Sablesword
TMF Master
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2001
- Messages
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It's been a while since I've posted anything here; I've mostly been posting incomplete stories over at TMF (e.g. the multipart "Hyperticklish" saga.)
But here's one I've finished, a bit longer than usual at almost 6000 words.
Isabeau Tickled Green
by Sablesword
Orion was unusually bright in the winter sky as Isabeau walked out into the parking lot. What caught her attention, however, were not the shining stars in the crystal-clear sky, but the female voice that shouted from them: “No! No! I won’t go back! You!” The voice picked her out. “You will go in my place!”
Around Isabeau, the world turned green, and she felt herself falling.
Isabeau woke up groggy, squinting against the glare. A too-bright light showed two white-swathed figures bending over her. #Did she make it?# one asked. Something odd about his voice…
#It was close, but she made it,# the second figure said. #Better blindfold her; she’ll be even more light-sensitive than usual for coming out of cold-sleep.# The cloth covered her eyes, and Isabeau found that the second voice was right: The light did hurt, and the blindfold was a relief.
Something plastic pressed against her lips, and she drank broth. Not beef or chicken, but some flavor she didn’t recognize. Tasted good, though.
She started drifting off, again. One of the voices said, #Put her in her cage, to recover before her next taming session.#
When she woke the second time, Isabeau wasn’t groggy at all. She found herself lying on a low bunk in a comfortably lit room – neither dim nor glaring-bright. The floor, a few inches below her, was cream-colored with gold flecks in it. Like ivory, but not quite, she decided. The opposite wall had – was – a huge mirror, and… She found herself standing up against the mirror, staring wide-eyed at her reflection.
She was green. Leaf green, with dark blue hair pulled back in a ponytail that ran almost to her waist. Violet-blue eyes looked out at her – a pleasant color, actually. But… she was green!
Calm down she told herself, closing her eyes. She opened them again and gave her reflection a more careful look. Her ears were pointed. She turned her head slightly from one side to the other to see them better. Yes, definitely pointed. The rest of her face was her own, or nearly so. It looked like a portrait that someone had photoshopped to flatter her, and then colorized as a joke. But this wasn’t a computer image, was it? She looked down at her arm. It was green too. So, this wasn’t just a trick mirror. She really was… green.
She looked at the palms of her hands: A paler green than the rest of her skin, as were the soles of her feet. As for the rest of her, she was scantily clad as well as barefoot. A gold-metal band clasped one ankle in place of the beads she usually wore there. A gold-metal bra covered her breasts. A collar with a purple gem set in the front and a belt holding up wisps of thin purple cloth completed the set.
It was a good thing the room was warm.
Isabeau made herself look at the mirror wall again. As she looked at her reflection, the mirror turned transparent, and then vanished with a small sound. Beyond where the mirror had been stood a wolf-man: Big, shaggy-gray, and dressed in shorts and a loose shirt of some jewel-toned material. A wide bracelet on his wrist had the look of a useful device rather than a piece of jewelry, and a stretcher floated in the air beside him.
#You are awake, now. Good.# His voice was of one of the two she had heard earlier, and it sounded strange because it was not English. Or any other language she had ever heard before. Yet she understood it.
Who are you? What am I doing here? That’s what Isabeau wanted to say, but when she tried to speak, all that came out was a nonsense garble that she couldn’t understand herself.
The wolf-man gave her a wolf-grin, amused at her attempt to talk. #Time for your first taming, little no-tail.# He tapped one clawed forefinger on his bracelet, and the stretcher settled to the floor. #Belly!# he commanded. His gesture, pointing at the stretcher, would have made his meaning clear even if Isabeau hadn’t understood his words.
She didn’t obey, though. She tried to speak again, producing another sentence of garble. A look of annoyance came into the wolf-man’s amber eyes. He tapped his bracelet again, and Isabeau felt the strength run out of her muscles. Her sudden weakness made it trivial for the wolf to force her down, a gentle pressure from one hand-paw being all he needed to bring her to her belly. She felt him fasten straps around her, felt the stretcher lift and float after him. It followed his tail down the corridor and into another room.
This room had a set of pigeonholes along one wall and scattered pieces of oddly-shaped furniture that looked like they were made of colorless gelatin. The wolf-man transferred her to one of the transparent tables, still on her belly, and extended her arms forward. She felt restraints clamp her wrists and ankles with a soft-firm grip, and her strength returned as quickly as it had left. She tried pulling at the bonds holding her face down on the table, and found she couldn’t budge them. Lifting her head, she watched him fetch something from one of the pigeonholes. Then he walked behind her, out of her sight. #This is for your own good, little no-tail. You must be properly tamed before you can be sold.#
He began to tickle her feet.
Isabeau’s speech might be garbled, but there was nothing wrong with her laughter. Giggles came out of her at the feathery touch running down one sole and then the other. More giggles, and squirming on the table top, as something like a comb raked from heel to toes and back again. First on her left foot, and then on her right. Her struggles did nothing to impede the tickling. Her bonds held her in place, keeping her feet perfectly vulnerable as the tickling comb first raked one sole and then the other. And then the wolf-man revealed that he had two combs as he tickled both feet at the same time. The gentle scraping of the hard rounded teeth sent tickle-sensations through every nerve ending of both feet, and Isabeau thought she would go mad as the laughter poured out of her.
Now the comb-tickling stopped, to be replaced once more by the soft touch of the feather. A relief at first, until her feet began to feel as if they were soaking in tickle-sensations. Her soles became ultra-sensitive as the feathery tickle-soak went on, and Isabeau found it impossible to keep from squirming. She tried to ask – to beg – for the tickling to stop, but the words kept coming out in as nonsense. Only her laughter was clear. And each time she tried to speak, the wolf-man would flick a clawed finger across her tender soles, producing a wave of tickle-sensation that seemed to engulf her whole body.
Isabeau strained at her bonds, squeaking each time the wolf-man sent a flick… flick… flick… across her helpless soles. This went on and on, with the wolf-man stopping only to bring a new set of toys into play. Isabeau felt a pair of knobby rollers being applied, one to each foot, and collapsed with laughter, limp with this final, unbearable tickling.
When brought back to her cell, Isabeau fell into her bunk. She lay curled there for a time, whimpering, as the aftereffects of her tickle-ordeal slowly faded. Then hunger and thirst drove her to stand up and explore this new place in which she found herself.
Repeated attempts to speak produced only nonsense-garble. The wolf-man had left her, and nothing else in the cell responded to her voice. But she found something set in one of the walls perpendicular to the mirror. It proved to be a food-dispenser, and the wall on the other side had a door that led to a bathroom of sorts. And next to the door was a display-panel.
This last took some effort to turn on, but Isabeau finally managed to activate it. When she did, it displayed a series of programs narrated by the animated figure of a blue mermaid. The programs explained how to dance, how to play various musical instruments, and the proper behavior of a slavegirl when being auctioned and toward her new master once sold. Isabeau turned it back off. She tried to plot an escape, her thoughts going in circles. After some hours, the glowing ceiling that lit her cell began to slowly dim. Giving in to the urge to sleep, Isabeau returned to her bunk.
When the lights came back up the next ‘morning,’ Isabeau arose, ate, and watched with amusement as a lightweight forcefield swept through the room, cleaning up the mess she had left. It seemed to operate on the same principle as the dryer in the bathroom.
