especially as his voice began to be alternately drowned out by her squealing fits there on her dirt floor, the bed frame creaking as she shifted her weight against its edge. The entire lean-to might begin to rock if she kept up her flailing.

His dramatic pauses were also of great distress to her. She would stifle herself, thinking that she was missing his words, only to be tickled all the more fervently for having calmed down.
She could just barely pick up on the inflections of his questions and began to pant "YEHEHEHES!" Whenever she heard him ask her anything. He could have whatever he wanted; her bed, her hut, her soul as he must be some sort of demon.

Katarina's laughter was beginning to make her hoarse, her delicate chirping becoming punctuated by rasping squeals as she balled herself up on the floor, propping her torso up on her elbows so that she could see between her legs and anticipate her assailant's next attack. In doing so, she only scooted butt against the bed frame and practically in--or on?--the magician's lap; her near-naked thighs folded against her bare calves along the bed-frame. She grabbed her hair with both hands, laughing so hard that she was shaking.

"YEHehehe-...ehehehe...sssssshhahahHAHAHAHA..." she pleaded in accordance to his negotiations.
 
Alex could see she had, had enough...if he continued he thought he might push the poor woman over the brink of insanity. Her feverant pitch began to worry the magician into thinking he had gone too far. Instantly he stopped and looked at the poor shaking woman, who had assumed a sort of fetal position in order to protect herself.

While she lay exhausted on the floor, he used his trained eye to take mental mesurements. He crossed the floor on his knees as he eyed his project carefully. Scratching his head, he nodded with a smile and looked over at the giantess. "It really should not take very long to make this bed more comfortable for you. It will surely help you too sleep more soundly."

His smile faltered as he looked more closely at her. Perhaps he HAD pushed her too far. Without a word he exited the tent, and jogged to his own campsite, not 100 yards from his new neighbour's. Fetching a glass and a small canteen of water, he jogged back and rejoined the woman, still laying on the floor. Squatting next to her, he uncapped the canteen and poured the glass full, offering it to her. "Here," he said examining her carefully. "This water will help." He sat crossed legged on the ground and waited in case she downed the glass...
 
"I didn't realize you were the shy and quiet type."

The only real defense for a ticklish person who does not wish to reveal that he/she is ticklish is to stifle any reaction as thoroughly as possible and certainly not to attempt to block the attack. Erimosi had perfected this defense, even when startled. The tickles ensuing from Isis's more than brief touch (for which only so much preparation exists) shot through her, though she gave only a quick "Mmm!" a very mild shrinking away, and a more focused expression.

Of course, this was mere instinct. She had trained herself to always meet tickling with this reaction. It was not often that she in fact wildly desired to be tickled. As such, she purposely undid her shrinking to attempt to show minimal resistance without embarrassing herself so much as to ask for it all. She had the feeling Isis would either come to understand or be too interested in teasing her to need to.

"Yes, well ... I suppose I am." This wasn't much of a response, but it was progress from bashful silence. She allowed this description of herself to be purposely misleading. 'Shy and quiet' wasn't fully accurate because it omitted 'dangerous and powerlusty' (though who would have believed that at a time like this?). Firstly, she would lose a staggering amount of her edge if this was to be known, and, secondly, she was much more likely to be taken advantage of at present if she appeared timid and at least somewhat cute.
 
(I'm not entirely sure what Erimosi is wearing at this time. For clarification, Isis is equipped in a colorfully yellow two piece: a sort of wrap around her chest that exposes shoulder, arm (underarm) and midriff; along with a short skirt to mid-thigh. She is not adverse to showing more than a little skin.)

Isis frowned slightly at the lack of reaction her playful tickle had evoked. While she definitely noticed 'something,' it was little more than a flinch, and might easily have been because she was surprised or uncomfortable. Isis paused for a moment to contemplate the thought, realizing if she were really uncomfortable, she would have pulled away. Yet the space between them was still conspicuously close, and she had amicably kept up the conversation, even if it was still timid. 'Ah well,' Isis thought, 'it must be her personality. And there is something endearing about that, too.'

