The Princess and the Thief (M/F & F/M)

[tklmysole]

This story, consisting of three chapters, focuses on Arlo and Elyse, our titular thief and princess. It has a mixture of M/F and F/M tickling throughout, including feet, upper body and everywhere in between.

Please note, this story is intended for an adult audience. It contains mature themes and sexual content. All characters are 18+

CHAPTER ONE​

Smoke permeated the air, billowing up and up, chasing and choking as he climbed the spiral staircase. Eyes watering and throat burning as though he’d swallowed a handful of hot ash, Arlo held his breath to suppress a cough. The ambient glow of the kitchens and their wood-fired stoves soon faded, replaced by icy moonlight cutting through narrow windows carved into cold stone.

His destination was on the third floor, next to the High Lord and Lady’s solar; an unused bedchamber, which contained the reason for his brief visit this evening. The desired object would ordinarily lay within the castle’s treasury, as it was said to possess immeasurable value. But should a castle fall during siege, its treasury was always the first room to be raided. As such, this item required a special hiding place, in plain sight. At least, that’s what the servant revealed upon taking his bribe; good coin for good information. Though the item in question was undoubtedly valuable, nothing was truly priceless. Matter of fact, Arlo could easily place value upon it. After its appraisal and sale to the fence near the dockyard, it would afford him half a dozen horses, their saddles and feed, plus new equipment, clothing and weapons. And, perhaps more urgently, food. Fruits and vegetables, bread, meat, cakes and pastries; enough to fill their stores and last through winter’s long, cruel months. Of course, there would almost certainly be enough left over for some mead, which had minor cold-numbing properties of its own.

All of this and more would be his, if successful. No, not if, but when. The group was counting on him, she was counting on him.

Arlo’s right hand gripped the banister, while his left palmed the handle of the dagger hidden beneath his stained cloak. Knowing it hung from the hip gave some comfort, though how much good it would do against a fully-armoured knight was a mystery. Thankfully, he’d never been forced to find out, and with luck would remain so. Routine surveillance told him that several of the big plate-clad bastards were on patrol this evening; two stationed at each entrance of the great hall where the High Lord was entertaining guests, one at the base of the main marble staircase and one pacing each of the keep’s upper floors and apartments. Yet despite their imposing stature and armament, they’re easily manipulated, as most are bored to tears.

For this reason, Arlo knew to utilize the rear stair. Reserved for the castle’s numerous servants and handmaidens, it proved useful, as his goal was to reach the upper floors undetected - his chosen profession required a certain degree of subtlety, after all. Luckily, he’d encountered only one other person since entering the castle: a serving girl, who'd been easily avoided by slipping into shadow near the larder. From there, it was just a matter of ascending the well-trod staircase while keeping both eyes and ears open.

Upon reaching the top, he took a moment to breathe. Coils of rope hung heavy on his shoulder, doubling in weight after the climb. Squinting, the enterprising thief scanned the high-ceilinged hallway. Silent, but not unoccupied. As his eyes acclimated to the dark, a silhouette appeared; polished steel plate contrasting against stony walls. He was at his post, as expected, standing adjacent to the door, blocking the path forward. But he wouldn’t stand there for long. Downstairs, shortly after entering through the postern and before climbing the cramped, dizzying staircase, Arlo had placed a spider - the fuzzy, larger-than-average sort - near an entryway to the kitchens. And it was simply a matter of time before the critter was discovered.

The air was thick with a babble of faint voices. A chorus of laughter, chatter and the clinking of many glasses resonated throughout the halls, including the upper apartments. The keep was rarely quiet these days. Tonight, his High Lordliness was entertaining a menagerie of bootlickers and pampered noblemen, as was custom following the autumnal harvest. Guests from across the northernmost kingdoms had gathered to indulge themselves in its luxuries, growing fat in their decadence. With numerous shuffling bodies, it would take precious little time before—

A shrill yelp let loose from ground level, indicating that his eight-legged accomplice had played its part well.

Steel boots hammered stone steps as the guardsman thumped downstairs to investigate the disturbance. When the metallic clanking faded, Arlo seized his opportunity. After darting down the hall he produced some tools of the trade, quickly persuaded the lock to unlock, put his shoulder into the heavy oaken door while twisting its handle and slipped inside. The thief then shifted his grip, lifting the door to ensure its weight didn’t hang, only then did he ease it closed.

Unlike the hallway, this room had a light source. A fire burned in the hearth, crackling and spitting, dimly illuminating his surroundings while fighting the late autumn cold. A mosaic of sooty brick surrounded the fire, framed by two ornate tapestries which hung upon the wall. Stitched in cloth of gold, they displayed the High Lord’s crest: an oak tree with a singular raven perched atop its highest branch, the namesake of Raven’s Reach. This well-known insignia was displayed proudly on every tavern, manse, bakery and brothel within the castle’s county limits. The self-styled Lord of Ravens was many things; a drunkard, a fool, and reportedly cruel to boot. Strange tales made their way around the campfire, tales involving high-pitched shrieking emanating from the dungeons - a place Arlo meant to avoid at all costs - all hours of the night. It was rumoured that he paid neither inquisitors nor executioners, choosing instead to administer punishment to the accused himself, taking great joy in his work. Those poor, tortured souls. God only knows what they’d done to deserve it, or even, if they’d deserved it. Whether true or simply a story concocted to invoke fear and promote obedience, Arlo couldn’t say for certain. What he did know was that anyone relieved of their property or possessions was bound to take the matter personally.

A large, square rug covered the majority of the lacquered hardwood beneath his feet, stretching nearly from one wall to the next, with a double bed acting as the room's centrepiece. Twin bookcases stood on either side of a large, shuttered window, the same window from which he would soon descend. Arlo allowed the heavy rope to fall gently to the floor, then rotated his arm in windmill-like fashion. Now free of excess weight, the thief was much more nimble, and with practiced quiet he began to walk. Each footfall was calculated, placed deliberately to muffle any sound from his leather boots. Each breath, likewise, came slow and shallow while inching toward the centre of the room. Floorboards groaned defiantly as he drew nearer, causing him to pause a moment. In doing so, he took note of a pair of slippers resting near the foot of the bed. Upon closer inspection, the bedclothes appeared to rise and fall - it appeared this room wasn’t as ‘unused’ as he’d been led to believe.

‘I guess that’s what three silvers are worth these days,’ he thought, pursing his lips and resuming his journey.

Crouching low, Arlo crept forward, eyes set on the leftmost bookcase, second shelf from the bottom. There lied the prize, or so he’d been told. Time to find out what his hard-earned coin had bought. On arrival, his index finger ran along the spine of each book, left to right, silently mouthing their titles until he saw it. Pulling the large, leather-bound tome from the shelf, he felt its weight and read the cover: Arcanum Anthologies Vol. IV: Sorceries & Incantations of the Third Age. He was no scholar and certainly no sorcerer, so the book’s contents would be lost on him. However, it wasn’t knowledge he was seeking.

“Please, let this be worth the price paid,” whispered the thief, thinking of the few remaining coppers in his wallet and the ever-present need for food and supplies.

Upon opening the cover, Arlo threw a hand over his mouth to prevent an audible gasp. The book had been hollowed out and set within the recessed pages was a fist-sized iridescent jewel. It was mesmerizing, with shifting hues dazzling in the firelight. Tilting the heavy book side to side produced a deep, brilliant glimmer, with every colour of the spectrum present within. ‘This has to be worth a small fortune’, he hoped, perhaps considerably more than what the fence would willingly offer. He scratched the stubble on his chin and thought, ‘What would his lordship pay for the safe return of his precious gem?’ A kingly sum, no doubt. A smile crept across his face then, because for the first time in ages he held something tangible, something real.

After plucking the jewel from its hiding place, Arlo slipped it gently into a hidden pocket sewn within the inner lining of his roughspun tunic, then returned the book to its rightful place upon the shelf.

The time had come to depart, but his body wouldn’t obey, and the thought of returning to the rain’s cold, unrelenting cruelty was poor motivation. One foot followed the other and in short order the man found himself kneeling in front of the fireplace, eyes closed, with nothing but the snap and sizzle of flames in the darkness. Here, within the safety of the castle, one could easily drift off to a rhythmic patter of raindrops, wrapped in silks and furs atop a plush feather bed. But out there, soaked to the bone, huddled around the smouldering coals of what was once a campfire, a restless night’s sleep was the best you could hope for, if it came at all.

A gentle rustling from behind forced open his eyes and his head swivelled to source the sound. The person slumbering within the sheets, with whom his envy had quickly grown, had shifted position. From this low perspective, he watched as a small bare foot made its escape from beneath the blankets. It was bathed in warm light, almost glowing. What a funny thing; the little foot looked so vulnerable, yet it dwelled within this castle, within these thick walls of mortared stone designed to repel all manner of intruder.

He tried to look away but lacked the self-control to follow through. Guided by primal instinct, the thief turned on his heel and began stalking toward the bed, barely stirring the air. This was too great a gamble, why risk everything? A wise man would leave while ahead, but his judgment was clouded and wisdom was not normally a trait afforded a thief. Dismissing the thought, he patted the jewel concealed within his tunic; fortune smiled upon him this night, why couldn’t he linger a few minutes more? The sky was a bruised purple when he’d set out, and the heavens soon made good on their promise of rain. But his cloak had begun to dry during the short time he’d been indoors and that feeling was most welcome. Suddenly the bed had manifested in front of his eyes. What was it like? To lay upon a cloud each night, protected by guardsmen just outside the bedroom door. Reaching out, he pinched the large, down-filled blanket between thumb and forefinger, finding it much unlike the foul straw bale and patchwork quilt he’d become accustomed to.

Soft, repeated snores indicated its occupant was sound asleep, and judging from the dainty foot, a girl lay within these sheets. She was on her back, with five adorable toes pointing toward the vaulted ceiling, heel resting on the veneered footboard. Perhaps said foot belonged to one of the High Lady’s handmaidens. No, the likelihood of a servant being permitted to lay in a bedchamber such as this was slim. It could be that this lovely limb was attached to the daughter of a guest in these halls. After all, some lesser lords and ladies must’ve travelled vast distances to enjoy the Reach’s splendours and the hospitality of its ruler. They wouldn’t journey alone, of course, as most had a retinue of knights and squires, servants and attendants, all of whom required a bed to lay their weary heads.

So, who owned this lovely little thing protruding from the blankets? Was this indeed a regal sole he’d been gawking at? Certainly seemed possible, as this girly foot was perfectly pedicured and lusciously tender at first glance. Pretty noble girls always had feet to match, and this was no exception. It appeared as though severed at the ankle, separated from its owner, although a single stroke might determine just how attached it was.

Pushing back the damp hood of his cloak, Arlo’s fingers ran through his mop of tousled brown hair while inspecting the lone foot. It was as if it had appeared for him alone, knowing he’d be drawn toward it, utterly unwilling to remove his eyes from its intoxicating beauty. Arlo studied what had been laid bare, closer still than the jewel hiding within his tunic, as if this were the prize he’d sought all along. There was not a blemish to be found; she had a smooth, pink heel that rose into a milky-white arch. His eyes then travelled slowly over the ball of her foot to five cute toes. Each slender, elegant digit was well proportioned, with each nail painted a deep shade of violet, befitting royalty. They begged to be played with and as she slept they twitched, not unlike the flames flickering in the hearth, causing shadows to dance wildly around the small room.

A single finger inched toward that pretty, pale sole. Worthy of adoration, it lay still before him, as if perched on a pedestal or displayed for worship. Closer and closer it came to caressing that delicate, almost fragile-looking skin.

