Saucy Nerine (MM/FF)

[Sablesword]

“I’m going to be put in the Monthly Stocks!” Nerine Radishworth cried. “They’re going to tickle me!”

Elarra didn’t answer at once. Saying “You deserve it” or even “It will be good for you” would have been rude.

Both women wore dresses suitable for respectable female halflings, but Nerine wasn’t respectable, and Elarra wasn’t a halfling. Elarra had large goblin-ears and a green complexion, and wore the collar of a enslaved wench (the only sort of goblin allowed here in the Furfoot Counties). Currently, she also wore a pair of light sandals and a locking anklet with slave bells. The sandals were the usual indulgence of Master Tilborn when he sent Elarra out to the Tuesday market, and the anklet was his whim. On another occasion, he might have hobbled her ankles or put her in some other loose and light bond.

“That’s unfortunate, Mizz Nerine,” Elarra finally said.

Nerine was a native of the Furfoot Counties, pleasant looking as young halfling women generally were, and barefoot as all halflings almost always were. She had left her tweens, or twenties, being just shy of her thirty-first birthday. That still left her with two years to go before her coming-of-age at thirty-three.

Nerine also had a reputation as a she-rascal, a habitual liar and troublemaker. Her family covered up her misdeeds as best they could, making them a whispered scandal rather than an open one. That scandal had been growing, however, and Elarra wasn’t surprised to hear that Nerine was now to be put into the Stocks.

“Please, Elarra, it’s just Nerine between the two of us.” Nerine said. Before Elarra could respond, she went on to say, “You’re a friend, aren’t you? My family won’t do anything. They won’t lift a finger to keep me out of the Stocks. That’s why I’m asking you for help.”

“What kind of help are you asking for? You know, of course, that I’d have to ask permission from Master Tilborn before I could do anything.”

“Training help,” Nerine said. “You know how to take a tickle, but it would drive me crazy, completely crazy. I couldn’t stand it, and that would make being put in the Stocks even more horrible. I need to be taught how to stand it, and you’re the only one who can teach me. Please, Elarra.”

“I’d have to ask permission from Master Tilborn,” Elarra repeated. “I can do that just as soon as I get back home.”

“I could ask him for you,” Nerine suggested slyly.

“That’s all right,” Elarra said. “It will be quicker if I ask him. What you can do to help, Nerine, is take those spring peas back to Missus Alice Appleroot, and either return them to her or pay for them. If she gets suspicious after seeing us talking together, I might end up in the Monthly Stocks right beside you.”

“She’d never notice,” Nerine said. Then, as Elarra continued to look at her, “All right, I’ll do that. I’ll do that right now,” she added as Elarra kept up her silent gaze.

Elarra watched Nerine as she returned to Missus Appleroot’s stall. Missus Appleroot looked past Nerine, catching Elarra’s eye and giving a tiny nod. Elarra twitched her ears in return, and Missus Appleroot smiled thinly and gave back a second nod.

Elarra let out her breath. There were always young rascals and she-rascals, and not just in the Furfoot counties or among halflings. Mostly they turned respectable by the time they came of age, although some came to bad ends. It was yet to be seen which sort Nerine would turn out to be.

Although a session in the Monthly Stocks might push her in the right direction. The Stocks still had an old rune-magic on them. Normally the runes weren’t invoked, and the monthly tickle sessions were a simple matter of fun for the young bucks and the lasses they wooed. When the runes were invoked, however, the tickle subjects were said to come out better behaved. It was a magic of reform, rather than of punishment, at least for subjects who enjoyed being tickled. Which was why, Elarra decided, that she was in favor of teaching Nerine to take a tickle, and to like it. Assuming Master Tilborn gave his permission, of course.

=O+O+O=​

Tilborn Carrotmaster was smoking a pipe with Bertgil Appleroot, standing by the fence well away from the cooperage. Tilborn didn’t want his workshop to burn down, and the wood shavings from barrel staves caught fire all too easily.

“So the Radishworths have decided about Nerine?” Tilborn asked.

Bert nodded. “That’s right. She’ll be put in the Monthly Stocks this Saturday.”

Bert would know; Missus Bertgil Appleroot had been Tulip Radishworth, before her marriage, and she still had both ears and a word in the Radishworth family councils. In addition, Bert was still active with the Bucks of the Cheese, despite his marriage to Tulip, and the Bucks were in charge of the Monthly Stocks.

“Don’t know if it will do any good,” Bert added after a puff on his own pipe.

“I’d expect it to do some good,” Tilborn said. “The question is whether it will do enough.”

Tilborn was still on the rolls of the Bucks himself, although he hadn’t been active since his purchase of Elarra. He knew as much as any, and more than most, about the faded rune magic on the stocks.

“Maybe it will do some good,” Bert said doubtfully. “We should hope, I suppose.” He blew a failed smoke-ring. “Wouldn’t it be pretty if the Bucks said, ‘We won’t put Nerine in the stocks; it wouldn’t do any good!’”

The Bucks of the Cheese were a club of halfling men from Greater Broadstump: Broadstump proper, Ironstone, Oakway, and the farms around. They were mostly young, nearly all bachelors (Bert was one of two exceptions), and had joined mostly to drink, gamble, and flirt with likely lasses, with a leavening of helping out those who needed it. They also had a charter-by-custom to uphold the Law, and thus had charge of the Monthly Stocks.

In practice, misdeeds in the Furfoot Counties were usually dealt with quietly, by members of the miscreant’s family, and so the Monthly Stocks were mostly used for flirting and gambling. Lasses could choose to pay a penny (or have a penny paid by their swains) and drop their name in the jar. Each month, names were drawn to fill the empty spaces in the Stocks (which would be all four, more often than not). The chosen lasses would then get a sweet tickle in the Stocks – without the rune magic – and afterwards would split the purse, minus a tithe for the Cheese.

Bert added, “Nerine will be asking your Elarra for help. That’s more hope than I’d otherwise have. If the rapscallion or she-rascal don’t like the tickle, then the rune-magic won’t catch. More often than not, anyhow.”

That wasn’t how it worked, Tilborn knew, but he also knew better than to try to change Bert’s mind on the matter. Instead he said, “You think Nerine will ask for help? I’m not seeing her doing so, and that’s less hope than I’d otherwise have.”

“I’ve got a penny that says she will.”

“All right then, I’ve got a penny that says she won’t.” Tilborn pointed with his pipestem. “And here comes our answer now, if I’m not mistaken.”

Tilborn had heard Elarra’s slave bells before he’d seen her. He beckoned when she came into sight, and she turned to join him and Bert, rather than going directly to the home-burrow. Stopping before them, she made a slavegirl’s chained-curtsy to each of them, keeping her ankles together even though they weren’t hobbled.

“Master,” she said. “Mr. Appleroot.”

“Welcome back,” Bert told her. “Did you have good shopping at the market?”

“Yes, Mr. Appleroot. Spring peas and eggs.” Elarra then turned to Tilborn. “Master, I met Mizz Nerine in the market. She said that they’re putting her in the Monthly Stocks. Is that true?”

“It’s true,” Tilborn said. “Bert here was just giving me the news about the Radishworths’ decision.”