The mirror-wall must be a forcefield as well, she thought. Ignoring her green reflection, she pounded on it, discovering that it was as impervious as any other wall in her cell. But she knew it could vanish into nothingness – she had seen it. Turning away, she prowled the floor, trying once again to think of a plan of escape. Nothing came to mind. The problem was that she didn’t know anything – where she was, how she got there, why she was green… Or what she could do about any of it.
She considered turning on the display panel with its animated blue mermaid. But she wasn’t going to train herself to be a green-skinned slave woman! She gave her reflection a dark look. At least not yet, and not without a struggle.
She tried to remember what ‘they’ said about green slave women in sci-fi. They’re animals. Passionate. Seductive. They say no human male can resist them. Or something like that. But that might not apply to her situation, and besides, the wolf-man who held her captive wasn’t a human male at all.
She paced some more, then looked up at the small noise that the mirror-wall made when it vanished. The wolf-man was standing there with his floating stretcher. #Time for your next taming, little no-tail,# he told her, and pointed again at the stretcher as it settled to the floor. #Belly!#
Isabeau hesitated, then grimaced, sighed, and obeyed. She needed to know more, to plan more, before she tried to make a break for it. Even if it meant more tickling.
She felt the wolf-man strap her in place once more. #Ah, you still are a wild little one, aren’t you? You wanted to attack me.# The wolf-man sounded amused by the idea. #Yes, you do need more taming, little no-tail.#
In the room of gelatin furniture, another wolf-man waited for them, along with two female prisoners lying belly-down on stretchers of their own. Human females, dressed in a scanty slave-costumes similar to Isabeau’s own. One by one the three captives were released to sit on a high-backed couch configured as a set of stocks. First, a pert brunette who stood perhaps an inch taller than Isabeau, with pale blue silk dangling from her waist and a pale blue gem set in her collar. Then Isabeau herself was directed to sit next to her. Finally the leggy dark woman, six inches taller with green silk and a green collar-gem, was seated on Isabeau’s other side.
“I tell you again, I am Lieutenant Kay Enders of the Confederation SpaceForce,” the brunette said as the stocks locked around her ankles. “You’re making a big mistake by treating us this way.” She spoke in English, albeit in an accent that Isabeau didn’t recognize.
One of the wolf-men gave her a grin. #You do need taming, no-tail. You are Kay, a pet-slave of the Frofbar Brothers. At least until you are sold to your new master. You no longer have your military rank-title, or even your surname.#
“Wrong,” the tall african-asian woman sitting on Isabeau’s other side said. “I am not just ‘Mona,’ I am Senior Lieutenant Mona Rogers-Noroki of the Confederation SpaceForce. If you continue to detain us, you will regret it.”
Both wolf-men laughed. #Do you include the green no-tail in that?# one of them asked. #She was your captive when you fell to us.#
“We do,” Mona answered. “We were taking her back to her homeworld of Brython, just as Confederacy law and common decency require when a Brythonic female shows signs of returning sapience.”
Brython? Isabeau though. But I’m from Earth! And these women are speaking English! She held her own tongue, though, rather than embarrass herself with a garble of nonsense.
#The Confederacy is a pack of hypocrites,# The wolf-man told Mona. #Brythonic females seek escape from their homeworld even at the cost of selling themselves as slaves. You do them no favor by forcing their return.# He grinned a wolf-grin. #Besides, you are no longer in Confederacy space, or even in Fringe space. This is Wolfen space, and under Wolfen law you no-tails are all our slaves.#
#Enough argument, brother,# the other wolf-man said. #More slave-taming. Their feet are secured; are their arms secured?#
#They are.# The first wolf-man moved around to stand beside the other, at the three women’s feet. #Your taming begins now,# he told them, and the two wolf-men began to tickle.
The initial tickling was with a flexible plastic gizmo. Four of them, actually: Each of the two wolf-men held a pair, dividing up the six helpless feet between them. Isabeau heard Mona and Kay laughing on either side of her, and then she began laughing herself as the gizmo scraped and rubbed over her feet. There was nothing else she could do: Her arms hung down on either side of her, wrists trapped to make them ‘secure.’ And her legs were stretched out before her, feet trapped in the stocks. She couldn’t even wiggle her toes; they were held in place as well, rendering her soles completely vulnerable to the touch of her captors.
Every so often, one or the other of the wolf-men would switch to a different implement. Sometimes the gadget used would be firmer, sometimes softer. Sometimes it would be warm and fuzzy, and sometimes it would slick and cold. Always, however, it would be wielded at a rapid tempo, as the two wolf-men divided their four hands among three pairs of feet. Their tickle-strokes were sometimes short and sometimes long, but always inflicted with practiced expertise on toes, heels, insteps, and the balls of their victims’ feet.
At first, the two women on either side of Isabeau made threats between their gusts of laughter. Then, as the tickling continued, the threats gave way to pleas for mercy, and then wild promises of good behavior. Isabeau would have joined them, but she knew that her words would be unintelligible even to herself. So she just concentrated on enduring, as one wolf-man applied tickles to her right foot and the other applied them to her left. It was maddening. It was unbearable, except that she was bound fast and had no choice but to bear it.
And to make it worse, the two wolf-men didn’t just seek out the most sensitive areas of her soles – they seemed to cultivate their sensitivity, making her feet seem more ticklish, not less, as the tickle-taming session continued.
At last, with tears of laughter running down the faces of all three women, the tickling ended. The wolf-men released them from the stocks, to collapse on the floating stretchers that took them back to their cells.
Isabeau found that she couldn’t spend all her time curled in her bunk and whimpering. Nor did washing up and eating a little something use up much of the day. For want of anything better to do, she decided to watch the blue mermaid’s tutorial on erotic dancing. Maybe it will give me some clues she thought. The problem was that she still hardly knew anything about her situation. Besides, the dancing tutorial seemed more-or-less harmless – not like the other how-to-be-a-proper-slave-woman lessons that the animated blue mermaid taught.
“Hello?” The voice belonged to Kay. The brunette stood in a doorway, next to the food-dispenser, that hadn’t been there a moment before. “We’ve been thrown together, it seems. I know you don’t like us very much, but, well, ‘all prisoners are allies.’“ She gave a ‘come follow me’ gesture, and turned away. Isabeau followed.
Beyond the doorway was a small common room, furnished with a few pieces of gelatin-furniture – brightly colored, rather than being colorless like those in the tickle-taming room. One wall was a forcefield mirror, and the other three had doorways in them.
One of the doorways had led from Isabeau’s cell. She walked to one of the other two and found that she couldn’t enter. Or at least that she couldn’t get her collar and anklet past the doorway. But as far as she could tell, looking in, the room beyond was identical to her own cell.
“She had to find out for herself,” Mona said. The dark woman was lying asprawl on a bright red chair that clashed with the green silk of her slave-outfit. “Have a seat,” she told Isabeau, waving at another chair, this one bright yellow. Isabeau sat down. Kay was already in another chair, and Mona continued:
“A Wolfen raider caught our ship while we were still in Fringe space, heading to Brython. We were just a frigate, hardly more than a glorified courier-boat. Kay and I were the crew, and you were a passenger in cold-sleep. The wolves locked on, and… and we surrendered. It’s against Confederation policy to fight a suicide action, especially when we have a civilian passenger on board.” She shrugged. “So here we are, somewhere in Wolfen space if the Frofbar Brothers are telling the truth. Which they probably are; it would be stupid of them not to bring us into Wolfen space. And so I’m open to ideas.” She opened her hand, inviting Isabeau to speak, but Kay interrupted.