“No,” he muttered, shaking his head while fighting growing urges. “I can’t, not tonight.”

Yet his hand disagreed. It drifted steadily toward the object of his desire while the man once again foresaw the consequences of his actions. His Lardliness wouldn’t take kindly to an intruder, especially one who pilfered a jewel from under his nose and was brazen enough to assault a guest within her bedchamber. The punishment would be severe, of that there was little doubt. Why risk adding his name to those nightmarish campfire tales? If she awoke to find him fondling her uncovered foot, what might happen then? Her shriek upon discovering a stranger playing with her toes would likely alert half the keep. He might be quick enough to elude a guard or two, but could he outwit and outrun them all? And even if he were slippery enough to shake them off, why risk placing a target on his back? More importantly, why jeopardize his friends by bringing unwanted attention to their camp? The crownlands extended well beyond the borders of the castle and its neighbouring township. They’d be hunted relentlessly and drawing the ire of the High Lord was a surefire way to take a walk up ladder lane, and down hemp street. The time had come to open the shutters, descend from the window and vanish into night.

But like before, his limbs disobeyed.

Fingertips hovered dangerously near the petite foot on display, feeling its warmth without yet making contact. If touched, would it retract into the relative safety of the blankets? Perhaps he should leave well enough alone and simply enjoy the view for a few more fleeting minutes. But when might this opportunity arise again? Willed by wandering thoughts, her toes curled in and out, seemingly in unison with his slow, steady breaths. Inhale, exhale; the precious sole wrinkled up before his eyes, then immediately those cute wrinkles disappeared, producing a silky-smooth surface akin to a sheaf of parchment - if only he had a quill.

“I-I should go…” he mumbled. Biting his lower lip, Arlo struggled to regain control over disobedient fingers. Alas, it was too late to change course now, their decision had been made.

An overeager index finger finally made contact with the sleepy girl’s bare foot, running from the base of her toes down to her heel, immediately eliciting a reaction; all five toes fanned outward, leaving the sole taut, then curled over defensively, showing off that vivid purple polish while dozens of wrinkles reappeared, only to vanish a split second later. Delightfully, the lonely foot hadn’t retreated, and a mischievous grin flashed across his face as Arlo imagined the possibilities. Her reaction to such a light stimulus was perfection, so the finger quickly retraced the same path, resulting in an equally delightful curling of the toes. He was awestruck by its beauty, but its sensitivity could not be denied. This girl’s tender, naked foot was as ticklish as he’d hoped it might be.

Enthralled by each nuanced detail of her warm, soft sole, the distracted thief decided further tickle-tests must be conducted. This time, however, his curious finger ran upward from heel to toes, causing them to spasm and once more those terrific little digits curled over, subconsciously fighting off this wicked intruder. A single fingernail was all it took; dragging it over the exposed sole, up and down, up and down. Fondling her bare foot was addictive, plain and simple, so a few more fingers were added to the mix, lightly fluttering across the bottom of that bare, unprotected foot. Rapid, alternating movements caused involuntary twitching of the toes as each finger operated independently, while a gentle stroking motion forced them to curl once again in an unintentionally seductive fashion. Her little foot was marvellous; so profoundly soft that her rich silk sheets felt closer to coarse linen, by comparison.

“Tickle, tickle…” whispered the thief as he continued to tease the soft, wrinkly sole.

Verbal teasing oftentimes heightened sensitivity, not that it mattered in this particular instance as she was oblivious. Still, might as well enjoy the time remaining. Her toes quivered with every poke, yet the tender foot appeared to welcome the attention as he began tracing the outer edge of the sole; it remained motionless as he rounded her heel and followed the gentle curve of the arch. But as he caressed her sensitive skin, travelling the hills and valleys, something spectacular happened: a second foot emerged from beneath the blankets, joining its friend at the bed’s edge.

Apart from being a mirror image of the former, this foot possessed something shiny to catch a thief’s eye - a silver ring adorned her second toe. This was one piece of jewelry he simply couldn’t swipe, as depriving this marvellous appendage of its brilliant accessory would be a sin. It was an excellent complement, adding a touch of class and polish while amplifying its beauty.

The girls he grew up with never had jewelry like this. Pretty, but plain, they’d always dressed in fur-lined tunics during colder months, opting for dresses and kirtles in the summertime. That was a treat, feeling warm air after months of frigid temperatures and watching girls trade their leather boots for strappy sandals. Rarely would their toenails be painted, but he admired their natural beauty, typically from afar. Some took notice, of course, as the temptation to peek was overwhelming. Likewise was their compulsion to tease him; dangling a sandal from their big toe while in study, or kicking off their footwear while lounging, complaining of sore feet, strongly hinting that a foot massage wouldn't go unrewarded.

‘Some memories never fade’, he thought, rummaging through raw images in his mind, selecting one that stood out above the rest. His smile broadened. Even now he could envision a barefoot beauty, tightly bound as plumes danced across her shapely soles; sawing a feather between bubbly toes until it became frayed at the edges, causing an eruption of adorable giggles. The mists of memory couldn’t take that from him.

‘I’ve overstayed my welcome,’ thought Arlo, his head swimming with images of feathers, all shapes and sizes.

In the present, ten tantalizing toes continued their hypnotic dance, beckoning him closer. Their invitation was readily accepted as Arlo inclined his head and inhaled deeply. They had a wonderful aroma; sweet like warm honey, with subtle notes of vanilla. In truth, he cared less about their fragrance and more about the feeling of two squirming bare feet under his wiggling fingertips. Inches away now, he drew another deep breath, wondering how far this might go. Eager to find out and praying she was truly a sound sleeper, the restless finger resumed its trek across the pale left sole, tracing its ultra-fine creases, pausing briefly when she began rubbing one foot with the other - no doubt to reduce any lingering sensations - during which he switched to her newly-revealed right foot, resuming his tickly technique. No matter how many times she switched them side to side, she’d be unable to deflect his inquisitive, meandering fingertips.

Navigating her soles with relative ease and highly amused at obtaining the desired results, Arlo continued gliding along using feather-light touches until—

“Mphheheee…”

A short burst of girlish giggles escaped the far end of the bed. Perhaps an intermission was required, if only to minimize the chances of a full-blown cackle and thereby imminent capture. A rosy glow had appeared on these terribly ticklish tootsies; whether the result of his fingers nimbly exploring or the ambient glow from the fireplace over his shoulder, Arlo couldn’t say. But the matching pair of pampered pink soles continued to entice him. All ten toes curled slowly in a come-hither sort of way, practically pleading not to be left alone, and how could he possibly deny their request? Soles this sinfully soft needed attention, they craved it, why else would she have taken such care of them if not to show them off?

‘Surely she’d want them to be enjoyed, savoured,’ he thought, licking his lips.

The room was still and quiet. That was a good sign, so the thief carried on. His hands descended slowly to those perfectly perfumed feet, inching ever closer to their desired targets; he did so intentionally, not that she’d notice, but he relished the palpable anticipation all the same. Finally, contact. It was like returning to camp after a long walk back from town - familiar, welcome, inviting. These buttery-soft soles belonged to him and his strolling fingertips wholeheartedly agreed. He took his time, drawing a series of lazy little circles that spiralled up from her heels, across her arches toward those ever-wiggling toes. Both feet twisted and jostled, snapping left then right, but never did they retreat.

“…eieeheehee…”

More giggles poured forth. Wonderful. This girl is feather-ticklish - again, pity he didn’t have one handy - a mental note was made to pack a few in his kit for future burglaries. Repeated toe wiggles held his attention while his fingers resolved to visit every square inch. It was oddly calming, like waves lapping the shoreline, watching those cute toes flex back and forth. While under their influence he varied the duration and pressure of each finger’s stroke, carefully observing her reactions. Short dashes caused a convulsion of the toes, while longer, fluid motions made them spread wide. On and on it went; skating across the surface of her sleepy feet, up and down and side to side. This proved endlessly enjoyable to watch, but he longed to explore new methods of tickle torture, so it was time to take his studies in a different direction.

“…nieieheehee…”

With near-constant giggles as encouragement, Arlo lightly pinched both big toes together with one hand to halt their movement. He then pried them backward, only slightly, drawing taut her ivory arches. Using a fingernail, he traced a single line up the right, feeling growing resistance as her toes attempted to curl, then repeated the move on her left, applying pressure as needed to restrain those defiant little digits. His thumb and index finger acted as a makeshift set of toe cuffs, proving more than enough to hold them still, despite repeated flinching. Surprisingly, they remained receptive, struggled twitches notwithstanding, as each swipe upward stimulated countless nerves on the arches of both irresistible soles.

“Is this conjuring tickly dreams?” he wondered aloud while running his fingers happily up and down the slumbering girl’s sensitive soles.

Perhaps, in her dreamy state, she found herself wrapped snugly in her blankets, cocooned and utterly immobilized, with only her little bare feet exposed. Imagine that - her once-cozy blanket becoming an inescapable prison. An opportunist, such that he was, would relish the chance to sit astride her calves, using nothing more than body weight to pin both legs to the down-filled mattress below. With two defenceless, upturned bare feet sticking out between his knees and an assortment of wicked tickle tools at his disposal, a fiendish lad could spend countless hours teasing and tormenting, heel to toes. A comb would work wonders, or better yet, perhaps a paddle brush might be better suited for the job; with one in hand, he’d be able to scrub both soles simultaneously while feeling her buck and thrash beneath, reacting violently to the dense array of bristles. Even if she were capable of withstanding prolonged tickle torture, the brisk application of a wide brush upon both silken soles would soon push her to hysterics. He could easily picture her face contorting in ticklish anguish, eyes welling with tears while enduring painfully slow, unrelenting brushstrokes upon the soles of both feet. Well, it was somebody’s face, as the thief’s sinister fantasy was interrupted by a realization: he had no idea what this girl looked like.

Nevertheless, this missing piece of information wouldn’t interfere with the fun he was having. Truthfully, the girl’s mysterious identity added to the thrill, allowing his imagination to run wild. Besides, it wasn’t as if she’d ever discover any of this; she’d rise with the sun and be none the wiser.

The lovely pink blush lingered on the twin soles of his sleepy new acquaintance as he switched up his tactic. Releasing his grip on her big toes, Arlo’s fingers now had the freedom to race around both velvety-soft bare feet, unleashing a brief flurry of tickles upon his unsuspecting targets.

“…heiieheehee…” giggled the girl in the sheets, as all ten toes flared out in distress.

Multiple fingers skimmed the surface of both wrinkled soles, hastily scribbling from round heels to wiggly, panicked toes while drinking in that sweet, subtle laughter. Each squeak and snort pushed him further. Noise be damned, he wanted to make her howl, wanted to rake his nails down that supple skin. However, given the circumstances, he couldn’t risk waking the over-sensitive girl, so it was best not to get carried away. Excessive laughter or commotion would also alert the guard outside the door, who would’ve undoubtedly returned to his post by now. Arlo could hear panting breath between each muffled giggle, so he waited with a thief’s patience until her breathing settled somewhat while plotting his next move.