“Mizz Nerine asked me to teach her, master. Teach her to take the tickle, I mean. There isn’t much time left to do that, but I told her I’d ask you for permission.”

Tilborn snorted softly, feeling a low amusement. He picked a penny out of his purse and handed it to Bert.

Bert grinned. “You know Elarra better than I do.” He dropped the penny into his own purse. “But I know Nerine better than you do.”

Tilborn knocked his pipe clean and put it back in its pouch. “Go put the shopping away, Elarra – and don’t forget to put your sandals in the lockbox. We’ll leave the bells on until I get around to replacing them with a hobble, but I want you inside and barefoot for at least the next couple of hours.”

“Yes, master,” Elarra said cheerfully.

“You’re being kept tender-foot, are you?” Bert asked Elarra.

“She is,” Tilborn answered for her. He reached out to stroke her left ear. “Keeping her tender-foot lets her be both snooty-shod and obedient at the same time.” He then told Elarra, “I’ll be along presently to check on you,” Tilborn said. “After that I’ll go find Nerine and tell her about her good luck.

“I’ll tell Nerine,” Bert said. “And I’ll help teach her. Tilborn and I both will.” He looked at Elarra. “You’ll want a couple of assistants, won’t you?”

Tilborn nodded. Elarra made another chained-curtsy. “Well, yes, Mr. Appleroot. Thank you.”

=O+O+O=​

Elarra was making tea when the bell rang the next morning. It was Nerine, looking white-faced and stiff.

“Come in and sit down!” Elarra said with a welcoming smile. “We can have tea as we begin your lessons.”

Nerine sat at the kitchen table. Elarra took a chair across the corner, with a quiet rattle of chain. She always went barefoot while inside Master Tilborn’s home-burrow, and this morning he had also hobbled her with three cuffs: Two locked on her ankles with a chain between them, and a second chain leading up to the cuff on her left wrist. Elarra could lift her arm to keep the hobble-chain from dragging, and the added restraint amused her master.

“My family is making me take these lessons,” Nerine said.

“It was your idea yesterday, when we talked in the market,” Elarra said.

“I suppose it was. But there’s not enough time. Today is Wednesday, and the Monthly Stocks will be on Saturday!”

“It’s not much time,” Elarra agreed. “It should be enough, however.”

“Do you think you could delay thing for a month?” Nerine asked. “That would give us time.”

Elarra poured tea. “I couldn’t. I don’t believe Master Tilborn could either. Mr. Appleroot – Mr. Bertgil Appleroot that is – might be able to, but I can’t imagine that he would.”

“He wouldn’t,” Nerine said bitterly, “and I can feel the stocks closing around my ankles every time he looks at me. It was his whole idea in the first place!”

In fact, Elarra knew that the idea had come from Nerine’s mother and grandmother. Master Tilborn had told her that Mr. Appleroot had opposed it at first, as had his wife (who was a second cousin of Nerine, if Elarra remembered correctly).

“Since there’s nothing else that can be done,” Elarra said, ignoring the lie, “you might as well go back to your first plan.” She sipped tea. “Tell everyone that coming to me to teach you was your very own idea, and that you still think it’s a good one.”

Nerine looked down at her teacup before taking a swallow. Looking up again, she gave Elarra a sudden bright smile. “It was my very own idea. Lets get started, then.”

Elarra smiled back, raising her ears as she did so. She would have to do this from memory, as Master Tilborn’s copy of The Gudaguda had gone missing. “The first rule is that you never ever beg for the tickling to stop. Not ever. Now, tell me the first rule.”

“The first rule is to never ever beg for the tickling to stop, not ever,” Nerine said.

“Good! Now the second rule is…”

There were a hundred rules. When all of them had been recited, Nerine said, “That’s a lot of rules.”

“It is a lot,” Elarra said, nodding in agreement. “Only the first one is completely mandatory, though. For the rest, you just pick the handful that you can best remember as the ones that will work for you.”

“I liked the one about imagining a glass of wine turned upside down, and the wine staying in the glass.”

“That is a good one. Now let me rinse out the teapot, and then we can go out to the practice stocks.”

“Practice stocks?” Nerine looked alarmed. “Already?”

“They’re waiting for us,” Elarra said, “and we don’t have time to waste on your lessons.”

“All right,” Nerine said.

They stood and started for the door. Elarra admitted to herself that they really were hurrying things. Her own lessons, back under Cheetpinkiz Mountain, had been both prudently paced and more thorough, before she’d been put in the goblin tickle-barrel. Nerine was getting the quick version out of necessity.

=O+O+O=​

Nerine sat in the stocks, watching Mr. Til unlock the cuffs and chains hobbling Elarra. The goblin slavegirl grinned at her master, and he gave her a kiss and an ear-caress before lifting her to sit beside Nerine. He then quickly roped Elarra to the backboard. Mr. Bert had already tied Nerine’s upper arms there, and now he lowered the foot-piece to trap both Nerine and Elarra’s ankles.

“Wait,” Nerine said. “Elarra is being tickled with me?”

“That’s right,” Mr. Bert said in a level tone. “Do you have a problem with sitting beside her? Her being a green-skinned goblin-wench and all?”

“No! I mean yes! I mean…” Nerine sputtered. What she meant was that things were happening too fast – but she couldn’t say that.

She’d hoped that she could use this tickle-training to delay being put in the Monthly Stocks. It wasn’t the tickle she’d get there that frightened her. Rather it was the old rune magic she’d get with the tickle. That magic would ‘tame’ her. It would make her meek and obedient. Worse, it would make her cowardly. She wouldn’t be able to do anything fun afterwards; that cursed ‘taming’ rune magic would make her too frightened and too embarrassed to try.

“I mean that it is kind of Elarra to help me with tickle training,” Nerine manage to say at last, “and I don’t want to be cruel to her in return.”

“That’s all right,” Elarra said cheerfully. “I wouldn’t be much of a teacher if I couldn’t show myself to be a good student, too.” She twitched her ears and winked at Mr. Bert, seated in front of her. Mr. Til took the stool in front of Nerine’s feet and picked up his initial implement.

“Yes, but couldn’t we hahaha hee hee! Oh heehee hahaha!” Nerine said as Tilborn began the tickle.

=O+O+O=​

Elarra giggled uncontrollably. She didn’t even try to hold the giggles back as the delightful tickles sank into her soles. Mr. Appleroot wasn’t as skilled as Master Tilborn, and he was taking care about tickling a ‘tenderfooted’ non-halfling, but he was still good. Very good.

He was tickling one of her feet at a time, as her toes were not (yet) tied. One hand held her toes, while the fingers on his other hand raked and wiggled, keeping up the tickling. He didn’t seek out any particular spots. Instead Elarra felt the touch of his finger-tickle on her entire left sole. Then on her entire right sole, as Mr. Appleroot switched grips and hands. Then back on her left sole again as the finger-tickle continued.

Ropes pinned Elarra’s upper arms to the backboard, just as they did to Nerine beside her, and while Elarra’s lower arms could flail about, they could do nothing – nothing! – about the sweet tickle of her soles. Her ankles were well trapped – Master Tilborn and Mr. Appleroot had done a good job banging together these stocks – and while the foot-boards keep Elarra from seeing her feet, she could feel what was happening to them. And what was happening to them was the tickle!