“She won’t help us; she’s been brainwashed. Great Mother, you saw how she fought when we put her into the cold-tube to take back to Brython. These green-skins have a, a false consciousness or something. They think they’re escaping something when they sell themselves into slavery to leave their homeworld.”
“Lieutenant.” Mona’s voice was like cracked ice. “If you are ready to kiss the chains that these man-beasts are trying to put on us, then you can go crawl to your cell. If not, then you will behave with proper courtesy. Especially toward your senior officer. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
Mona nodded acknowledgement, and turned a smiling, expectant face toward Isabeau. Isabeau hesitated. She had dozens – hundreds – of questions, but… I’ve got to try. She took a deep breath. “Garble burgle norgal foobal,” she said.
“Great Mother,” Mona muttered. “She’s lost her sapience again.”
No I haven’t Isabeau thought. I just can’t speak, dammit!
Kay looked both scared and pleased at this turn of events. Both women dropped Isabeau from their consideration, talking only to each other. Isabeau listened for a time to a conversation where she understood the words, but not what they were talking about. Then, bored, she wandered back to her cell.
Each day, for the next several days, one of the Wolfen brothers would take Isabeau for another tickle-taming session. Sometimes she would be tickled by herself, and sometimes she would be bound and tickled alongside one or both of the two human women. The wolf-men seemed to enjoy this work, and certainly were expert at it. Isabeau found herself tingling with anticipation each time she was locked into place on one of the colorless pieces of gelatin-furniture, and each time the wolf-man tickling her exceeded her expectations. Either one, or both working together, would apply a most delicious torment to her helpless soles, a torment that seemed to seek out and excite every nerve ending she possessed. What’s more, the tickling was skillfully varied to keep her from ever becoming desensitized; when she was returned to her cell, limp with exhaustion and tickle-drunkenness, her feet were still as tender and sensitive as when the tickling began.
After recovering from the daily tickle-session, Isabeau would struggle with her voice, trying to force out sensible speech rather than the nonsense garble she seemed to produce whenever she opened her mouth. “Huh harble mulble gorble. Hum ibble harble mulble. Huh gorble weeble fooble.”
When she tired of that, she’d watch (and practice) the erotic dances tutored by the blue animated mermaid. She still avoided the other lessons, however. And then she’s go out to the common room, where the other two women continued to ignore her.
Isabeau could see Mona and Kay’s morale crumbling, even if she couldn’t comment intelligibly on it. “Can’t we pretend to give in, ma’am?” Kay asked Mona one day. “It would ease a lot of stress.”
“No. We must not give in. It’s more likely that we’ll be rescued than that we’ll escape, but in either case we have to hold out as long as possible.” Mona’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You haven’t been watching those vids, have you?”
“No! Of course not.” Kay’s answer was almost a shout. She turned to Isabeau, sitting nearby, and now she did shout. “You! Greenie! It’s all your fault! We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you!” She lunged toward Isabeau and suddenly went boneless-limp, falling to the floor. “Nooo,” she moaned. “I’ve activated security.”
“Lieutenant!” Mona called. She stood up – and fell limp and boneless herself. “Great Mother…”
Isabeau sat still, afraid to move. It must be that… whatever it is, that drains all the strength out of one. She hadn’t suffered it herself, after the first day, but she hadn’t forgotten it.
A minute passed, Then another. Then the mirror wall vanished to reveal one of the Wolfen brothers, dressed in his usual jewel-toned outfit. Behind him were a number of spheres, striped red and white like beach balls, but giving the impression of being more solid. And they glowed.
#So the pet-slaves are quarreling,# the wolf-man said. #This is good; it shows that your taming is progressing satisfactorily. On the other claw, it cannot be allowed to pass without consequence.” He grinned his familiar wolf-grin.
“No,” Mona moaned. “Not the balls.”
“The balls?” Kay asked weakly.
#The balls. The Spheres of Rajee.# The wolf-man tapped a claw on his bracelet gizmo and nodded to Kay. #You first.# Two of the smaller balls, followed by one of the larger ones, flew to the brunette. The smaller balls each engulfed one of her hands, while the larger sphere engulfed both of her bare feet. Another tap, and another set of three spheres did the same to Mona.
Then a third set flew to Isabeau. She watched as one of the red-and-white spheres engulfed her right hand. It felt like very soft rubber where it encircled her wrist, but the inside felt smooth. Slick, and a little cool, like satin. Another sphere engulfed her left hand, and a third swallowed both her feet.
Another claw-tap on the wolf-man’s bracelet caused the smaller spheres to separate, forcing each woman to hold her arms stretched out to either side. He looked down at the three women: Kay lying face-down over a jelly-bag pouf, Mona sitting on the floor with her legs stretched out before her, and Isabeau asprawl in one of the brightly colored chairs. All three with hands and feet trapped in the striped Spheres of Rajee. He then stepped out of the room, and the forcefield that formed the fourth, mirrored wall snaped back into existence behind him.
Mona suddenly giggled. “Oh no,” the dusky woman said. “It’s heehee it’s beginning heeheeheehaha.” Kay began to giggle as well.
Isabeau tried to wiggle her feet, inside the larger sphere, and found that she couldn’t. Something was holding them in place. She felt something else start to stroke her feet, with a lazy satin caress. It applied just enough pressure to tickle, and Isabeau joined in the other two women’s giggling.
Pulling at the spheres, Isabeau found that she could not budge them. They held her perfectly as the larger one applied a dozen slow tickles that started at the balls of her feet and squirmed their way up. She felt them wiggle over her insteps, over the balls of her feet, from the base of her toes to their tips. And then it started again, as she squirmed and laughed. And again, each slick and lazy tickle slightly different, to prevent her from becoming accustomed to the touch.
Kay laughed shrilly at her own tickling, and Mona hooted as she tried to hold back her giggles – and then howled as the tickling broke through. But Isabeau could only pay them slight attention. She felt her toes being gently pulled apart, felt the soft and wiggly ticklers investigate the spaces between. She thrashed in unbearable delight at their touch, even though nothing she did could have even the slightest effect on the tickling of her feet.
It didn’t stop. That was the worst part – or perhaps the best. The tickling continued with the inexorability and endurance of a machine. It could continue for hours. For days. Until it drove her mad. For an instant, Isabeau found herself looking forward to that. I must already be mad, she thought, and then thought became impossible as the satin-soft touch tickled its way across her insteps once more.
Isabeau didn’t remember when the tickling finally ended. She did remember snuggling against the wolf-man, temporarily tamed by tickle-induced exhaustion, as he carried her to her bunk and tucked her in. She lay there, very still, as the echoes of her tickle-experience slowly faded away. “That was awful,” she muttered. “That was wonderful.” Then “Hey, I can talk again. I can garble murble fuble… aaagh!” The last was a cry of frustration as she once again found herself unable to speak anything but nonsense. But she was too tired to stay angry, and in moments she fell asleep.
The next three days would have been a relief, if it weren’t for the head-banging frustration of being almost able to speak intelligibly. Each morning she would try and try to speak until she was ready to scream with the agony of not being able to send the words in her head out of her mouth. She’d stand there in her cell, gasping, fists clenched, and one of the Wolfen brothers would come for her. At this point she could tell them apart – one had slightly darker fur – but no matter which one it was, he would command #Belly!# and she’d obey, letting herself be taken to the taming room for another tickle-taming session.
She sat alone in the stocks for these sessions, arms bound behind her, feet propped up for the wolf-man’s convenience, large toes fastened in place to render her soles vulnerable to his thorough, playful tickling. Each day the wolf-man ‘taming’ her would prove that there was nothing wrong with her laughter. He would artistically apply various tickling implements – soft, firm, hard, cold, warm – making sure no spot was neglected. Making her squirm and giggle and giggle and squirm as he cultivated the ticklishness of her feet.
After she recovered from her daily tickling, back in her cell, she’d struggle some more with her voice, and then look in the common room. The other women were rarely in that room, and Isabeau didn’t stay long herself: The Spheres of Rajee still sat there, inert but threatening. And on those occasions when Mona or Kay or both were in the room, they would leave, with a frightened and guilty look on their faces, just as soon as Isabeau entered.
On the third day, the darker-furred Wolfen brother brought her to the taming room. When he reached the point of applying a rapid scrape-scrape-scrape across the ball of her left foot while simultaneously touching her right instep with something soft, he said #You are enjoying this, aren’t you, little no-tail?#
Isabeau found herself nodding as she writhed at the tickle-sensations being inflicted on her. “Heeheehee yes, haha no yes, heeheeheehee please hahaheeheehee!”
#Good. That is good. Soon, little no-tail, very soon you will be ready for auction.# He expertly adjusted his tickling stroke so that the scrape-scrape-scrape now ran across the instep and heel of her left foot, and changed the slow stroke across her right instep to a sudden attack against the space between her toes. Isabeau howled. The wolf-man paused to let her catch her breath, but then resumed his tickling her helpless soles before she could completely recover.
In the now-familiar pattern of her daily tickling, the wolf-man’s pauses became more and more frequent as the gentle torment slowly exhausted her. A last pause came, and Isabeau felt a pang as she realized that today’s ‘taming’ session had come to an end. Will I still get tickle-taming after I’m sold at auction? she tried to ask, but once again the words came out as a garble. The wolf-man ignored them as he strapped her back onto the stretcher and returned her to her cell.
The next morning, the darker-furred Wolfen once more appeared before Isabeau as the mirror-wall vanished. This time, however, he did not have the floating stretcher with him. #Turn around# he commanded, and fastened Isabeau’s wrists behind her. Then he attached a leash to her ankle-band, and marched her down the corridor and into the familiar room of colorless gelatin-furniture.
#You are to be sold at auction today, little no-tail. But first you will be given one last taming.# He tapped his bracelet, and Isabeau’s bonds dropped away. And then, before she could move, three Spheres of Rajee had her hands and feet.
The wolf-man arranged her face-up across one of the couch-stocks, propping her head, adjusting the spheres on her hands so that her arms were held back in a Y. He then turned to the pigeon-holes, tapping his bracelet once again, and Isabeau felt the Sphere begin its satin-soft tickling of her feet. She began to giggle and squirm, and then her eyes went wide as the wolf-man returned. He held two feathers in his hands, and sitting next to her, began to apply their tips expertly over the bare and vulnerable skin of her belly.
Her laughter redoubled. The wiggly-soft touch of the Sphere engulfing her feet was bad enough, and the feather-tips playing in and around her bellybutton, and up and down her ribs, added to the tickle-sensation rather than distracting from the tickling of her soles. Up and down, back and forth, round and round the feathers went, and Isabeau could not escape them no matter how she twisted and writhed. Giggles poured out of her as, in addition to the belly-tickling, she suffered the slick and slow attentions of the Sphere, running its satin tickles from the tips of her toes to her heels. And back again. Across her insteps and between her toes. It was driving her wild!
The wolf-man grinned as if he knew exactly what Isabeau felt as the feathers piloted their skillfully ticklish course over ribs and sides, around the bellybutton and into it, and back over ribs and sides again. Meanwhile the Sphere bathed her soles with diabolically mechanical tickle-sensations that were impossible to resist. And equally impossible to escape, no matter how much she struggled. Nor did it stop. Occasional lulls, yes, where the tickling slowed enough for Isabeau to catch her breath, but then the tickling rolled over her again like a tide. And again. And again. And again.
Isabeau found herself becoming aroused as the combined tickling played over her green skin. It was a horrible torment, and it felt wonderful. She sensed her tickle torment finally drawing to a close, and she wanted it to go on. She thought that she would do anything for a person – for a master – who tickle her silly and then satisfy her desires.
It’s not just the tickling, you know, a female voice said in her head. There’s psychic induction going on as well. It was the voice that had come from Orion, Isabeau realized as the wolf-man released her from the Spheres. She had heard that voice at the beginning of this adventure. She swallowed, and another realization hit her.
“I can talk!” she said. “I have my voice back.”
#You can talk,# the wolf-man told her, #but you may not.# He pressed a purple ball into her mouth. It felt rubbery against her tongue, tasteless, and pleasantly chewy. But she could not spit it out; an invisible force held it in place, gagging her.
“Mmmph!” she protested as he bound her hands behind her once more, ankle-leashing her and leading her to one of the Wolfen’s high-tech baths. There he washed her, leaving her feel fresh and new. Cleaning her skimpy slave-outfit so that it looked fresh and new as well. Combing and brushing out her long blue hair. Getting her ready for the auction block, she realized.
She ought to be frightened. She ought to be terrified by this whole adventure, and especially at the idea of being sold at an alien slave auction. However, she didn’t feel any fear at all. She felt the ache of a slowly subsiding arousal, and an eagerness to meet her new master. Whoever – or whatever – he (or she, or it) might be.
The auction block: Milky white, and giving the impression of being more crystalline than the Wolfen’s other furniture. The audience beyond: Two or three near-humans, several Wolfen, a couple of aliens who looked like cat-people, and three or four who looked very alien.
Her gag was removed, and the wolf-man led her up onto the block. He began to describe her, in preparation for starting the bidding. The audience looked at her; their eyes all showed a desire to buy her, and lock her down, and tickle every bit of her sensitive green skin. Especially her feet. Isabeau felt herself smile at the thought.
Are we being sold at auction? the female voice in her head asked. Good.
The missing fear hit Isabeau, and she stiffened her knees to keep from falling. No it’s not good! she shouted silently at the voice.
Yes it is. Anything is better than being shipped back home to Brython. The voice shared a memory: Soul-withering belittlement, so intense that being taken seriously enough to be put in chains was a benediction.
But Brython isn’t my home! Isabeau answered, and then she knew who the voice must be. You! You can take your place again, and send me back!
In fear and fury, Isabeau tried to launch herself at the voice, and the world turned green around her. She stumbled, heard something metallic hit the ground, caught herself. She was standing in the parking lot, dressed in ordinary winter clothing. Not barefoot. Not green.
She looked down and saw the front half of a gold-metal collar with a purple gem set in it. She looked up and saw Orion in the sky, unusually bright.