The man’s arousal had grown quite noticeable. His cock throbbed against his trousers, straining the limits of the stitching, threatening to make its presence known. The thin gap between her arches was all too tempting. Picturing plunging himself between her achingly flawless bare soles, Arlo allowed a hand to drift south as he imagined stroking in and out, feeling them squeeze tightly, matching his pace. A liberal coating of oil drizzled from top to bottom would provide the necessary lubrication, with every stroke bringing him closer to release, each forceful thrust compelling those toes to scrunch up. In that event, his hands would wrap around her insteps, ensuring full control was maintained while his thumbs kneaded her flesh, drilling deeply into both arches. That would open those tightly knitted toes in a hurry. The poor little thing would squeal in response, toes splaying out once more in an attempt to flee. It was a carnal delight that no jewel, no matter its perceived value or rarity, could hope to match. But he had control over his baser urges, at least for the moment.

Now his fingers were back up to their old tricks: prying apart two toes on her left foot, scratching a nail on the hyper-sensitive skin between. At this, her leg began to withdraw but didn’t make it far.

“Going somewhere?” he heard himself say, instinctively grabbing her ankle, locking it in place. “Not so fast, fun’s not over yet.”

As punishment for the attempted escape, he wormed a finger between each toe, feeling her recoil. As he worked his way down the line those little toes clenched, snagging the finger. It was fine, of course, just a quick scrape of the thumb on her arch freed the trapped digit. They were truly exquisite, those toes, everything about them screamed ‘ticklish’, as was proven by the prolonged titters and snickers emanating from the other end of the bed. The grip his hand imposed on her slender ankle eventually slackened, at which point she began switching both feet side to side again, over and over, trying to guard one with the other, but it was a futile gesture as his skilled fingertips simply moved from foot to foot, exploiting every ticklish inch.

“…mphheheehee…”

“That’s it, girlie. Laugh for me…”

The imprint of his fingers lingered on her ankle as he lost himself in the splendour of it all. It would take little effort to restrain this girl; lashed to her bed, spread eagle, the thief would be granted full access to what would undoubtedly prove to be a painfully ticklish body, matching these sublime soles. His cock ached once again at the thought. Rendered powerless, he’d ravage every inch of her petite frame while teasing her with tickle-talk, reminding the poor thing of her helplessness and amplifying the sensations with every ‘coochie coo’ that left his lips. Straddling her hips, he’d watch as she writhed and wriggled atop her plush mattress; kneading her sides, digging into her rib cage, pinching, prodding and plunging the girl into tortured, sweet agony. He’d stop for a few short seconds, allowing her the chance to beg and catch breath, but there would be no breaks and no safeword of any sort to signal that she’d had enough. Not an inch of bare, pale skin would go untouched; her bellybutton, the smooth hollows of both underarms, her hipbones and inner thighs - it was all fair game. Given time she’d come to love it, once he blurred the line between lust and horrid, ticklish torment. Hell, he had the necessary rope, what would stop him? Besides the obvious time constraint, his waiting comrades and of course the wrath of the High Lord and those under his command.

While entertaining this thought, his hands unconsciously caressed the top of both feet, lightly spidering his fingers until she giggled again. How much time had passed since arriving at the castle? Arlo had no earthly clue. The events that had unfolded went against everything he’d been taught, since the bedrock of a successful career in larceny depended in large part on minimal human contact. His fingers, like his mind, were prone to wandering, but he mustn’t lose himself in pleasures of the flesh - a thief must remain wholly focused on the task at hand.

Yet he longed to stay, even a minute more would do; deep and profound as heartache was the need to remain at the foot of her bed.

“Just think of the poor moth,” he said aloud, albeit quietly. “Of what it must feel as the red flame grows steadily larger on approach.”

Arlo had finally concluded that this prize might not be worth the punishment. Cupping both heels in the palms of his hands, he planted one warm kiss upon each sole, allowing his lips a moment to linger.

“Until next time.”

His rope lay coiled next to the door. A few steps and he was there. With his method of escape in hand, Arlo retraced his route to the window. A glance over his shoulder afforded him one final glimpse of those heavenly feet. He felt no regret for his actions at the foot of her bed - that inconvenient emotion had been erased by years of thievery. The large jewel pressed against his body, a sure sign that good things lay ahead. But no sooner did he touch a hand to the shutter did he hear the soft rustle of cloth and a voice that said, “Going somewhere?”

The disembodied voice prompted a sharp heel turn, his free hand dropping instinctively to his hip. Arlo did not answer. Instead, he simply watched her rise from the bed and place both bare feet upon the floor. Then she stood, turned to face him and spoke again.

“Leaving so soon, thief?”

The girl’s hair fell loosely past her shoulders, like sheets of beaten gold, and alabaster skin gave her a delicate, almost fragile appearance. But her voice, despite its feminine tone, was assertive.

“You have something that belongs to me, do you deny it?”

Arlo blinked a few times, then unsheathed the dagger at his hip. Arm outstretched, he levelled the blade at her, its point drifting uncertainly. “I won’t hurt you, girl,” he spoke at last. “If you remain calm and quiet.” Despite the dagger in his hand, Arlo’s words were betrayed by timidity. This was no mere girl. Standing before him was the High Lord’s daughter, the Princess of Raven’s Reach, the Lady Elyse.

Her expressive, pale blue eyes twinkled in the firelight as she chuckled. The lack of surprise or concern on her face was peculiar, to say the least. Instead, her stare appeared to be one of calculation, or scrutiny. She moved with easy grace, he noticed, as she finally stepped forward to retrieve her slippers near the foot of the bed. After slipping them on, she advanced toward the fireplace. Arlo backed slowly toward the window, not taking his eyes off the girl.

“It’s rather dark in here,” she said. “This will take but a moment.”

Elyse lifted a book of matches from the mantelpiece, removed one, and scratched it across the smoke-blackened brickwork surrounding the hearth. She then picked up an oil lamp and held the flame to its wick, coaxing it gently with a blow. The girl then strode wordlessly across the room to place the lantern atop a small rectangular bedside table. She then stood, bathed in a pool of amber lamplight.

“Ah, better.” She inclined her head and smiled. “Now, where were we? Oh, I had asked you about the possession you stole. It’s yours to keep. In fact, I can ensure you receive much more than that if you’d care to listen to my proposal.”

Arlo scoffed and tilted his head, examining her. A thin silken nightgown hung loosely on her petite frame, leaving little to the imagination; ornamental bands of gold decorated its sleeve borders and neckline, it had a single row of buttons and an embroidered crest matching the tapestries on the wall. She stood in place, feet together, but rocked side to side, her thin garment swaying as if blown by an unfelt breeze.

“I promise it’s worth your time,” she continued, “sit a while, and listen.”

“I think not.”

“That’s obvious. The guard that you distracted would’ve returned to his post by now. I need only raise my voice and he’ll come running. Shall I invite him to join us?”

“My possessions are my own,” he replied firmly. “And there’s no need, I was just on my way out.”

“It did not seem like you were rushing to leave as I lay in my bed.” She looked down at her feet, then back up, a wry grin appearing as she stared for a solemn moment.

Arlo felt his cheeks redden as he lowered the dagger, breaking eye contact momentarily. “Right, well, I’m afraid I really must get going. Lots to do, and all that.”

Not a word was spoken as she waved a hand toward the window, allowing her eyes to grant permission.

Arlo nodded, threw open the shutters and squinted through the misty night air. A full moon provided sufficient light to view the empty courtyard below. As his eyes scanned the grounds, he began to make out motion at the tree line and only a moment later it resolved into two humanoid shapes.

“I have faith that you could outrun those two,” the girl chimed behind him. “Considering they wear suits of metal. However, I should let you know that those guards, slow though they may be, know the location of your little group’s camp.”

Arlo uttered a string of bitter words, throwing in a few choice expletives for good measure, then closed the shutters and turned around.

“Well, it appears you’ll be staying a little while longer.” She tucked a few stray strands of hair behind an ear. “That’s good because we have business to discuss.”

“You knew I’d be here tonight.” He scowled while pointing the blade once again in her direction. Holding the girl at knifepoint did not seem to quell his nervousness, but options were limited.

“You weren’t difficult to locate, and easier to entice,” said the princess. Dimples appeared each time she smiled, causing the flames to glow more fiercely in the hearth. “It simply took a few coins changing hands and a quickly conceived story about a priceless jewel.”

Arlo grit his teeth, then said, “What could you want from me?”

“I’ll tell you if you sheathe your blade and have a seat.” She gestured toward the bed.

“On second thought, I’m not interested,” said the thief in return, trying to keep the volume of his voice low. He slipped the coiled rope over his shoulder. “Now, would you kindly step aside? I’m late as it is.”

“Whose fault is that?”

“I won’t ask a second time.” He brandished the weapon to make his request clear.

In the span of three heartbeats, she closed the distance between them and with a single finger steered the dagger away from herself.

Her movements were that of a dancer - precise and fluid - and in standing directly before him that sweet scent came back in a rush, flooding his nostrils with that honeyed aroma. Arlo cleared his throat but found himself unable to speak. So they stood, face to face, for what seemed like eternity, until such time that the girl smiled warmly, took a single step back and said, “You’ll do yourself no favours by refusing me.”

Backless leather slippers gently slapped her bare feet, creating a soft percussion while making her way back across the room to stand next to the bedside table. “Now, I have no issue asking again,” she continued. “Put the dagger away and let us speak, or you will leave me no choice but to summon a guard.”

Arlo raised his weaponless hand and pointed a finger at her. “Listen to me, girl. We have no business, none. Understand? You’d do well to remain silent. I’m needed elsewhere, so stay where you are and I’ll be on my way.” His voice had returned and with it some nerve.

He made to leave as Elyse sat down on the bed. “Have it your way, then.” She snuffed out the lantern. “Stubborn boy.”

The princess released a piercing wail and a heartfelt plea for mercy that felt genuine, even to Arlo. He froze, heard heavy footsteps, and seconds later the bedroom door burst open.

“Princess! Are you alright?!” The young knight, covered head to toe in plate, surveyed the room, eyes flitting wildly back and forth, eventually settling on the man with the dagger. “W-Who are you? What’s the meaning of this?!”

Clutching the blankets to her breast, Elyse sputtered a quick explanation; her version of events involved a cutthroat assassin sent to sever the royal bloodline, while absconding with as many jewels as one man could carry.

The knight, listening intently, rested a hand suggestively on his sword’s pommel and did not lift his eyes from the cloaked rogue. Upon conclusion, he spoke, “I’ve heard enough. Sheathe your little blade, thief, or you’ll soon lose the hand gripping it.” He swivelled his head toward the girl. “Are you alright, m’lady?”

“Yes, y-yes I’m fine,” she replied, dabbing away a few tears. “Thank you, sir, for your prompt response.”

“It’s my sworn duty, I’m just glad I made it in time.” He looked back to Arlo. “Didn’t you hear me, thief? I told you to drop it, now.”

With little choice in the matter, Arlo complied, reluctantly reuniting steel with scabbard. Then the guard was on him. A blow was swiftly delivered to the thief’s abdomen; a gut punch so strong that Arlo nearly collapsed on the spot, yet through sheer will remained defiantly upright. The young knight, having taken offence, then dealt a twofold slap using the front and back of his heavy gauntlet. That did the trick. Instead of freedom, Arlo found himself face down, a boot in his back and a sword at his throat, staring through bleary eyes at his coiled rope.

“How dare you enter the lady’s chamber. What do you have to say for yourself?!” spat the knight. Arlo elected not to speak, as opening his mouth oft led to more trouble. That, and his jaw pained terribly. “Are you mute, or just stupid? If you refuse to talk then your silence will be answered with steel.” The blade drew blood as it pressed against Arlo’s neck.

“That is not necessary,” said the girl, placing a hand on the knight’s pauldron, “I believe a stay in the dungeon might loosen his tongue. Take him there, won’t you?”