Mr. Appleroot paused to hold up a quill feather. “Now does this actually work?” he asked. Before Elarra could answer yes, Mr. Appleroot brought it down. Elarra’s answer came in the form of a happy squeal followed by giggles and laughter.

That feather tickled as well as any of the others Elarra had experienced. It danced over each sole in turn, and along and between her toes. Then Mr. Appleroot discovered the upper sides of Elarra’s feet. They were, of course, goblin feet: Green and nude on top, completely without the wooly-fur of halfling feet. Elarra giggled and squirmed and laughed as she felt Mr. Appleroot take advantage of her feet, sending the feather tip on swirling paths all around each of them in turn.

As that feathery tickle sank in, Elarra could hear Nerine laughing beside her. This added to the tickling, just as Elarra and Master Tilborn had planned. Just as Elarra had experienced before. It had been some time since Elarra had last been in a double-tickle like this, but she still remembered what it was like.

Nerine shared this double tickle, experiencing it for the first time. Elarra knew that she was getting a different tickle, a tickle with different implements and techniques suited to her tough halfling soles. A feather would do nothing to those soles, while a corn broom or stiff scrub-brush would tickle lots.

The tickling stopped. Elarra’s giggles ran down. She heard Nerine’s run down as well.

“Time for the toe-tie,” Mr. Appleroot announced.

Elarra nodded vigorous agreement, ears up and cheerful. Nerine started. Elarra gave her a nod as well, along with an ear-twitch of reassurance. Nerine couldn’t match the ear-twitch, of course, but after a moment she nodded back.

=O+O+O=​

Nerine giggled, and giggle-giggled, and giggle-giggle-giggled. She squirmed, she twisted against the ropes holding her upper arms, and she laughed. She moved her hands around, unable to reach anything with her upper arms pinned, and she laughed. She was barely aware of her arms and hands flailing; her attention was on the soles of her feet, and the tickle Mr. Tilborn was applying there.

That tickling felt wonderful.

Her soles were being whisked by the whisk-broom, soaking her soles in tickle, and it felt wonderful. The steady strokes Mr. Til applied made it impossible for her to do anything but laugh. It felt wonderful.

Nerine had intended to beg for the tickling to stop, in order to delay Elarra’s lessons. She would tell Mr. Til and Mr. Bert that she needed to give Elarra’s lessons more time. She needed to convince them, somehow, to delay her being put into the Monthly Stocks until next month. With a delay, something might come up. Something might happen to put it off entirely.

Nerine knew she could beg prettily, when she put her mind to it. But not when she had to giggle in the middle of each sentence. Not when she was under this tickle that felt so so good. She would wait and enjoy being tickled for a bit. She would wait and then beg a little later on.

Then Nerien’s plans fell away as Mr. Til changed the tickle-tempo. The new tickle was softer, making Nerine giggle instead of laughing. But the tease of that tickle on her stock-trapped feet focused her attention. It drove all her thoughts and plans out of her head. All she could think of now was that delicious tickle on the soles of her feet.

Most non-halflings believed that halfling feet were not ticklish, and it was true that the usual feather-tickling did nothing when applied to tough halfling soles. What symbolized tickling among halflings was not the feather, but rather the whisk broom. Brooms could tickle halfling soles, especially when applied with expert hands – and Mr. Til had expert hands.

The broom-tickle swept up and down all over Nerine’s soles, and back and forth across them. It swept over both her soles. Neither of her feet needed to feel jealous of the other; they both shared that delicious tickle. Nerine giggled and laughed and giggled again. That delicious tickle felt so delicious. It made her feel silly. It made her feel happy. She didn’t want it to stop. She didn’t want it to ever stop.

Then it did stop, for a brief pause before a new tickle began. Mr. Til showed Nerine a comb before beginning to apply it. He didn’t apply it to the soles of Nerine’s feet, but to the tops of her feet. He was combing the wooly-fur there – and somehow he was making it tickle. How was he making it tickle? And how was he making that tickling feel so very very good?

=O+O+O=​

After Nerine had departed, escorted by Mr. Appleroot, Master Tilborn asked Elarra, “So what do you think?”

“I think Mizz Nerine is a natural, master,” Elarra answered. “Either that, or she’s been studying in secret. She’ll be ready for the Monthly Stocks by Saturday. In fact, she could be put into them now.”

“It could be some of both.” Master Tilborn said, pulling out a small book. “Bert returned this. He said it was found among Nerine’s things.”

Elarra recognized Master Tilborn’s copy of The Gudaguda, the one she hadn’t been able to find that morning.

“It’s been missing for at least a fortnight,” Master Tilborn said. “Probably longer. I was going to ask if you’d loaned it out, but now I don’t think I have to.”

Nerine wasn’t a frequent visitor to their home-burrow, but she had been an occasional one over the past year or two. Usually she came with her mother, sometimes with her father, and once or twice by herself.

“No master, I didn’t loan it to anyone.” Elarra hesitated before adding, “I shouldn’t say this, master, but a session in the Monthly Stocks will be good for Mizz Nerine – and she deserves a half a pint of stock-ale beforehand, as well as one afterwards.”

Master Tilborn smiled. “You’re not wrong, but it doesn’t work the way you think. I know it’s tempting to see the rune magic twisted into… chastising Nerine, after all the mischief she’s gotten into. But it doesn’t work that way. The runes on the Stocks aren’t punishment runes that frighten their victims into behaving, or even geas runes that painlessly compel them to behave. They’re actually strengthening runes.”

“Strengthening runes, master? How does that work?”

“Their rune magic strengthens the will of the tickle-subjects,” Master Tilborn said, “It strengthens their determination, their gumption. The usual trouble with young rascals and she-rascals is that they’re flighty. They’ll make resolutions to behave better when they get caught, but then they can’t keep those resolutions. They don’t have the willpower to keep them. Now usually they’ll find that willpower as they leave their tweens and come of age, but the Monthly Stocks are there for cases like Nerine, wild lasses (and lads) who get into too much trouble to wait.”

Master Tilborn sighed. “Most people don’t believe that. They’re certain that the Monthly Stocks must have geas runes or even punishment runes. They won’t believe that they’re strengthening runes even after being told.”

“I believe you, master,” Elarra said. It made sense of the conflicting stories she had heard about the Stocks. Besides, Master Tilborn knew runes. He had made the tickle barrel used by the Cheetpinkiz Mountain goblins, and he did occasionally work with various wizards, sorcerers, and other sorts of mages.

“That’s because you’re different, Elarra.” Master Tilborn caressed each of her long green ears in turn, and then touched her slave collar, reminding her of those differences.

=O+O+O=​

On Thursday morning, Nerine reached up and rang the bell of Mr. Til’s home-burrow. Her other hand held the pair of keys Mr. Til had given her, and she toyed with the idea of ‘losing’ them as she waited. Elarra finally opened the door, making it too late for that plan.

“Mr. Til said I should give these to you,” Nerine said instead, and now she understood why: Elarra was wrist-shackled and ankle-hobbled – with the hobbling chain being a short one.

“Thank you, Nerine,” Elarra answered. With one of the keys she unlocked her wrists and ankles, and with the other she opened a lock-box, slipping on a pair of sandals from inside it. “Now we’re ready for the practice stocks.”

“Wait, aren’t we going to have a lesson, first?” Nerine asked.

“No, just practice sessions now.” Elarra twitched an ear in what Nerine guessed to be a gesture of amusement. “You do remember the first rule, don’t you?”

“The first rule is to never ever beg for the tickling to stop, not ever,” Nerine said. Then she bit her tongue. She’d intended to pretend that she’d forgotten her lessons from yesterday. That she had backslid and thus needed more time to learn to take the tickle. Time that would delay her session in the Monthly Stocks until next month. Time to find some way to avoid being ‘tamed’ by the rune-magic on the Stocks.

Elarra started for the practice stocks and Nerine had to follow. Nerine asked, “Shouldn’t I take those keys back?”

“I’m to hand the keys back to Master Tilborn myself,” Elarra said. “If we were being very formal, I’d kneel, bow my head, and raise up the keys in my hands, presenting them to him.”

“Oh.”

A few moments later Nerine’s curiosity got the better of her. “I’m sure it’s rude for me to ask, but… what is it like? Wearing a slave collar, I mean.”

“I don’t mind your asking,” Elarra said. “It’s very different from being a free women in some ways, and almost exactly the same in other ways. It’s not a blessing, no matter what the priests of Golden Master Dee say, but it’s not a curse, either. It’s a little like being born a goblin, or born a halfling. You can’t really say what it’s like until you try it – and then there isn’t any way to change your mind.” Elarra stopped and looked Nerine straight in the eye. “Don’t try it, Mizz Nerine, unless you are very sure, or unless your fate demands it.” They began walking again, and Elarra smiled. “That’s what happened to me, you know. Master Tilborn and I fell in love. This,” she touched her slave collar, “lets me live here in the Furfoot Counties, which is a good thing. It’s Master Tilborn’s home, and I’ve come to love it almost as much as he does.”

“Oh,” Nerine said again. They were moments away from the practice stocks, and she was frantically trying to decide what to do next. She had managed to secretly study the tickle before her ‘first’ lesson yesterday, and that had helped a lot. What she hadn’t been able to do was secretly practice the tickle, and so yesterday’s session had been a big surprise. It had felt so good. It had been so much fun. If anyone now tried tickling her as a torture, she could – ha! – laugh at it.

No, her trouble was with that cursed rune magic of the cursed Monthly Stocks. Being tickled would make her vulnerable, allowing the rune magic to enter and change her. That magic would curse her into being a good little girl, into someone who wouldn’t have fun. Into someone who wouldn’t want to have fun anymore.

She had to delay being put into the Monthly Stocks. Or she had to quickly learn how to hate being tickled, so that she could resist. Her session in the Stocks would then become a punishment, but at least it would keep the rune magic from catching hold of her.

=O+O+O=​

Elarra hopped right into the practice stocks, expecting Nerine to do likewise. Instead, however, the halfling lass stood in place, balking.

Mr. Appleroot said, “In you go, now,” without effect. “In you go, Nerine,” he repeated.

“But…” Nerine said.

“Do you want to be made to get into the stocks?” Master Tilborn asked blandly.

“Yes… No… All right.”

Nerine slowly took her place beside Elarra and allowed Mr. Appleroot to secure her upper body. Master Tilborn lowered the upper stock-board. This time, each pair of ankles was trapped close together, rather than well apart like yesterday. Elarra felt Master Tilborn take advantage of this by tying her big toes together, while Mr. Appleroot did the same to Nerine.

Then the tickling started.

As Mr. Appleroot applied a stiff tickle-brush to Nerine’s halfling soles, Master Tilborn used his fingers on Elarra’s tender green feet. Elarra couldn’t see what his hands were doing, but she could feel their skillful, teasing touch. Master Tilborn grinned at her and made her feel that tickle-touch on her helpless feet, hidden behind the stock-boards. He traced over the most sensitive spots on her right foot with smooth strokes, while using his other hand to tap a tickle-dance on her left foot. He slowed the tempo, and increased the tempo, and Elarra began to giggle. Her master’s fingers then started a lazy, squirm-inducing tickling wiggle that covered every part of each foot, and changed again to a hunt for her most vulnerable tickle spots.

The tempo slowed again. It stayed slow and steady and Elarra could not do anything about it. She could not escape her master’s skillful, delightful tickling. She could do nothing except squirm and laugh, as the practice stocks held her captive for that tickling. She had to squirm and laugh as she felt her feet being tickled, while hoping that it wouldn’t end too soon.

Beside Elarra, Nerine was squirming and laughing as well. Her laughter was the laughter of a marvelously slow and irresistible tickle that felt absolutely wonderful. Elarra knew that tickle well. She was receiving it herself. Master Tilborn and Mr. Appleroot were both keeping up that slow and steady tickle, never flagging and never pausing, not even when the two men switched places. Elarra now felt the touch of Mr. Appleroot’s tickling on her feet, as it sent teasing waves of delight into her soles and up her legs. Elarra couldn’t tell what sort of tickle-implement Mr. Appleroot was using, but whatever it was, it bathed her feet in a wild bliss as it tickled everywhere. It stroked up and down both soles, ran over the tops of her feet, and wiggled teasingly between her toes.

Elarra felt the tickle tempo slow even further. She became aware of Nerine’s giggling along with her. She felt the tickle-tease turn lazy, and finally stop. But this wasn’t the end of the tickle-session. It was only a break, a chance for Elarra and Nerine to partly recover, and for Master Tilborn and Mr. Appleroot to wring out their hands.

=O+O+O=​

Nerine giggled and squirmed, just as she had giggled and squirmed yesterday. The stiff brush tickling her soles teased wonderfully, just as it had yesterday. She told herself that she would scream and beg for the tickle to stop, claiming that she couldn’t possibly take any more… in a minute, after this next little bit. She would wait and cry out when Mr. Bert paused his wonderful tickle.

The tickling paused briefly as Mr. Bert switched to a whisk-broom, and Nerine was laughing again before she could bring herself to speak. The broom felt softer than the brush that had preceded it, producing a different tickle, but not a lesser one. It would still have been too harsh a tickle for a tender-footed goblin like Elarra, Nerine realized in an absent sort of way. But the broom tickled Nerine’s halfling soles well. In Mr. Bert’s hands it inflicted a slow and marvelous tickle, and its touch felt both blissful and exciting. Nerine squirmed harder as the tickle-excitement sank into her soles, from heels to toes. It sank into her helpless feet and forced out delicious struggles and giggles. Nerine didn’t want it to stop. But she had to beg for it to stop. She had to scream the lie that the tickle was a torment, that it was too much for her. She had to steal a delay in any way she could… after just a few more minutes of this sweet and exciting tickle. In just another few more minutes.

Mr. Til switched places with Mr. Bert, and Nerine told herself again that she needed to beg for the tickle-session to stop. She would do that in just another minute… In the meantime, she could hear Elarra giggling. The goblin wench was shamelessly enjoying herself. Well, she didn’t have to worry about being put into the Monthly Stocks.

A pause came. Elarra turned her head to grin at Nerine. Nerine grinned back. She felt drunk – tickle drunk – and so did Elarra, judging from the bright green flush of her face. But now was Nerine’s chance. She would beg for the session to end now. She would claim that she’d had too much, that she couldn’t possibly take any more. She would do so after another deep breath. She had to make the lie sound believable. Just another deep breath and she would speak out.