(end)
But here's one I've finished, a bit longer than usual at almost 6000 words.
Isabeau Tickled Green
by Sablesword
Orion was unusually bright in the winter sky as Isabeau walked out into the parking lot. What caught her attention, however, were not the shining stars in the crystal-clear sky, but the female voice that shouted from them: “No! No! I won’t go back! You!” The voice picked her out. “You will go in my place!”
Around Isabeau, the world turned green, and she felt herself falling.
***
Isabeau woke up groggy, squinting against the glare. A too-bright light showed two white-swathed figures bending over her. #Did she make it?# one asked. Something odd about his voice…
#It was close, but she made it,# the second figure said. #Better blindfold her; she’ll be even more light-sensitive than usual for coming out of cold-sleep.# The cloth covered her eyes, and Isabeau found that the second voice was right: The light did hurt, and the blindfold was a relief.
Something plastic pressed against her lips, and she drank broth. Not beef or chicken, but some flavor she didn’t recognize. Tasted good, though.
She started drifting off, again. One of the voices said, #Put her in her cage, to recover before her next taming session.#
***
When she woke the second time, Isabeau wasn’t groggy at all. She found herself lying on a low bunk in a comfortably lit room – neither dim nor glaring-bright. The floor, a few inches below her, was cream-colored with gold flecks in it. Like ivory, but not quite, she decided. The opposite wall had – was – a huge mirror, and… She found herself standing up against the mirror, staring wide-eyed at her reflection.
She was green. Leaf green, with dark blue hair pulled back in a ponytail that ran almost to her waist. Violet-blue eyes looked out at her – a pleasant color, actually. But… she was green!
Calm down she told herself, closing her eyes. She opened them again and gave her reflection a more careful look. Her ears were pointed. She turned her head slightly from one side to the other to see them better. Yes, definitely pointed. The rest of her face was her own, or nearly so. It looked like a portrait that someone had photoshopped to flatter her, and then colorized as a joke. But this wasn’t a computer image, was it? She looked down at her arm. It was green too. So, this wasn’t just a trick mirror. She really was… green.
She looked at the palms of her hands: A paler green than the rest of her skin, as were the soles of her feet. As for the rest of her, she was scantily clad as well as barefoot. A gold-metal band clasped one ankle in place of the beads she usually wore there. A gold-metal bra covered her breasts. A collar with a purple gem set in the front and a belt holding up wisps of thin purple cloth completed the set.
It was a good thing the room was warm.
Isabeau made herself look at the mirror wall again. As she looked at her reflection, the mirror turned transparent, and then vanished with a small sound. Beyond where the mirror had been stood a wolf-man: Big, shaggy-gray, and dressed in shorts and a loose shirt of some jewel-toned material. A wide bracelet on his wrist had the look of a useful device rather than a piece of jewelry, and a stretcher floated in the air beside him.
#You are awake, now. Good.# His voice was of one of the two she had heard earlier, and it sounded strange because it was not English. Or any other language she had ever heard before. Yet she understood it.
Who are you? What am I doing here? That’s what Isabeau wanted to say, but when she tried to speak, all that came out was a nonsense garble that she couldn’t understand herself.
The wolf-man gave her a wolf-grin, amused at her attempt to talk. #Time for your first taming, little no-tail.# He tapped one clawed forefinger on his bracelet, and the stretcher settled to the floor. #Belly!# he commanded. His gesture, pointing at the stretcher, would have made his meaning clear even if Isabeau hadn’t understood his words.
She didn’t obey, though. She tried to speak again, producing another sentence of garble. A look of annoyance came into the wolf-man’s amber eyes. He tapped his bracelet again, and Isabeau felt the strength run out of her muscles. Her sudden weakness made it trivial for the wolf to force her down, a gentle pressure from one hand-paw being all he needed to bring her to her belly. She felt him fasten straps around her, felt the stretcher lift and float after him. It followed his tail down the corridor and into another room.
This room had a set of pigeonholes along one wall and scattered pieces of oddly-shaped furniture that looked like they were made of colorless gelatin. The wolf-man transferred her to one of the transparent tables, still on her belly, and extended her arms forward. She felt restraints clamp her wrists and ankles with a soft-firm grip, and her strength returned as quickly as it had left. She tried pulling at the bonds holding her face down on the table, and found she couldn’t budge them. Lifting her head, she watched him fetch something from one of the pigeonholes. Then he walked behind her, out of her sight. #This is for your own good, little no-tail. You must be properly tamed before you can be sold.#
He began to tickle her feet.
Isabeau’s speech might be garbled, but there was nothing wrong with her laughter. Giggles came out of her at the feathery touch running down one sole and then the other. More giggles, and squirming on the table top, as something like a comb raked from heel to toes and back again. First on her left foot, and then on her right. Her struggles did nothing to impede the tickling. Her bonds held her in place, keeping her feet perfectly vulnerable as the tickling comb first raked one sole and then the other. And then the wolf-man revealed that he had two combs as he tickled both feet at the same time. The gentle scraping of the hard rounded teeth sent tickle-sensations through every nerve ending of both feet, and Isabeau thought she would go mad as the laughter poured out of her.
Now the comb-tickling stopped, to be replaced once more by the soft touch of the feather. A relief at first, until her feet began to feel as if they were soaking in tickle-sensations. Her soles became ultra-sensitive as the feathery tickle-soak went on, and Isabeau found it impossible to keep from squirming. She tried to ask – to beg – for the tickling to stop, but the words kept coming out in as nonsense. Only her laughter was clear. And each time she tried to speak, the wolf-man would flick a clawed finger across her tender soles, producing a wave of tickle-sensation that seemed to engulf her whole body.
Isabeau strained at her bonds, squeaking each time the wolf-man sent a flick… flick… flick… across her helpless soles. This went on and on, with the wolf-man stopping only to bring a new set of toys into play. Isabeau felt a pair of knobby rollers being applied, one to each foot, and collapsed with laughter, limp with this final, unbearable tickling.
***
When brought back to her cell, Isabeau fell into her bunk. She lay curled there for a time, whimpering, as the aftereffects of her tickle-ordeal slowly faded. Then hunger and thirst drove her to stand up and explore this new place in which she found herself.
Repeated attempts to speak produced only nonsense-garble. The wolf-man had left her, and nothing else in the cell responded to her voice. But she found something set in one of the walls perpendicular to the mirror. It proved to be a food-dispenser, and the wall on the other side had a door that led to a bathroom of sorts. And next to the door was a display-panel.
This last took some effort to turn on, but Isabeau finally managed to activate it. When she did, it displayed a series of programs narrated by the animated figure of a blue mermaid. The programs explained how to dance, how to play various musical instruments, and the proper behavior of a slavegirl when being auctioned and toward her new master once sold. Isabeau turned it back off. She tried to plot an escape, her thoughts going in circles. After some hours, the glowing ceiling that lit her cell began to slowly dim. Giving in to the urge to sleep, Isabeau returned to her bunk.
***
When the lights came back up the next ‘morning,’ Isabeau arose, ate, and watched with amusement as a lightweight forcefield swept through the room, cleaning up the mess she had left. It seemed to operate on the same principle as the dryer in the bathroom.