“But, m’lady, you’d spare the life of one who surely meant to take your own? I don’t understand.”

“My brave knight, he may yet be of use to us. From him, we may glean his method of entry, which will prevent future intrusions.”

“Of course, how wise. You’re right as always. Forgive my haste, I’ll be sure to notify your lord father once I’ve secured this rat in the dungeon.”

“Again, that won’t be necessary, sir. I have other plans for him.” A hint of a smile was hidden beneath that frightened look. “My father need not be disturbed. Let him entertain his guests, he does so enjoy his leisure time.”

“As you command. I will—”

Hinges squeaked as a sour-faced older man with thinning gray hair entered the room, shutting the door firmly behind him. Unlike the young knight, whose boot remained planted directly between Arlo’s shoulder blades, this older man wore a gleaming shirt of mail overtop boiled leathers.

With an absent nod, Elyse acknowledged him, saying, “Good evening, captain. I’ve given your man an order, see it is followed.”

The captain offered a gesture of respect toward the princess but did not smile or even show visible concern for her wellbeing. Curling a finger, he beckoned the younger man over, then used that same finger to scratch a misshapen nose bent from an injury long ago. Captain and knight then had a brief conversation. When complete, the older man addressed the princess directly, his voice gravel.

“Your highness, we’ll take this thing to the lowest level of the castle’s dungeon, where light does not shine. His crime is a grievous one and he’ll be punished accordingly, of that you may be certain.” A crooked grin of missing teeth formed an expression that was an odd mixture of cruelty and pleasure. “But, m’lady, your father must be notified of—”

Elyse waggled a forbidding finger, replying, “No, captain. Leave him be, this matter is under control. Take the prisoner and keep this between us, for now. I will speak with father privately on the morrow.”

His hard face showed skepticism. “Princess, I insist. This creature was about to—”

“Do as you are bid, sir.” The air of authority behind her words was plain for all to hear.

The older man grunted and quickly tilted his head in the direction of the door. “Take him,” was the command. “And make damn sure he doesn’t get loose.”

After a few more uncomplimentary terms had been tossed his way - including lack of personal hygiene, cowardice and similarly to vermin - Arlo was hoisted to his feet and stripped of his dagger and thieves' tools. His wrists were then bound tightly with cord.

“Move,” instructed the young knight, forcefully propelling him via a hand to the back.

***​

“He’s running late, why do you think that is?” asked the red-haired woman. Her hands were idly playing with a strip of bark torn from the deadfall she was resting against.

The large man seated cross-legged on the ground next to her did not speak. Instead, he filled the silence with a repetitive humming; some tune from a far-off land, while sharpening a double-bladed axe.

“I don’t trust it,” she went on, “something’s off.” Wispy threads of night-mist encircled them both, and she shivered as the forest around them bent and twisted by a rising wind.

“He is a thief,” said the large man, his voice deep and pleasantly-weathered. “They are untrustworthy by nature.”

“No, no, I don’t mean him. I meant that I don’t trust the intel. It’s too easy, right? A priceless jewel, on a bookshelf? I don’t know… should we check in on him?”

A long pause followed, then, “Reyna, we were instructed to wait.”

“We’ve been waiting, shouldn’t we go check it out? He might need backup. That place is lousy with guards, what if they’ve cornered him?” She wore worry on her freckled face.

The scraping of stone on steel was her only answer.

“Might be a few seasoned knights on patrol,” added Reyna, nudging the man seated beside her. “Damn fine opportunity to try out that new axe of yours…”

The man gave his beard a few meditative strokes, then replied, “Indeed, I will follow.”

Together they rose from the cold earth of the overlook, gathered their weapons and descended toward the high walls and towers of the castle below.

CHAPTER TWO​

The room in which Arlo found himself was dimly lit and unfamiliar. Two torches along the rightmost wall pushed back the darkness, but the cold seeped in all the same, creating a damp environment. The stale air had an odour not unlike a crypt, which was hopefully not a foretelling of future events. The room’s only window, embedded into the stony wall to his left, was narrow and heavily barred. Could it be climbed through by a fellow with a slender build? Possibly. Did that slender fellow have the ability or means to bend iron? Certainly not. This thought, and others rolled about his mind. But although his head was pounding, he was very much alive.

“Well, that’s good news,” he spoke hoarsely while giving himself a rapid visual inspection, yet something told him to postpone the final consensus until additional facts had been made available.

He was unable to move his arms or legs, as thick leather straps secured both wrists and ankles to what appeared to be a large, wooden slab-like table. The ‘slab’ was lightly padded, enough to offer some relief but far from what one might consider comfortable. He was relieved to see his clothes had not been removed, but his cloak lay draped over a wooden chair below the window. Upon the chair lay his dagger, which was surely left to mock him. His body, strapped tightly as it was, formed an ‘X’ shape, and try as he might, he wasn’t going anywhere. Repeated wiggling, straining and pulling produced nothing but sore joints, so he lay on his back in the chilly chamber listening to his pulse thump in both ears. After a while, he simply said, “Fuck,” then stared blankly into a darkened ceiling.

While assessing the situation, Arlo couldn’t help but think of those campfire tales. If lucky, the princess’ chosen interrogator would be inexperienced, perhaps even sloppy. Rather than suffering the flaying of flesh or similar horrors, the torturer might slip up and nick an artery, offering the thief a quick yet messy death. This thought evoked an uneasy chuckle but ultimately didn’t help matters.

Once again he tried tensing and tightening his muscles, attempting to slip a hand free. Once again he was not successful. The thief sighed, then concentrated. Even if he’d managed to summon strength formidable enough to snap the bonds securing his limbs, the heavy padlock on the doors at the far end of the room would defeat him. A few deft motions using the appropriate tools from his pouch would do the trick - he could convince even the most stubborn of locks to surrender - alas, the requisite tools were out of reach. His prospects, like this room, were bleak.

The distinct scrape of shoe leather on stone interrupted his contemplation of gross injustices that so often befell honest thieves. Twin doors of blackened iron swung open at the far end of the chamber, then closed again. And then… nothing. Arlo craned his neck for a visual but could see little in the scant light. Whoever had entered was attempting to induce fear, so the bound man decided to lighten the mood.

“Come in, come in,” he said cheekily. “Forgive me, won’t you? I wasn’t expecting guests at this hour. Do ignore the cobwebs, had I known you’d be dropping by I’d have tidied up a bit.”

There was no response. So after a few long seconds, Arlo said, “Well, get on with it. No need to muck about, let’s go. I can’t be the only prisoner you have to visit this evening.”

“Are you frightened, thief?” came a voice, soft and sweet.

Arlo recognized it immediately. “Oh, it’s you. I should’ve known.” He gave her a flat-eyed look, down over his nose.

“Sorry to disappoint.” The princess walked slowly across the room, stopping just short of the man on the wooden slab. “I’m sure you were expecting some brute with a penchant for pain. Perhaps even a sadist with pliers and hammer.”

The thief saw no reason to reply. He was using this momentary pause to organize thoughts.

“You’ve met with a terrible fate, haven’t you?” she continued. “If you’d only listened, perhaps we could have avoided this… unpleasantness.”

The girl peered down at his horizontal frame, smiling. He returned her gaze without warmth. She hadn’t changed her clothing, however her thin nightgown was now draped with a dark cloak of her own. Resting on the crown of her head was a circlet, wrought in silver and adorned with gemstones, all gleaming reddish-orange in the torchlight.

“Your resentment toward me is justified.” She began to pace slowly around the room. The glass-panelled lantern clutched in her hand was lit via a nearby wall torch, then hung on a hook near Arlo’s head. It swayed gently, brightening their surroundings, yet did little to ward off the chill. “But we’re not that dissimilar, you and I. Two souls, seeking control in an unruly world.”

“It’s a tad more unruly for me, I dare say.” His face was a portrait of indignation.

“I’ll grant you that, you’ve landed on luck’s bad side tonight. But let us focus on the good, shall we?”

The lantern’s soft glow enabled Arlo to discern additional objects placed around the chamber. A pillory stood in one corner, with holes for head and hands. Nearby sat a small wooden stool, above which hung chains complete with manacles. Other objects of note looked equally unpleasant.

“If I’m to be tortured, do send someone else. I wish to plead for mercy in the company of an adult.”

“I’m a woman of nineteen, thief. I’m also the High Lord’s daughter, not a commoner. You’d do well to remember that.” She playfully pinched the tip of his nose, then strode over to the chair below the window. “Furthermore, you’re only a few years my elder. Now, we have business to discuss.”

He made a rude gesture with his left hand that conveyed his unwillingness to cooperate. She turned around in time to catch it.

“You are a bold one,” she said, half chuckling. “Do you know that? You’re in no position to refuse me, yet you remain defiant. It’s refreshing, in one way, and challenging in another.” Elyse picked up and unsheathed his dagger, then took a few steps back to stand alongside her captive. “Since you will not entertain my proposal, I suppose I’ll have to get creative."

He studied her for several seconds, then his gaze slid down to the dagger clutched in her hand.

“Quality steel.” She taped its point against the thick wooden table on which Arlo lay, then worked her slender fingers around the palm-polished handle. “Tell me, after you stole it, was it used to cut the throat of its former owner?” She drew a finger across her neck. “Or did you simply pilfer it from a corpse? Easier that way, I’d imagine, little chance of a fight.”

“It was a gift,” he said without hesitation.

“Mhmm, I’m sure. So, thief, you’ve broken into my home, lifted a jewel from under my father’s nose and repeatedly insulted and threatened a member of the royal family. I wonder, what would be a suitable punishment?” She ran her thumb across his blade.

“That’s your call, highness. But let’s be honest, you’re not fooling anyone with your veiled threats and you don’t mean to use that dagger. I doubt you’d even know how it works. Reckon the last time you wielded a knife there was some toast in need of buttering. Then again, you likely have servants for such menial tasks.”

That won him another short chuckle from the girl, but it was humourless and a frown quickly followed. “It has been a while since I’ve required a blade, apart from at the breakfast table. But let us see… yes, it’s all coming back to me now…”

With a faint hiss, the razor-sharp blade sliced through his tunic, navel to neck; a few more quick cuts and it was nothing more than strips of ragged cloth. She removed the pieces, tossed them aside, then took a step back and regarded the man. He had a wiry frame with sculpted shoulders and toned arms. A scar ran diagonally across his chest and a fist-sized bruise had begun to form on his abs. “Mhmm…” was all she said while stepping forward. Reaching down, she let a finger slowly trace the scar. When she reached the end her fingers scrabbled across his bare midsection.

Arlo winced and withheld a laugh, quickly replying, “Alright, enough games. Tell me your proposal, I’ll hear it.”

“Oh, I’m afraid that time has passed.” She lightly spidered a few more fingers on his skin, feeling him squirm in response. “Again, I ask you, what should be your punishment?”

“You’d have me pick my own switch? That’s cruel.”

“Not quite.” The dagger was placed on the table next to him. With minimal delay, the girl then produced a large, stiff goose feather from a pocket within her cloak before shrugging it off and letting it drop to the floor at her feet. She then ran her thumb across its feathered edge, saying, “I believe the punishment should fit the crime, don’t you?”

Arlo felt his eyes widen, but otherwise laid motionless, not that he had much choice in the matter. With the cloak gone, he could now make out her figure; she had a slim waist but the curves of a woman twice her age. Her long fingernails were painted violet and he wondered what damage they'd do if she ever decided to use them. He would not have to wait long for the answer.