Then the tickling resumed, bringing Nerine’s full attention back to her feet. Mr. Til was inflicting a most wonderful tease on them. He combed the fur on the tops of her feet, and made it tickle. He ran things between her toes, and made it tickle. He applied fantastic brushing and scraping tickles to Nerine’s halfling-tough soles, making her bounce and laugh, making her giggle and struggle against the stocks holding her captive. It felt good. It felt soooo good. But Nerine had to make herself call for those happy tickles to stop. If she didn’t, she would end up in the Monthly Stocks with its cursed rune magic taming her. She had to cry out for Mr. Til to stop. In a few minutes. After another few minutes. In just a few more minutes. And then Nerine was out of minutes.

After the two men released the two women from the practice stocks, they all returned to Mr. Til’s home-burrow. There Nerine and Elarra sat and drank small beer, while Mr. Til and Mr. Bert held a discussion, ending with the decision that Elarra was to accompany Nerine back home.

“…and if Missus Sandra Radishworth” – Nerine’s mother – “asks you to stay for luncheon, Elarra, you be polite and accept,” Mr. Til said. “I can still remember how to fend for myself, bachelor-style.”

“Yes master,” Elarra answered as she donned her sandals. “There’s fresh bread, and cold beef in the usual place, and I’ve opened a jar of pickled onions and carrots.”

It was late, maybe too late, but now Nerine could say, “I almost couldn’t stand it. I don’t know if I could make myself come here again for another tickle-session.”

The other three looked at her. Mr. Bert snorted softly. Mr. Til gave her a tiny shake of his head. Nerine’s lie wasn’t at all convincing, and Nerine knew it.

Elarra said, “Of course you don’t want to jump back into the stocks right away. I don’t either, even though I know I’ll be ready again tomorrow. You’ll be ready too, after a good night’s sleep and a good breakfast.”

Nerine smiled and nodded, and felt that she hated the whole world at that moment. There was nothing she could do, however, except return to her family’s home-burrow with Elarra as company.

As Nerien walked beside Elarra, she tried to plan. She could try again tomorrow to claim she hated the tickle and – somehow – convince people to delay putting her into the Monthly Stocks on Saturday. Only that hadn’t worked yesterday, and didn’t work today. “Third time’s the charm,” they said, but did she want to risk trying again tomorrow? No she didn’t. It might be cowardly of her, but she didn’t.

She could run away. If she were only a year older, she would run away. Coming-of-age wasn’t until thirty-three, but thirty-two was winked at, and those who went off at that age had as good a chance as any. But younger than that was bad luck, with the runaway too often coming to a bad end. That’s what everyone said, and Nerine believed it. She’d have to be completely desperate to run off now. If only this had happened a year later!

Or she spend tonight trying to study and convince herself that she really did hate the tickle. That being tickled really was a torment and a torture. Only they’d taken her books. (Well, the books she had borrowed – she would have returned them once she was finished with them.) She would have to try that anyway, without the books, and without much hope.

She’d need a huge slice of luck, whatever she tried, and if her luck failed then she was doomed. Doomed to be tickled into being a ‘good girl’ by the cursed rune magic of the cursed Monthly Stocks!

=O+O+O=​

On Friday morning, Elarra heard a soft tap at the door instead of the usual bell. It was Nerine, who offered a sickly smile and said, “I’m ready for today’s practice session.”

“Come on in,” Elarra said as she considered what to do. Nerine showed the painful signs of having gotten very drunk last night. Her next practice session, Elarra decided, ought wait until after she recovered.

“You need a breakfast first,” Elarra finally told Nerine. “I’ll make tea.”

“I had a breakfast,” Nerine said. “Well, tea and toast, at least.”

“You need a second breakfast, then. Just sit there and I’ll fix one for you.” Elarra put on the kettle. “I’d make you the goblin-cure for too much beer, except I don’t believe it works all that well for halflings.”

“It wasn’t beer,” Nerine said. “It wasn’t wine, either. My mother is now mad at me for getting drunk, and my father is mad for my getting drunk on his special bottles of Tiarna Lightning Rye. They’re going to impose a penance on me. Another penance, besides being put in the Monthly Stocks.”

Elarra couldn’t think of anything useful to say to that, so she finished preparing the tea and toast in silence. Once the second breakfast was ready, Nerine began to sip and nibble. The bell rang, and Nerine flinched. Elarra jumped up to answer the door and found it was Mr. Appleroot.

“I’m looking to see where Nerine has gotten herself to,” he said.

“She’s here, Mr. Appleroot.” Elarra went on to explain about the young halfling woman’s condition.

“Ah,” Mr. Appleroot said. “Maybe it’s a good thing she tried that last night instead of tonight. Well, we can wait until after luncheon for today’s practice session. I’ll let Til know. Nerine should be recovered by then.”

=O+O+O=​

As Nerine hopped into the practice stocks, she felt the mad cheerfulness that often came after recovering from a drunken hangover. She was doomed – doomed! Tomorrow they would put her in the Monthly Stocks, and tickle her until the rune magic took her, and right now it didn’t feel like it mattered.

Mr. Bert secured her, Mr. Til secured Elarra beside her, and Nerine felt her big toes being thonged in place, each to a peg, rather than tied to each other. Today the practice stocks were again set up to hold the captives’ feet apart.

Nerine saw the whisk-broom held up by Mr. Bert. She then felt it sweep across her helpless soles, imposing the classic tickle. She giggled and giggle-giggled as she felt the broom sweep up and down, and back and forth, tickling each of her soles in turn. Mr. Bert kept up a steady, rhythmic tickle sweep: Up and down, up and down, back and forth, back and forth, first over Nerine’s right sole, and then over her left.

Elarra was giggling shamelessly beside Nerine, her green-skinned tickle-partner once again. Their giggles echoed each other. Their tickles seemed to echo each other. Elarra was enjoying herself, so why shouldn’t Nerine? And Nerine was enjoying it, so why shouldn’t Elarra? But that was just what Nerine didn’t want.

Nerine squirmed and tried to make herself hate the tickling she was receiving. She tried to make herself feel unbearably tormented by it, and found that she couldn’t. This brisk broom-tickle felt soooo good on her helpless soles. It felt wonderful. Just as it had yesterday. Just as it had on Wednesday. And just as it would tomorrow in the Monthly Stocks, where the pleasure of being tickled would leave her completely open to the rune magic.

Nerine squirmed again. She didn’t want the rune magic to turn her into a ‘good’ girl. She told herself this as fiercely as she could. But that wasn’t very fierce at all. That delicious tease of her soles distracted her. They made her giggle, and tomorrow became a remote worry. Right now she was being tickled, tickled helplessly. What seemed important right now was whatever new tickle Mr. Bert would apply to her captive feet, once he finished with the whisk-broom, and whatever new tickle Mr. Til would apply when the two men switched places.

She would have to run away if she wanted to avoid the Monthly Stocks and their rune magic. She would have to hope against hope that she wouldn’t come to a bad end, despite running away a year too early. She…

The tickle-tempo increased, just slightly, and now all of Nerine’s attention returned to that happy tickling of her feet. Nerine squirmed and laughed and giggled. She felt a new tickle begin, a wooden spoon and a scrub brush alternating to drive those wonderful tickle sensations into her soles. The things being done to her feet were so teasing and marvelous and exciting that Nerine felt tears of laughter begin to start from her eyes.

Beside her, Elarra cried out, “Heeheeheehee! You’re being hahaha! You’re being hard, master! Heeheeheehee!”

“Yes I am,” Mr. Til said. “Is that bad, my sweet emerald wench?”

“No heehee haha! No, master! Heeheeheehee! It’s wonderful! Heehahaha! It’s wonderful! Eeee! heeheehee!”

Nerine nodded vigorously. She didn’t try to speak through her giggles. But Elarra was right: This tickling felt wonderful.

=O+O+O=​

A hard tickle had to be a short tickle, and today’s session ended sooner than either Wednesday’s or Thursday’s. Elarra smiled limply when the tickling stopped and waited for Master Tilborn to release her from the stocks.

A little distance away, a bell rang; the front-door bell of Master Tilborn’s home-burrow. “You’d better go answer that,” Mr. Appleroot told Master Tilborn. “I’ll set these two loose.”

“All right.” Master Tilborn gave Elarra a quick caress and headed off.

Mr. Appleroot released Nerine first, and lingered over doing so. Elarra waited patiently, and Mr. Appleroot released her quickly, once he had finished with Nerine. Elarra slipped her sandals back on, and the three of them followed Master Tilborn to the home-burrow.

When they arrived, Elarra saw that Master Tilborn had three visitors: Nerine’s parents and Missus Alice Appleroot, who Elarra had last seen at the market back on Tuesday.

The two Appleroots exchanged brief greetings – she was his sister-in-law – and Mr. Appleroot departed. The rest of them sat down around the larger table in the dining room.

Mr. Jormore Radishworth offered Elarra a friendly smile. Like Master Tilborn, he was a regular at the Anvil and Barrel, and Elarra had often seen him there.

Missus Sandra Radishworth offered a tart smile, with Elarra sensing that Nerine was the target of that tartness. She had visited Master Tilborn a number of times before, but yesterday had been Elarra’s first chance to really get to know her. Elarra had been cautiously polite at yesterday’s luncheon, with Missus Sandra showing a stiff determination to be pleasant. She had insisted, for example, that she was Missus Sandra to Elarra, rather than the more formal Missus Radishworth. Elarra had politely complied, and Missus Sandra had slowly relaxed.

Yesterday Nerine had acted as if she didn’t have anything to worry about. Now she looked nervous, glancing back and forth between her father and her mother.

“We have decided on your penance, Nerine,” Missus Sandra said.

Mr. Radishworth said, “You and Elarra are going to trade places for a day.”

Elarra looked at Master Tilborn, who solemnly nodded. Missus Appleroot nodded as well. Elarra returned an ear-twitch to signal her understanding.

After her first startlement, Elarra realized that her part would be a mummery or masquerade. They wouldn’t actually remove her slave collar, even temporarily. They couldn’t without breaking the ancient Law of the Furfoot Counties. The Radishworths could ignore that collar, however, and she would be ‘Cousin Elarra’ for the next day in the Radishworth home-burrow.

Nerine looked mortified. She must have realized too, and her part of the masquerade would also be her penance. The dread word wasn’t spoken, and never would be spoken, but Nerine was a prisoner now. She wouldn’t be collared, of course, but Master Tilborn would shackle her. He had the chains and fetters and locks to keep her from escaping before they put her in the Monthly Stocks, and Missus Appleroot would stay here tonight as her chaperone and warden.

“I was saving those bottles, Nerine,” Mr. Jormore Radishworth said. “Although I do have to admire your taste in liquor.”

“If it weren’t for that,” Missus Sandra told her daughter, “your father would have considered your sick headache to be penance enough. As it is, however…”

Missus Appleroot kept silent while looking grimly pleased. Nerine’s theft back in the market on Tuesday was not her first.

Now everyone stood, making the usual farewells. Then Mr. Jormore said. “Let’s go, Cousin Elarra,”

“We’ll need to introduce you to the rest of the family,” Missus Sandra added.

“I am at your service,” Elarra said, “and I thank you both for your hospitality.”

=O+O+O=​

On Saturday morning, Nerine woke and stretched – and heard the jingling of slave– No, of prisoner bells, locked on her wrist. She could also feel the shackles on her ankles.

She had spent the night, along with Mizz Alice, in one of Mr. Til’s two guest bedrooms. Her warden was now up, still looking sleep frazzled as she set out clothing for the day. Nerine rose from bed to join her, and almost fell over. Mr. Til had padlocked her hobbling chain last night making it very short.

“Let me take care of that dear,” Mizz Alice said. She brought out a key and restored the chain to its normal length, one that let Nerine walk but not run. “There you go,” Mizz Alice said as she tucked the key away again.

Elarra must normally wear hobbles like these every day. Nerine looked down at her own feet and ankles. In this, at least, she was taking Elarra’s place.

Mr. Til knocked on the bedroom door just as the two women finished dressing.

“What do you two want for breakfast?” he asked.

“We’ll fix breakfast,” Mizz Alice answered, “What would you like?”

A few minutes later, Mizz Alice and Nerine fixed breakfast for Mr. Til and themselves. Nerine recognized Mizz Alice’s mood, and kept silent. When her mother was in that mood, she’d brook no objections to any of her decisions, not even from her father.

After breakfast, things were much as it would have been for Nerine at her own home. Except, of course, for the bells locked on her left wrist and the shackles hobbling her ankles. Nerine tried to think of it as taking Elarra’s place, but she really was a prisoner. A prisoner, and her doom was coming closer and closer. That evening, they would put her in the Monthly Stocks.

It was after luncheon that Mr. Til told Nerine to sit down for a talk.

“I need to tell you about the Monthly Stocks and their rune magic,” he said.

“You are going to tell me that being put in the Monthly Stocks will be good for me,” Nerine said bitterly. “That the rune magic will be good for me and that I should be grateful.”

“Yes, but not in the way you think.” Mr. Til went on to spin a story of how the runes were strengthening runes, of how they would strengthen Nerine’s will and determination and gumption. How, afterwards, she would be able to keep the resolutions she made, rather than failing through a lack of willpower.

Nerine didn’t believe it, of course. The runes on the Monthly Stocks were geas runes. Everyone knew that. The rune magic would creep in once the tickling made her vulnerable, and would lay a geas on her. They would ‘tame’ and her and compel her to be a ‘good’ girl. Mr. Til was telling her a fable, a ‘tale from under the mountains’ as the saying went. Maybe he was trying to cheer her up as her doom approached, but if so it wasn’t working. His story was just too silly to believe.

Before they left for the Stocks, Nerine and Missus Alice drew and heated water, and Mr. Til unlocked Nerine so that she could take a bath.

Nerine couldn’t help but think of all the horrid scary tales where The doomed Queen had a hot bath before her execution. Her own doom was just as bad. Well, almost as bad. More than bad enough, and there wasn’t anything at all that Nerine could do about it.

She wept as she dried herself and dressed. Her mother would have called it self-pity. Her parents, her aunts and uncles, her older Radishworth cousins, and even her older brother would have called it self-pity. Well curse them. This was all their fault. Being made to switch places with Elarra wasn’t a bad penance, as penances went. It was just that the timing was horrible. Her only chance to escape the Monthly Stocks, faint as it was, had been to run away. But now the idea had become absurd.

Nerine finished dressing If only she were a year older! At thirty-two, with just a year before her coming-of-age, running away could have been the first thing she tried. But no, her family had to send her to the Monthly Stocks now, instead of waiting another year. They had then foiled all her plans, and now had cut off her last chance to escape. Soon, too soon, she would sit in the Monthly Stocks. She’d then be tickled silly, and the rune magic of the Stocks would force her to become a ‘good’ girl.

=O+O+O=​

Elarra arrived at the Monthly Stocks in the late afternoon, escorted by Mr. Appleroot but not fettered in any way. It seemed that she was still playing the part of ‘Cousin Elarra,’ and that the masquerade wouldn’t end until she met her master again.

The sun would set in two or three hours. The Bucks of the Cheese had laid out the usual halfling ‘restoring snack’ for everyone, and would eventually get down to business. In the meantime, gossip flowed with the beer. Everyone knew, of course, that Nerine would be locked in the stocks as a genuine miscreant, so only three lasses would have their names drawn for the usual tickle fun. A few halfling women were still writing their names to go into the jar, as halfling men came forward to pay their pennies.

Elarra and Mr. Appleroot were now under Rennet Roof. This was an open pavilion with the storage hole known as Cheese-burrow next to it. The Monthly Stocks waited under Rennet Roof as well, taking up only a fraction of the space. Elarra saw Missus Ginger and the halfling acquaintance came up to exchange rumors.

One of the rumors said that the drawing was fixed, in that Elarra’s name was certain to be one of those drawn.

“You can’t be put into the Stocks as a miscreant, Elarra,” Ginger said. “But the Bucks do want you sitting beside Nerine, so they’re making this ‘arrangement’ instead.”

“I’ve heard that there may be two sessions tonight, Missus Ginger,” Elarra said. “The second session will have four names drawn, as usual, unless the Bucks decide to cancel it.” Missus Ginger brightened at that news, and the two women parted.

Master Tilborn and Nerine arrived a few minutes later. Nerine carried what Elarra recognized as the satchel-purse Master Tilborn had bought for her at Ovalmere Faire. It had a chain with an ankle fetter attached, with the fetter now locked on Nerine’s ankle.

That soon changed. Master Tilborn handed a key to Mr. Appleroot, and embraced Elarra. She hugged back, giving him the kiss he silently commanded of her. As she did so, she felt Mr. Appleroot close the fetter on her ankle.

The satchel-purse was like a ball and chain, only more convenient, with a handle to carry it and the ability to carry useful things. Nerine seemed pleased enough to have passed it on. Elarra said, “And now our trading places has ended, Mizz Nerine!”

Nerine returned Elarra’s smile without speaking, and Mr. Appleroot escorted her away.

A last call rang out for the halfling lasses to submit their names (and for the halfling lads courting them to pay their pennies). The voice also announced that there would be two tickle sessions in the Stocks this month, provoking a flurry of activity in the crowd.

Mr. Appleroot returned without Nerine, looking worried. Elarra looked toward the Stocks. Nerine hadn’t been put into them yet. She was… there! One of the young Bucks was bringing her back. He had his hand on her upper arm, and she now wore a brass cow bell around her neck.

The young Buck – a Mr. Artden Muddle, if Elarra remembered correctly – offered nods all around. “Nerine got lost in the crowd, and asked me to help her find you again.”

“That’s right,” Nerine said sullenly. She looked both miserable and furious.

They waited until Mr. Artden left, and then turned their gazes on Nerine for a long minute. Elarra felt her ears move to the question-asking position, despite her efforts to relax them. Nerine avoided her eye, while glaring at the two men in a weak and miserable sort of way.

At last Master Tilborn said, “Maybe we should let Nerine borrow Elarra’s satchel-purse again.”

Mr. Appleroot shook his head. “No.”

“I was promised that I wouldn’t have to wear the cowbell!” Nerine burst out.

“We didn’t expect you to try anything silly,” Mr. Appleroot said.

“If it really were silly, it wouldn’t bother you,” Nerine shot back. “You’re only worried because I’m serious.”

Mr. Appleroot opened his hand, silently conceding the point.

“We’ll take off the cow bell,” Master Tilborn said, “but you’ll have to accept an alternative.”

“But not the satchel-purse,” Mr. Appleroot said. “Did you bring my package?” he asked Master Tilborn.

Master Tilborn smiled. “It’s in the satchel-purse. Bring it out, Elarra.”

Elarra opened the satchel purse and handed Mr. Appleroot the cloth wrapped package from inside it. He unfolded the cloth and held up a pair of shackles, made of blue dwarf-steel. “I borrowed my Uncle Col’s manthom-shackles,” he said.

“Are they worse than the cowbell?” Nerine asked. “They’re even worse than the cowbell, aren’t they.”

“Maybe.” Mr. Appleroot spoke the dwarven word for “gold,” and the shackles changed to gold. “Silver,” and they changed to silver. “Jade,” and they changed to polished green stone. Finally, “Luft,” a dwarven word Elarra didn’t recognize, and the shackles vanished. Vanished from sight, at least; Elarra could still hear the clink of their chain.

“That’s a pretty toy,” Master Tilborn said. “Costs too much, though.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Mr. Appleroot said. “Uncle Col didn’t say how much he paid for them.”

“And they really are pretty, master,” Elarra said.

Mr. Appleroot said, “You have five or ten more minutes left, before we put in the Stocks, Nerine. Will you promise to behave yourself for just that short time?” He nodded at the cow bell on her neck. “So that we can take that off?”

Nerine gave him that weak and miserable glare again. Elarra didn’t think she could make herself promise to not try to run away. Not now. She did open and close her mouth three or four times, while remaining silent.

“No,” Nerine finally said in a low voice.

“Then will it be the invisible shackles?” Mr. Appleroot raised them up. “Or will it be the cow bell?”

Nerine’s face worked. Fury. Misery. Fury. Misery.

“Invisible shackles,” she finally spat out.

=O+O+O=​

Nerine was finally sitting in the Monthly Stocks. With all hope gone at last, she felt a weirdly cheerful sense of doom, only this time without an aching head beforehand. All sorts of other misery, yes, but not that one.

Her arms and upper body were already belted in place, even more securely than they’d been in the practice stocks. Her ankles sat on the cut outs of the lower board, waiting for the upper board to descend and trap them.

Elarra sat next to her in the Stocks. Nerine wasn’t sure how that had been arranged, but everyone else had seemed to expect it. To her surprise, Nerine found that she didn’t blame Elarra for any of this. She blamed her parents and the rest of her family. She blamed Mizz Alice Appleroot, who must have complained about her, and Mr. Bert Appleroot, who must have made complaints of his own. She blamed Mr. Til Carrotmaster. She even blamed Laura Racewater and Peony Pinebrace, the two halfling women whose names had been drawn for the first session. They would only receive a happy tickling, without any cursed rune magic added.