But maybe her fun hadn't been spoiled, but she merely had picked an unticklish spot. That thought made Isis grin again, making it a game. She became more determined to find that spot and exploit it, at the risk of coming off as much too forward.

"Well, dear." Isis said, leering at her once more. "I am not at all the shy type. So why don't you open up a bit? Hmm, just for me?" Isis asked her in a playfully pleading tone, and inched slightly closer to Erimosi. They were now within easy reach of each other, as Isis lazily dragged the fingernails of one hand across Erimosi's midriff, drawing zigzags in a way that would be hard to pass off as merely feeling the fabric of her shirt. Her nails were curious, gently exploring for a place that would quiver under the teasing touch. Something about Erimosi egged Isis on, and was putting her in an increasingly playful mood, as if she were a cat that had caught a mouse.
 
Katarina let out a relieved sigh and let her head drop to the ground, lying limp but not lifeless for a few moments as the magician hopped down from the bed which was easily a little less than his height from the ground.

As she lay there, she looked up at him through her halo of messed hair and saw him leave the tent. Her heart sank, but only briefly as she sat up at his return with a look of something like surprise toward the courtesy of the offered water glass. She wiped the corner of one eye before taking it between her thumb and forefinger.
"Here," he said calmly. "This water will help."
After downing the water in a single swallow, she handed him the glass and replied cockily, "I no need you pity." She smiled at him.

At length, she sat up, taking her ankles off the edge of her bed to cross underneath her and sit facing her tormentor and savior from thirst.
Though he was being sincere, she did have something of an image to protect. Katarina certainly could not let the little man know that she'd been nearly reduced to tears in the span of only a few minutes and a gentle tickling. But there was something odd about the feel of his fingers; something uncommonly adept in their movements. What were those people called? Librarians? Labreathians? They were the craftsmen she'd heard so much about, but never seen in person; the people on the third face of the great employment struggle between the phauxnorse and the domestic labourers. The men of fine skilled work, with fingers so smart that they could thread a needle blindfolded in a single pass. Or so she'd heard.

"Has the tickle magic restored you?" She asked after a moment's meditation, taking his hands in hers, and turning them upward so that she could see his palms. Other than a thin coating of dirt which originated no doubt from the soles of her own feet, they appeared no different than anyone else' hands. But she'd never been broken so...suffice it to say...easily.

She frowned, but remained in possession of his wrists as if there were something she just couldn't see. With a groan, she finally added.
"This is why I wanted to see!"
 
Judging from Katarina's current state, Alex had decided he had caused enough michief for one evening. He smiled up at the concerned woman and nodded. "It is not fully restored yet," he claimed then added reassuringly, "but the rest will come back with time. By morning at least."

Noting the look of concern on her face, Alex continued to try to reassure her, although he wasn't sure if it would do any good or not. "All I require now is rest." he said, gently pulling his arms free of her grasp. He wasn't quite sure what she was looking for in his hands. He studied them as he thought to himself. Perhaps her race was able to see things that he could not. Much like his ears could hear more then the average person.

He once again looked up at the exhausted looking Katarina. "Perhaps rest is what we both could use." He smiled again and stood up. "Tis been a long day for the both of us." He began making his way to the tent opening...
 
Katarina nodded with her brow furrowed a little in comprehension.
As he turned to walk away she said quickly,
"Aren't we going bed? Is what you said I could have...was not it?"

She tilted her head a bit to the side, and waited for his reply. Her cheeks had become a bit less red from the fluster of her previous exertions, and were becoming slightly pink now from the humor of her expectations.
Katarina added quietly, "I sound sleep. I not would disturb you rest...."
 
(When not performing or trying to look particularly stunning, Erimosi wears a rather cheap wardrobe that I have not described very thoroughly as of yet. It's made from very cheap fabric, debatably rags, and is in two pieces, a skirt and a torso piece exposing some midriff. It's mentioned briefly in Taj's and Erimosi's first encounter. It would likely yield to any real tickling effort, not being particularly tight or anything like that.)