“Do you like them?” she asked, extending a hand. “I simply adore this colour and it matches the polish on my toes, which I’m sure you took note of.” Her fingers walked lazily up his forearm, across the bicep, over his shoulder and onto his neck where they lingered. “Not every fight can be won with violence. Sometimes, a softer approach is needed. But I’ll let you decide. Tell me, which would you rather I used?” Her eyes flicked from feather to dagger and back again, twirling it between two fingers, grinning.

Bare-chested and bound, Arlo’s response was not immediate. Working his sore jaw back and forth in a way that indicated deep thought, the man considered his options. He sighed heavily while eyeing the feather; the soft white plume might be tolerable, for a time, depending on where it was used. However, its blunt quill would certainly cause him great distress if she decided to—

“Time’s up!” she announced suddenly. “I’ve decided for you. Now, I have a closely related follow-up question, thief, and I reward honesty, though I understand it might be a foreign concept to you. By chance, are you a little bit… ticklish?”

She saw her answer in the sudden, involuntary widening of his eyes. “How interesting. So, just how ticklish are you, hmm?”

That word made his pulse quicken, though he was able to keep emotions in check. “My name is Arlo,” he replied through clenched teeth.

“I’m well aware of your name. It does not make you any less a thief. Answer. The. Question.” Her words were punctuated with gentle pokes around his bellybutton, causing his abs to tighten and an immediate twitching of the eye to give himself away.

“Will the answer change my fate?”

Her shoulders raised, then fell. “What do you think?” Five fingers crawled across his tummy, making their way north, counting each rib as they worked toward his chest. “You seem tense. You can let it out, you know.”

Arlo made a dismissive sound, then replied, “Something tells me I’m not the first person you’ve locked away down here.”

“This chamber is well used, though not by me.”

“Your father, then?” Her index finger dug in just above his collarbone, causing his head to twist in that direction. “There are stories…” he continued after a sharp inhale. She had located a particularly sensitive spot just below his armpit.

“Certainly.” Elyse whisked a few fingertips up his side, and he groaned in a flimsy attempt to hold back laughter. “But few have seen it. Few know him as I do. Outwardly he’s a soft man, joyous and generous to a fault. To the common man, he’s a hero, one of the greatest lords the North has seen in a generation.”

“I’ve heard conflicting reports.” He tensed as a few fingers brushed against his bicep and inner arm.

“You’re one to talk. Father is firm but fair. He says often and loudly that a ruler must have the hearts of the people and the respect of his enemies. His reign has been one of peace and prosperity. His rivals are few and his larders are full. But you are not wrong. A brutal, wicked streak runs through him, equal parts sin and love. My lord father has punished many down here in this gloomy place, out of earshot and sight. Some resisted, for a while, but he always knew how to make them squeal…”

Her fingers once again crawled across his ribs, poking the spaces between. Each breath was sharp in his chest as she continued to explore his naked upper body. Arlo’s fortitude had won out thus far, but his defences were crumbling with every poke and prod from those damned fingers - they followed no set path, zigzagging here and there, gently scratching her nails across his skin. His libido was revving up once again, brought on by nefarious light touches, causing an all-too-noticeable bulge down below. But this was different, as he wasn’t in control this time. Still, it manifested something within and there was a part of himself that longed to be held captive. Harnessing a technique taught by the thieves’ guild to steady one’s heartbeat had proven effective, until now, because a wiggling finger just squirmed its way into the hollow of his right underarm.

“Nyahahaa!”

“Ohh, my… it appears that someone just couldn’t hold it back any longer,” said the girl, wearing a delighted expression. “Is that spot a little sensitive, thief? Did I finally find a chink in your armour? Let’s see, what happens if I do it again? Let’s try this side…”

“Pffeehahaa! Alright, e-enough of this!” he demanded as his left underarm came under attack.

“Don’t tell me you’re giving up already?” she said, pouting. “Where’s the fun in that? I know, I’ll move on to another area. We’ll take things slow, I want to make this fun for both of us.”

“This isn’t my idea of fun…”

“Are you truly going to lay there and lie to my face?” Her eyebrows rose in mock outrage. “I know you’re enjoying yourself. You see, you’ve given yourself away…” She motioned toward his prominent erection. “You love what I’m doing, there’s no shame in admitting it. What’s more, I bet you’d enjoy listening to a few stories, hmm?”

“Stories?” asked the red-faced thief.

“Yes, of course. I’ll reveal all you need to know about my dear father. The hour is late, but we have time yet. Though we should invite my companion.” Elyse flashed the large feather she’d been holding all this time. “He feels left out.”

“Listen, I’ll help you with whatever you need,” he said reasonably, “if you’ll only untie me…” But the princess was oddly silent as she lowered the feather to his shirtless torso.

It began as a faint tingling sensation passing through his digits; the encroaching feather had made contact on his palm, and she wasted no time dragging it up his arm, rounding the shoulder onto his chest with a course set for his abdomen. The thief, to his credit, remained tight-lipped, despite an overwhelming urge to curse, snicker and otherwise vocalize some of his internal struggles. Soon enough the girl’s feathery tickle tool reached its destination and began travelling in a widening spiral around his navel.

“That’s it,” she spoke softly. “Fight it, fight it just as I did not long ago. A helpless girl dozing in her bed, unaware of a burglar with ill intentions. A scoundrel on the prowl, seeking loot and laughter.”

The feather’s touch was precise, yet playful. It was dragged from his stomach, across his chest, along his underarm and down his side, while the girl watched him squirm in ticklish frustration. Battling that tickly feeling was becoming increasingly challenging, but for Arlo, a man whose livelihood hinged on keeping a level head, this was not an impossible task.

“You have no idea how difficult it was to remain still as you teased my bare feet,” she continued, “withholding my laughter and summoning willpower unknown to me until that very moment. Well, I suppose you know something of that feeling now, don’t you?”

Arlo’s lips twitched, his face contorting with every pass of that awful feather. One moment it was sweeping across his bare midriff, the next it was teasing his neck and ears. Not even his nose was safe from its soft touch.

“Awww, this isn’t bothering you, is it? Surely you can’t last much longer…”

She was correct, resisting its fluffy caress was proving problematic.

“Mphheehee…” giggled the once-defiant thief, though he attempted to conceal it with a cough.

“Ahh, there it is! I almost have you…”

Stifling another giggle which nearly broke loose from his lips, Arlo fought the maddening sensations coursing through his body. Swipe after feathery swipe, the girl was unrelenting in her desire to see him break.

“I know, let’s try this again, shall we?” She grinned ear to ear while swirling the feather’s tip into and around his belly button. “Tickle, tickle… are you going to laugh for me?”

Arlo voiced a grunt, then a brief chuckle, but was otherwise quiet.

“Oh, come now, let’s hear it. You coaxed the giggles out of me earlier, I’m simply returning the favour.” The princess-turned-torturer suddenly dropped the feather on his stomach and promptly dug her nails into either side of his ribcage.

“GYAAHAAHAAA!” belted Arlo, entirely caught off guard.

“Splendid!” she exclaimed, elated by the results.

“Dammit, girl. End this foolishness!”

“Oh, my. There you go again, not listening. I told you, we’ll take our time. We have all night, and the fun’s not over yet.”

Arlo breathed deeply as his heart rate slowly resumed its normal beat. He had much to say in the moment, but sensibly allowed silence to overtake them both. Elyse began pacing around the room, fingers intertwined behind her back. Where she went, his eyes followed. Her pristine, porcelain skin shone in the dim light of the dungeon and she practically floated while circling the man atop the table, eventually pausing near a set of stocks.

“This is a rather heinous device,” she said, running a hand across the heavy wooden yoke of the stockade. “It’s hinged at one end to accommodate the victim’s feet and ankles.” Elyse demonstrated by sitting in the low-slung seat and placing both slippered feet through a pair of holes in front of her. “But as you see, there are two sets of holes here. You and I would be in quite a lot of trouble, seated side by each in this contraption, would we not? But I’m sure you’d vastly prefer to dole out the punishment and place another worthy individual here beside me.” She patted the wooden bench on which she sat. “Anyone come to mind, thief?”

Arlo spoke not a word but chased the thought. Reyna would look terrific seated next to the princess; thrashing and pulling her legs, striving to break free, cheeks growing redder and more vibrant the longer she struggled. After removing her boots and socks, he’d watch her big, pale soles scrunch apprehensively as the realization sunk in. He made a throaty noise, then pushed the aforementioned thought from his mind. After the silence had lengthened, she spoke again.

“I see cogs turning. Whoever it may be, I’m sure she would detest what comes next.” Elyse gestured with her thumb toward a nearby bucket. “It contains salt brine,” she explained. “Irresistible to livestock, once slathered on your flesh, well, you can imagine the horrors soon to be inflicted. Visualize yourself being forced into this seat, professing your innocence, yet you remain trapped and ignored as a goat is led before you. Minutes would pass as hours while its rough tongue slurped and lapped at your helpless bare feet, greedily devouring it all. When satiated, another coating would be applied while a different animal is brought forward, eager to receive its salty treat.” A shiver ran through her tiny frame. Arlo, too, squirmed uncomfortably.

Elyse slowly waggled both feet back and forth, allowing one slipper to fall. “Whoops,” she said coyly, as it slapped against the stone below. And there it was again - the same creamy-white, soft sole he’d fallen in love with not long ago at the foot of her bed. The simple way those toes flexed in and out, like drawing breath, was tantalizing. She knew it; the princess was toying with him, but enamoured though he was, what he needed was a way out of this. Arlo blinked while shifting his mental focus.

The princess then added, “A barbaric method of torture, isn’t it? Few would tolerate it for long, including myself. But we must all accept our vulnerabilities and learn to endure.” She wiggled her toes and smiled, a wicked gleam in her eyes. Elyse then arose from the stocks, retrieved her fallen slipper and rejoined Arlo. Scanning his lean body, the blonde teen rapped her nails against the wooden slab on which he lay, then moved to stand between him and the small barred window, Arlo’s only connection to the outside world.

He turned his head toward her, then faced upward, staring at the ceiling once more.

“If you have something to say,” said the girl, “say it.”

Arlo made a noise of frustration deep in his throat but said nothing.

“Suit yourself. But I owe you a story, don’t I? Where to begin? And how much detail to give?”

“As much as necessary,” said the man on the table, enjoying the brief reprieve from tickly, probing fingers and that fluffy feather.

“Hmm, yes, I’ll spare you some of the more lurid detail and instead focus on painting a picture of my dear father. He covets wine, wealth and women most of all. The man has a voracious appetite, he—”

Arlo interrupted with a snicker. “Yes, I’ve seen him. Built somewhat similar to a wine cask that’s sprouted a moustache.”

“Spare me your wit, thief, and tread carefully,” she warned, shooting him a sidelong glance of contempt. “You forget yourself, that’s your lord you speak of.”

“Right, my apologies…”

She waved him to silence. “It’s fine. But insult him again at your own risk, lest you wish to be reacquainted with my companion.” On the off chance her meaning was overly subtle, she quickly picked up her white feather and ran it across his abs as Arlo giggled, then placed it down again.

“What I speak of no food can satisfy, no drink can quench. This chamber’s original function was storage. However, when an addition was built in the spring of my birth year, this space became vacant. And father knew precisely how to utilize it. You two are more alike than you realize.” She poked between two ribs, inducing another giggle. “You see, he chooses the fairest of his subjects. Not just any will do, mind you. Wives of fallen soldiers, daughters from houses both noble and common, serving girls and even handmaidens. All beautiful, defenceless creatures.”