But Nerine didn’t blame Elarra. The goblin slavegirl was just as helpless as she’d been. In fact, Nerine actually felt pleased that Elarra would again be her tickle partner, one more time.

The two upper boards lowered, trapping four sets of ankles. Nerine felt her big toes being tied to the pegs set there for that purpose. Laura and Peony had their feet held close together, by their stock-set, while the stock-set she and Elarra sat in held their ankles apart.

Nerine wondered how Elarra managed to ever be cheerful after being collared as a slave wench. That must have been almost as bad as the doom she was facing. Well, maybe not. Elarra had Mr. Til waiting to buy her, and the two of them were obviously in love, more candy-sweet than even her own parents. Anyway, that doom was past Elarra, while her own doom was only moments away. Nerine still felt weirdly cheerful, and the thought of her doom made her want to giggle.

Then Nerine did giggle; her tickling had begun. Two of the Bucks applied whisk brooms; one to each of Nerine’s trapped feet. The other halfling tickle-victims also received a pair of whisk brooms each, while Mr. Til, with the assistance of one of the other Bucks, applied a softer tickle to Elarra’s tender green feet.

Nerine heard Elarra giggle-giggle, and herself giggle-giggle, and their giggles echoed each other. Further away, Laura and Peony were laughing as well. Nerine made one last weak effort to hate the tickling she was being given, and of course she failed. The two whisk brooms felt wonderful as they tickled her feet. The tickle sweeps ran up and down, and back and forth, sweeping every part of both her soles, and it felt absolutely grand. It felt as good as – no, better than – the tickling she’d received in the practice stocks.

The whisk brooms marched on over Nerine’s soles: Tickle tickle tickle tickle. Tickle tickle tickle tickle. Nerine heard Elarra laughing cheerfully, and briefly wondered what tickle implements she felt on her goblin feet. They had to be something softer than whisk brooms. Whatever it was, it seemed to echo with the tickles Nerine felt on her own soles.

Nerine suddenly twisted and struggled as the tickling washed her feet. She couldn’t help it, any more than she could help laughing. The Stocks, of course, held her without even a quiver, and her failure to escape sent a jolt of excitement through her, making her feel even more ticklish. She sagged back with a squeaking laugh as the two whisk brooms continued to tickle tickle tickle tickle. It felt sooo good!

The march ended, and the brooms began to dance. They danced the jingle-ring over Nerine’s soles, but at the slow tempo of a lazy waltz. That didn’t keep them from tickling; it just turned the tickling into something gigglicious, rather than driving her wild with laughter.

The ticking paused. Elarra gave Nerine a cheerful ear-flick, and Nerine nodded back. She then turned her attention to the two Bucks assigned to tickle her as they rummaged through their implements. The spoke together in low voices before holding up combs for Nerine to see.

Nerine squeaked at the sight, and squeaked again when the combs dropped down and she felt them begin to tickle. She felt them run through the wooly-fur on the tops of her feet, wiggling with a skillful tickle-combing. She tried, just for a moment, to hold back the giggles from the tickling she felt. She couldn’t, of course. The giggles insisted on pouring out as the Bucks tickled both the tops of her feet and the soles of her feet with those two combs.

They were tickling her helpless feet all over. Sometimes Nerine felt the tops of her feet being tickle-combed together. Sometimes she felt the tickling rake on both her soles at once. Sometimes the wooly-fur of one foot was teasingly combed, while the sole of the other foot received a tickling rake. The different tickles kept coming, and Nerine loved them all.

The two Bucks were skillful ticklers. Nerine felt when they subtly adjusted their touch, to keep her giggles coming. They carefully kept Nerine at a giggling simmer, teasing her feet with tickles that could go on and on. That Nerine wanted to go on and on. Those two combs were subtly tickling her feet everywhere, and it all felt soooo good.

The combing tickle finally came to an end. The two Bucks selected new tickle implements and began to apply them without first displaying them to Nerine. Or if they did display them, Nerine hadn’t noticed. She was tickle-drunk now, and knew she would soon become even more so.

The new implements tickled fiercely where the combs had been subtle. It was a happy fierceness that made Nerine peal with laughter, instead of just giggling. She was boiling over from the hot and delicious tickling of her soles. Beside her, Elarra was laughing wildly as well, and Nerine once again felt the laughter of her tickle partner echo off her own. Nerine was aware of how the goblin slavegirl was being tickled, and that made her more aware of her own tickling, rather than distracting her. The new tickling reached the tops of her feet, just as the comb tickling had. It tickled differently there, but just as delightfully. Nerine wanted this new tickle to last as long as the drawn out comb-tickle, even though she knew it couldn’t. This new tickling was too bright to last that long. But while it did last, it felt wonderful.

Nerine felt the unknown tickle-implements sweep all over her soles like the whisk brooms, while twirling and swirling as well. She felt finger-tickles in the wooly-fur of her feet, sometimes when the tickling of her soles paused, and sometimes when it didn’t. She felt an occasional tease between her toes, making her squeak and squeal with delight. Then her laughter fountained out again, as that delicious, marvelous tickling poured into her soles once more.

The Bucks ended the tickling. A few moments later Nerine realized that her tickling had ended. She was sweat soaked and limp. She was happily tickle-drunk. She watched as the other captives were released from the Monthly Stocks: Laura and Peony in the other set, and then Elarra sitting next to her. She would be released last.

It was then that Nerine became aware of the rune magic. As expected, it had slipped in when the tickling made her vulnerable – and that tickling had distracted her so much that she hadn’t even noticed.

Nerine resigned herself to the geas – except there wasn’t one. She could see the runes now, glowing on her side of the stock boards, and they weren’t geas runes at all. They were strengthening runes. Their rune magic had strengthened Nerine’s will, and determination, and gumption – just as Mr. Til had said they would. Nerine now felt confident that if she put her mind to something she could do it, and not give up half-way through, the way she had done all to often in the past.

When she was standing again, Artden Muddle handed her the traditional mug of stock ale.

“Make your resolution to reform, Nerine, and then drink,” he told her.

Nerine closed her eyes to think. She could choose to be a ‘good’ girl from now on, like her parents and her family wanted, but she didn’t have to. She could choose to be a complete she-rascal, even more so than before, but she didn’t have to. She could run away, right away and seek her fortune or misfortune. But she didn’t have to.

But whatever she chose to do, she could stick it through to the end. She would stick it through to the end. That was the curse and blessing of the Monthly Stocks and its rune magic.

Nerine made her decision. She would be a ‘good’ girl for just a year, and then she would run away as soon as she turned thirty-two. Then she drained the mug of stock ale.

What happened after she ran away would be up to fortune and her wits. It might be a good end, or it might be a bad one, but in either case it would be her fortune, her fate, and not the bad luck from running off too soon.

She might return to the Furfoot Counties with a small fortune or with a large one. She might come to a bad end among the dwarves and elves. She might win a fortune and not return. She might end up as the collared slave wench of a goblin master. She might discover her magic and become a notorious sorceress. She might even be purchased by a halfling lad who won his fortune, and return here in a slave collar as a part of his treasure – and wouldn’t that be a cup of vinegar for her family to drink!

But whatever happened, Nerine knew that she would never give up.

(end)