The Tongue of the Snake (F/F)

oblesklk1 · Jan 30, 2010

[This is a story that goes along with the Yelena universe, a tickling comic book series by Agency Publishing that's available at www.the-agencies.com. We're set to release Yelena #3 in less than a month, so this story kind of fleshes out the characters a bit more. Enjoy!]

Outside rain, emboldened by autumn’s caress, echoes reassuring melodies through my distraught and restless mind. Though uninvited, I succumb nonetheless.

I glide slowly across the floor, careful not to awaken my angel. Gretchen, tired from the prior night’s activities, sleeps as sound as anyone I’ve ever seen. It’s warm in the room, and her leg sticks out of the sheets, tantalizingly close to my eager fingers. That curvaceous foot is just inches from my grasp. I entertain the notion of running a feather up and down her sensitive sole, just for kicks. And kicks there would be, surely.

I smile. Her ability to find comfort and solace here makes me happy.

The smile turns into an inaudible gasp and quick inhalation of air. I step onto a massaging toy we were using last night. An electric ticklish shock enters my foot and shoots up to my brain. Even through socks, the sensation is almost unbearable. I forgot to cast a protective ward around my feet this morning, and pay dearly for it. I bend down to pick up the toy. At some point, Gretchen is going to want a turn at my feet. And I don’t know how I’m going to handle that.

We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.

I sit in my comfy chair, just a few scant feet from our bed. I put my feet up and stare outside the window. The rain continues to clean the city, an impromptu baptism on an otherwise ordinary Tuesday morning. I look down at my cutesy pink socks, and wiggle my toes a few times. I think of my own ticklishness, and my mind naturally wanders to Gretchen. I fondly remember her pedicure yesterday, and her severe reactions to it. It’s one of those memories I will never forget.

Memories. Revived without force or want.

I’ve only known one other woman whose feet were that sensitive. Imagery laden with attached senses of shame, remorse, love, lust, and euphoria.

Coupled with profound sadness.

* * * * *

Reality fades, memories consume.

For a time, I wish they wouldn’t. My eyes mist a bit when I remember those times. It all begins in the mid 18th century. My mind’s eye finds myself in a dress I couldn’t even take onto a subway today. And look at my hair!

Oh my. I’m glad there were no cameras back then.

I’m speaking formal German to a room full of patronizing automatons. The Prussian empire was finally garnering some renown and glory. Its values were different than other places and times I’d lived in. I am in the employ of the royal monarch as a handmaiden to the princess of the court. This was a highly respected position, and I took the job as seriously as one could have expected to. However, there was a down side to the position.

My life was constantly in peril, as the Witch Hunters had been hunting me for half a millennium. Their tactics grew increasingly ruthless and cruel. Thankfully at that point I had learned to achieve ethereal equilibrium. That just means I knew how to grow my craft without anyone noticing.

More often than not, it is best to go unnoticed.

In those tumultuous times, I had become increasingly closer to the princess Sofia. I was her confidante, her best friend, as well as servant. Gretchen reminds me of her, and I cannot help but draw constant parallels between the two.

Sofia was an amazingly capable young woman, sadly born outside of her proper place and time. Her destiny should not have been relegated to the background of a royal court, time filled with pointless pomp and ritual. But such is the playground of the fates; it is beyond us to admonish the stars.

“How dare you so much as look at Yelena without my prior authority!” Sofia yells out in court. Her booming, damning voice carries full weight of shame to bear upon receptive ears.

This is highly unorthodox.

Sofia had something under her skin that morning, and took her aggressions out on poor Markus. Markus being a rather handsome young guard with whom I’d gotten quite close to during a trip to Vienna. Ten guards were assigned to protect us from the barbarians of the roads.

As it turns out, there were no barbarians; there was just a testy princess and three very bored, and quite flirtatious young handmaidens. During that trip, he confided to another that I was the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. The whispering caught the attention of Sofia. It obviously bothered her, enough that she would publicly berate one of her own guards in court for it.

Markus, in obvious shock, simply stammered an apology and desired to let the matter go. He could’ve stood up for himself. Although technically he wasn’t supposed to communicate with us as we entered court, it is not the princess’s place to lecture guardians of the state how to do their job. That task was relegated to the captain of the guard. And he had about enough of the princess’s recent temper tantrums regarding security matters.

Sofia’s fiery red hair gave her an intimidating presence in court. Her face turned a lovely shade of red as she bellowed out a string of mild obscenities about the relaxed state of court in passing months. She said a child of limited means could successfully carry out an assassination attempt with the reduced awareness exhibited by the guards and court personnel. They all hung their heads a little bit, ashamed at being called out by such a blustery and beautiful woman. Sofia was raised under the strictest guidance of discipline and self-control, two valued virtues in Germanic cultures. Unfortunately for her fellow statesmen, she chose to share those virtues with everyone within earshot.

For the moment, the guards were given reprieve.

Outside, trumpets interrupted Sofia’s four- minute tirade and announced the arrival of visitors to the court. I cast my eyes downward. Although her words were not directed my way, I could not help but feel guilty for having caused a lapse in Markus’s judgment. He stiffened, standing straight up and eyes pointed directly forward along with the rest of his contingent. Whether they could appreciate her words or not, they certainly snapped to attention when called upon.

Such a display!

There stood before God and all witnesses a line of eager and young men, willing to sacrifice themselves to save the fair flowers of the court. If duty called. The 21st century feminist in me scoffed at the thought. The 18th century romantic in me swooned. Just a little.

Sofia, irritated the trumpet blasts interrupted what was shaping up to be rather good
”discussion”, resigned to her throne where I immediately took her side.

Intending to calm her, I gently placed my hand on her pale and freckly shoulder. She jumped a bit, as though not accustomed to being touched. Perhaps she was on edge because of the arrival of guests, whose personalities and agendas brought with them more tiresome complications in the court. Perhaps it was my touch that unsettled her.

I suddenly wondered how ticklish Sofia really was. She’d been a friend for a great many years, and yet it had never come up. How strange. I’d wondered the same about a great many in court. Underneath all that silly costuming, how ticklish are the people behind the masks? Especially Markus. I could just tie him up and…

I swallow hard and pinch myself on the arm to keep focused. My brow perspires ever so slightly at the thought. Where was I?

Oh yes, the princess’s twitchy reactions. Could be just nervous, could be not used to being touched, could be very ticklish. It’s difficult to say. One never knows when such information could come in handy.

I close my eyes for the briefest of moments, invoke a sensory spell. The ethereal bonds course through my mind, opening my eyes with vision beyond mortal capability. At once, I see the nature of those in the court, as they are in their truest primal form. Opening my eyes, I turn my gaze towards Sofia and almost fall to the floor in shock.

Sofia looks on in obvious concern, since her most trusted servant doesn’t typically fall down for any apparent reason. Immediately recoiling my hand in horror, I discover something absolutely unexpected from my princess. I take a quick second glance at Sofia. She smiles so sweetly at me, and puts her hand on mine. I resist instinct. I do not recoil in panic. I simply return the smile, as I was trained to do.

Sofia is holding some deep seeded feelings for me. That’s what the spell picked up. I had no idea. In those days, homosexual practices were treated quite differently, depending which culture you lived in, and your social status. It was never easy to tell what trouble your heart could get you into. It was no different in Prussia, although people tended to turn a blind eye a bit easier here than in other places. They were less pervasive. Though given more sexual opportunity, I rarely enjoyed it.

Such a development is rather shocking. It is true she just concluded a long and angry speech at my defense. I assumed she had become irritated by a variety of other factors, which forced her hand in this matter. My heart races; it is unable to keep enough blood to my head. Until that moment, I had never been with another woman before. The idea of consorting with the princess of a vast European empire was something I had never remotely considered. Especially given the low profile I was trying desperately to maintain. If we were ever discovered, the scandal would force me into exile yet another time. And I am running out of parties to crash on the Eurasian continents.

Sofia looks up at me after I withdraw my hand. She continues smiling at me in that dreamy manner. So beautiful! Only Sofia could deliver a blistering speech aimed at the incompetence of her statesmen, then turn around a moment later and smile as though nothing happened. I always truly respected her for that. She was only nineteen, but expectations of women then were so much higher than today. Someday she might need to lead these men into battle. If such an improbable event were to come to pass, she must have their respect to achieve victory. She cannot afford a pleasant demeanor.

The court doors open ceremoniously for a group of emissaries from the west. Alliances are forged as quickly as they are broken, and there were several who wished to ally themselves with Sofia, both physically and politically. More often than not in that order.

Despite their upbringing and best intentions, emissaries’ masculine urges would often overshadow their political goals entirely. Although I helped her cause with spells of my own, I doubt they were necessary. Sofia’s beauty and laughter were legendary among the realms. They were simply infectious. Redheads were not a common sight in those days. Her slender frame and high cheekbones brought men of eloquence to their knees before her intimidating presence.

Antoine, the newest suitor from the west, bowed graciously and asks Sofia for dance. A bold move, to be sure. Most men bit their nails, consorted with advisors, and even an oracle or two before making such a risky venture. There was simply too much at stake. One wrong move might offend the princess. With the offense, all hopes of getting to know Sofia dashed upon the sweaty brow of a nervous stammer or misspoken French phrase.

Antoine was lucky, Sofia’s foul mood ended with the trumpet’s calling. She gladly accepts, and the two perform as the main event on the floor. Sofia’s musical accompaniment is extraordinarily talented, and always makes the dancing events joyful. Strings dance wickedly upon the ears of the merry. I clap along with the other handmaidens and lose myself in the laughter of the moment. Sofia is just too cute as the head of her own little fiefdom. Despite her temper, she’s truly joyful to be around.

I walk confidently across the room as the band plays. A couple of the minstrels try to catch my eye as I wander past. I shoot them a promising smile a friendly giggle, and continue to my destination across the floor. Emboldened by this exchange, I immediately take to mingling and flirting Antoine’s troupe. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Markus standing nearby, keeping vigilant watch over the festivities. I put my hand on his shoulder. His body visibly stiffens, trying to maintain composure in front of the court. Everyone I’m touching today is beside themselves. This court needs some muscle relaxers.

“Why yes, we do employ the finest lads Prussia has to offer,” I giggle, continuing a conversation with one of Antoine’s translators. “This one could endure the tortures of the damned, and yet he would never bend from his duty to his princess.”

“Would you?” I gently bonk Markus on the nose, and giggle a second time. I know the effects my flirtations have on him, and purposefully lean up against him as I carry on a few more conversations. To his credit, Markus never wavers from performing his duty. No matter how many visitors comment on my beauty, grace, or educated demeanor, he never flinches from jealousy. That’s a man I could become very interested in.

The festivities continue into the day, with Sofia having a much better time than her outwardly cold appearance would indicate. I sense her desire to act her age, instead of someone one or two decades her senior. For some reason, today she is finally able to accomplish that goal. It has been a grand day, despite her earlier blow up.

I walk in front of Markus. His eyes catch mine. I smile at him and don’t break eye contact for a good ten seconds. I twirl my hair and flash him some of those bedroom eyes I’m told can melt glass.

If these others were not around, I suspect he’d break off any sense of duty and sprint after me through the palace grounds. And when he caught me…

I pause, and reenact a favorite fantasy of mine as I giggle and walk away.

Today has been a good day.

* * * * *

Sofia lies in her bathtub; I help her bathe for the night.

Her long and willowy body shimmers ever so wonderfully against the water. Her long legs kick playfully as she hums an Old Norse lullaby. I always loved that song, it was about a fisherman who’d been away from home for far too long. I watch her legs kick back and forth.

My eyes trace a line over her figure, and rest for a few moments on her feet. I swear I’d never seen feet that soft and smooth before. Such is the life of royalty. No one else’s feet look that way. Not during these days. Her long, slender toes dripped dry, and hypnotized me. I hadn’t really ever looked at the princess’s feet before. She really had gorgeous extremities. Impossibly high arches and well kept nails. Sofia pats my arm, looks up, and catches my gaze at her feet.

She licks her lips a couple times, splashes nervously in the water, then stops and looks at me with a gaze I can never forget. I try to refocus on cleaning her, but her twisting out of position disrupts my task to an intolerable degree. I eventually stop the charade of trying to bathe her.

“Yelena,” she begins slowly, “what do you think of my body?”

I drop the sponge into the tub. My mouth suddenly goes dry. I don’t know where she’s going with this line of thought. Had I not known about her budding feelings about me, I would’ve thought she was making a simple inquiry with no context or agenda.

Just a simple inquiry about something she was insecure about, and nothing more.

Just a simple inquiry…right?

“Do you ever think of my body?”

My breathing quickens as she pursues the questioning diligently. It is no mere chance she started this conversation. The inquiry is not so simple anymore. I don’t know what to say.

Elated from the day, and emboldened at my earlier touch, Sofia leans forward and gently holds the back of my neck. I loosen up and let her take control, just this once. Anxious to become one, she pushes us together.

I don’t resist. Not anymore.

Our lips lock, and feelings erupt from somewhere inside of me. I had my eye on Markus for so many weeks now; an affair with the very prominent and outspoken lady of the court had never entered my mind. Even today, as I accidentally uncovered her true feelings, I didn’t think she would ever act upon them. Not many in those days did, especially someone in her position.

She can’t contain the laughter as I climb into the tub with her, fully clothed. The scene is semi ludicrous, and I’m happy she finds some merriment in it. She hastily removes my shoes and throws them forcefully across the floor. I wrap my legs around her.

After kissing for a solid five minutes, the threat of others intruding on our private time is palpable. She is constantly looking out of the corner of her eyes at the archway, ensuring our activities are kept private.

I look down at her beautiful body sitting in the tub. The yearnings increase. Yearnings I didn’t even know I had. Now they thrust themselves into the very center of being. Markus takes a back seat. For now.

She’s so beautiful. So soft. So incredibly, impossibly soft. My heart keeps beating; it’s difficult to focus. I murmur a short spell to calm myself. It helps.

“Sofia,” I speak thoughtfully. She smiles and peers deep into my eyes, “You know we can’t do this.”

A look of reality and dawning sadness creeps over her face, “I know.” Sofia looks like she’s going to begin weeping.

“Unless…” I raise an eyebrow and gauge her reaction. She is looking to maintain any semblance of hope here. I’ve never seen her look so desperate.

“Unless that is, you choose to thoroughly capitulate to me right now. Anything goes tonight. Only in that way can I guarantee we can spend time together and only together. I have a means for us to be together, but you have to trust me, no questions asked.”

She looks curiously at me, and investigates my face for signs of sarcasm, ridicule, or just plain malice. We’ve known each other far too long for that. Satisfied with my veracity, she quickly nods, eager to further our newly formed bond.

Sofia doesn’t know what she’s agreed to yet. In time, she will learn.

I snap my fingers bringing a nearby towel to my grip. Stunned, Sofia looks around, wondering what the hell I just did.

“How did you…what was…” she stammers, unable to finish the thought.

“Sofia, there’s something you should know about me. Oops, hands behind your head, your highness,” I instruct her to stand in the tub, with hands laced behind her head. I begin to gently towel her off. I pause thoughtfully and stare down at her gorgeous belly button. That belly button stares deep into my soul, into desire’s end. It knows my weaknesses. It calls out to me in secret, begging me to drop the towel and clean it slowly with my tongue. I resist the urge. It isn’t easy.

Instead, I use the towel for its intended purpose. She giggles and playfully coos when I spend a much longer time on her more delicate and sensitive parts.

“I’m a witch, Sofia. A magic user. I can harness power to accomplish beautiful and wondrous things,” I walk around to the front of her to see her reaction. It is about what I expected. In order to emphasize the point, I snap my fingers again, and my clothes, sopping wet from my jump into the tub, are at once completely dried out.

“But…” a confused look overtakes her face.

“Shhhhh,” I put a finger to her lips, “it doesn’t matter now. Not at all. You’ve agreed to succumb to me tonight, and luckily for both of us, I intend on going through with the deal. You’re going to have so much fun tonight, you’ll be beside yourself.”

“Are you here to kill my father?” Sofia stands, shoulders slumping, defeated by shadows of guilt and doubt.

I grab her hand and put it to my chest. Still smiling, I slowly undress the outer layer of my clothing. She looks at me with such desire; it’s unnerving if I hadn’t calmed myself first. She is torn by her love of her father, and her fertile desire for me.

It’s a strange moment. This is a first for me, and I can’t imagine she’s had too much experience with another woman before. How could she? She’s under lock and key 24 hours a day, and has been since birth.

I kick off the remaining remnants of the unwieldy and vile dress I am forced to wear. I summon some clothing for myself. Something…revealing, while allowing flexibility of movement. Sofia is clearly impressed with my talents, even if she’s petrified of them. I instruct her to keep her hands behind her head, an order for which she readily complies.

I kneel down on the ground and trace a couple of half circles into the ground. Clapping my hands clean, I admire the handiwork. Not bad for a couple seconds work. Chanting and rocking back and forth, I weave a spell that wards the room of all noise. These stonewalls have no insulation; you can hear absolutely everything.

No longer.

Tonight we have privacy. Second, I continue the incantation to put a field of forgetfulness around the front of Sofia’s door. If anyone comes within five feet of it, they will completely forget why they’re at her door. We’ve all had those moments. We specifically get someone’s attention, and then suddenly forget what we were going to ask. The spell simply duplicates that phenomenon.

It’s actually quite amusing. You can see the person stand there a moment, scratch their head, murmur to themselves a bit, and then wander off in defeat. The hardest part is trying not to giggle at their predicament.

The spell finishes, and I open my eyes.

I turn to face my anxious captive and address her initial concerns, “No, Sofia, I’m not here to kill your father. He’s a good man. I’m here to bring expression and freedom to this glorious empire. I will teach you my ways, that we may spend the rest of our days weaving spells for the good of humanity. Too long have these talents been wasted with lesser men. Men of ego and uncontrolled avarice. I have so much to show you. But first, I need to know you. Thoroughly.”

She doesn’t know what to make of that answer. Her nipples harden ever so slightly. Must be the draftiness of the room. Well, that and she’s never been dominated by anyone before. It’s all incredibly new to her. Activity like this is simply unheard of in those days. I move quickly, a means to avoid cold feet.

Snapping my fingers, my first version of the Maiden’s Dilemma appears. It is truly a monstrosity of a contraption; I’d fall over laughing if I saw it now. But it was the best I could do at the time, and it still did its task admirably. Sofia’s eyes grow like saucers at the sudden appearance of this torture device. Her eyes rapidly scan it, trying to ascertain its purpose. Its function is a mystery to anyone seeing it for the first time. It simply looks like a large wooden stool that has a topside enclosure. Pretty ugly.

I grab her by the wrists. If she knew what she was in for, she’d probably go running and screaming. The night is young; there is plenty of time for the latter.

While she’s still fully nude, I make the Maiden’s Dilemma come alive!

The straps snake forth from the machine in a series of erratic movements. They slowly feel over her wrists, lovingly embracing her. The machine, though seemingly a lifeless wooden contraption, also wants a taste of the princess.

Get in line!

Sofia gasps, not expecting this wooden “thing” to be reaching for her. I admit, it is a bit unsettling at first. She hesitates as I look her over. So gorgeous. “Do I sit on it somehow?” She looks at me curiously.

“Yes, it will guide you on what to do. This is your first time, so cherish it.”

She nods in acceptance, and allows the Maiden’s Dilemma to pull her into it. I lick my lips in anticipation. Her red hair falls about her shoulders, flowing with regal ease. Her freckled shoulders twist a bit, unsure of her fate, yet anxious for it to start.

The straps tighten gradually over her wrists. Not tight enough to elicit painful reaction, but tight enough to forbid unnecessary movement. Satisfied with their grip, they quickly shorten in length to bring her arms up and over her head. Leaning awkwardly, Sofia crawls up onto the machine, kneeling on its many cushions. The machine was built with the comfort of its victim in mind. Everything on the device is padded thoroughly. I wanted it to house an adult for days, if need be.

As her knees touch the pads, more leather straps ambush her from the wooden foundation and hungrily grasp her ankles. With a surprised gasp, the straps spread Sofia’s legs far apart on the cushions. Her knees are spread far enough to force her into an immodest position. Sofia turns a lovely shade of red. Although I’ve seen her nude many times while bathing, this was a much more sexually charged situation. One simply did not strip a princess and have their way with her body. That just wasn’t proper. Their divine blood does not allow a mere mortal such luxury. I’m committing a minor act of blasphemy. It somehow makes the proceedings that much tastier.

I don’t know what she likes sexually, but I know the slight exhibitionist in her is reveling in glory. I can tell she loves to show off her curves to whoever is brave enough to ask. Which isn’t many. Not even the French delegates are so bold as to ask a Teutonic princess to strip naked for them. Sofia has had several uncles and cousins that have made borderline incestuous comments and requests of her. Nothing too nasty, they’re just eager to see their gorgeous relation’s shoulders, ankles, and whatever else she’s willing to display. Some of the royal blood was strange in those days. Some believe their divine origins allowed them moral access to taboo areas with no spiritual repercussions.

I spend a few moments studying her body. Her gorgeous breasts heave up and down in the moonlight. The torch sconces introduce flickers of light, illuminating Sofia’s body at completely random times. I approach her and remove her tiara, the final reminder of her position of power on this world. As the tiara lies still on the nearby bed, she is immediately and irrevocably instructed who the true master of this room is.

Sofia is now just a beautiful redhead I’ve managed to ensnare in her own room. I think of all the wonderful things about to commence in this room.

“Sofia, did you know I have practiced many sexual magicks in my day?” I ask in barely a whisper. She strains desperately to hear me.

“W-what do you mean?” her voice trembles a bit.

“It’s difficult to explain. Here, probably the easiest thing to do is to just show you what I mean.”

I wave my fingers in the air. A warm draft permeates the room; Sofia shifts slightly in the device. Every beautiful and sensitive part of her body is fully exposed and ready for playtime.

I’m casting a spell that simulates foreplay near her neck, legs, tummy, and arms. These are not typically hot spots, but it has an immediate effect nonetheless. To her, it feels like I’m kissing and nibbling her in all those places. Sofia fights the feeling for all she worth, the effect is apparent. She’s trying to maintain a semblance of dominance, but those thoughts are soon thrown out the window, as she cannot contain herself.

“Errrunnnhhhh,” a noise from the princess starts the night off right.

She clenches her eyes, and allows her mouth to open slightly. A slight moan escapes. I continue, barely able to believe my good luck. This has to be the most sensitive woman alive. I have to keep that in mind when things get more intense. She’s likely to explode with multiple orgasms if I’m not careful.

Duly noted.

I take a step closer, with the spell in full effect. I start kissing around her neck, and feel the blood rush to her skin. She is fully flushed in several areas. Sofia starts to rock back and forth a little bit at the touch. I let my finger slide slowly down her back, about an inch away from her spine. She giggles, shifts violently, and breaks down into a chaotic blend of tittering. At this point, I’m not even trying to tickle her.

My finger ends its journey, and I start to feel the tightness of her stomach. She flinches at the touch, then throws her hips in my direction, clearly adapting quickly. This is too easy.

Snap the fingers, end the spell.

Sofia opens her eyes, and slumps forward a bit, chest heaving. She is unsure how to handle what is being done to her. No one dares touch a princess without her express permission. This exciting violation is something she’s never had to deal with before.

“Sofia, you have to understand a few things. First, I have spent years learning how to inflict such great sexual torment upon a person, you have no idea just how extreme it can become. Second, you are a redhead by birth. That means your nerve endings are slightly more receptive than other peoples’, so you will experience these sensations roughly 10-20% more intense than an average person. Third, no one will be interrupting us tonight, and I’ve only just begun.”

The princess nods, acknowledging my words. She doesn’t understand them yet, but she responds. She’s zoned out a bit.

I decide to give her a break, and climb up on the machine in front of her. I smile and wrap my legs around her. I wrap Sofia’s lips up with my own, and she greedily reciprocates. The small token of affection has apparently activated her sex drive considerably. It’s good to know. I run my fingers through her hair, and continue to kiss her passionately as I grind slowly up against her. She doesn’t want this to end. So time to move things along. As delicious as kissing her lips is, there are other matters to attend to. So many ticklish and sensitive nooks and crannies, it’s hard to know where to start first, and in what order to go. No need for a plan. No need for anything. When you go this far, the only good option is to push it as far as you can, and see how much she can take. You don’t get royal permission like this too many times in a lifetime. Time to seize the day and see how much I can make this princess dance.

I glide my hands up and down her arms. She twitches slightly at the touch, but does not show any overtly ticklish reactions. I whisper a couple of compliments into her ear. Very slowly, methodically, and with express intent of driving her crazy. Mission accomplished. She busts into giggles and shakes her head, trying to ward me off.

Wanting to totally consume this sexually alluring nymph, I grab her by her backside and pull her closer. She pulls at the bonds ever so gently, trying to embrace me back. There is a scant amount of frustration here, so I feel it is time to kick it up a notch. I break off the kiss and lean down, dabbling her chest with short kisses. With every kiss I hold her gently but firmly, showing her my intent. With each kiss, my head bobs slightly lower and lower. Her chest heaves with anticipation. I suck in a good amount of air, and then start gently blowing on her right nipple. Sofia starts rotating in the device with a torrent of unbearable sensations. She grinds against me, not sure what to do with this teasing.

I ignore all this, naturally, and continue blowing with random spurts of air around her nipple. It is fully erect, and Sofia is now quite engaged in our activities. She thrusts her chest out as if not so subtlety telling me to choose something much harder.

How cute. She will learn she is no longer my mistress, no longer my princess. Not now, and not for the next few hours. She is completely mine; because that’s the way I want it.

She groans, eyes closed, and I can see her perspire just a little bit from the teasing. I move to her left nipple, and begin anew. Her groan increases in volume, and she shakes her head a couple times, trying desperately to shake off the sensation. I can see her feet kick on the device in frustration. Both nipples are now fully erect, and she is clearly ready to go.

“That’s fun, right?” I giggle and dismount the device. Circling my captive, I try to assess how she’s doing. I glean what I need to know. She’s becoming desperate, so now is a good time to kick things into another gear.

From the back of her, I start casting a slightly more invasive spell. The power courses through my veins, warming me, consoling me, calling me home. The power builds and builds, crashing into my soul again and again, raging to be let loose onto the world. Wanting, desiring, yearning to escape and wreak havoc upon the laws of physics. Holding out my hands, the spell’s energies leave my person and start encircling Sofia.

Sofia gasps out in pleasure, and starts visibly shaking from its effects. The spell creates a warming sensation around her breasts and the inside of her thighs. From my earlier attention, she is clearly sensitive there. Sofia, forgetting her moral upbringing and proper social etiquette, is consumed with the thought of sweet release. There is no other goal right now. There is no father to please, there is no suitors to impress, nor is there a company of troops to command. There is just that sensation, that addiction of release, and nothing else.

I pet her hair, knowing what the spell is doing do her. She opens her eyes slightly, pleading with me to end her torment. Her nerves are so incredibly receptive to the touch I can barely contain myself. I have to admit, there is a strong desire on my part to end the charade, and give her what she desires most. After all, it’s what I want too.

But no, it isn’t time yet. If we stop now, she’ll pretend like nothing ever happened in the morning.

Our old roles will continue, and the communication will be slightly embarrassing tomorrow. If I continue, she will be so thoroughly changed; our relationship cannot help but evolve with it. I don’t know what option we’ll have as a couple, but I’m just here to have fun. Anything more than that is just gravy.

No, she needs to be changed.

I massage the air, guiding the spell gently over her body. She rattles around a bit on the device, seeking the ultimate pleasure. As the spell continues, I slowly undress the rest of my clothing, and climb up behind her. Her body thrusts and spasms at random intervals in front of me. Her sweatiness has increased slightly. I grab her around her lower stomach, and grind with her. She seems to instinctually enjoy that. I glide my hands slowly down her hips, and caress her upper thighs along with my spell. That sends her into another world, and starts verbally begging me to allow her to release. I hear her pleas; they do excite me.

I continue swaying with her from behind. Sofia smells incredible; she truly is a magnificent creature. I love the manner in which she carries herself in court. I love her humor when in private audience, and her desire to succeed or fail based on her own merits. It is admirable. I wish half the princes in the realms had her gumption when taking their thrones. I love her freckled tummy, the way she dances, and how ticklish her shoulders were when I touched her today.

In short, I’m falling for her.

I have to be careful about this. This relationship will be difficult to allow to blossom. But I will do what I can. But before I get ahead of myself, I have to know. I have to test her affection, her conviction.

I leave the device, and create a feather out of thin air in my hand. It is a beautiful feather, rich and browned. It is long, stiff, and full of wondrous possibilities. The very tip is stiffened, and feels like an artist’s brush against the skin. The sides have fluffier aspects, for times that require a lighter touch. I’ve used this very feather before, and absolutely love it. It is an old friend that never lets me down.

I walk around the front of the device, and Sofia is near delirium from the sensations wracking her sensitive skin. The spell still continues to gently massage and tease her tender areas. Despite her blissful torment, Sofia opens her eyes onto me. It is the first time another woman has seen me nude. She tries to smile, but the smile quickly fades into an almost pained grimace as the spell continues its work.

“Yelena, please deliver me into heaven,” Sofia quickly begs between seething teeth, “this is unbearable, I need release. You know what I need, right? You…you’re a woman. So you understand? God, you are beautiful, just please…!”

I gently stroke her hair out of her eyes, and lean down, “Sofia, do you see this?” I twirl the feather between my fingers. She nods feebly, gasps in some air, and says nothing.

“Good.”

I cancel the spell. Sofia collapses in the device, head slumped and gasping for air. Her tender body craves orgasmic release like a drug. She shakes from withdrawal. Her thighs twitch in anticipation for the big event that never comes.

I spread my arms apart, and the straps act accordingly. Sofia’s legs, already spread apart a bit, spread apart even further. Her exposed womanhood is completely vulnerable. I smugly snap my fingers again, and a gag hovers around her mouth. Grabbing both ends of the gag, I securely fashion it behind her head, inhibiting her ability to make articulate sounds. She lets out a questioning grunt, “Mmpph mmm?”

I don’t know what she just tried to say.

But I have a few guesses.

I create a comfortable stool to kneel on. Never breaking eye contact with Sofia, I slowly kneel down and continue to show her the feather. That lovely, brown, dependable feather. Who knew such a silly thing could bring about so much reaction from one of Europe’s most elite and powerful?

“It isn’t your time yet, Sofia. You can’t have release yet.”

This statement is met with some protesting grunts from the princess. But the protests are just about the start.

“In fact, I am going to use this feather in a manner you could never have imagined. Knowing you are as sensitive as you are, this is a scene of unimaginable cruelty. And I want you to know I do this out of love. You can’t possibly understand why right now, but you will see things my way very soon. I promise you that.”

I lift the feather between Sofia’s legs. Its touch causes her to giggle uncontrollably behind the gag. I twirl the feather to and fro, repeating the action on both sides of her legs. Same reaction, a spasm of laughter and giggling hidden by the cloth gag.

I lift the feather even more, and it teases Sofia’s lips between her legs. The touch sends Sofia into orbit. Her protest is loud, and she violently twists in the bonds. Eyes and fists clenched hard, she loses all inhibitions behind the gag.

There is no turning back now, there is no pretending that we’re just friends, or that what we’ve done is innocent fun. Sofia’s laughter behind the gag, though muffled and thoroughly stifled, rips through the quiet air of this medieval room. Her frenzied laughter racks her entire body, as tears start to slowly form at the corners of her eyes.

It is plainly clear that she cannot stand having the feather gently dab the sensitive exterior of her womanhood. I glide the feather slowly up and down the slit, and make wide circles around and around and around and around.

Sofia’s laughter never subsides. In ticklish agony, she pulls on the bonds in sheer frustration. In few situations could I imagine such ticklish cruelty being exacted in such a precise manner at what Sofia is experiencing right now. Only the Witch Hunters could be so cruel.

The cruelty is meant to draw out her true nature. For hours I plan on tormenting my little princess. I have to know everything about her. I need to test her limits, her loyalty, her love, everything. All inhibitions go out the window tonight.

The feather twirls, never ending, over and over, of its own volition. I cast a perpetual motion spell allowing it to torment Sofia’s labia in a random fashion. Sometimes dabbing, sometimes stroking in a linear fashion, sometimes a circular one. It doesn’t matter, each time the stroke changed, it creates a brand new wail from its captive.

Knowing the feather would do its work; I take my place behind Sofia a second time. Her entire body spasms from the feather’s touch, as though possessed by demonic powers. I fully expect her to speak in tongues if I took off the gag. So I leave the gag on. Her muffled laughter is still apparent, though stifled.

I slide up to her, and put my arms around her. I could feel her sweat, her twitchiness, and the absolute uncontrollable twists in the device. I kiss her shoulders and let my hands move around to explore her breasts again. It seemed strange at first, touching another woman’s breasts. But then, after a few moments, it becomes most natural thing in the world. It was odd I hadn’t experienced it before.

Extending my nails, I place my fingers, outstretched, on the outsides of her breasts.

I lean closer to her ear, “Sofia, I know you can hear me,”

No reaction, save her spastic thrusts on the device. Muffled groans quickly give way to tortured laughter as the feather switches gears yet another time. I don’t think she’ll hear me through all the chaotic sensory input entering her brain.

“The feather brings a slow and steady torment over time, I know that,” I speak with a non-chalant, matter of fact tone, “But now you will understand the true nature of love, Yelena style.”

“Mmmmm!! HmmMMMM!” is the only thing Sofia can muster. The rest is caught up with feather-induced hysteria.

“The Americans have conducted some experimentation on something they call electricity. They believe it to be similar to the stuff that makes up lightning bolts. Do you know what happens when a person is hit with a lightning bolt?”

Sofia is barely listening. She is trying, but the feather proves too formidable an opponent for her mind to ignore.

Time for a demonstration.

My fingers, splayed widely around the outside of her breasts, suddenly sink in to their targets. At this time, I should explain from personal experience that being tickled around my breasts is the most agonizing kind of tickling there ever could be. Multiply that fact times the arousal factor, and multiply that again by the fact that Sofia has very pale, ticklish skin, and well, you have a perfect storm of a reaction.

The reaction is truly electric! Perhaps the Americans are onto something with this electricity stuff.

Sofia throws her head back and screams with laughter. Her entire body twists heavily from the under breast tickling I’ve begun.

As quickly as I started, I stop with the “electric shock” simulation. Sofia pants desperately, then twists slowly and painfully from the feather’s sexual torment. She is dripping wet from the night’s activities. I must admit my own predilection for her predicament as well.

She’s so cute in her desperation.

“How was that?” I coo into her ear. “HMMmmmMMMM!!” is all she can utter at this point. I consider taking the gag off for a moment. Then I decide against it.

“Here we go again. Are you ready? Are you ready?” Sofia shakes her head violently, desperate to convince me to stop. But I don’t stop.

I can’t stop.

I give her another “electric shock” with my fingers. This time, I cast a tiny spell on my fingers, which cause them to send vibrations into Sofia’s skin at the time I’m tickling her. With fingers still splayed out wide, I have the entire area covered from her underarm to the underside of her breasts.

“AAAMmmmmmmmm!” Sofia throws her head back and starts screaming. It is truly a wail of the damned. Sofia’s entire body tenses up, sweat dripping off of her profusely. It has become apparent to me that she cannot bear this newfound tickle torture in any way, shape or form.

After five seconds, I stop. She slumps over, eyes closed, thoroughly destroyed. She has lost all semblance of her regal presence, all sense of self and duty. Nothing else matters for her right now. Not sex, nor desire, nor me, nor anything. Panting and trying to recover, all she is consumed with is….