“Creatures?”

“Yes, that’s his view, I’m certain. Father lusts insatiably for their suffered twitching, indulging himself on their tender bodies, enjoying their plight. But he is not alone in these perverse pleasures, no…” She sighed, then gathered her thoughts. “I’m afraid many of his guests share in this madness, these acts of debauchery. He presents them with his favourite tools, you see, encouraging them to try each one to elicit their desired results, seemingly aroused by the sight of another man’s use of them. Some of these girls, or more aptly put, tickle slaves, he keeps for years, eventually giving them to the pleasure dens after growing bored. But believe me, that is no true freedom. Yearning for their laughter, he draws invisible shapes upon their skin. If they attempted to withhold it, he’d soon break their resolve. Not a single region of their flesh is spared, writhing under ceaseless ticklish torment, weeping nearly as often as they giggled. It amused him greatly, watching them struggle desperately to escape. Some were suspended from the ceiling, forced upon the tips of their toes, others were wrapped tight from head to heel with only their most sensitive areas laid bare. He’d play games with his—”

“Games?”

She held up a hand, palm out, a gesture meant to mute him. “Yes, but not like the games your lot play, dealing from the bottom of the deck. No, his games are cruel. I’ve watched him tie little bells to their toes, instructing them to keep still as he feathered their bare feet, with a warning of what might happen if those bells chimed. They’d endure, for a time, but ultimately all would succumb. And when they did, oh how they suffered. I still hear those bells when the castle is at rest; they echo, and I’m unsure if they’re in my head or if a poor soul has found herself down here.”

“You said you watched. How?”

“My observations went unnoticed. There are passages in this place, this gilded cage, known only to those who’d take the time to look. But they seldom do. These passages intertwine, connecting a warren of cellars and subterranean chambers. Admittedly, I…” Her voice trailed. “Well, I rather enjoyed it.”

Arlo scanned the room, as much as he could see, half expecting a set of eyes to be peering down at him. He was relieved to see none. “Hold on,” he said, “you enjoyed it?” Her words had only just registered.

“Indeed.” Elyse’s bottom lip was between her teeth as she shifted her feet. “Nearly as much as you, I’d wager.” She rubbed a hand over his groin, listening to him moan in response. “I enjoyed hearing their cries, wails and piteous sobs. Does that surprise you?”

Arlo did not see shame, but for the briefest of moments, the princess’ guard dropped, revealing a truth. His reply came slow, “I’ve encountered a few surprises this evening. But no, it doesn’t shock me to see the acorn resting so close to the raven’s tree.”

“I am my father’s daughter, after all.” She reached a hand toward him, but rather than grabbing the feather on Arlo’s stomach, which had been steadily rising and falling with each breath he took, she picked up his dagger instead. With a flourish the girl plunged it between his legs, embedding the blade into the thick table. The man’s heart skipped a beat, but he managed to keep his expression bland.

“And you?” he asked.

Elyse lifted an eyebrow.

He posed his question, “Have you ever been subjected to this… treatment?”

“Not here, or such as I described. But I’m not unfamiliar with your situation.”

“Oh?”

“A story for later. For now, I’m going to give you a choice,” she stated. “We can continue, you’ll hear additional stories, which you so clearly enjoy while learning more about why you are here tonight. But it comes with a price.” Her gaze hovered over the dagger. “Or, I can release you from your bonds and you may leave. You’ll be free, but you’ll never know why you were led here in the first place. Choose.”

“What price must I pay?”

Her shoulders once again lifted and fell in a way that did not provide Arlo any satisfaction whatsoever.

“You speak of your disdain for games, yet you play them with me,” he said sharply. “Simply tell me what it is you want, what you require of me. I’m open to it.”

“In time.”

“Then my decision is an easy one. I’ll be on my way, if you please.”

“You came here for riches, will you leave empty-handed?”

“These hands won’t be empty,” he replied, wiggling his fingers.

“Ah, of course.” In short order the girl was standing next to the chair, one hand rummaging within the hidden pocket of Arlo’s cloak. “You refer to this, I presume?” The jewel, once removed, appeared even larger in her hand than it once did in his own. Upon returning to his side she held it aloft, allowing it to catch the light, then suddenly released her grip. Jewel met stone in a violent crash, shattering instantly as hundreds of pieces skittered across the floor, which Arlo regarded sourly.

“Beautiful,” she said casually, “but more fragile than glass. A bauble, nothing more.”

Arlo’s brows drew down as he took in her triumphant expression. “I suppose you have me for a while yet,” he said.

The girl rubbed her palms together. “Glad to hear it. Soon I hope to have your earnest cooperation. So, let us continue.”

“First, I’m curious. Your mother…” A questioning glance was sent her way.

“What of her?”

“Well, does the High Lady approve of her husband’s, shall we say, proclivities?”

“Father treats her with all the respect due her station, but there is little love between them, at least anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he replied. Her dodging of the question didn’t go unnoticed. “But, I asked whether or not she approved.”

“My dear mother is well aware of her husband’s obsession, as on more than one occasion she’s been on the receiving end. Their open relationship is beneficial for the northern kingdoms and father’s wandering eyes were never a problem, until one night a few years back.”

“Yes…” he said in a tone that encouraged elaboration.

“She was my mother’s closest confidant, and friend, but no one is truly safe here, not even our friends. You see, father’s eyes had lingered on this woman for years, I’m certain, but mother forbade it; she was off-limits, one of the lucky few. So he waited until his lady wife had left for her yearly envoy to our vassals, two days’ ride south. That’s when the guards took her.”

“Captured shortly after her nightly bath, she was forced to her knees, right there,” she said, jabbing a finger toward the heavy chains and manacles hanging from the ceiling. “She was bound without resistance, no doubt in her mind she’d made peace with it. She remained calm while kneeling in front of her captors, but it was noticeable; the nervousness, an ever-so-slight quivering of the lower lip. Her arms were forced out to the side, her robe unbuttoned and her ankles secured with iron fetters. The guards used her then, one after the next, teasing and tormenting the woman as they saw fit.”

“Chains rattled as the tender regions of her naked body surrendered to their feathers, fingers and all manner of device meant to straddle the line between pain and pleasure. Multiple fingers poked the spaces between each rib, while others delighted in blowing raspberries on her tummy. Next, she was forced to guess which number or letter was writ upon her dainty upturned soles, another cruel game. Yet she persisted, clinging on to sanity despite being gang-tickled by countless guardsmen; knights once sworn to protect her now jockeyed for position, betraying signs of arousal as they experimented with a variety of ways to make the most of her vulnerable body. Then, quickly as it began, it was over. Believing her torment at an end, she sighed relief. That is when father made his entrance.”

Elyse paused for effect, then resumed her narrative.

“The supreme softness of her soles proved an obvious weakness, one father exploited to great success by utilizing a long, black raven’s feather - one of his finest. Flexible, but stiff enough, its blunt tip can cause havoc when applied to the correct location. Yet he started slow, first drawing it between her trembling toes, one by one until peals of joyless laughter burst forth. No two pulls of the feather were alike, and each tested her resilience. Next, her toe stems were lightly teased and feathered despite innumerable pleas to the contrary.”

Arlo’s toes scrunched inside his boots as he listened.

“But she devolved into desperate writhing when he decided to trace and re-trace each wrinkle and crease upon her pampered feet, utilizing at last the spine of his feather. The poor woman cried out in unbearable ticklish agony while her lord unleashed his pent-up, raging desire.”

“What became of her?” he asked, once it became clear her story had finished.

Another of her characteristic shrugs followed. “I did not inquire. Mother returned from her trip and never spoke of her again. Now, where was I?”

Elyse removed the dagger from the table. Using its tip, she worked it up one pant leg, then the other. When finished, all that remained was a pair of dusty boots upon his feet and his underclothes. “Shall I continue, thief?” she asked, one hand resting on his bare thigh while watching his cock twitch eagerly through thin fabric. “Soon, I think, but not yet. I love the anticipation, don’t you?”

Her seemingly rhetorical question went unanswered as Arlo fidgeted nervously on the table.

“You know, it’s not just members of the court and serving girls that father drags down here,” she said. “Beggars, muggers and any captured cutpurse are inevitably taken to this place. They’re first presented to the Captain of the Court Guard, a man named Khellar. You had the distinct pleasure of meeting him earlier this evening.”

“Grumpy looking fellow, crooked nose. I remember.”

“Correct. As father’s right hand, Khellar chooses whomever he deems worthy of his lord’s time, using his own unique selection process.” Discarding the dagger in favour of the feather, she swept it up and down the inside of his bare thighs, stimulating countless nerve endings.

“Mpheehee…” giggled Arlo, his cock stiffening with every stroke.

“You think him ill-tempered, but I assure you, he has discretion, tact and a greater deal of patience than most. Once Khellar’s had his fun, they’re brought before my father. I recall one in particular; she was a wild and willful thing, but he broke her of that, like all the rest. The accusation was petty theft and though she denied it, gold was found in her pocket.” The feather traced a line up his leg as the man squirmed atop the table, more and more giggles bubbling to the surface. “She was nothing if not resilient, this girl, enduring countless hours in that…” Elyse motioned toward a device that could only be described as a rack; its bedlike rectangular frame, slightly raised at one end, was suspended above the floor on wooden legs with loops of rope hanging from all four corners. “That device is typically reserved for the dislocation of limbs, but it doubles as an excellent means of restraint for suitable candidates.”

As the white feather glided along, the fingers of her other hand slowly walked up his leg; creeping up from his knee those long, manicured nails eventually scribbled on his newly-exposed skin.

“Gyiahahaaa! S-Stop!”

“That’s been said a time or two down here. Through it all she persevered, resisting a great many tickle tools and well-honed techniques. But one in particular pushed her over the edge, and I imagine it felt something like this…” The princess’ hands applied just the right amount of pressure, kneading both of his thighs, and Arlo could hold back no longer.

“GYAAHAHAA—FUCKK!”

“Simple, yet effective. That’s all it took, the correct pressure point upon her tender thighs. Well, several points, like so…” Her cruel demonstration continued, digging in with the tips of her fingers.

“NYEEHAAHAA!” cried Arlo, his head whipping wildly from side to side. “P-PLEEEHEEESEE!”

“It was then that she crumbled. Her words came pouring out in a flood; begging forgiveness, asking father to spare her this inhuman torture if she promised never to steal again.” Elyse allowed her thumbs to do most of the work, sinking them deep.

“NOHOOHO—S-STAHAAP IT!”

“But we know what the promises of a thief are worth. So her screams went ignored, her pleas unheeded. In the end, the poor girl was left breathless.” Slipping a hand beneath his underclothes, five wiggling fingers burrowed into the crease between hipbone and thigh.

“NYAAHAA—D-DON’T—EIEEHAHAA!” he yelped in desperation.

“It was for her own good, you understand, she had to be taught a lesson.” Elyse withdrew her hands. “The lengths she would’ve gone to just to make it stop. What might you have done?”

Arlo found himself at a loss for words as he gulped down mouthfuls of air.

“Can you imagine spending countless hours being brought to the precipice of lunacy?” she asked. “Reduced to a miserable existence as someone’s tickle-toy? I can, I’ve seen it all too frequently. Actually, I’ve another story I bet you’re eager to hear. I know your friend would, perhaps it’s finally time he joined us.”

“N-No,” was all he could manage, chest heaving as his lungs worked overtime. His protest was brief, but convincing enough. Yet deep down he knew this was merely delaying the inevitable.