The mirror-wall must be a forcefield as well, she thought. Ignoring her green reflection, she pounded on it, discovering that it was as impervious as any other wall in her cell. But she knew it could vanish into nothingness – she had seen it. Turning away, she prowled the floor, trying once again to think of a plan of escape. Nothing came to mind. The problem was that she didn’t know anything – where she was, how she got there, why she was green… Or what she could do about any of it.
She considered turning on the display panel with its animated blue mermaid. But she wasn’t going to train herself to be a green-skinned slave woman! She gave her reflection a dark look. At least not yet, and not without a struggle.
She tried to remember what ‘they’ said about green slave women in sci-fi. They’re animals. Passionate. Seductive. They say no human male can resist them. Or something like that. But that might not apply to her situation, and besides, the wolf-man who held her captive wasn’t a human male at all.
She paced some more, then looked up at the small noise that the mirror-wall made when it vanished. The wolf-man was standing there with his floating stretcher. #Time for your next taming, little no-tail,# he told her, and pointed again at the stretcher as it settled to the floor. #Belly!#
Isabeau hesitated, then grimaced, sighed, and obeyed. She needed to know more, to plan more, before she tried to make a break for it. Even if it meant more tickling.
She felt the wolf-man strap her in place once more. #Ah, you still are a wild little one, aren’t you? You wanted to attack me.# The wolf-man sounded amused by the idea. #Yes, you do need more taming, little no-tail.#
In the room of gelatin furniture, another wolf-man waited for them, along with two female prisoners lying belly-down on stretchers of their own. Human females, dressed in a scanty slave-costumes similar to Isabeau’s own. One by one the three captives were released to sit on a high-backed couch configured as a set of stocks. First, a pert brunette who stood perhaps an inch taller than Isabeau, with pale blue silk dangling from her waist and a pale blue gem set in her collar. Then Isabeau herself was directed to sit next to her. Finally the leggy dark woman, six inches taller with green silk and a green collar-gem, was seated on Isabeau’s other side.
“I tell you again, I am Lieutenant Kay Enders of the Confederation SpaceForce,” the brunette said as the stocks locked around her ankles. “You’re making a big mistake by treating us this way.” She spoke in English, albeit in an accent that Isabeau didn’t recognize.
One of the wolf-men gave her a grin. #You do need taming, no-tail. You are Kay, a pet-slave of the Frofbar Brothers. At least until you are sold to your new master. You no longer have your military rank-title, or even your surname.#
“Wrong,” the tall african-asian woman sitting on Isabeau’s other side said. “I am not just ‘Mona,’ I am Senior Lieutenant Mona Rogers-Noroki of the Confederation SpaceForce. If you continue to detain us, you will regret it.”
Both wolf-men laughed. #Do you include the green no-tail in that?# one of them asked. #She was your captive when you fell to us.#
“We do,” Mona answered. “We were taking her back to her homeworld of Brython, just as Confederacy law and common decency require when a Brythonic female shows signs of returning sapience.”
Brython? Isabeau though. But I’m from Earth! And these women are speaking English! She held her own tongue, though, rather than embarrass herself with a garble of nonsense.
#The Confederacy is a pack of hypocrites,# The wolf-man told Mona. #Brythonic females seek escape from their homeworld even at the cost of selling themselves as slaves. You do them no favor by forcing their return.# He grinned a wolf-grin. #Besides, you are no longer in Confederacy space, or even in Fringe space. This is Wolfen space, and under Wolfen law you no-tails are all our slaves.#
#Enough argument, brother,# the other wolf-man said. #More slave-taming. Their feet are secured; are their arms secured?#
#They are.# The first wolf-man moved around to stand beside the other, at the three women’s feet. #Your taming begins now,# he told them, and the two wolf-men began to tickle.
The initial tickling was with a flexible plastic gizmo. Four of them, actually: Each of the two wolf-men held a pair, dividing up the six helpless feet between them. Isabeau heard Mona and Kay laughing on either side of her, and then she began laughing herself as the gizmo scraped and rubbed over her feet. There was nothing else she could do: Her arms hung down on either side of her, wrists trapped to make them ‘secure.’ And her legs were stretched out before her, feet trapped in the stocks. She couldn’t even wiggle her toes; they were held in place as well, rendering her soles completely vulnerable to the touch of her captors.
Every so often, one or the other of the wolf-men would switch to a different implement. Sometimes the gadget used would be firmer, sometimes softer. Sometimes it would be warm and fuzzy, and sometimes it would slick and cold. Always, however, it would be wielded at a rapid tempo, as the two wolf-men divided their four hands among three pairs of feet. Their tickle-strokes were sometimes short and sometimes long, but always inflicted with practiced expertise on toes, heels, insteps, and the balls of their victims’ feet.
At first, the two women on either side of Isabeau made threats between their gusts of laughter. Then, as the tickling continued, the threats gave way to pleas for mercy, and then wild promises of good behavior. Isabeau would have joined them, but she knew that her words would be unintelligible even to herself. So she just concentrated on enduring, as one wolf-man applied tickles to her right foot and the other applied them to her left. It was maddening. It was unbearable, except that she was bound fast and had no choice but to bear it.
And to make it worse, the two wolf-men didn’t just seek out the most sensitive areas of her soles – they seemed to cultivate their sensitivity, making her feet seem more ticklish, not less, as the tickle-taming session continued.
At last, with tears of laughter running down the faces of all three women, the tickling ended. The wolf-men released them from the stocks, to collapse on the floating stretchers that took them back to their cells.
***
Isabeau found that she couldn’t spend all her time curled in her bunk and whimpering. Nor did washing up and eating a little something use up much of the day. For want of anything better to do, she decided to watch the blue mermaid’s tutorial on erotic dancing. Maybe it will give me some clues she thought. The problem was that she still hardly knew anything about her situation. Besides, the dancing tutorial seemed more-or-less harmless – not like the other how-to-be-a-proper-slave-woman lessons that the animated blue mermaid taught.
“Hello?” The voice belonged to Kay. The brunette stood in a doorway, next to the food-dispenser, that hadn’t been there a moment before. “We’ve been thrown together, it seems. I know you don’t like us very much, but, well, ‘all prisoners are allies.’“ She gave a ‘come follow me’ gesture, and turned away. Isabeau followed.
Beyond the doorway was a small common room, furnished with a few pieces of gelatin-furniture – brightly colored, rather than being colorless like those in the tickle-taming room. One wall was a forcefield mirror, and the other three had doorways in them.
One of the doorways had led from Isabeau’s cell. She walked to one of the other two and found that she couldn’t enter. Or at least that she couldn’t get her collar and anklet past the doorway. But as far as she could tell, looking in, the room beyond was identical to her own cell.
“She had to find out for herself,” Mona said. The dark woman was lying asprawl on a bright red chair that clashed with the green silk of her slave-outfit. “Have a seat,” she told Isabeau, waving at another chair, this one bright yellow. Isabeau sat down. Kay was already in another chair, and Mona continued:
“A Wolfen raider caught our ship while we were still in Fringe space, heading to Brython. We were just a frigate, hardly more than a glorified courier-boat. Kay and I were the crew, and you were a passenger in cold-sleep. The wolves locked on, and… and we surrendered. It’s against Confederation policy to fight a suicide action, especially when we have a civilian passenger on board.” She shrugged. “So here we are, somewhere in Wolfen space if the Frofbar Brothers are telling the truth. Which they probably are; it would be stupid of them not to bring us into Wolfen space. And so I’m open to ideas.” She opened her hand, inviting Isabeau to speak, but Kay interrupted.
“She won’t help us; she’s been brainwashed. Great Mother, you saw how she fought when we put her into the cold-tube to take back to Brython. These green-skins have a, a false consciousness or something. They think they’re escaping something when they sell themselves into slavery to leave their homeworld.”
“Lieutenant.” Mona’s voice was like cracked ice. “If you are ready to kiss the chains that these man-beasts are trying to put on us, then you can go crawl to your cell. If not, then you will behave with proper courtesy. Especially toward your senior officer. Is that clear?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m sorry.”
Mona nodded acknowledgement, and turned a smiling, expectant face toward Isabeau. Isabeau hesitated. She had dozens – hundreds – of questions, but… I’ve got to try. She took a deep breath. “Garble burgle norgal foobal,” she said.
“Great Mother,” Mona muttered. “She’s lost her sapience again.”
No I haven’t Isabeau thought. I just can’t speak, dammit!
Kay looked both scared and pleased at this turn of events. Both women dropped Isabeau from their consideration, talking only to each other. Isabeau listened for a time to a conversation where she understood the words, but not what they were talking about. Then, bored, she wandered back to her cell.
***
Each day, for the next several days, one of the Wolfen brothers would take Isabeau for another tickle-taming session. Sometimes she would be tickled by herself, and sometimes she would be bound and tickled alongside one or both of the two human women. The wolf-men seemed to enjoy this work, and certainly were expert at it. Isabeau found herself tingling with anticipation each time she was locked into place on one of the colorless pieces of gelatin-furniture, and each time the wolf-man tickling her exceeded her expectations. Either one, or both working together, would apply a most delicious torment to her helpless soles, a torment that seemed to seek out and excite every nerve ending she possessed. What’s more, the tickling was skillfully varied to keep her from ever becoming desensitized; when she was returned to her cell, limp with exhaustion and tickle-drunkenness, her feet were still as tender and sensitive as when the tickling began.
After recovering from the daily tickle-session, Isabeau would struggle with her voice, trying to force out sensible speech rather than the nonsense garble she seemed to produce whenever she opened her mouth. “Huh harble mulble gorble. Hum ibble harble mulble. Huh gorble weeble fooble.”
When she tired of that, she’d watch (and practice) the erotic dances tutored by the blue animated mermaid. She still avoided the other lessons, however. And then she’s go out to the common room, where the other two women continued to ignore her.
Isabeau could see Mona and Kay’s morale crumbling, even if she couldn’t comment intelligibly on it. “Can’t we pretend to give in, ma’am?” Kay asked Mona one day. “It would ease a lot of stress.”
“No. We must not give in. It’s more likely that we’ll be rescued than that we’ll escape, but in either case we have to hold out as long as possible.” Mona’s eyes narrowed in suspicion. “You haven’t been watching those vids, have you?”
“No! Of course not.” Kay’s answer was almost a shout. She turned to Isabeau, sitting nearby, and now she did shout. “You! Greenie! It’s all your fault! We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you!” She lunged toward Isabeau and suddenly went boneless-limp, falling to the floor. “Nooo,” she moaned. “I’ve activated security.”
“Lieutenant!” Mona called. She stood up – and fell limp and boneless herself. “Great Mother…”
Isabeau sat still, afraid to move. It must be that… whatever it is, that drains all the strength out of one. She hadn’t suffered it herself, after the first day, but she hadn’t forgotten it.
A minute passed, Then another. Then the mirror wall vanished to reveal one of the Wolfen brothers, dressed in his usual jewel-toned outfit. Behind him were a number of spheres, striped red and white like beach balls, but giving the impression of being more solid. And they glowed.
#So the pet-slaves are quarreling,# the wolf-man said. #This is good; it shows that your taming is progressing satisfactorily. On the other claw, it cannot be allowed to pass without consequence.” He grinned his familiar wolf-grin.
“No,” Mona moaned. “Not the balls.”
“The balls?” Kay asked weakly.
#The balls. The Spheres of Rajee.# The wolf-man tapped a claw on his bracelet gizmo and nodded to Kay. #You first.# Two of the smaller balls, followed by one of the larger ones, flew to the brunette. The smaller balls each engulfed one of her hands, while the larger sphere engulfed both of her bare feet. Another tap, and another set of three spheres did the same to Mona.
Then a third set flew to Isabeau. She watched as one of the red-and-white spheres engulfed her right hand. It felt like very soft rubber where it encircled her wrist, but the inside felt smooth. Slick, and a little cool, like satin. Another sphere engulfed her left hand, and a third swallowed both her feet.
Another claw-tap on the wolf-man’s bracelet caused the smaller spheres to separate, forcing each woman to hold her arms stretched out to either side. He looked down at the three women: Kay lying face-down over a jelly-bag pouf, Mona sitting on the floor with her legs stretched out before her, and Isabeau asprawl in one of the brightly colored chairs. All three with hands and feet trapped in the striped Spheres of Rajee. He then stepped out of the room, and the forcefield that formed the fourth, mirrored wall snaped back into existence behind him.
Mona suddenly giggled. “Oh no,” the dusky woman said. “It’s heehee it’s beginning heeheeheehaha.” Kay began to giggle as well.
Isabeau tried to wiggle her feet, inside the larger sphere, and found that she couldn’t. Something was holding them in place. She felt something else start to stroke her feet, with a lazy satin caress. It applied just enough pressure to tickle, and Isabeau joined in the other two women’s giggling.
Pulling at the spheres, Isabeau found that she could not budge them. They held her perfectly as the larger one applied a dozen slow tickles that started at the balls of her feet and squirmed their way up. She felt them wiggle over her insteps, over the balls of her feet, from the base of her toes to their tips. And then it started again, as she squirmed and laughed. And again, each slick and lazy tickle slightly different, to prevent her from becoming accustomed to the touch.
Kay laughed shrilly at her own tickling, and Mona hooted as she tried to hold back her giggles – and then howled as the tickling broke through. But Isabeau could only pay them slight attention. She felt her toes being gently pulled apart, felt the soft and wiggly ticklers investigate the spaces between. She thrashed in unbearable delight at their touch, even though nothing she did could have even the slightest effect on the tickling of her feet.
It didn’t stop. That was the worst part – or perhaps the best. The tickling continued with the inexorability and endurance of a machine. It could continue for hours. For days. Until it drove her mad. For an instant, Isabeau found herself looking forward to that. I must already be mad, she thought, and then thought became impossible as the satin-soft touch tickled its way across her insteps once more.
Isabeau didn’t remember when the tickling finally ended. She did remember snuggling against the wolf-man, temporarily tamed by tickle-induced exhaustion, as he carried her to her bunk and tucked her in. She lay there, very still, as the echoes of her tickle-experience slowly faded away. “That was awful,” she muttered. “That was wonderful.” Then “Hey, I can talk again. I can garble murble fuble… aaagh!” The last was a cry of frustration as she once again found herself unable to speak anything but nonsense. But she was too tired to stay angry, and in moments she fell asleep.
***
The next three days would have been a relief, if it weren’t for the head-banging frustration of being almost able to speak intelligibly. Each morning she would try and try to speak until she was ready to scream with the agony of not being able to send the words in her head out of her mouth. She’d stand there in her cell, gasping, fists clenched, and one of the Wolfen brothers would come for her. At this point she could tell them apart – one had slightly darker fur – but no matter which one it was, he would command #Belly!# and she’d obey, letting herself be taken to the taming room for another tickle-taming session.
She sat alone in the stocks for these sessions, arms bound behind her, feet propped up for the wolf-man’s convenience, large toes fastened in place to render her soles vulnerable to his thorough, playful tickling. Each day the wolf-man ‘taming’ her would prove that there was nothing wrong with her laughter. He would artistically apply various tickling implements – soft, firm, hard, cold, warm – making sure no spot was neglected. Making her squirm and giggle and giggle and squirm as he cultivated the ticklishness of her feet.
After she recovered from her daily tickling, back in her cell, she’d struggle some more with her voice, and then look in the common room. The other women were rarely in that room, and Isabeau didn’t stay long herself: The Spheres of Rajee still sat there, inert but threatening. And on those occasions when Mona or Kay or both were in the room, they would leave, with a frightened and guilty look on their faces, just as soon as Isabeau entered.
On the third day, the darker-furred Wolfen brother brought her to the taming room. When he reached the point of applying a rapid scrape-scrape-scrape across the ball of her left foot while simultaneously touching her right instep with something soft, he said #You are enjoying this, aren’t you, little no-tail?#
Isabeau found herself nodding as she writhed at the tickle-sensations being inflicted on her. “Heeheehee yes, haha no yes, heeheeheehee please hahaheeheehee!”
#Good. That is good. Soon, little no-tail, very soon you will be ready for auction.# He expertly adjusted his tickling stroke so that the scrape-scrape-scrape now ran across the instep and heel of her left foot, and changed the slow stroke across her right instep to a sudden attack against the space between her toes. Isabeau howled. The wolf-man paused to let her catch her breath, but then resumed his tickling her helpless soles before she could completely recover.
In the now-familiar pattern of her daily tickling, the wolf-man’s pauses became more and more frequent as the gentle torment slowly exhausted her. A last pause came, and Isabeau felt a pang as she realized that today’s ‘taming’ session had come to an end. Will I still get tickle-taming after I’m sold at auction? she tried to ask, but once again the words came out as a garble. The wolf-man ignored them as he strapped her back onto the stretcher and returned her to her cell.
***
The next morning, the darker-furred Wolfen once more appeared before Isabeau as the mirror-wall vanished. This time, however, he did not have the floating stretcher with him. #Turn around# he commanded, and fastened Isabeau’s wrists behind her. Then he attached a leash to her ankle-band, and marched her down the corridor and into the familiar room of colorless gelatin-furniture.
#You are to be sold at auction today, little no-tail. But first you will be given one last taming.# He tapped his bracelet, and Isabeau’s bonds dropped away. And then, before she could move, three Spheres of Rajee had her hands and feet.
The wolf-man arranged her face-up across one of the couch-stocks, propping her head, adjusting the spheres on her hands so that her arms were held back in a Y. He then turned to the pigeon-holes, tapping his bracelet once again, and Isabeau felt the Sphere begin its satin-soft tickling of her feet. She began to giggle and squirm, and then her eyes went wide as the wolf-man returned. He held two feathers in his hands, and sitting next to her, began to apply their tips expertly over the bare and vulnerable skin of her belly.
Her laughter redoubled. The wiggly-soft touch of the Sphere engulfing her feet was bad enough, and the feather-tips playing in and around her bellybutton, and up and down her ribs, added to the tickle-sensation rather than distracting from the tickling of her soles. Up and down, back and forth, round and round the feathers went, and Isabeau could not escape them no matter how she twisted and writhed. Giggles poured out of her as, in addition to the belly-tickling, she suffered the slick and slow attentions of the Sphere, running its satin tickles from the tips of her toes to her heels. And back again. Across her insteps and between her toes. It was driving her wild!
The wolf-man grinned as if he knew exactly what Isabeau felt as the feathers piloted their skillfully ticklish course over ribs and sides, around the bellybutton and into it, and back over ribs and sides again. Meanwhile the Sphere bathed her soles with diabolically mechanical tickle-sensations that were impossible to resist. And equally impossible to escape, no matter how much she struggled. Nor did it stop. Occasional lulls, yes, where the tickling slowed enough for Isabeau to catch her breath, but then the tickling rolled over her again like a tide. And again. And again. And again.
Isabeau found herself becoming aroused as the combined tickling played over her green skin. It was a horrible torment, and it felt wonderful. She sensed her tickle torment finally drawing to a close, and she wanted it to go on. She thought that she would do anything for a person – for a master – who tickle her silly and then satisfy her desires.
It’s not just the tickling, you know, a female voice said in her head. There’s psychic induction going on as well. It was the voice that had come from Orion, Isabeau realized as the wolf-man released her from the Spheres. She had heard that voice at the beginning of this adventure. She swallowed, and another realization hit her.
“I can talk!” she said. “I have my voice back.”
#You can talk,# the wolf-man told her, #but you may not.# He pressed a purple ball into her mouth. It felt rubbery against her tongue, tasteless, and pleasantly chewy. But she could not spit it out; an invisible force held it in place, gagging her.
“Mmmph!” she protested as he bound her hands behind her once more, ankle-leashing her and leading her to one of the Wolfen’s high-tech baths. There he washed her, leaving her feel fresh and new. Cleaning her skimpy slave-outfit so that it looked fresh and new as well. Combing and brushing out her long blue hair. Getting her ready for the auction block, she realized.
She ought to be frightened. She ought to be terrified by this whole adventure, and especially at the idea of being sold at an alien slave auction. However, she didn’t feel any fear at all. She felt the ache of a slowly subsiding arousal, and an eagerness to meet her new master. Whoever – or whatever – he (or she, or it) might be.
The auction block: Milky white, and giving the impression of being more crystalline than the Wolfen’s other furniture. The audience beyond: Two or three near-humans, several Wolfen, a couple of aliens who looked like cat-people, and three or four who looked very alien.
Her gag was removed, and the wolf-man led her up onto the block. He began to describe her, in preparation for starting the bidding. The audience looked at her; their eyes all showed a desire to buy her, and lock her down, and tickle every bit of her sensitive green skin. Especially her feet. Isabeau felt herself smile at the thought.
Are we being sold at auction? the female voice in her head asked. Good.
The missing fear hit Isabeau, and she stiffened her knees to keep from falling. No it’s not good! she shouted silently at the voice.
Yes it is. Anything is better than being shipped back home to Brython. The voice shared a memory: Soul-withering belittlement, so intense that being taken seriously enough to be put in chains was a benediction.
But Brython isn’t my home! Isabeau answered, and then she knew who the voice must be. You! You can take your place again, and send me back!
In fear and fury, Isabeau tried to launch herself at the voice, and the world turned green around her. She stumbled, heard something metallic hit the ground, caught herself. She was standing in the parking lot, dressed in ordinary winter clothing. Not barefoot. Not green.
She looked down and saw the front half of a gold-metal collar with a purple gem set in it. She looked up and saw Orion in the sky, unusually bright.
(end)
