Howdy again!
You folks have posted some really kind comments on the story's previous installments, so I hope you enjoy this one! As usual, take a moment and comment--it's what makes this so much fun!
For those of you just jumping in, here are the previous parts:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Foreign Aid, part 4 (m/f)
by
Kid Indy
In her dream the handsome man's fingers rubbed and squeezed her inner thighs, and then his tongue, as she giggled from the tickling, entered her mouth, and between her legs she began to feel...
The shrill whine of her alarm clock wiped the smile of pleasure off the face of Alyana Pulanski, and she turned it off with some disappointment. Tonight she would be back on the river boat of Andre Denard, but before that she had patients to treat and work to do.
As she took a short break between refugees, Alyana was somehow glad that she had neither been to Mass nor to Confession for the weeks that they had been in the field. What she had been doing with the handsome French mercenary was not exactly sex, but she blushed as she imagined what she might have to describe when she did return next to the booth. What would a celibate priest know of the colors that she now saw, the sounds that she could hear when she thought about his skillful hands? Could she even describe the way that his body felt against hers?
Alyana heard a knowing laugh, then another, and she realized that her coworkers, who were now entirely certain that she had been having sex with Denard--actually she had not--discovered her leaning against a tree, eyes closed, swaying and embracing herself. And although she wanted badly for them not to think of her as that sort of woman, she could also appreciate that their gossiping enjoyment was a sign that her guardian angel, the soldier of fortune Andre Denard, had given them the luxury to gossip, to act like coworkers who weren't in a war zone, as he convinced the revolutionary militias to give their camp a wide berth and allow the women and children of the region seek medical aid under the protection of his unit.
She knew that tonight he would be tying her to a seat and giving her feet the Russian treatment, the intense, targeted tickling that took her over the edge even in ways that he didn't when they wrestled and he tickled her legs. And unlike the last two visits, when the indignity and humiliation were at the forefront of her mind, this time Alyana, when her work allowed her a moment to think, could only think of the ecstasy of laughing at Andre's command, of feeling his fingers on her skin and enjoying the feeling that only came when she could feel his enjoyment in the same moment. And when she remembered what it felt like when he joined a tender kiss with the tickling, when she thought of his lips on her body again, she realized that she would go to his boat right now if she could.
When she and Carlos, one of her fellow foreign-medical-aid workers, were on the way to the boat in the car that Andre sent, she caught herself thinking of the night as a date rather than as an obligation to the refugees, and she wondered whether Andre--her Andre?--was thinking in the same terms. After all, there was always a gourmet dinner and conversation beforehand, and frankly, that already made him more of a boyfriend than she'd had in years. She found herself fantasizing about proposals and weddings and a chance to make him her own.
The car pulled up to the docks.
Carlos, as usual, was escorted to another part of the boat, and Denard greeted Alyana, kissing her hand and offering her his arm. They walked to the private dining room, and as they had done before, they sat and enjoyed fine food, good wine, and conversation about things that, in the stressful world of medical treatment and refugees from the war, she seldom had time to think on.
She noticed, though, that unlike the last time, Andre was not asking her about tickling at all. He didn't even mention the Persian harem that he had taunted her with the last time. She waited and waited, and finally she could not help herself any longer.
"Where are you going to tickle me tonight, Andre?"
A quiet smile. "Eager to get on with the night's festivities, Alyana?"
"How long are we going to do this, Andre? I know I can't do my work without your protection, but are how long are we going to meet like this?"
"That's what I love about you, Alyana. Your heart is always with the patients." Alyana's heart leapt at the word "love." She tried to compose herself.
"Well?"
"You're only concerned about the refugees, Alyana? That's the only reason you come to see me? Am I only a means to that end?"
Alyana felt her face redden. "No, Andre, I didn't mean that. It's just that--" Andre's teasing smile relieved her and made her crazier than even she'd been before. "Andre! Why do you tease me?"
"Because I love seeing you react, Alyana." Again with that word! "I hope to see you as much as I can, as long as I can. And to answer your other question, tonight you're getting the Russian treatment. I can't wait to see your feet taken to the limit again!"