Sofia arches her back and screams in agony as I start up the tickle electric shock torture another time. I let my fingernails and fingers dance all up and down her armpits, sides of her breasts, and tender underside. Not even twenty yet, her breasts are still incredibly firm. And apparently very sensitive. She tries to stop me from continuing this madness. She has completely lost control of her own body and will do anything to regain it.

I stop again, letting her catch her breath. I love the way her freckles glisten in the torchlight. I love her smell right now. She is desperation mixed in with rose petals and lavender. It is an intoxicating aroma.

“I know you’re really ticklish there, Sofia. Now you understand what it means to submit to me. Now you truly understand.”

Sofia nods pitifully. Her gasps of air almost sound like crying. But I know she’s not crying. Not yet.

I continue with the tickle shocking another time. Her bowed head is replaced by an electrified scream of agony. My vibrating little fingers play havoc with her most ticklish of spots, causing pandemonium across all of her motor functions. The gag barely continues to perform its function of stifling her ability to make noise. Now it simply prevents her from forming clear sentences.

I fall in love immediately with the way her butt slams up against me, the way her freckled back moves in response to my torment, how her toes curl up in desperation, and her fiery red hair is flowing all over the place.

I keep going with the shock, almost eight seconds now, and Sofia reacts in pure desperation. It is a maddening series of screams, with tears flowing all over herself. I stop, giving her a chance to catch her breath.

I loosen the gag from behind her head and allow her to talk. The only thing that escapes her mouth are pleads for mercy. Seeking release suddenly is not in her vocabulary. Although with the feather’s continued assault, I know it is something she truly desires.

“No, please…no…no….no….”

That’s all she can say, apparently. I put my fingers back into position around the sides of her breasts.

The begging attempts a more coherent state, “Yelena, please! It’s agony, I can’t…I just can’t…”

The sentence interrupts. Enough talk. I want to hear her unadulterated, unfiltered forced laughter.

Sofia’s laughter is deafening as I pick up the breast tickle torture again. She is taken to a place beyond space, time, and any human influence. Sofia leaves her body. A body wracked with a tickle torture she can no longer endure. A broken husk of a proud lineage and some shred of former intelligence is that all remains.

I stop after seven seconds, and Sofia snaps back into her body. She groans and continues panting for air. Every movement I make sends her into twitchy hysteria. She thinks I’m going to continue tickling her sides again, and begs me to stop.

“You don’t get it, do you tulip?” I taunt her, “I don’t want you to beg for it stop, I want you to beg to keep me going!”

Perplexed and unable to play games, I don’t get the feeling Sofia understands. I help her to.

I send another round of torturous tickles her way. The surge of power is amazing. Sofia fades to slow motion, responding in a desperate way, helpless laughter thrown in with screams of writhing tickle anguish. She does not lose her reaction to my “electric tickles” at all. I give her enough time between each shock point to ensure a good recovery. Can’t have my ticklish princess losing her beautiful and ticklish gift.

The feather continues its only task. In between electric tickle shocks, Sofia twists and squirms, dying to achieve climax, and the feather helps her get there, one second at a time. At any moment I could tell it to penetrate a little further. That would result in an unbearable tickling for Sofia, but would also most likely cause her to climax.

Her shoulders twist as her entire body spasms with helpless laughter. Her breasts bounce beautifully as I tickle around them relentlessly. She is so eager to be pleased right now, I wonder if my plan is having any effect on her at all. Soon she will learn to associate the two. They will be as inseparable for her as they are for me. I stop the electric tickles. She lets out a loud groan, and begs for my clemency. Sofia is desperate to escape the Maiden’s Dilemma.

There are a lot of decisions I need to make. The first decision is to stop the electric surge. That wave lasted about 10 seconds, and Sofia is loopy. I’m starting to lose her now, and if I’m not careful, she’ll pass out from over stimulation.

Time to take things to the next step.

With a wave of the hand, the feather pushes further, upward, tasting and exploring sweetened and tender flesh. Sofia yelps then quivers with anticipation. Her fists clench and unclench purposefully, her sweaty frame rocking to and fro upon the device.

I take just a moment to study her face; I mean really take a look at her. Sofia’s face is twisted in agony, and then relieves into inexplicable bliss the very next second. She is learning what it is like to live a life in my footsteps. She is learning to both fear and love the feather. To trust and suspect my dominance. To grip both ecstasy and agony. Simultaneously. With no qualms about the path she’s embarking upon.

Bobbing up and down, Sofia learns much about the nature of her true self. Remove the pomp and circumstance of a person…the titles, the expectations, the grandeur, and Sofia returns from where we all began: primal desire.

Her breathing picks up tempo, she’s starting the cycle of bliss. I decide to help her there. I cancel the feather’s torment, and wrap my arms around her, kissing deeply and passionately. Sofia’s entire body attempts to engulf me, she is a woman on fire. I smile as I continue the kiss, but she is not in the mood for foreplay. Foreplay is the furthest removed thought from her mind. Obligingly, I wrap my arms around her freckled backside, and slowly work my way to her front. A moan, fading musically into a whimper, escapes her lips as she tries to guide my hand faster to its destination.

Not liking to be rushed during a masterful performance, I tease and titillate her stomach as the fingers make their way down south. Her reactions are spastic again; the slightest tremor sends her into giggling hysterics.

So sublime, the maiden’s dance! Transformed into an instrument of beauty, a tool by those firmly believing in the purest of desire.

Sofia bows her head in a whimper, understanding that she will never force her will upon me in this position. She is learning. My fingers explore further south. At their renewed movement, Sofia twitches against her bonds and emits a short burst of giggles. I pull her close and start to gently stroke her back. She is rather sweaty now, and I marvel at her sustained endurance thus far. Such a good sport.

While gentling nibbling at her lip, my other hand slides down past her hips, between her thighs. Her sharp gasp of air is simply transcendent, her desire palpable. My dancing fingers find their way to her engorged womanhood. Teasing and lightly probing, her facial expressions change from frustration to mind-blowing pleasure in a matter of seconds. I gently start to massage her labia between my fingers, occasionally burrowing in deeper and teasing the flesh within.

Sofia screams. Just…screams. Head thrown back, back arched, thighs quivering uncontrollably, tears flowing, heart racing, fist pounding, toes clenching screams. At first fearful of the absolute lack of control she exudes over her own body, she instinctually tries to close her legs. The bonds hold true, and she surrenders to the helpless situation.

Fifteen seconds pass, and the screams continue. Primal howls of pleasure not meant to be uttered by any human form. Least of all my mistress and lady of court. Yet, in all her slender, pale skinned glory, this extraordinarily sensitive girl almost passes out from the force of her own release. The orgasm is more than she can bear. Sofia looks like she’s just experienced childbirth. Her entire body, dripping in sweat, hangs from the straps, almost lifeless. She ushers in gallons of air into her lungs, anxious to push out the previous breath and begin anew. Her hair lies in matted destroyed layers about her face. Her head is bowed, clearly humiliated in front of her closest friend. Sofia’s eyes roll back; she passes out.

Sofia has just experienced about as much neural stimulation as a human was ever intended to experience in one setting, and her mind is simply gone.

I cozy up with her from behind again. I love this position. It gives me a feeling of immense power and a strong sense of intimacy with this gorgeous woman. I pepper the top of her back with kisses. She awakens from her short slumber. At the sensation of tickly kisses, she immediately tenses, giggling out of control. I tease and lust with my tongue. Her giggling reactions set off a fire inside of me again!

If she would just learn to sit still, Sofia would not find herself in these ridiculous situations.

My hands move down ever so slightly and I begin to cup her breasts. I gently massage and tease, as is my nature. Sofia tries to wipe the sweat off her face, then immediately gets into it one more time.

“Sofia, you’ve seen the agony and the ecstasy tonight. Now I just want you to laugh! I want you to forget about everything on this world, and focus on your spiritual self”

Sofia does not respond. Passing out from intense tickle torture will do that to you.

My hands slide down, down, down. I begin to ever so lightly tickle the skin of Sofia’s hipbones. She at once and without prodding erupts into a frenzied bout of laughter.

I love her reaction. It is not the hurried rush of a tortured woman. She has learned to laugh with a true sense of joy and happiness, channeling that first loving memory she was tickled breathless as a child. It involves much of her personal self.

Laughter fills this cold, sterile room. Laughter gives it life, gives flourishing transcendence a chance. It coalescences with the light, creating incandescent serenity. Her love manifests into laughter from every corner of her body. I close my eyes and listen to this enthralling melody. It is more reassuring than the rains of the four corners of the earth. It is childhood reborn, a promise of all things loved, and the revival of secular purity.

I start to massage, ever so slowly and gently, in circular motions around her waist. This motion, though expected and almost soothing, causes Sofia to refresh a giant belly laugh she had given just 20 seconds prior. Attempting escape, she slams her fist against the bonds.

But fear soon evolves quickly into acceptance and the laughter begins again. The laughter gives me strength anew. With it I can conquer any fear, face the witch hunters, and mind no shortsighted obstacle. The laughter turns me on something fierce. At some point I will need release as well. Until that moment comes, I am satisfied listening to the orchestra of this one woman. Such splendor! Such marvel at the hands of the empire’s most prominent daughter.

Twisting turning, laughing, joyful exuberance.

Short bursts of shriek and new laughter confirm her true sensitivity. Must’ve been the orgasm earlier.

Sprits soar; Sofia’s face turns pink with the strain of laughter. Yet, there is no strain. She becomes one with her own helplessness. This time, there is no tortured fighting, no ambivalence. She knows she is here to laugh, and enjoys her contribution to the cause.

Scribbling, over and over, her hips gyrate and dance as I tease and inform her of her desperate situation. All of a sudden, with no urging…

Sofia lets go. A chorus of mirthful laughter greets my eager ears. I allow her to continue this wondrous dance on this central stage. There is no tomorrow, no beginning, just us. She shakes, trembles, and laughs with due emphasis. Glorious epiphany, its grace bestows.

Such a child, this one. She releases everything, a true spiritual cleansing of the deepest kind. The humiliation, the fear, it all vanishes just like that. With a series of hearty laughs, Sofia is again at ground zero, reset in line with my own outlooks. I gently kiss her shoulder again, and continue ticking gently around her hips. Not to deliver pain of any caliber, but simply allow her to exist on such a simple plane: to transcend her own humanity and become something so much less. And more.

Satisfied with her true submission, I command the straps to gently lower her back into her mortal form. She seems relieved, but tired.

Wrapping limbs, quickened pace. It’s all a blur, with unclothed bodies flailing about.

At long last, Princess Sofia understands.

* * * * *

Yes, she truly gets me.

My lanky blonde angel bats an eye, then two, then stretches in my oversized bed. She pats the pillow next to her, wanting me to come and join her.

I make my way to her, first making sure I prowl my way to the head of the bed.

Gretchen giggles, and tackles me on the bed. Grinning evilly, she starts to taunt me.

“Yelena, I’m gonna get’cha” she wiggles her fingers menacingly near my stomach. A sudden reversal! I feel she’s the one with magic powers. She makes me shriek with laughter without even touching me. I convulse and jump, avoiding a tickle attack that never comes. Gretchen uses her own electricity, her own force of will to dominate me. And it works, oh how it works! She’s just being a brat.

Pausing wistfully for a moment, she suddenly asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” I lie. There was something relived there, forced through thread of memory. Some of it pleasant, the rest not as much.

The past is the past. Now is the era of Gretchen. May it last longer than my previous great love.

Sensing my distraction and dropped guard, her fingers sink into my sides for real, sending into spasms of shocked laughter. I kick and scream and try to fight back. She’s got me pinned on the bed, and I can’t move my arms to protect myself. Flailing, desperate, and out of control, there’s nothing left to do but howl with laughter.

That bitch uses her knowledge of my sensitive midsection to send me into hysterics. I can’t believe she would do such a thing. After all, she’s not the one born with the tickling fetish.

Yet there she is above me, pinning me to the bed, pulling up my shirt over my head, and grinning while she makes me spaz out at 8 in the morning.

Damn, she’s perfect.