A test of her physical resolve was not what Erimosi wanted. She wanted to be overcome. To be overcome, necessity demanded a struggle, and a struggle was not going to spawn from indifference to the attack. Erimosi would have to excite her attacker by resisting (with the intent of losing). This very thing she did, deliberately without very much tact but with a great effort to make it seem sincere. She meekly shied away a bit and grasped Isis's wrist so to "keep it away." Also, a little noise: not quite a squeak, more like a whimper. With any luck, this would inflame her attacker.
 
Alex froze...unsure of what to say or do. He had not expected an invite to share her tent, but still the offer was more appealing then sleeping under the oak tree and fighting off the mosquitos all night. He came up with an excuse and smiled at his new friend. "I thank you for your generous offer," he said sincerely, "just give me a few minutes to gather some things from my campsite and I will return.

With that said, he hurried out of the tent and crossed to the oak tree. The wind had picked up slightly and as he gathered the belongings he wished not stolen, the bugs were already attacking. Yes, the offer was definately more appealing indeed. He quickly packed up his trunk and after a moment of making sure no-one was nearby, quickly changed into what he called his pajamas...which really were nothing more then a few loose fitting rags at best. Swatting away the bugs, he gathered his trunk and dragged it quickly back to Katarina's tent and announcing he was back, shoved through the privacy curtain.

Safely back inside, he smiled at Katarina as he began constructing a makeshift bed from his belongings. It appeared quickly. "As if by magic." he joked to himself. He fluffed up his pillow and blankets into a surprisingly comfortable looking bed. Labaranians could make due with whatever they had in their possession. Often being able to make something out of what looked like nothing. Finally having settled down, he curled up into his makeshift bunk and sighed as he searched for the comfort spot...
 
Isis definitely got a reaction this time, although not the one she was striving for. She heard the clues: a meek sound slipped unbidden from Erimosi's lips, a twitching away and a vain attempt to grasp her wrist. All of these were symptoms of resistance Isis knew well: she had found what she was looking for, and the shy Labyrinthian was doing her best to protect herself. But with her passive attitude, it would not nearly be enough. Not to be deterred in the least, Isis pulled her wrist free of Erimosi's grasp, an devilish grin spreading on Isis's lips.

"Ooh, what was that? Trying to stop me, are you? It looks like I've found just what I was looking for, I won't let you ruin my fun now!" The tone was teasing, playful, and carried a sense that Isis was not in a mood to resisted. She was going to get what she wanted hell or high water. Dropping the subtlety, her dark hands, almost invisible in the night air, slipped between Erimosi's garments to finally touch her bare skin. It was soft, smooth, and Isis was increasingly sure that it was quite sensitive. She aggressively stroked Erimosi's bare belly, almost hungrily exploring the skin she had so far kept herself from attacking. Isis's fingertips explored and pawed almost lovingly, delighting in the simple tactile pleasure and newness of it. Isis was easily consumed in the sensuality of the moment, an increasingly tiny voice in the back of her mind wondering what was making her behave so forcefully. Was it just the drink? Or was there something in Erimosi's demeanor that was drawing Isis out more and more by the second?
 
(aargh! I thought I replied like a week ago. Stupid phone >n< Incidentally, I got sucked up in the recent holiday festivities, etc. Sorry for the long withdrawal.)

Katarina peeked over the bed at the industrious little man as he constructed a bizarre cocoon from his various rags and blankets and fabrics.
"You no should sleep on dirt. The mice and bug bite in summer. You get sick." She leaned over the edge of her bedframe, revealing her bare shoulders from beneath a thin blanket she'd pulled over herself in Alex's absence. The lack of the thin but supportive straps around her neck reiterated that her top was missing, though it didn't seem to affect her in any noticeable way. Didn't all people sleep in the nude? Besides, the extra body would make her too warm in her day clothes.

For modesty's sake, the sheet remained around her torso, but her nudity was obvious inside of it. Her sinewy frame was contoured in the thin fabric like a leg in a nylon stocking, the details of her anatomy obscures just enough to avoid obscenity.
"Come," she said kindly, though with authority, as she backed toward the single wall of her domicile to make room for him on the edge of the bed. Her legs continued to dangle over the foot of the bed, the only part of her body besides her head and shoulders that the sheet did absolutely nothing to censor.
"Bring you lightest blanket; and you poofy head seat. The fewer blanket, the less the mice have to nest in. Fire is warmth enough."
 
Erimosi had what she wanted now, and her composure was slipping quickly. (Even for a person being tickled, though, not bad.) Her plans and manipulations were gone. She felt like a proper victim now, and the only thing left in her mind was the thrill of the desire for it never to stop clashing with the impulse to put an end to it immediately. A bit less sensible at the moment, instead of trying to flee the attack, as her attacker came closer and eventually was upon her, Erimosi clung to Isis's (skimpy and mostly unhelpful in her effort) clothing in an effort to keep from beating off the playing, wiggling fingers so to allow the ticklish surges to continue. She didn't care that she was squealing and giggling like an idiot; she was intoxicated by it all. Consequently, she was uncharacteristically radiant and lovely, even cute. How far would the tickling fun take her?
 
Isis had never been one to resist indulging her impulses, and now she was fully engulfed in the moment. The world disappeared around her, nothing capable of distracting her as she focused on Erimosi in the firelight. She lay there on her back, giggling and squirming meekly, each noise from her lips somehow urging Isis on to provoke another. Her mind noticed as Erimosi reached up and grabbed at the sides of her top, holding onto the fabric at the sides of her breasts. But her body reacted, an instinctive flinch as fingers made contact with sensitive areas. All of this merely floated in the back of Isis's mind, adding an electric thrill to what was already an indulgent experience. A small part of her briefly wondered why Erimosi had done it: a flimsy attempt to push her back, an attempted retaliation, or was she trying to disrobe her? Her motives were mysterious, and for now, completely unimportant.

Isis ceased her teasing dialogue, a hungry look in her eyes as she scoured Erimosi's frame, her fingers eagerly following. With Erimosi's arms reaching up, her loose garment rode up to reveal her lower ribs. Isis delighted in scratching and lightly pinching them, her hands wriggling underneath the shirt to explore. Each new titillation was carefully noted, as Isis mapped out Erimosi's body, her skin both canvass and inspiration, Isis's fingers and nails the brushes. If left unchecked, there seemed to be nothing stopping her from driving Erimosi mad, with pleasure or otherwise.
 
Still maintaining the control not to start fighting but losing it rapidly (oh, to be pinned, or even restrained ... !), Erimosi channeled her reflexive energy into unintentionally pulling Isis's body close to her and, in a sort of curling motion, sliding her hands down Isis's exposed back. She was far too distracted to have any realization that she had done it. While she was having almost the time of her life, the responsibility of self-restraint was thoroughly irritating. Even so, Isis was driving her wild.
 
(it's been a bit. Apologies for holding things up. A combination of business and writer's block.)

As Erimosi's arms wrapped around Isis back, her hands gliding over the smooth skin, it pulled Isis in until she was pressed on top of her. Their bare skin met, exposed midriffs making contact and now keeping Isis from her meticulous tickling. The act pulled her out of her reverie enough to see their positions, noticing that Erimosi's hands were capable not only of pulling Isis in, but potentially retaliating as well. While the thought of them writhing against each other in mutual ticklishness was enticing, Isis couldn't be held back from her thoroughly dominant mood now. Wordlessly she grabbed Erimosi's arms, pulling them over her head and pinning them just past the elbow with a forearm. The maneuver wasn't perfect, and if Erimosi were determined enough she could wiggle her arms free of their entrapment, but Isis had little better at hand. And something told her Erimosi was enjoying this just as much as Isis was. The long eared woman had not made one peep of resistance, merely continuing to giggle and laugh pleasantly.

The positioning left Isis with one hand free to Erimosi's none: and best yet stretched out the girl's vulnerable underarms. Isis eagerly exploited them, tickling and scratching lightly then intensely. Swirling around the perimeter then tormenting the very center. With each stroke she learned Erimosi's reactions, her sensitive spots, the techniques that made her squeal. In Isis's mind, she was inescapable and unquenchable. A side effect of their positions put Isis's bosom just above Erimosi's face, the dark breasts kept just within reach as Isis made no effort to pull herself off or away from Erimosi. Every squirm she made reverberated against Isis, the larger woman's size loosely pinning her underneath.
 
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