Alyana was now grinning as broadly as her face would allow. Something deep in the recesses of her mind thought something was amiss, but Andre's obvious affection drowned out that voice as quickly as it arose. Having finished their meal some time before, they finished their wine, and this time Alyana looked forward to Denard's tickling room with the anticipation of a lover, not someone performing a task for a payment.
Alyana looked over her shoulder at Andre as she led him to the room. "Andre, you haven't even asked me today about the Harem business again."
He smiled at her, showing teeth. "When you're ready to try that out, you know I'll be ready!" Alyana heard the absence--there was still no mention of anything like a wedding. Something like disappointment settled in, for a moment, but then she started to imagine his hands on her skin, and the anticipation overwhelmed that. They entered the room, Alyana leading the way, and she settled into the chair, took off her shoes, and placed her hands on the cuffs that he would use to keep her from escaping his tickling. Once again anticipation in the short range gave new life to her long-story fantasies about her Frenchman, and she was already giggling when he began to tighten the straps. Her breath quickened as he fastened the ankle straps, and she grinned and squealed as he produced the cleaning brush. He sat it where she could see it, on a pedestal near the tickling chair, and proceeded to oil her feet. She gasped as his hands rubbed the oil into each sole, and she bit her lower lip as he set the oil down and picked up the brush.
"Alyana, my dear, are you ready for the preparation?" She nodded her head, eyes closed, preparing for the delicious torment that he would bring to her. When the brush's bristles began their ministrations on her soft soles, she was already gone. Nowhere to be heard was a moment of resistance, a protest against his touch. She laughed loud and free, a woman enjoying a man's touch and enjoying it as loudly as her lungs would allow. His grip shifted from one foot to the other, and Alyana's hair whipped like a halo as she let her body squirm with pleasure. The sensations, as she drank in the feeling of Denard's power over her, translated quickly into the pleasure that before she had forbidden herself but now invited. Sooner than she had ever allowed before, Alyana began to mix moans of pleasure with her laughter and squeals. As her body drank in and her mind enjoyed the oblivion of pure ticklish pleasure, she barely even noticed that Denard had stopped tickling with the brush and picked up the bamboo stylus.
"It's time to find out where your most ticklish paths are, Alyana. Are you ready?"
A throaty laugh came out of her mouth. "Yes! Yes!" She screamed as the rounded tip began to trace its first path--even in her ecstasy she couldn't be ready for tickling this concentrated, this intense. Without warning her ticklish affirmation turned to begging as the bamboo went this way, then that over her sole. Denard's grin could scarcely have been more appreciative--this young woman had yielded the place of the captive to that of the lover, and her feet, already ticklish when she resisted, were now sending her into kinds of ecstatic pleasure that few women had ever experienced.
And then he hit the path on her left foot. The bamboo traced a line from the ball of her foot across the sole, to the outside of her heel, and a shriek pierced the air, and Denard licked his lips. Setting down the bamboo, he produced a Sharpie marker and traced the path again, then two sides of a pointer at the path's end, and a glint of worry entered Alyana's dark eyes.
"Andre! What are you doing?"
"Marking the path, my dear! And now I'm going to find the other."
"Wait! You didn't draw on me before! Why are--" And that was the last word that she mustered; the bamboo had begun its search, and Alyana screamed, this time in a mixture of pleasure and panic and ticklish agony. Whether she wanted to protest this or not, the bamboo did not care, and try as she might, she could not drag herself back from the edge of her own ecstasy.
The bamboo tickled, and she laughed, until it found its way from the base of her pinkie toe across to the base of her big toe, and she knew that Andre now had absolute power over her. She could not even protest out loud as the marker once again drew a line, and then and arrowhead, on that path. With that, he stopped.
Gasping for breath Alyana pled again. "Andre! Why are you doing this?"
"I've decided, Alyana, that I really want to try the harem experience with you."
She had a vague sense that he wasn't playing fair, bringing her to the edge like this and then making demands. She tried to gather her thoughts. "No, Andre! I've already told you I can't do that!"
"Yes, yes, religion and all that. But here's the thing: I think that there are things in the world more powerful than religion."
Was he talking about love? She realized that, in this moment, she might actually let him take off her top and even her bra if only he promised to be her own forever, even if nobody were married yet.
But that thought gave way to a terrifying sight: Denard's back. He walked towards the door through which they had entered and knocked loudly on it.
"Andre! What are you doing?"
He did not answer but turned and smiled. Alyana heard the doorknob turn, and she gasped. All of the ecstasy of the moment before mixed with a sudden onrush of terror, and she could feel her body want to faint as she waited for something to come through the door.
"Andre! Come back here!" Then she saw him. And she screamed.
The Wolf, the lieutenant in the resistance army, walked through the door and joined Denard. Alyana began madly to pull at her bonds, but her sudden fear had not made the chair or the straps any weaker. Denard grinned broadly at the look of terror on her face.
"Now, Alyana, you have a serious decision to make. In just a few moments I'm going to let the Wolf here have a shot at your feet, and as you know, I've marked your tickling paths. He's going to tickle your feet as long as he wants, and when he hits those paths, whether you hate him or not, you're going to go through the roof for him."
"Andre! Get him out of here! Untie me!"
Denard continued, unfazed. "If at any point you want to be rid of the Wolf, all you have to do is agree to undergo a Harem Session tonight."
"No way, you monster! Let me out of here!"
"I almost hoped you would say that. Monsieur Wolf, you may proceed at will."
The fear that Alyana experienced the first time she had seen the Wolf was back, but this was worse: the man who before had come to her rescue had now tied her up and delivered her to this monster! He looked her in the eye and ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of his teeth, back and forth, as his hands got closer to her feet.
"Andre! Don't do this!" She braced herself, convinced for a moment that only Denard could tickle her, that no other man's hands could do what his could.
Then the Wolf began to tickle.
Alyana tried to scream in protest, but Denard had already worked her into a laughing mess, and her well-oiled feet had no defenses against the Wolf's fingers. Alyana heard herself laughing for her enemy, a feeling like nothing she had ever even thought to fear. She thrashed in the seat and tried to move her ticklish feet away from the monster's fingers, but nothing was working: he tickled, and she laughed, and she had nothing at her disposal to keep herself from giving this man the show that he wanted.
She felt something warm on her cheek, pressing firmly so that she did not thrash as she laughed. Through the torment she realized that Denard had leaned in next to her and was speaking in a normal voice so that she could hear over her own tortured, ticklish laughter. "Alyana, you know he has you in his power now, and in a moment, he's going to start tickling the paths. You know what that does to you, right?"
Alyana just kept laughing as the Wolf tickled her heels.
"Nod for me if you understand just how easily this man can take you the last place you want to go." She nodded as she laughed, and the Wolf changed his focus to the middles of her soles.
"Now nod again if you'd rather be my harem girl for the rest of the night. It'll be me tickling you, and we'll do exactly what you've been dying to do since we first met." Denard felt her neck's motions turn so that she was shaking her head from side to side.
"You disappoint me, Alyana." He raised his voice so that Wolf could hear. "Walk one path, Monsieur Wolf."
And with that, Alyana's world exploded. The intense tickling suddenly doubled as the Wolf began to scratch down the path that Denard had found with the bamboo probe, and Alyana's hips began to buck wildly in the chair. She could feel her body betray her, to begin to pull towards the terrorist who had threatened her, and the humiliation was too much: she began to nod her head violently, and she felt Denard's face leave the side of her own.
The tickling stopped instantaneously, and Alyana opened her eyes to see Denard standing in front of the kneeling Wolf, a sidearm in his hand. The Wolf, ferocious before, now stood slowly and left the room. Andre Denard watched him leave, escorted by two of his own men, and then turned to Alyana.
"Now we're going to go where no man has ever taken you, Alyana." He began to loosen her restraints. "I'm going to let you have a break to stretch and ready yourself, and then I need you back in this chair. I'm going to suspend your hands above your head, and I'll need all of your clothes off."
"I know you're going to touch my body, but you're never going to have anything else from me."
Denard chuckled. "I wouldn't make such promises, Alyana. I have a hunch I'll be able to take any part of you that I want if I touch you in the right ways."
You folks have posted some really kind comments on the story's previous installments, so I hope you enjoy this one! As usual, take a moment and comment--it's what makes this so much fun!
For those of you just jumping in, here are the previous parts:
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Foreign Aid, part 4 (m/f)
by
Kid Indy
In her dream the handsome man's fingers rubbed and squeezed her inner thighs, and then his tongue, as she giggled from the tickling, entered her mouth, and between her legs she began to feel...
The shrill whine of her alarm clock wiped the smile of pleasure off the face of Alyana Pulanski, and she turned it off with some disappointment. Tonight she would be back on the river boat of Andre Denard, but before that she had patients to treat and work to do.
As she took a short break between refugees, Alyana was somehow glad that she had neither been to Mass nor to Confession for the weeks that they had been in the field. What she had been doing with the handsome French mercenary was not exactly sex, but she blushed as she imagined what she might have to describe when she did return next to the booth. What would a celibate priest know of the colors that she now saw, the sounds that she could hear when she thought about his skillful hands? Could she even describe the way that his body felt against hers?
Alyana heard a knowing laugh, then another, and she realized that her coworkers, who were now entirely certain that she had been having sex with Denard--actually she had not--discovered her leaning against a tree, eyes closed, swaying and embracing herself. And although she wanted badly for them not to think of her as that sort of woman, she could also appreciate that their gossiping enjoyment was a sign that her guardian angel, the soldier of fortune Andre Denard, had given them the luxury to gossip, to act like coworkers who weren't in a war zone, as he convinced the revolutionary militias to give their camp a wide berth and allow the women and children of the region seek medical aid under the protection of his unit.
She knew that tonight he would be tying her to a seat and giving her feet the Russian treatment, the intense, targeted tickling that took her over the edge even in ways that he didn't when they wrestled and he tickled her legs. And unlike the last two visits, when the indignity and humiliation were at the forefront of her mind, this time Alyana, when her work allowed her a moment to think, could only think of the ecstasy of laughing at Andre's command, of feeling his fingers on her skin and enjoying the feeling that only came when she could feel his enjoyment in the same moment. And when she remembered what it felt like when he joined a tender kiss with the tickling, when she thought of his lips on her body again, she realized that she would go to his boat right now if she could.
When she and Carlos, one of her fellow foreign-medical-aid workers, were on the way to the boat in the car that Andre sent, she caught herself thinking of the night as a date rather than as an obligation to the refugees, and she wondered whether Andre--her Andre?--was thinking in the same terms. After all, there was always a gourmet dinner and conversation beforehand, and frankly, that already made him more of a boyfriend than she'd had in years. She found herself fantasizing about proposals and weddings and a chance to make him her own.
The car pulled up to the docks.
Carlos, as usual, was escorted to another part of the boat, and Denard greeted Alyana, kissing her hand and offering her his arm. They walked to the private dining room, and as they had done before, they sat and enjoyed fine food, good wine, and conversation about things that, in the stressful world of medical treatment and refugees from the war, she seldom had time to think on.
She noticed, though, that unlike the last time, Andre was not asking her about tickling at all. He didn't even mention the Persian harem that he had taunted her with the last time. She waited and waited, and finally she could not help herself any longer.
"Where are you going to tickle me tonight, Andre?"
A quiet smile. "Eager to get on with the night's festivities, Alyana?"
"How long are we going to do this, Andre? I know I can't do my work without your protection, but are how long are we going to meet like this?"
"That's what I love about you, Alyana. Your heart is always with the patients." Alyana's heart leapt at the word "love." She tried to compose herself.
"Well?"
"You're only concerned about the refugees, Alyana? That's the only reason you come to see me? Am I only a means to that end?"
Alyana felt her face redden. "No, Andre, I didn't mean that. It's just that--" Andre's teasing smile relieved her and made her crazier than even she'd been before. "Andre! Why do you tease me?"
"Because I love seeing you react, Alyana." Again with that word! "I hope to see you as much as I can, as long as I can. And to answer your other question, tonight you're getting the Russian treatment. I can't wait to see your feet taken to the limit again!"
Alyana was now grinning as broadly as her face would allow. Something deep in the recesses of her mind thought something was amiss, but Andre's obvious affection drowned out that voice as quickly as it arose. Having finished their meal some time before, they finished their wine, and this time Alyana looked forward to Denard's tickling room with the anticipation of a lover, not someone performing a task for a payment.
Alyana looked over her shoulder at Andre as she led him to the room. "Andre, you haven't even asked me today about the Harem business again."
He smiled at her, showing teeth. "When you're ready to try that out, you know I'll be ready!" Alyana heard the absence--there was still no mention of anything like a wedding. Something like disappointment settled in, for a moment, but then she started to imagine his hands on her skin, and the anticipation overwhelmed that. They entered the room, Alyana leading the way, and she settled into the chair, took off her shoes, and placed her hands on the cuffs that he would use to keep her from escaping his tickling. Once again anticipation in the short range gave new life to her long-story fantasies about her Frenchman, and she was already giggling when he began to tighten the straps. Her breath quickened as he fastened the ankle straps, and she grinned and squealed as he produced the cleaning brush. He sat it where she could see it, on a pedestal near the tickling chair, and proceeded to oil her feet. She gasped as his hands rubbed the oil into each sole, and she bit her lower lip as he set the oil down and picked up the brush.
"Alyana, my dear, are you ready for the preparation?" She nodded her head, eyes closed, preparing for the delicious torment that he would bring to her. When the brush's bristles began their ministrations on her soft soles, she was already gone. Nowhere to be heard was a moment of resistance, a protest against his touch. She laughed loud and free, a woman enjoying a man's touch and enjoying it as loudly as her lungs would allow. His grip shifted from one foot to the other, and Alyana's hair whipped like a halo as she let her body squirm with pleasure. The sensations, as she drank in the feeling of Denard's power over her, translated quickly into the pleasure that before she had forbidden herself but now invited. Sooner than she had ever allowed before, Alyana began to mix moans of pleasure with her laughter and squeals. As her body drank in and her mind enjoyed the oblivion of pure ticklish pleasure, she barely even noticed that Denard had stopped tickling with the brush and picked up the bamboo stylus.
"It's time to find out where your most ticklish paths are, Alyana. Are you ready?"
A throaty laugh came out of her mouth. "Yes! Yes!" She screamed as the rounded tip began to trace its first path--even in her ecstasy she couldn't be ready for tickling this concentrated, this intense. Without warning her ticklish affirmation turned to begging as the bamboo went this way, then that over her sole. Denard's grin could scarcely have been more appreciative--this young woman had yielded the place of the captive to that of the lover, and her feet, already ticklish when she resisted, were now sending her into kinds of ecstatic pleasure that few women had ever experienced.
And then he hit the path on her left foot. The bamboo traced a line from the ball of her foot across the sole, to the outside of her heel, and a shriek pierced the air, and Denard licked his lips. Setting down the bamboo, he produced a Sharpie marker and traced the path again, then two sides of a pointer at the path's end, and a glint of worry entered Alyana's dark eyes.
"Andre! What are you doing?"
"Marking the path, my dear! And now I'm going to find the other."
"Wait! You didn't draw on me before! Why are--" And that was the last word that she mustered; the bamboo had begun its search, and Alyana screamed, this time in a mixture of pleasure and panic and ticklish agony. Whether she wanted to protest this or not, the bamboo did not care, and try as she might, she could not drag herself back from the edge of her own ecstasy.
The bamboo tickled, and she laughed, until it found its way from the base of her pinkie toe across to the base of her big toe, and she knew that Andre now had absolute power over her. She could not even protest out loud as the marker once again drew a line, and then and arrowhead, on that path. With that, he stopped.
Gasping for breath Alyana pled again. "Andre! Why are you doing this?"
"I've decided, Alyana, that I really want to try the harem experience with you."
She had a vague sense that he wasn't playing fair, bringing her to the edge like this and then making demands. She tried to gather her thoughts. "No, Andre! I've already told you I can't do that!"
"Yes, yes, religion and all that. But here's the thing: I think that there are things in the world more powerful than religion."
Was he talking about love? She realized that, in this moment, she might actually let him take off her top and even her bra if only he promised to be her own forever, even if nobody were married yet.
But that thought gave way to a terrifying sight: Denard's back. He walked towards the door through which they had entered and knocked loudly on it.
"Andre! What are you doing?"
He did not answer but turned and smiled. Alyana heard the doorknob turn, and she gasped. All of the ecstasy of the moment before mixed with a sudden onrush of terror, and she could feel her body want to faint as she waited for something to come through the door.
"Andre! Come back here!" Then she saw him. And she screamed.
The Wolf, the lieutenant in the resistance army, walked through the door and joined Denard. Alyana began madly to pull at her bonds, but her sudden fear had not made the chair or the straps any weaker. Denard grinned broadly at the look of terror on her face.
"Now, Alyana, you have a serious decision to make. In just a few moments I'm going to let the Wolf here have a shot at your feet, and as you know, I've marked your tickling paths. He's going to tickle your feet as long as he wants, and when he hits those paths, whether you hate him or not, you're going to go through the roof for him."
"Andre! Get him out of here! Untie me!"
Denard continued, unfazed. "If at any point you want to be rid of the Wolf, all you have to do is agree to undergo a Harem Session tonight."
"No way, you monster! Let me out of here!"
"I almost hoped you would say that. Monsieur Wolf, you may proceed at will."
The fear that Alyana experienced the first time she had seen the Wolf was back, but this was worse: the man who before had come to her rescue had now tied her up and delivered her to this monster! He looked her in the eye and ran the tip of his tongue along the edge of his teeth, back and forth, as his hands got closer to her feet.
"Andre! Don't do this!" She braced herself, convinced for a moment that only Denard could tickle her, that no other man's hands could do what his could.
Then the Wolf began to tickle.
Alyana tried to scream in protest, but Denard had already worked her into a laughing mess, and her well-oiled feet had no defenses against the Wolf's fingers. Alyana heard herself laughing for her enemy, a feeling like nothing she had ever even thought to fear. She thrashed in the seat and tried to move her ticklish feet away from the monster's fingers, but nothing was working: he tickled, and she laughed, and she had nothing at her disposal to keep herself from giving this man the show that he wanted.
She felt something warm on her cheek, pressing firmly so that she did not thrash as she laughed. Through the torment she realized that Denard had leaned in next to her and was speaking in a normal voice so that she could hear over her own tortured, ticklish laughter. "Alyana, you know he has you in his power now, and in a moment, he's going to start tickling the paths. You know what that does to you, right?"
Alyana just kept laughing as the Wolf tickled her heels.
"Nod for me if you understand just how easily this man can take you the last place you want to go." She nodded as she laughed, and the Wolf changed his focus to the middles of her soles.
"Now nod again if you'd rather be my harem girl for the rest of the night. It'll be me tickling you, and we'll do exactly what you've been dying to do since we first met." Denard felt her neck's motions turn so that she was shaking her head from side to side.
"You disappoint me, Alyana." He raised his voice so that Wolf could hear. "Walk one path, Monsieur Wolf."
And with that, Alyana's world exploded. The intense tickling suddenly doubled as the Wolf began to scratch down the path that Denard had found with the bamboo probe, and Alyana's hips began to buck wildly in the chair. She could feel her body betray her, to begin to pull towards the terrorist who had threatened her, and the humiliation was too much: she began to nod her head violently, and she felt Denard's face leave the side of her own.
The tickling stopped instantaneously, and Alyana opened her eyes to see Denard standing in front of the kneeling Wolf, a sidearm in his hand. The Wolf, ferocious before, now stood slowly and left the room. Andre Denard watched him leave, escorted by two of his own men, and then turned to Alyana.
"Now we're going to go where no man has ever taken you, Alyana." He began to loosen her restraints. "I'm going to let you have a break to stretch and ready yourself, and then I need you back in this chair. I'm going to suspend your hands above your head, and I'll need all of your clothes off."
"I know you're going to touch my body, but you're never going to have anything else from me."
Denard chuckled. "I wouldn't make such promises, Alyana. I have a hunch I'll be able to take any part of you that I want if I touch you in the right ways."
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