“Not ready, hmm? You know, seeing you laying there, I’m reminded of what brought you to this castle—”

The sound he made then was a combination of a growl and a sigh. “You’re the reason I’m laying here.”

“I’m the reason you’re still alive, that knight would’ve made quick work of you.”

Arlo’s expression conceded the point.

“No,” she continued, “aside from your predilection for pretty bare feet, this is what led you to me.” A golden coin was pressed into the thief’s palm, prompting five fingers to curl while feeling its weight. “If it’s coin you want, it’s coin you shall have. A mountain of it. The treasury is filled to bursting; it was a prosperous summer and a wonderfully warm autumn, until recently.”

Concern was visible on the thief’s face, as on more than one occasion he’d encountered individuals who’d promised an exorbitant sum, simply because they had no intention of paying it.

His suspicions must’ve been obvious, as the girl said, “Do you think me capable of such naked deceit?”

Arlo opened his mouth to speak, but her glare deterred him.

“You’ll be paid,” she said. “Well, I might add, for your skill and your troubles, should any befall you. Quick wits and larcenous tendencies would serve me well, are you that man?”

Arlo rolled the coin over his knuckles, then replied, “I’m aware of your need for a thief, my confusion lies in the specific item you’re hoping I’ll steal. And why do I get the feeling that you’re hiding this from your father?”

“Father will be made aware soon enough, I assure you.”

‘Bullshit’, were Arlo’s thoughts on the matter. Aloud, he said, “That’s your business. Now, what is it you wish for me to nick?”

“Enough of this for now,” she said. “Let us continue. I’ve talked about innocent women being tickled by men strange to them; gratifying themselves while applying devious tools to their helpless bodies, savouring the beauty of their tortured expressions while satisfying hidden fetishes. Likewise, I’ve told you what awaits swindlers and crooks, your ilk, of their ticklish turmoil and well-deserved punishments. But there is another that comes to mind; a young maid of eighteen, bright and beautiful, she was once my handmaiden, and I’d grown rather fond of her. I can still see her when I close my eyes at night; dropping to her knees as the guardsmen arrived at my bedroom door, hands clasped, pleading with them not to take her down here, shuddering as she sobbed.”

The corners of his mouth twitched involuntarily as her hands hung in the air; poised directly above his midsection they appeared as claws, ready to strike at any moment.

“N-Now hold on, w-wait just a second...” he said. Yet he couldn't contain the preemptive laughter from bubbling to the surface as they slowly descended.

“I watched as her small cotton socks were peeled from her feet,” she continued. “Her dress and underclothes were similarly removed. Father stroked, teased and tormented those impossibly soft soles with his terrible black feather. She was certainly a ticklish little thing. Oh, how her cute toes danced in pitiful protest.”

“Mphheehheeee...” he giggled as her fingers strolled around his stomach - scrabbling, fluttering and poking unpredictably as he lay feeling helpless.

“Your giggle reminds me of hers. There's music in it, you know? It's true. But to make her sing he needed to sink his nails into the fleshy, tender parts of her nubile body. I wonder if you'll sing the same tune...”

“N-Noo, don't do that—” he said. But it was too late, as she'd already seized his sides with an unforgiving grip and begun to squeeze. “GYAAHHAHAHA!”

“Hmm, close. But you don't have quite the same pitch.”

“NYEHHAHAHA--STHAHAHAP!”

“Closer still. Granted, I haven’t made it to your feet yet.”

“W-WAIT—EIEEHAHAHAA!”

“Ah, there we are,” she said, pulling her hands away and once again leaving him gasping for air. “There’s nothing quite like the melody of unbridled laughter.”

“L-Look, I'll steal whatever it is you're looking for,” insisted Arlo, huffing and puffing, “just s-stop tickling me, please...”

“Come now, you’re not giving up already. A handmaiden lasted longer than you!”

Elyse's hands had again formed a claw-like shape, their gradual descent amplified the anticipation while heightening his sensitivity.

“H-Hold on, I can't—NYAHAHAHAA!” he screamed as nails like talons raked across his flesh once more.

“There it is, just what I was looking for; your panic-stricken look is similar to hers. Tears welled in her big blue eyes as her body reacted and moved without her permission. Mewling as ten tiny toes were mercilessly tickled, frantically flailing while being fondled, teased and groped by a tickle-sadist’s skilled hands. Blissfully consumed by the mirthful torment he was inflicting, father would not relent.”

“N-NOOHOO MORE—EHAHAAHAA!”

“Can you picture her, thief? Fingertips, feathers and various tickling implements probed her little body. Pushed beyond her limits, the tender-footed girl undoubtedly suffered.”

“PULEEHEEASE!”

“As a finale, father used a hairbrush and copious amounts of slick, glistening oil to vigorously scrub both supple soles at once. It was a banquet for the senses; the harrowing wail she released as dozens of bristles flexed against the bottoms of her vulnerable feet, clawing mindlessly as she fought the sensations...”

The cackling lad’s mouth hung open as the princess skillfully extracted deep belly laughs from her victim.

“BWAHAAHAHAA!”

“It was that sort of horrific howling which nearly drove me from my hiding spot. But I had no choice, I had to stay, I needed to see what became of her.” Elyse’s hands came to rest at her sides, and Arlo drew breath at long last. “Hellbent on seeing her tortured and broken, this would last long into the night.”

“You’re… punishing me…” he panted, “for what I did… in your bedroom…” His protests had fallen on deaf ears, but he was uncertain whether this might’ve been avoided had he chosen to comply earlier this evening.

“I know you enjoyed that one, thief. I’ve no shortage of stories, ticklish girls are in abundance around here,” she said, delicately stroking the feather across his inner thighs. “But I know what you crave.”

His cock was already leaking precum, creating a damp spot on his underclothes. She wasn’t wrong, it was too much to handle and he could quell his desires no longer.

“Tell me you don’t want this,” she said, “and I’ll stop.”

Arlo voiced naught a word. Thus a single finger found the waistband of his underclothes; pulling downward, with yet further help from the dagger, she carefully laid him bare. The one remaining piece of clothing providing any semblance of protection had been swiftly discarded. Yet, like the princess before him, shame was not an emotion he now felt.

Her smile betrayed an eagerness she tried not to let her voice reveal. “My, my… you’re all I thought you were and more.”

His cock, finally freed from its fabric prison, pulsed freely in the air as Arlo felt her eyes upon him. “W-What now?” he stammered.

The princess walked to the corner of the room to retrieve a wooden stool. “What now?” she repeated while dragging it across the cold stone floor, until finally arriving at his feet. “Now, we begin in earnest.”

***​

Dark shapes lined the castle’s battlements; immense stone ravens, periodically drenched in moonlight, overlooked the surrounding grounds. Poised as silent sentries, they loomed eerily in the distance as Reyna surveyed the eastern wall.

“What is it?” asked the large man.

Rain was falling again in cold, fitful bursts as the sky above tossed a coin between torrential downpour, courtesy of roiling grey clouds, and an ethereal quilt of stars.

“Reyna? What do you see?”

“Nothing, or something,” she shouted into an onrushing wind. “Hard to tell from this vantage. I’d like to move a bit closer. Fog’s thick, so we’re probably safe.”

“Probably is not certainly. We will be exposed upon leaving the tree line.”

“We’ll time it, of course, the next patrol will pass by soon. Once they’ve rounded the eastern tower we can cross the yard.” The slender woman pulled the hood of her mottled green cloak over her head. Her tunic was soaked through and stuck to her skin as she paced back and forth to keep warm.

“I noticed carts entering near the southern gatehouse earlier,” he said, “that might be our way in.”

“Who’ll pull the cart? You’d have the muscle to move it, so maybe I saddle you up.” She made a clicking sound with her tongue to mimic hooves on cobbles. “Start practicing your whinny.”

His expression said he did not appreciate the levity. “It was merely a suggestion.”

“It’s a good idea, big man, if not a little obvious. It’s not without risks, I mean.”

“No method of entry will be risk-free. Do you have a better idea?” He was unbothered as beads of rainwater ran down over his brow and dripped onto his buckskin jerkin.

“If Arlo’s been captured, guards will be on alert. But nothing looks out of the ordinary, to my eyes,” said Reyna, still watching for movement. “It’d be foolish to follow his path, through the postern, but there might be another way.”

“Such as?”

“Heard a rumour,” she said, cupping her hands over her mouth and breathing hot air into them. “A series of tunnels and an entry point along that wall.”

“Should we bet our lives on rumour and hearsay?”

“We’re betting on Arlo’s for every moment of inaction.”

“I would sooner a direct approach to all this sneaking around,” he grumbled. “But you are correct, we need to get in as quickly as possible.”

“Sounds like you’re on board, and I think we’ll have our chance soon enough. Take a look.”

He followed her eyeline to a squad of knights rounding the southeast corner of the castle’s curtain wall, marching in lockstep while the man and woman hiding at the forest’s edge readied themselves.

CHAPTER THREE​

His arms and legs had become rather sore, so Arlo shook his feet side to side to keep up blood flow, although numbing of the extremities might be a boon in this particular case. Naked except for his boots, the helpless thief’s vulnerabilities had been made plain to the feather-wielding blonde who, at present, was circling the table on which he lay, crushing little bits of bauble-glass with each step.

Circumstance and necessity led him here this night, but it was Elyse, princess and heir to the Reach, who held him against his will. The nineteen-year-old girl had manipulated him from the beginning. He’d fallen for her immaculate, soft bare feet - complete with silver toe ring and royal purple nail polish - and ultimately he’d now endure additional agonizing torment, at least until she grew bored of him.

She paused near the barred window, looking out through the rain toward the forest, then turned her attention back toward her captive plaything. “Miserable night out there,” she observed. “Makes you glad to have a roof over your head.”

Arlo wasn’t taking the bait. He had nothing to say about the foul weather, about their dramatic difference in social status and certainly nothing to say about the ‘roof’ he’d been forced to stare at while laying on what amounted to a butcher’s block.

“You’re not as talkative now.” She stroked the soft white feather across her cheek, then spun it between two fingers. Elyse then took a few steps and arrived at the end of the table. Arlo cast her a desperate look as he felt the girl rest a hand on his right boot.

“What’s the matter? Not enjoying yourself any longer?” she asked in tones sweet as honey. “You knew this would happen, it was set in motion the moment you knelt at the end of my bed to indulge yourself upon my bare feet.” Elyse sat on the stool and began tapping the blunt end of her quill upon the leather sole of the man’s boot. Tap-tap-tap; the repetitive beat was nearly in sync with his own heart, which sped up slightly when he felt the lace come undone. “I knew you couldn’t resist them,” she continued. “I know a great deal about you and your companions.” Tap-tap-tap on the sole of his other boot as Elyse undid its knotted lace with a single pull, gripped the heel and removed it entirely, placing it beneath the table. Likewise, his other boot was casually removed and set next to its mate, leaving the man in nothing but a pair of socks.

“You made that clear earlier,” he said while trying not to focus on how exposed he truly was.

“The winter snows will soon arrive, where will your merry little band of misfits go, I wonder?” She ran the quill down his socked foot, toes to heel, eliciting immediate response.

“Mphhehhee…” giggled Arlo, attempting to retract his leg but finding the strap around his ankle just as snug as ever. After clearing his throat, he replied, “My profession often encourages a change of location.”

The princess repeated the move on his other foot, watching intently as his toes curled inside the sock.

“We’d con—eiieheehee…” He struggled through the sentence as she continued to tickle his socked feet; left, then right, then left again. “We’d considered t-travelling south.”

“Are you not tired of sitting with your back to the wall?”

“My lifestyle—nghhehehee—s-shouldn’t concern you.”

“It does not,” she said while poking and prodding, finding joy in making him giggle and squirm. Elyse tucked the feather quill-first behind an ear, electing to use her fingers instead. “These must come off,” said the girl, pinching the tip of the sock on his left foot. “I don’t recall wearing any tonight, and fair is fair.” She pulled upward, slowly dragging it off the bound man’s trapped foot.

“N-No, hold on, don’t—”

“Too late.” The thin cotton sock was swiftly removed and cast aside, revealing the surprisingly soft bare foot beneath. “Hmm, I knew from your reactions that these feet were rather sensitive, but I did not expect them to be so well cared for.” Elyse took note of his high-arched, pale sole. Masculine, but tender, one would never think it belonged to a man who spent his days on the run.

Arlo could feel cool air caressing his bare left foot; the wind had picked up outside, bringing a welcome breeze via the small window. Her eyes were upon him and the thief had never felt more endangered, which was odd considering how many times he’d dodged the headsman’s axe. It was peculiar, like being outside one’s own body, watching her watch himself.

“It appears I’ve rendered you speechless once more,” she said while dragging an experimental finger down the centre of his newly-bared sole; excruciatingly slowly it travelled, from just below his curled toes to his heel. Then, at the same leisurely pace, the finger retraced its path upward, and all five toes splayed out as her nail glided across his hyper-ticklish skin.

“N-Noo…eehehee… s-stop that…”

“Aww, this foot of yours isn’t ticklish, is it?”

Again that word pierced him, making his cock throb as more and more giggles began escaping his lips, no matter how tightly he tried sealing them.

“Do you know what’s better than one ticklish bare foot?” she asked.

“Don’t… d-don’t do it…hheeheeehee…” Arlo felt his other sock being slowly removed, so he shook his right foot side to side in an attempt to preserve what little protection remained to him. Of course, this only hastened the removal.

“You guessed it. Two helpless, dreadfully ticklish, squirming bare feet.” With that, the princess slipped the remaining sock off and cast it backward. With his bare soles now on full display, Elyse wasted no time experimenting with the other foot; methodically trailing a couple of fingers up and down, keenly observing his reactions. His toes would twitch each time she grazed his arch, and he’d fruitlessly try to cover one with the other. “Let’s see, might one be slightly more sensitive than the other? A comparison is required.”

“There’s absolutely n-no need for this, princess. I’ll do as you say, I’ll—”

“You are suddenly agreeable, but I know it’s just to avoid what’s coming.” A single finger touched down on each foot. “We’ll begin with the right.” She wiggled her fingertip, up and down, slowly stroking the arch. Arlo released an involuntary gasp but remained quiet. Elyse then mimicked this move on his left foot. Still, the man remained stubbornly silent.

“Oh, do you wish to play this game again?” she asked. “We know how it ended last time.”

“No games,” he said quickly, “just tell me what you need me to steal.”

“I told you, you’d be informed of your role, but it would come with a price. So, let’s play.”

“We don’t need to play. Hang on just a s-second—nieeheeee…”

She’d begun at his heels, spiralling up across both arches, arriving just below the toes, then travelled downward, only to repeat this technique again and again, altering speed and direction as necessary.

“Mpheehehee… why are y-you doing this…?” he asked amid mounting giggles.

Elyse did not respond, she was too fixated on tracing each line upon his naked, quivering soles. Her touch was light, but more than enough to make him squirm. Her talented fingers moved slowly, yet unpredictably, following no discernible pattern, which prevented Arlo from becoming accustomed to the tickly sensations.

“S-Stop it, n-nohoohoo more, pleeheease…”

“I don’t believe I can stop, unfortunately. It’s simply too much fun.”

She dragged a nail across the ball of his bare left foot, down the arch to his heel, then swiped up quickly. Arlo’s toes wiggled wildly as his eyes brimmed with tears.

“Not there… n-not there…” he said, mostly to himself.

“Not here?” she said. “If not here, then where?” Elyse began to scratch a nail directly beneath the man’s toes; lightly she teased him while Arlo flailed his feet, as much as he could, fighting the incessant tickle torture.

The area beneath his toes was particularly sensitive, so the thief decided to keep his mouth shut lest the dam break and a torrent of laughter come flowing out, unable to be stopped.

“Come on, I know this is driving you crazy,” teased the girl. “Let it out. Laugh for me, won’t you?”

He began shaking his head in silent protest.

“No? Alright, what about this?” She quickly ran a nail up the sole of his other foot, causing all five toes to curl reflexively. “Tickle, tickle…”

Pursing his lips, Arlo flinched as he fought an unwanted grin.

“Always so dour, so serious. I’m just trying to help put a smile on that face…” Elyse tickled the tops of both bare feet, spidering her fingernails as he arched his back and curled his toes once more, all while biting down on his tongue to halt the giggles before they spilled out.

“You can’t hold out forever…” She spent the next few minutes exploring both of the man’s well-shaped feet, letting a solitary finger create multitudes of snaking pathways across both of the tender soles at her disposal.

“This isn’t f-fair…” he said finally.

“I disagree. I wonder how many helpless pairs of girly feet you’ve teased in your years with the guild, hmm? Tickling locks and toes alike, no doubt. Perhaps this…” she made an airy gesture with her hand, “…call it, retribution. Perhaps it’s overdue.”

“That’s…neeheehee… that’s n-not true…” he sputtered.

“I do so enjoy this game and you’ve done well to last this long, I’m impressed. I suppose you’re just too iron-willed. You’ve endured a lot thus far,” she said while pinning back the toes of his right foot with one hand. “But underneath that tough exterior is a ticklish, horny little boy. Allow me to demonstrate…”

“N-No, wait—EEIEEHAHAHAA!”

Elyse dug her fingernails into the soft, tender flesh of his bare sole, directly below the toes, and scraped them down to his heel. The man’s titters instantly transformed into full-blown laughter as synapses fired wildly in his brain, sending a shockwave through his entire body. His drooling dick ached for attention, it craved touch of any sort, and with every stroke of her nails he prayed she’d release him from this hellish torment.

“PULEEHEEEASE… STAHAHAHAP!”

“As you wish,” she said, releasing her grip on his trapped toes. “I’ve proven my point. Something has gone awry for you this evening.” Elyse rose from the stool and walked alongside him. She removed the white feather from behind her ear and used it to tickle the tip of his nose, saying, “I suppose I’ve kept you in suspense long enough. As you surmised, our encounter was not accidental. I am in need of an item.”

“Okay…” said Arlo in a tone that invited additional explanation.

His gaze was unfocused, his breaths laboured. He was still reeling from her nails upon his feet while watching as she waved her devilish feather in the air above his groin, a few inches away from but never touching his manhood. The thief struggled to understand what ‘item’ she required that heaps of gold could not attain. Sensing his budding curiosity, she elaborated.

“It is beyond my reach, you see. The crown cannot procure it, thus I am in need of a—” She paused, looked down at him and said, “Well, someone like you.”

Arlo wore the face of one who must tolerate an affront to his morals. “A few essential questions then,” he said. “What and where is this item of yours?”

“I cannot name its present location.”

“Then I’m of little use to you, for to steal something I must first know where it resides.”

“If you look for it, you will find it. Until you look for it, you will find nothing.”

Arlo’s brows knitted. “Yes, but that’s difficult to do from here. Let’s start over, what’s the item in question?”

“I do not know its current form.”

“Princess, it would appear the things you don’t know outnumber the things you do, regarding this ‘item’ of yours.”

“I mean to say that its shape has changed over the years, or so I’m told. It was once a precious gem, not unlike the one you thought you found here tonight. But it has also been a book, a candelabra, a wizard’s staff and most recently a sword. The histories lose track of it at this point. The relationship between item and owner is complex, and varies depending on their desired usage.”

“What do you desire it for?”

“I haven’t determined that yet.”

Arlo felt his headache return. “Look, there’ll be time enough to discuss specifics after we’ve established this magical item’s location. Release me and I’ll begin my search.”

“There is time, to be sure. But first, I wish to give what you desire most,” she said while lowering the feather enough to graze his stiff stalk.

“Nghh—fuck,” whispered Arlo, feeling the fluffy feather at long last in a place he needed.

“Does that feel good, thief?” she asked knowingly. “It doesn’t tickle, does it?”

The feather was making his inner thighs quiver; it tickled, true, but not nearly in the same way if it were utilized to full effect on his trapped bare feet. Still, a few giggles escaped as she allowed the feather to drift aimlessly, teasing him.

“If I keep this up, I’ll be getting more than just laughs out of you.”

Arlo voiced a short, involuntary syllable as he closed his eyes. His heartbeat had been steadily increasing and his breathing had become rather fast as the girl feathered his cock using ticklish, playful strokes.

An intimate ache was swelling down below as Elyse longed to feel every inch of him. “It appears this is better suited elsewhere,” she said, placing the feather behind her ear once more. “In that case…” The princess wrapped a hand gently around him, feeling him stiffen immediately.

“Ughh—god…” he said, arching his back.

The hand began pumping, slowly and sensually building pressure. His short breaths had become gasps with every stroke and he was thankful for the much-needed stimulation.

“What are you imagining, thief?” she asked. “Have you returned to the foot of my bed?” She tightened her grip, listening to him moan in response.

He’d begun to grind his ass into the wooden table, thrusting his hips to match her pace. It was true, he could picture her splendid little bare feet sticking out from under the blankets. His hands grasped at the air while envisioning his fingertips scribbling across her sleepy soles, teasing her wiggly toes and running his tongue along her pale arches, only to then plop a toe into his waiting mouth. They’d looked deliciously suckable, the way they wiggled in front of him only hours ago; if he could turn back the hands of time he’d certainly have a taste.

But why stop at foot worship? He’d never be able to put into words the thought of plunging himself between her soft, wrinkly soles. The bratty, spoiled princess’ feet would be his alone to control and enjoy; to fuck as he pleased, as often as he pleased. Each time he pierced the tight gap between those ivory arches he’d be treated by yet another warm surge of pleasure, bringing him dangerously close to the edge. Or perhaps he’d rub his fat knob across her cute little toes, grinning as all ten scrunched up in response to the forced footjob.

“Nghh…fuckk…y-yess…” he moaned.

“Mhmm, good boy…” said the girl, massaging him from root to tip, steadily increasing speed.

“…don’t stop…” mumbled Arlo.

“I know you’re eager to return to my bedchamber, to the scene of the crime. You would happily spend hours worshipping and tickling my feet, perhaps more. But I shouldn’t even let you cum, you don’t deserve it.” She suddenly released her grip, and he groaned in frustration.

His cock throbbed; swollen and achy from absent sensation it longed for her soft touch, it longed for release.

“No, you can’t stop. Not now, not when I’m so close—”

“And yet,” she interrupted, “I believe you’ve suffered, have you not? Might I provide you this kindness?”

Arlo nodded his head rapidly in agreement, wordlessly imploring her to continue. And she did. His eyes rolled upward, balls tightening as her hands once again found his thick shaft, stroking up and down, edging him closer.

“Ohh, p-please… keep going…”

Her arousal, once tepid, had ignited into a lust most intense. Both hands were busy at the moment, and the inability to tend to her aching pussy was infuriating. But experience said she must draw sharply defined limits, lest a man view generosity for more than it is, so after stroking the entire length of his throbbing prick, Elyse decided to change her tactic. