Journia
3rd Level Blue Feather
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- Feb 15, 2006
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So, here is chapter four. I will post chapter two when I finish it, because I don't write in chapteric succession.
Hell on Earth
Machiavelle entered the headquarters of the Ministry of Succubi and Incubi with a feeling of dread. Each time she had come to the ministry, she had been taunted with her record and warned of the consequences.
“Exile. That will be your punishment if before the Blood Moon does turn white, you have not brought to us, one condemned male soul.” Said Minister Ruler. That was five months ago, and two days, the blood moon would become white, and she would be exiled.
She entered the building through two large doors. Once inside, she was greeted by The Vice Minister, a small demon he only stood p to her navel, with a puffy black afro. He put his hand out to shake hers.
“Hello, I am Stephen Doubt. How are you?” His hand was soft and smooth, save for a number of hairs, which ticled her hand.
“I’m fine.” She laughed, partly because of the hairs tickling her palm and wrist, and partly because the demon was a nice one.
“I am the Vice Minister. You are Machiavelle I assume?”
“Right.” She said through clenched teeth. He noticed this and immediately let go of her hand.
“Oh yes, now I remember, the most ticklish succubus.” He said without any tone of teasing or insidiom.
“Yeah…I’m as ticklish as a mine,” she laughed. She was beginning to like the Vice Minister Doubt.
“You are here for the preparation of the condemning right?”
“Yeah…” She looked around, noticing one of the attendants leering at her.
“Shekel!” Machiavelle turned sharply and looked at the minister, who had a stern look upon his face. “Stop looking at her if you have nothing good to say to her! Go back to work.” The attendant immediately went back to her work but not before snarling softly at Machiavelle.”Don’t worry about her my dear, she is mad anyway.”
“So, where am I supposed to go.” She asked.
“With me. I am going to perform the ritual.”
“You mean, it is private?” She said, her heart lightening.
“Yes. We do not want a member of the most wealthy family in Perdition to be embarrassed now would we?” He said with a smile as they began to ascend the stairs, winding into the darkness.
Room thirteen was Stephen Doubt’s own private office. It had a desk, a book case, and a large window which led out onto a balcony. When they entered the room, a fire burst to life in the fireplace.
“Please sit.” He said as he held his hand over a seat in front of the desk. “Now, you must be bathed in oils from the waist up before we begin, so, I shall leave you tol remove your shirt and bathe your upper body in private.” He set down beside her a bottle of sweet smelling liquid. The bottle looked like a female genie’s lamp. Stephen left the rom and went down the hall.As he passed a corridor, a man who was standing there, in the shadows, called for him.
“Yes Wixwell?” He said to the man who called him.
“I have terrible news sir, it is most disappointing for us to hear.”
“I am sorry Mister Wixwell, but we will have to discuss this in about an hour. I have a ceremony to perform.” He said kindly as he turned and began down the hall.
“But sir, it affects you too!”
“I am sorry Wixwell, it must wait.” He said, his voice never changing in tone. He disappeared down the hall.
Machiavelle sat in the room, topless, and oiled up, smelling somewhat like a bouquet of sugared flowers. The firelight glistened off of her white, oiled skin, flawless, save for the birthmarks upon body, in arabesque designs. The door opened and Vice Minister Doubt entered the room, wearing a gray cloak.
“Are you ready Machiavelle?”
“Yes.” She said in a most serious tone. She stared at the fireplace. Doubt led her to his desk where he had her sit in a chair and place her feet on it he buckled her ankles in manacles.. He then sat on her legs and put his hands out, he wore white, furred gloves. Perhaps Ratma fur. He laid one finger on her left breast, and slid it down her slick skin. Her legs began shaking violently and a agonizingly pleasured grin spread across her face. More fingers pressed and slid around her small, but round breasts ,and slid down her back. Her back arched and fell, and arched again, as her breath became heavier with “meeps” as the figers slowly massaged her chest and back.
“My dear Machiavelle, you need to relax. By the time this is done, you will be on earth.”
“I—I—I’m trying…” She managed to sputter. She twitched and curved her sides in order to evade Doubt’s fingers. They rose to her armpits, and she could contain her screams no more, as his furred fingertips spun about her armpits.
“Gyah-gyahahaha! Jesus Christ!!” This was a swear word, she was told in grade school, “Jesus! I can’t stand this ahahahaa!” She tried to rip the manacles out off the desk, to no avail, resulting in her finally, sliding back in the chair and laughing. Her pleasured grin still remained, because, deep down, somewhere within her, this is what she desired.
Now what is it that you want to do tonight again?” Asked the young man’s mother as he put his pad and pencils within his book bag.
“I am going to go and get interviews.” He replied, brushing his hair.
“Where are you going to get interviews at twelve at nbight?”
“I know a place.”
“Where?”
“Don’t worry about it mother, I will be alright,” He realized he said the wrong words right then. “I mean, nothing will be wrong.” Damn. He thought. “Well, gotta run!” He shouted as he sped down the stairs and closed the front door. As the door, shut, there was a clang and clash outside, and as the porchlight flicked on, there he was, on the ground, surrounded by trashcans.
“Yaaagagahahahahaa!! Shit!!! Shtoooopitt!!!!! Stop tickling my feet!!!!” Machiavelle screamed and laughed, bucking as Doubt’s fingers pronounced their presence upon her bare soles. Her long toes wiggled frantically in desperate, piteous attempts at blocking his fingers from drilling in between her toes. The sweat from here previously sock covered feet, helped him gain access to every inch of her peds, even if they were blocked. His fingers would simply slide through the barriers and tickle away. Tears rolled down Machiavelle’s tear-soaked cheeks, and her eyes had clenched to such a degree, that her lashes had become nothing more than bushy lines. Suddenly she became lighter, and her laughter began to fade, until she couldn’t hear it anymore. The room was gone, but she could still feel the fingers scratching away at her soft, large soles. Soon, there was darkness, then little points of light appeared, followed by the rush of air, by her soles, tickling her ever so softly. Soon, she could feel the hard asphalt of a city road, followed by the sound of a large creature moving around. She looked around, and saw two large white eyes, and a roar. She ran across the road as a tractor trailer passed her by.
Doubt watched as machiavelle faded into the earthly realm. As she faded, he slipped her socks on and her sneakers on. They faded into nothing, and he left the room, at the door, was mister Wixwell. He brushed his hair back and stopped Doubt.
“Mister Doubt, I have urgent news to relay to you.”
“Not right now Wixwell, how about in an hour?” Smiling, he began to walk off. There was silence between the two, until Doubt reached the doors at the end of the hall. The darker end without windows.
“Ruler is dead.” He called. Stephen Doubt stopped right in his tracks. On his favce, was the expression of horror, then an expression of sorrow crossed his face. He turned to Wixwell, at the other end of the hall, near the window, where the sun shined through. He began to stride toward the window and upon reaching it, and standing there facing Wixwell, they shook hands.
“So, it has begun.” He said.
“Yes.” Wixwell replied. “It has now begun and only one can stop it.”
“Let us hope, the prophecy was correct. If so, then our time will almost be up.”
“If it be true, then we’ll be free.”
Machiavelle wandered throug the city streets until she came upon an apartment building, where she knew instinctively, she was to find a number of males to bring to the condemners.
“So..you’re just some girl named Machiavelle?” The fat, slobber trailed man asked.
“Yeah, this is a brothel right?”
“Yup. Go to room 35, I have somebody for you there.” He said looking over her breasts and hips and buttocks.
“Actually, I’d like to have you.” She smiled in a fashion which, though she was trying to be innocent, portrayed, a very seductive woman.
“Nah. You’re too skinny for me. I need a big girl for me.”
Rejected once again, she began to climb the stairs of her new home.
The children on the street parted like the sea, as the boy moved among them. He felt like moses, or what he thinks moses felt like, in that story. He stopped and looked around the children, who stopped as he did. He stretched his arm outward, and they all moved away from his path, he clenched a fisst, and they all came forward. A surge of adrenaline rushed through his system as this happened, resulting in him exclaiming, “I am a god!” and charging through the crowd of children, who in their struggle to evade his plowing form, tripped and fell on the sidewalk, into the street, and ran into walls. By the time he reached the end of the sidewalk, he turned and looked at the kids. Sprawled upon the ground in heaps like mass graves, from a war, he remembers something of it, but can not place it.He smiles then turns and flies down the rest of the sidewalk to the most exclusive brothel in the city, knocking people down as he does so, he is still in his adrenaline rush after all.
“Room three five….here it is.” Machiavelle said to herself as she found her location. “Time to get a soul. Oh, I will be back in Hell in a flash.” She opened the door and saw a man on the bed, he was buck naked, long hair flowed over his shoulders and his eyes were a dark piercing black. He stared at her and said calmly.
“You forgot something Machiavelle.”
“Daddy! Have you come to help me?” The look in his eyes told her he wasn’t very happy at that moment. After all, he rarely was. Much of his abuse was toward Machiavelle for some unknown reason. The man rose to his feet and paced toward her. Her smile turned to a mere line on her face as her father approached, standing taller and darker than ever before. As he walked, his skin turned black and turned into a black italian suit.
“Machiavelle, you will be attacked, tonight. If you allow yourself to be murdered, I will never allow you to return home again.” He picked her up by the jaws and slammed her against the wall, so hard, that her head began to bleed.
“Why won’t you let me return?”
“You are a disgrace to your family!” He shouted pressing harder on her throat.
“B—But you were so nice to me this morning, w—why?”
“You are nothing but a piece of dirt! A mere speck on the eye of Hell! No one cares for you there, and most certainly no one shall care for you here! I am banishing you because you are a disgrace to all succubi everywhere, Hell and Earth.”
“You’re the kid who wanted to interview the bitches right?” The fat man said to the boy.
“Yeah.”
“Room thirty-five, there is a few up there you can interview, but they want something from you afterwards.”
The boy was halfway up the stais when he said that. “What do they want afterwards?” In his head he thought it was a foolish question.
“They want to fuck you obviously.”
“They want to have sex with me? But I am only seventeen!”
“Man, you’re still a virgin?”
“Shut up and leave me alone, you fat, sweaty, greasy tumor!” He dashed up the stairs without another word.
“Machiavelle ran down the hall at top speed, tears streamed down her face, this time, not from laughter, but from fear and sorrow. This was one of many attacks from her lustful and moody father, and her sisters provoked it, she knew it, they always did. They would always do something to hurt her. They all hated her. All one hundred twenty seven of them. And most of all, Corsice, Ceres and Fenrire. They were the most well bred succubus’s in Hell, and they were the pride of her father’s family. But they were jealous of Machiavelle, because, until she came along, they were their father’s favorites and were given the most attention.
They devised elaborate schemes to get machiavelle into trouble, once nearly killing her. Yet, through all the trouble they caused her, they were never punished, they were never given even the lightest touch of a feather upon their bottoms, whereas, she, Machiavelle, was given lashes with a cat o’ nine tails, her fingernails were pulled up ,out of their roots, her eyes were nearly poked out by knives, her hair, which at one time was long and beautiful, with a luscious red texture, like blood in a vial, was cut short. The beatings she endured, and the abuse she received, proved only to backfire in the three sister’s plan, which was to make more time for them, by making their father hate Machiavelle. Their father merely spent more time beating her and abusing her and tickling her until she started pooping, much to her embarrassment.
Their images appeared in the room as her father hurt her, a few moments ago, they laughed at her father’s anger and what he was doing to her. Their images grew into horrible dark shadows who screamed and laughed like giddy little children. These images spun around in Machiavelle’s head as she tore through the hallway, but pain filled her mind suddenly, as she tumbled to the floor and beside her as she looked around, was a boy, about as tall as machiavelle herself very thin, with shoulder length black hair. He was a black boy, she saw many of them where she was because they had become drug addicts and killed others, of course they did not outnumber many of the english, italian and germans who were there already. They only recently began arriving. She knelt to look at him, but before she could even touch him, his eyes flew open and he sat up. Much to Machiavelle’s surprise. She drew back suddenly, and fell to the floor. The boy stood, knelt low and began to pick up his books, it was as if he didn’t notice her at all!
“A tear rolled down Machiavelle’s eye and she began to sniff back her on coming gush of sorrow. It wasn’t that she was hurting, the fact, that she was bwing ignored by this young man was what hurt her. As she fought back to hide her tears, a squeak slipped through. The boy looked up suddenly and realized what had happened. He rushed over to her, and helped her up.
“Oh my dear young lady, are you alright?” He asked concerned. “Oh, I do apologize for this, I really do, I didn’t see you there. If I had realized…Oh, I was so stupid!” He helped her to her feet gently and brushed her off.
“No! Stop!” She cried as she grabbed her sides. His brushes tickled, but she was too stressed as it was to laugh.
“I am sorry miss. I didn’t mean to hurt you at all. Oh, you are bleeding! Hold on, I have something for your cheeks!” He said noting her bloody cheeks and the back of her head.
“This is it,” she thought, “a male soul to bring to the condemners.” She began to put her plan into action. She stepped forward, kneeled and began to help the boy pick up his books. When he looked up, he stared into her kindly smiling face. After he packed his belongings, he took out a first aid kit and suggested they find a room to be alone in. She agreed. And so off they went up the hall.
“Also, I would like to interview you. You do work at this place right?”
“Yeah.” She lied. They began to go up the hall she had just fled from. “Uh, what room, are we going to?” She asked nervously.
“Room, thirty-five.” Machiavelle had never run so quickly before in her life. Nor had the boy ever seen anyone do a human disappearing act like that. “Uh, hello? Hey! Where did you go?” He ended his sentence sadly. He sighed and began to finish his trek to room 35. Machiavelle had gone up to the fourth floor of the apartment and was hiding on the wall. It looked more like resting to men and women who passed by. As she rested a door opened and a young man walked over to her.
“Hey there, what’s up with you?” He sounded to Machiavelle like a man riding the Marie Janet airlines. He picked her up, and she let him take her into his room. She was too tired to try to seduce him.
The boy had gone from door to door, on each floor starting at the ground floor, looking for the girl who had run off. Heknocked at the first door. It opened, and there stood a woman half naked looking at him, her eyes were red and tear atreaked, but not the eyes of the gir he sought.
“Hello, I am looking for a girl, about my height, she had short red hair, long blue jeans and a bloody shirt. Have you seen—hey!” The door slammed in his face. On to the next door.
The man in the room looked over Machiavelle as she lay on the bed, tied spread eagle. She was tied so tightl that she was inches from the bed. She was surprisingly submissive, he thought. But why does she stare at me so? As if she is going to do something. No matter. He thought as he undid his pants and pulled them down. Machiavelle watched him as he did it, and was horrified to see what lay beneath his belt. First there was a buzzing in the room, that is what she noticed when he picked her up and brought her inside. She now found the source of the buzzing. When he dropped his pants, she saw a black mass of what would have been hair, moving around. They began to fly away from him, they were flies! Under the mass of flies, there was some sort of appendage Machiavelle had never seen before on a man. It started out as only one stem, but then it spread into eight, twelve foot long, penis like structures. They actually resembled snakes more than anything else.
“Oh what are you going to do?” Machiavelle said in a spunky tone, “Rape me to death?”
The structures rose and looked forward at Machiavelle, they retracted, rose up, and reached toward her. The man walked over to her and stood a foot away. The structures began to brush along her sides and one slid into her armpit. She lurched and giggled. The tips of the structures were hard and firm, whilst the rest of them were limp, like tentacles.
“Hi! My name is—“
Slam!
My name is—“
Slam
My name is—“
Slam!
“Solompn Placid.”
Corsice and Ceres were in room thrity five They wore, blue jeans, white socks and bras. Their blouses were at the door. Fenrire was hogtied on the floor and Ceres and Corsice waited for Solomon to arrive at their door.
“You are sure this guy has a foot fetish?”
“He doesn’t have a foot fetish. He has a sock fetish along with a tickling fetish. At least that is what this paper says about him.” If he is like any man, he will fall us. Literally, at our feet!” She laughed at the joke she had made, thoough n one else found it funny. This often happened.
“You know, Ceres, you love Machiavelle so much, yet you are devising these plans to bring about her downfall.”
“I don’t actually like her much, it is just that she is so pitiful.” She replied. Corsice detected something different in her voice as she replied. She couldn’t easily place it though. Finally, a knock caught her attention. The two of them bounded on the bed, faced each other, put their fet in a position, so that they would entwine
“Come in,” they called sweetly. Solomon walked in and stopped dead in his tracks. The girl’s wiggled their toes and giggled.
“Come on over!”They giggled. Their eyes were more enrapturing than ever before. Solomon walked toward them and stopped at the bed. Ceres put her foot on his shoulder and wiggled her toe on his ear.
“We know what you like Solomon.” She said in her somewhat british accent. “We know all about you.”
“Yeah,” corsice added, “We know you want to tickle our feet.”
“Um, actually, I am looking for an interview.”
“You want to tickle us too right?” Ceres said in a sad voice and put on a sad puppy dog expression. She rubbed his ear with her toes. Ever so gently.
“Um, I guess so….what is that noise?” He asked as he looked around the room. He peered over the side of the bed and found Fenrire on the floor. He was a bit stunned, but tempted nonetheless. He merely pressed his finger upon her sole, lightly. Fenrire’s eyes grew wide and she hopped from one end of the room to the other. Her muffled laughter pleased Solomon to an extent.
“I would like to interview you three on what it is like to be a human succubus.” He said in a professional tone. Ceres and Corsice were silent for a moment.
“Uhm,” Corsice replied.
“Excuse me?” Ceres asked.
“Well, aren’t you succubi? In human form?” Ceres was getting a little nervous, she glanced at corsice who looked at him strangely, then at Fenrire who was still giggling. “After all, you have sex with people and then, do whatever it is that you do. I call prostitute’s succubi, or incubi.” Ceres and Corsice heaved a sigh of relief.
“Yes. We will do the interview, but first, we want you to do something for us.”
“And that is?”
“We want you to tickle us until we pee!”
“Really. You know, I no longer have a tickling and sock fetish, so it won’t be arousing to me.” Ceres was slightly disappointed, but it didn’t show.
“Still, I want to be tickled until I pee. I never had it before.”
“Nor, have I.” Corsice added. The two of them together, in unison, lifted their legs so that their feet were right in Solomon’s face. He began to stroke Corsice’s foot first, she wore thin, bobby socks. With white soles and pink heels and toes. Her toes scrunched up and she grew red. Finally she fell back and laughed.
“Yahaha! Oh my god! It tickles like shit!ahahaaa!!!Noho wonder Fenrire liahahahaliked it!!!!”
“I take it Fenrire is the girl who is tied up?”
“No” Ceres answered. “That is her nickname. Her actual name is Michelle.”
There was a muffled “Hey!”
“I am Lauriat, and the girl who is laughng so much is Marisa. We are the last surviving daughters of the RuMoure Dynasty.”
“I am Vladislaus Drakulya.” Solomon answered. Tickling as he did so. “It seems that your sister doesn’t need a break.”
“She doesn’t. She is the second most ticklish of us. Michelle is the most ticklish, and I am the least.”
“Really.”
“Yes. Oh, and Marisa reaches orgasm when she is tickled for five minutes. I am actually surprised. I never knew someone who did that.”
“…Okay….Ew.”
“Oh, there is nothing wrong with it.”
“I think there is. I think it is sinful.”
“Oh?” She said. Watching him strip her of her socks. “You sure are tickling like you don’t care.” She smiled.
“In life, I would rather make a person rob a nobleman for me, than to do it myself. So, I would rather make her reach orgasm, than to do it with myself.”
“…Okay….Ew…But that would be just as sinful, and the pawn in the game of sin would not get any blame, except for by the people he or she attacked.”She laughed. Ceres was starting to like the young man. Too bad, she was going to condemn him.
“Aahahaoooshit!!!Hhahahahaaa!” She screamed as his fingers wiggled between her toes, a place no one had ever gone at anytime. “Yahahaha!! You self righteous little bastardhahahaaaa!!!” She bucked and screamed and finally, fell off of the bed. Solomon knelt down and started to tickle her ribs, one of her most ticklish spots.”No! Noahahaooo! You littleshiahahahahaaa!!! I am going to kill you!!!!Haaaahaha! Yahahahahaha!!!” She turned on her back involuntarily giving Solomon greater access to her chest and stomach. He lightly scratched her breasts with his fingernails eliciting guffaws from her, then turned his attention to her stomach, where, among other things, her navel which held a gemstone pasted with honey and wax. He plucked it out easily and began to gently scratch away the wax. She arched her back and screamed like a banshee. Then she fell back to the floor, more relaxed and she stopped laughing. She stared into space and simply heaved up and down.
“Is she knocked out?”
“No. That is..”
“Oh, you’re not saying she’s…” Ceres nodded in reply. “Oh!” He said in a maner of shouting, ‘that’s gross!’ “Well, time for your tickling.” She put her feet on the bed. They were nice and small, around, size six. “Are you ready?”
“Go for it baby.” She said seductively.
“With pleasure my dear.” He began by stroking her foot softly, he found that she had lied whn she said she was the least ticklish. She was more ticklish than Corsice. But her laughs were soft, like a dove’s coo.
“Mmmhmhmhmh Mhmhmhmhhhmeeheheee…” She giggled. Her slightly dirty soles wriggled as each finger marched upon the ticklish ground. “Mhhmmmhmhhmhhoh, this is sooo nice hahaa/.” He began to gently tickle her big toes. He could feel the skin, underneath her socks, white ones, slightly thick. As she laughed, she curled her toes in a way, which was enticing to Solomon, although, he was no longer a fetishist. The balls of lint were caught under his nails as he did so. He was thoroughly enjoying this torment of his submissive beauty for the moment. He watched as she laid flat on the bed, and arched her back, a hiss escaped her mouth followed by many hiss-like giggles.
“Oh, Solomon, you ahahare a fetishist…”
“My dear, simlpy because you are aroused, does not mean that I am a fetishist.”He said in his professional tone.
“I knew you hahad it in you.” She added, ignoring his response. “Oh, my god….” Solomon suddenly leapt his hands to her ribs and began to scribble his fingers upon them. Much to Ceres’s surprise. “Ayp! Sheeheheheheahahahaiaahaha! Omigod!Omigod! Stop! Jesus christ!” She began to bang her hands on the mattress.
“Ah, it seems to me, your spot has been discovered.” He said emotionlessly. His emotion however, was sparked suddenly, by a heart-wrenching scream. He began to remove himself from the bed, but Ceres grabbed him and snarled.
“Keep going….immediately.” Her eyes were bright red and her grin was fanged. She frightened Solomon, who proceeded to tickle her underarms. She layughed and laughed as his fingers probed her underarms unceasingly. As she closed her eyes, Solomon punched her in the side of the head. She went totally silent, she was unconscious. He went over to Fenrire and freed her. Instead of thanking him, she lunged at him and tried to claw his eyes out. He threw her off of him and got to his feet. He ran out of the door, and with Fenrire close behind. He found that she was probably the most fierce opponent he had ever faced so far. He ran up toward the area from whence the scream emanated. The thirteenth floor. He flew up the steps running from the red eyed girl and turned the corner. The corridor was long with many doors, any one could have someone in it. But they were too busy doing things in their rooms. But he had to think of something. As he looked at the doors, and saw the do not disturb signs, something began to formulate in his brain. He saw a single door with a do not disturb sign on it As he passed, he smacked the door with the palm of his hand. The door was answered and it opened, in Fenrire’s path.
There was a crash and tumble and Solomon turned his head to find, horrifyingly surprising, that Fenrire had burned the door somehow. It had then exploded and she never touched it. A skeleton lay in her wake, burned to a crisp. The unfortunate person who answered the door. Solomon began to slow down, he was tiring and there was almost nothing he could do about it. He finally stopped and turned with his fist outstretched. Fenrire stopped mere centimeters from his fist.
“What is this?” She shouted. She grabbed Solomon by the throat and held him up. She was the only shirted girl there. She wore a blue polyester blouse. “How dare you hurt my sister? I shall kill you for that!” She tightened her grip upon his throat, cutting off his oxygen. Solomon, seeing a good opportunity, tried desperately to take it. He stretched his hand to her armpit, and poked it. She dropped him immediately and fell to the floor in a fetal position giggling like mad. Solomon had time to catch his breath. Fenrire rose to her feet and turned her head toward Solomon her eyes literally held flames, for behind the black of her irises, were flames leaping up. He punched Fenrire in the face, and while she arched her back from the pain, Solomon bent low and attacked her ribs whose form showed through the shirt she wore.
“Aaaugh!” She screamed in surprise.Solomon bent low and caught her on his shoulders. He then grabbed her buttocks. She screamed with laughter simply from the clutch. He began to grab at her buttocks repeatedly and he ran down the hall, toward a large window. Fenrire’ whose head was bent backward, realized what would happen and locked her legs around his neck. She watched in horror as the window came closer. Suddenly it was only a foot away, then a crash, and she was hung out the window. Solomon realized that he would be pulled down also if he didn’t do something quickly, and this time, it took no thinking at all. He placed his feet apart, kneeled, and began to furiously tickle her feet. Her feet wiggled and finally, let loose. Fenrire fell screaming, over the side of the building.
Machiavelle was on the floor, with one of the penislike tentacles up her shirt, tickling away at her sternum. She was crawling on her back, as the man walked toward her.
“What is wrong Machiavelle? Am I funny to you? I shall punish you for laughing at me!” The man said in a taunting fashion, as the tentacles lifted her up by her shirt. They shot out ant grabbed her arms and legs and the ones that were left, began to tickle her relentlessly.
“No! Stop! I didn’t do anything to deserve this!” She cried as the tickling began again. She was suddenly aware of her socks being removed. She screamed for help, only to fall into giggles. She realized that this must have been the attack which her father had beaten her about. The phone rang and the man dropped her. He answered the phone.
“Hello? Hi cera. What? You need another girl? Well, I don’t ave one right now, but I can get you one.”
Machiavelle ran out the door, screaming bloody murder. “Hey! Come back here now!” He threw the phone down and ran outside, stretched his tentacles out and caught her by the feet. The tentacles wrapped about her ankles and tickled them. She never knew her ankles could be so darn ticklish. But laughter turned to horror as she felt one of the tentacles slide down the back of her jeans.
“No! No! Help someone! Aaaaahhh!!!!” There was a crack, and Machiavelle saw part of a chair, fall to the floor in front of her. The man with the penises fell to the floor beside her, and his tentacle slithered out, and joined the others in screaming for their master. It was a simple wail, made by all eight of them. Then their bodies began to take on the color of a used snake firework. This continued to the man also, who became a gray corpse. The boy helped Machiavelle into his arms and carried her back to her room. He laid her on the bed, and slipped her socks on, she smiled happily, as he did it. He then slipped on her shoes and tied them. That is when he glanced at her shirt.
“Ticklish Me?” He asked.
“Huh?”
“Your shirt. It reads, Ticklish Me.” He pointed.
“Oh, yes, uh, I have sort of a fetish you might say.”
“Really.”
“Yeah.”
“I think we should go. I have to nurse your wounds, and you don’t need to be in a brothel, it may be a five star brothel, but it is still a brothel." He picked her up and walked out of the room.
The fat man walked toward the stairs, the most exercise he had done in ages, and Waited for the boy.
“I wondered what was making hat noise. I don’t want to go up there but I might have to. Jesus….” He began to climb the stairs, when the elevator door opened. Solomon exited carrying Machiavelle in his arms. Solomon, was no muscular boy, but with the adrenaline, he was quite able.
The man smiled at the two of them. He knew the girl wasn’t a whore, she wasn’t cut out for it. He could tell. He was rather glad that the two of them met. In room thirty-five.
Yeah....Succubae Brawl....High Speed Chase... Bleep!!.
So, what'd ya think?
Hell on Earth
Machiavelle entered the headquarters of the Ministry of Succubi and Incubi with a feeling of dread. Each time she had come to the ministry, she had been taunted with her record and warned of the consequences.
“Exile. That will be your punishment if before the Blood Moon does turn white, you have not brought to us, one condemned male soul.” Said Minister Ruler. That was five months ago, and two days, the blood moon would become white, and she would be exiled.
She entered the building through two large doors. Once inside, she was greeted by The Vice Minister, a small demon he only stood p to her navel, with a puffy black afro. He put his hand out to shake hers.
“Hello, I am Stephen Doubt. How are you?” His hand was soft and smooth, save for a number of hairs, which ticled her hand.
“I’m fine.” She laughed, partly because of the hairs tickling her palm and wrist, and partly because the demon was a nice one.
“I am the Vice Minister. You are Machiavelle I assume?”
“Right.” She said through clenched teeth. He noticed this and immediately let go of her hand.
“Oh yes, now I remember, the most ticklish succubus.” He said without any tone of teasing or insidiom.
“Yeah…I’m as ticklish as a mine,” she laughed. She was beginning to like the Vice Minister Doubt.
“You are here for the preparation of the condemning right?”
“Yeah…” She looked around, noticing one of the attendants leering at her.
“Shekel!” Machiavelle turned sharply and looked at the minister, who had a stern look upon his face. “Stop looking at her if you have nothing good to say to her! Go back to work.” The attendant immediately went back to her work but not before snarling softly at Machiavelle.”Don’t worry about her my dear, she is mad anyway.”
“So, where am I supposed to go.” She asked.
“With me. I am going to perform the ritual.”
“You mean, it is private?” She said, her heart lightening.
“Yes. We do not want a member of the most wealthy family in Perdition to be embarrassed now would we?” He said with a smile as they began to ascend the stairs, winding into the darkness.
Room thirteen was Stephen Doubt’s own private office. It had a desk, a book case, and a large window which led out onto a balcony. When they entered the room, a fire burst to life in the fireplace.
“Please sit.” He said as he held his hand over a seat in front of the desk. “Now, you must be bathed in oils from the waist up before we begin, so, I shall leave you tol remove your shirt and bathe your upper body in private.” He set down beside her a bottle of sweet smelling liquid. The bottle looked like a female genie’s lamp. Stephen left the rom and went down the hall.As he passed a corridor, a man who was standing there, in the shadows, called for him.
“Yes Wixwell?” He said to the man who called him.
“I have terrible news sir, it is most disappointing for us to hear.”
“I am sorry Mister Wixwell, but we will have to discuss this in about an hour. I have a ceremony to perform.” He said kindly as he turned and began down the hall.
“But sir, it affects you too!”
“I am sorry Wixwell, it must wait.” He said, his voice never changing in tone. He disappeared down the hall.
Machiavelle sat in the room, topless, and oiled up, smelling somewhat like a bouquet of sugared flowers. The firelight glistened off of her white, oiled skin, flawless, save for the birthmarks upon body, in arabesque designs. The door opened and Vice Minister Doubt entered the room, wearing a gray cloak.
“Are you ready Machiavelle?”
“Yes.” She said in a most serious tone. She stared at the fireplace. Doubt led her to his desk where he had her sit in a chair and place her feet on it he buckled her ankles in manacles.. He then sat on her legs and put his hands out, he wore white, furred gloves. Perhaps Ratma fur. He laid one finger on her left breast, and slid it down her slick skin. Her legs began shaking violently and a agonizingly pleasured grin spread across her face. More fingers pressed and slid around her small, but round breasts ,and slid down her back. Her back arched and fell, and arched again, as her breath became heavier with “meeps” as the figers slowly massaged her chest and back.
“My dear Machiavelle, you need to relax. By the time this is done, you will be on earth.”
“I—I—I’m trying…” She managed to sputter. She twitched and curved her sides in order to evade Doubt’s fingers. They rose to her armpits, and she could contain her screams no more, as his furred fingertips spun about her armpits.
“Gyah-gyahahaha! Jesus Christ!!” This was a swear word, she was told in grade school, “Jesus! I can’t stand this ahahahaa!” She tried to rip the manacles out off the desk, to no avail, resulting in her finally, sliding back in the chair and laughing. Her pleasured grin still remained, because, deep down, somewhere within her, this is what she desired.
Now what is it that you want to do tonight again?” Asked the young man’s mother as he put his pad and pencils within his book bag.
“I am going to go and get interviews.” He replied, brushing his hair.
“Where are you going to get interviews at twelve at nbight?”
“I know a place.”
“Where?”
“Don’t worry about it mother, I will be alright,” He realized he said the wrong words right then. “I mean, nothing will be wrong.” Damn. He thought. “Well, gotta run!” He shouted as he sped down the stairs and closed the front door. As the door, shut, there was a clang and clash outside, and as the porchlight flicked on, there he was, on the ground, surrounded by trashcans.
“Yaaagagahahahahaa!! Shit!!! Shtoooopitt!!!!! Stop tickling my feet!!!!” Machiavelle screamed and laughed, bucking as Doubt’s fingers pronounced their presence upon her bare soles. Her long toes wiggled frantically in desperate, piteous attempts at blocking his fingers from drilling in between her toes. The sweat from here previously sock covered feet, helped him gain access to every inch of her peds, even if they were blocked. His fingers would simply slide through the barriers and tickle away. Tears rolled down Machiavelle’s tear-soaked cheeks, and her eyes had clenched to such a degree, that her lashes had become nothing more than bushy lines. Suddenly she became lighter, and her laughter began to fade, until she couldn’t hear it anymore. The room was gone, but she could still feel the fingers scratching away at her soft, large soles. Soon, there was darkness, then little points of light appeared, followed by the rush of air, by her soles, tickling her ever so softly. Soon, she could feel the hard asphalt of a city road, followed by the sound of a large creature moving around. She looked around, and saw two large white eyes, and a roar. She ran across the road as a tractor trailer passed her by.
Doubt watched as machiavelle faded into the earthly realm. As she faded, he slipped her socks on and her sneakers on. They faded into nothing, and he left the room, at the door, was mister Wixwell. He brushed his hair back and stopped Doubt.
“Mister Doubt, I have urgent news to relay to you.”
“Not right now Wixwell, how about in an hour?” Smiling, he began to walk off. There was silence between the two, until Doubt reached the doors at the end of the hall. The darker end without windows.
“Ruler is dead.” He called. Stephen Doubt stopped right in his tracks. On his favce, was the expression of horror, then an expression of sorrow crossed his face. He turned to Wixwell, at the other end of the hall, near the window, where the sun shined through. He began to stride toward the window and upon reaching it, and standing there facing Wixwell, they shook hands.
“So, it has begun.” He said.
“Yes.” Wixwell replied. “It has now begun and only one can stop it.”
“Let us hope, the prophecy was correct. If so, then our time will almost be up.”
“If it be true, then we’ll be free.”
Machiavelle wandered throug the city streets until she came upon an apartment building, where she knew instinctively, she was to find a number of males to bring to the condemners.
“So..you’re just some girl named Machiavelle?” The fat, slobber trailed man asked.
“Yeah, this is a brothel right?”
“Yup. Go to room 35, I have somebody for you there.” He said looking over her breasts and hips and buttocks.
“Actually, I’d like to have you.” She smiled in a fashion which, though she was trying to be innocent, portrayed, a very seductive woman.
“Nah. You’re too skinny for me. I need a big girl for me.”
Rejected once again, she began to climb the stairs of her new home.
The children on the street parted like the sea, as the boy moved among them. He felt like moses, or what he thinks moses felt like, in that story. He stopped and looked around the children, who stopped as he did. He stretched his arm outward, and they all moved away from his path, he clenched a fisst, and they all came forward. A surge of adrenaline rushed through his system as this happened, resulting in him exclaiming, “I am a god!” and charging through the crowd of children, who in their struggle to evade his plowing form, tripped and fell on the sidewalk, into the street, and ran into walls. By the time he reached the end of the sidewalk, he turned and looked at the kids. Sprawled upon the ground in heaps like mass graves, from a war, he remembers something of it, but can not place it.He smiles then turns and flies down the rest of the sidewalk to the most exclusive brothel in the city, knocking people down as he does so, he is still in his adrenaline rush after all.
“Room three five….here it is.” Machiavelle said to herself as she found her location. “Time to get a soul. Oh, I will be back in Hell in a flash.” She opened the door and saw a man on the bed, he was buck naked, long hair flowed over his shoulders and his eyes were a dark piercing black. He stared at her and said calmly.
“You forgot something Machiavelle.”
“Daddy! Have you come to help me?” The look in his eyes told her he wasn’t very happy at that moment. After all, he rarely was. Much of his abuse was toward Machiavelle for some unknown reason. The man rose to his feet and paced toward her. Her smile turned to a mere line on her face as her father approached, standing taller and darker than ever before. As he walked, his skin turned black and turned into a black italian suit.
“Machiavelle, you will be attacked, tonight. If you allow yourself to be murdered, I will never allow you to return home again.” He picked her up by the jaws and slammed her against the wall, so hard, that her head began to bleed.
“Why won’t you let me return?”
“You are a disgrace to your family!” He shouted pressing harder on her throat.
“B—But you were so nice to me this morning, w—why?”
“You are nothing but a piece of dirt! A mere speck on the eye of Hell! No one cares for you there, and most certainly no one shall care for you here! I am banishing you because you are a disgrace to all succubi everywhere, Hell and Earth.”
“You’re the kid who wanted to interview the bitches right?” The fat man said to the boy.
“Yeah.”
“Room thirty-five, there is a few up there you can interview, but they want something from you afterwards.”
The boy was halfway up the stais when he said that. “What do they want afterwards?” In his head he thought it was a foolish question.
“They want to fuck you obviously.”
“They want to have sex with me? But I am only seventeen!”
“Man, you’re still a virgin?”
“Shut up and leave me alone, you fat, sweaty, greasy tumor!” He dashed up the stairs without another word.
“Machiavelle ran down the hall at top speed, tears streamed down her face, this time, not from laughter, but from fear and sorrow. This was one of many attacks from her lustful and moody father, and her sisters provoked it, she knew it, they always did. They would always do something to hurt her. They all hated her. All one hundred twenty seven of them. And most of all, Corsice, Ceres and Fenrire. They were the most well bred succubus’s in Hell, and they were the pride of her father’s family. But they were jealous of Machiavelle, because, until she came along, they were their father’s favorites and were given the most attention.
They devised elaborate schemes to get machiavelle into trouble, once nearly killing her. Yet, through all the trouble they caused her, they were never punished, they were never given even the lightest touch of a feather upon their bottoms, whereas, she, Machiavelle, was given lashes with a cat o’ nine tails, her fingernails were pulled up ,out of their roots, her eyes were nearly poked out by knives, her hair, which at one time was long and beautiful, with a luscious red texture, like blood in a vial, was cut short. The beatings she endured, and the abuse she received, proved only to backfire in the three sister’s plan, which was to make more time for them, by making their father hate Machiavelle. Their father merely spent more time beating her and abusing her and tickling her until she started pooping, much to her embarrassment.
Their images appeared in the room as her father hurt her, a few moments ago, they laughed at her father’s anger and what he was doing to her. Their images grew into horrible dark shadows who screamed and laughed like giddy little children. These images spun around in Machiavelle’s head as she tore through the hallway, but pain filled her mind suddenly, as she tumbled to the floor and beside her as she looked around, was a boy, about as tall as machiavelle herself very thin, with shoulder length black hair. He was a black boy, she saw many of them where she was because they had become drug addicts and killed others, of course they did not outnumber many of the english, italian and germans who were there already. They only recently began arriving. She knelt to look at him, but before she could even touch him, his eyes flew open and he sat up. Much to Machiavelle’s surprise. She drew back suddenly, and fell to the floor. The boy stood, knelt low and began to pick up his books, it was as if he didn’t notice her at all!
“A tear rolled down Machiavelle’s eye and she began to sniff back her on coming gush of sorrow. It wasn’t that she was hurting, the fact, that she was bwing ignored by this young man was what hurt her. As she fought back to hide her tears, a squeak slipped through. The boy looked up suddenly and realized what had happened. He rushed over to her, and helped her up.
“Oh my dear young lady, are you alright?” He asked concerned. “Oh, I do apologize for this, I really do, I didn’t see you there. If I had realized…Oh, I was so stupid!” He helped her to her feet gently and brushed her off.
“No! Stop!” She cried as she grabbed her sides. His brushes tickled, but she was too stressed as it was to laugh.
“I am sorry miss. I didn’t mean to hurt you at all. Oh, you are bleeding! Hold on, I have something for your cheeks!” He said noting her bloody cheeks and the back of her head.
“This is it,” she thought, “a male soul to bring to the condemners.” She began to put her plan into action. She stepped forward, kneeled and began to help the boy pick up his books. When he looked up, he stared into her kindly smiling face. After he packed his belongings, he took out a first aid kit and suggested they find a room to be alone in. She agreed. And so off they went up the hall.
“Also, I would like to interview you. You do work at this place right?”
“Yeah.” She lied. They began to go up the hall she had just fled from. “Uh, what room, are we going to?” She asked nervously.
“Room, thirty-five.” Machiavelle had never run so quickly before in her life. Nor had the boy ever seen anyone do a human disappearing act like that. “Uh, hello? Hey! Where did you go?” He ended his sentence sadly. He sighed and began to finish his trek to room 35. Machiavelle had gone up to the fourth floor of the apartment and was hiding on the wall. It looked more like resting to men and women who passed by. As she rested a door opened and a young man walked over to her.
“Hey there, what’s up with you?” He sounded to Machiavelle like a man riding the Marie Janet airlines. He picked her up, and she let him take her into his room. She was too tired to try to seduce him.
The boy had gone from door to door, on each floor starting at the ground floor, looking for the girl who had run off. Heknocked at the first door. It opened, and there stood a woman half naked looking at him, her eyes were red and tear atreaked, but not the eyes of the gir he sought.
“Hello, I am looking for a girl, about my height, she had short red hair, long blue jeans and a bloody shirt. Have you seen—hey!” The door slammed in his face. On to the next door.
The man in the room looked over Machiavelle as she lay on the bed, tied spread eagle. She was tied so tightl that she was inches from the bed. She was surprisingly submissive, he thought. But why does she stare at me so? As if she is going to do something. No matter. He thought as he undid his pants and pulled them down. Machiavelle watched him as he did it, and was horrified to see what lay beneath his belt. First there was a buzzing in the room, that is what she noticed when he picked her up and brought her inside. She now found the source of the buzzing. When he dropped his pants, she saw a black mass of what would have been hair, moving around. They began to fly away from him, they were flies! Under the mass of flies, there was some sort of appendage Machiavelle had never seen before on a man. It started out as only one stem, but then it spread into eight, twelve foot long, penis like structures. They actually resembled snakes more than anything else.
“Oh what are you going to do?” Machiavelle said in a spunky tone, “Rape me to death?”
The structures rose and looked forward at Machiavelle, they retracted, rose up, and reached toward her. The man walked over to her and stood a foot away. The structures began to brush along her sides and one slid into her armpit. She lurched and giggled. The tips of the structures were hard and firm, whilst the rest of them were limp, like tentacles.
“Hi! My name is—“
Slam!
My name is—“
Slam
My name is—“
Slam!
“Solompn Placid.”
Corsice and Ceres were in room thrity five They wore, blue jeans, white socks and bras. Their blouses were at the door. Fenrire was hogtied on the floor and Ceres and Corsice waited for Solomon to arrive at their door.
“You are sure this guy has a foot fetish?”
“He doesn’t have a foot fetish. He has a sock fetish along with a tickling fetish. At least that is what this paper says about him.” If he is like any man, he will fall us. Literally, at our feet!” She laughed at the joke she had made, thoough n one else found it funny. This often happened.
“You know, Ceres, you love Machiavelle so much, yet you are devising these plans to bring about her downfall.”
“I don’t actually like her much, it is just that she is so pitiful.” She replied. Corsice detected something different in her voice as she replied. She couldn’t easily place it though. Finally, a knock caught her attention. The two of them bounded on the bed, faced each other, put their fet in a position, so that they would entwine
“Come in,” they called sweetly. Solomon walked in and stopped dead in his tracks. The girl’s wiggled their toes and giggled.
“Come on over!”They giggled. Their eyes were more enrapturing than ever before. Solomon walked toward them and stopped at the bed. Ceres put her foot on his shoulder and wiggled her toe on his ear.
“We know what you like Solomon.” She said in her somewhat british accent. “We know all about you.”
“Yeah,” corsice added, “We know you want to tickle our feet.”
“Um, actually, I am looking for an interview.”
“You want to tickle us too right?” Ceres said in a sad voice and put on a sad puppy dog expression. She rubbed his ear with her toes. Ever so gently.
“Um, I guess so….what is that noise?” He asked as he looked around the room. He peered over the side of the bed and found Fenrire on the floor. He was a bit stunned, but tempted nonetheless. He merely pressed his finger upon her sole, lightly. Fenrire’s eyes grew wide and she hopped from one end of the room to the other. Her muffled laughter pleased Solomon to an extent.
“I would like to interview you three on what it is like to be a human succubus.” He said in a professional tone. Ceres and Corsice were silent for a moment.
“Uhm,” Corsice replied.
“Excuse me?” Ceres asked.
“Well, aren’t you succubi? In human form?” Ceres was getting a little nervous, she glanced at corsice who looked at him strangely, then at Fenrire who was still giggling. “After all, you have sex with people and then, do whatever it is that you do. I call prostitute’s succubi, or incubi.” Ceres and Corsice heaved a sigh of relief.
“Yes. We will do the interview, but first, we want you to do something for us.”
“And that is?”
“We want you to tickle us until we pee!”
“Really. You know, I no longer have a tickling and sock fetish, so it won’t be arousing to me.” Ceres was slightly disappointed, but it didn’t show.
“Still, I want to be tickled until I pee. I never had it before.”
“Nor, have I.” Corsice added. The two of them together, in unison, lifted their legs so that their feet were right in Solomon’s face. He began to stroke Corsice’s foot first, she wore thin, bobby socks. With white soles and pink heels and toes. Her toes scrunched up and she grew red. Finally she fell back and laughed.
“Yahaha! Oh my god! It tickles like shit!ahahaaa!!!Noho wonder Fenrire liahahahaliked it!!!!”
“I take it Fenrire is the girl who is tied up?”
“No” Ceres answered. “That is her nickname. Her actual name is Michelle.”
There was a muffled “Hey!”
“I am Lauriat, and the girl who is laughng so much is Marisa. We are the last surviving daughters of the RuMoure Dynasty.”
“I am Vladislaus Drakulya.” Solomon answered. Tickling as he did so. “It seems that your sister doesn’t need a break.”
“She doesn’t. She is the second most ticklish of us. Michelle is the most ticklish, and I am the least.”
“Really.”
“Yes. Oh, and Marisa reaches orgasm when she is tickled for five minutes. I am actually surprised. I never knew someone who did that.”
“…Okay….Ew.”
“Oh, there is nothing wrong with it.”
“I think there is. I think it is sinful.”
“Oh?” She said. Watching him strip her of her socks. “You sure are tickling like you don’t care.” She smiled.
“In life, I would rather make a person rob a nobleman for me, than to do it myself. So, I would rather make her reach orgasm, than to do it with myself.”
“…Okay….Ew…But that would be just as sinful, and the pawn in the game of sin would not get any blame, except for by the people he or she attacked.”She laughed. Ceres was starting to like the young man. Too bad, she was going to condemn him.
“Aahahaoooshit!!!Hhahahahaaa!” She screamed as his fingers wiggled between her toes, a place no one had ever gone at anytime. “Yahahaha!! You self righteous little bastardhahahaaaa!!!” She bucked and screamed and finally, fell off of the bed. Solomon knelt down and started to tickle her ribs, one of her most ticklish spots.”No! Noahahaooo! You littleshiahahahahaaa!!! I am going to kill you!!!!Haaaahaha! Yahahahahaha!!!” She turned on her back involuntarily giving Solomon greater access to her chest and stomach. He lightly scratched her breasts with his fingernails eliciting guffaws from her, then turned his attention to her stomach, where, among other things, her navel which held a gemstone pasted with honey and wax. He plucked it out easily and began to gently scratch away the wax. She arched her back and screamed like a banshee. Then she fell back to the floor, more relaxed and she stopped laughing. She stared into space and simply heaved up and down.
“Is she knocked out?”
“No. That is..”
“Oh, you’re not saying she’s…” Ceres nodded in reply. “Oh!” He said in a maner of shouting, ‘that’s gross!’ “Well, time for your tickling.” She put her feet on the bed. They were nice and small, around, size six. “Are you ready?”
“Go for it baby.” She said seductively.
“With pleasure my dear.” He began by stroking her foot softly, he found that she had lied whn she said she was the least ticklish. She was more ticklish than Corsice. But her laughs were soft, like a dove’s coo.
“Mmmhmhmhmh Mhmhmhmhhhmeeheheee…” She giggled. Her slightly dirty soles wriggled as each finger marched upon the ticklish ground. “Mhhmmmhmhhmhhoh, this is sooo nice hahaa/.” He began to gently tickle her big toes. He could feel the skin, underneath her socks, white ones, slightly thick. As she laughed, she curled her toes in a way, which was enticing to Solomon, although, he was no longer a fetishist. The balls of lint were caught under his nails as he did so. He was thoroughly enjoying this torment of his submissive beauty for the moment. He watched as she laid flat on the bed, and arched her back, a hiss escaped her mouth followed by many hiss-like giggles.
“Oh, Solomon, you ahahare a fetishist…”
“My dear, simlpy because you are aroused, does not mean that I am a fetishist.”He said in his professional tone.
“I knew you hahad it in you.” She added, ignoring his response. “Oh, my god….” Solomon suddenly leapt his hands to her ribs and began to scribble his fingers upon them. Much to Ceres’s surprise. “Ayp! Sheeheheheheahahahaiaahaha! Omigod!Omigod! Stop! Jesus christ!” She began to bang her hands on the mattress.
“Ah, it seems to me, your spot has been discovered.” He said emotionlessly. His emotion however, was sparked suddenly, by a heart-wrenching scream. He began to remove himself from the bed, but Ceres grabbed him and snarled.
“Keep going….immediately.” Her eyes were bright red and her grin was fanged. She frightened Solomon, who proceeded to tickle her underarms. She layughed and laughed as his fingers probed her underarms unceasingly. As she closed her eyes, Solomon punched her in the side of the head. She went totally silent, she was unconscious. He went over to Fenrire and freed her. Instead of thanking him, she lunged at him and tried to claw his eyes out. He threw her off of him and got to his feet. He ran out of the door, and with Fenrire close behind. He found that she was probably the most fierce opponent he had ever faced so far. He ran up toward the area from whence the scream emanated. The thirteenth floor. He flew up the steps running from the red eyed girl and turned the corner. The corridor was long with many doors, any one could have someone in it. But they were too busy doing things in their rooms. But he had to think of something. As he looked at the doors, and saw the do not disturb signs, something began to formulate in his brain. He saw a single door with a do not disturb sign on it As he passed, he smacked the door with the palm of his hand. The door was answered and it opened, in Fenrire’s path.
There was a crash and tumble and Solomon turned his head to find, horrifyingly surprising, that Fenrire had burned the door somehow. It had then exploded and she never touched it. A skeleton lay in her wake, burned to a crisp. The unfortunate person who answered the door. Solomon began to slow down, he was tiring and there was almost nothing he could do about it. He finally stopped and turned with his fist outstretched. Fenrire stopped mere centimeters from his fist.
“What is this?” She shouted. She grabbed Solomon by the throat and held him up. She was the only shirted girl there. She wore a blue polyester blouse. “How dare you hurt my sister? I shall kill you for that!” She tightened her grip upon his throat, cutting off his oxygen. Solomon, seeing a good opportunity, tried desperately to take it. He stretched his hand to her armpit, and poked it. She dropped him immediately and fell to the floor in a fetal position giggling like mad. Solomon had time to catch his breath. Fenrire rose to her feet and turned her head toward Solomon her eyes literally held flames, for behind the black of her irises, were flames leaping up. He punched Fenrire in the face, and while she arched her back from the pain, Solomon bent low and attacked her ribs whose form showed through the shirt she wore.
“Aaaugh!” She screamed in surprise.Solomon bent low and caught her on his shoulders. He then grabbed her buttocks. She screamed with laughter simply from the clutch. He began to grab at her buttocks repeatedly and he ran down the hall, toward a large window. Fenrire’ whose head was bent backward, realized what would happen and locked her legs around his neck. She watched in horror as the window came closer. Suddenly it was only a foot away, then a crash, and she was hung out the window. Solomon realized that he would be pulled down also if he didn’t do something quickly, and this time, it took no thinking at all. He placed his feet apart, kneeled, and began to furiously tickle her feet. Her feet wiggled and finally, let loose. Fenrire fell screaming, over the side of the building.
Machiavelle was on the floor, with one of the penislike tentacles up her shirt, tickling away at her sternum. She was crawling on her back, as the man walked toward her.
“What is wrong Machiavelle? Am I funny to you? I shall punish you for laughing at me!” The man said in a taunting fashion, as the tentacles lifted her up by her shirt. They shot out ant grabbed her arms and legs and the ones that were left, began to tickle her relentlessly.
“No! Stop! I didn’t do anything to deserve this!” She cried as the tickling began again. She was suddenly aware of her socks being removed. She screamed for help, only to fall into giggles. She realized that this must have been the attack which her father had beaten her about. The phone rang and the man dropped her. He answered the phone.
“Hello? Hi cera. What? You need another girl? Well, I don’t ave one right now, but I can get you one.”
Machiavelle ran out the door, screaming bloody murder. “Hey! Come back here now!” He threw the phone down and ran outside, stretched his tentacles out and caught her by the feet. The tentacles wrapped about her ankles and tickled them. She never knew her ankles could be so darn ticklish. But laughter turned to horror as she felt one of the tentacles slide down the back of her jeans.
“No! No! Help someone! Aaaaahhh!!!!” There was a crack, and Machiavelle saw part of a chair, fall to the floor in front of her. The man with the penises fell to the floor beside her, and his tentacle slithered out, and joined the others in screaming for their master. It was a simple wail, made by all eight of them. Then their bodies began to take on the color of a used snake firework. This continued to the man also, who became a gray corpse. The boy helped Machiavelle into his arms and carried her back to her room. He laid her on the bed, and slipped her socks on, she smiled happily, as he did it. He then slipped on her shoes and tied them. That is when he glanced at her shirt.
“Ticklish Me?” He asked.
“Huh?”
“Your shirt. It reads, Ticklish Me.” He pointed.
“Oh, yes, uh, I have sort of a fetish you might say.”
“Really.”
“Yeah.”
“I think we should go. I have to nurse your wounds, and you don’t need to be in a brothel, it may be a five star brothel, but it is still a brothel." He picked her up and walked out of the room.
The fat man walked toward the stairs, the most exercise he had done in ages, and Waited for the boy.
“I wondered what was making hat noise. I don’t want to go up there but I might have to. Jesus….” He began to climb the stairs, when the elevator door opened. Solomon exited carrying Machiavelle in his arms. Solomon, was no muscular boy, but with the adrenaline, he was quite able.
The man smiled at the two of them. He knew the girl wasn’t a whore, she wasn’t cut out for it. He could tell. He was rather glad that the two of them met. In room thirty-five.
Yeah....Succubae Brawl....High Speed Chase... Bleep!!.
So, what'd ya think?
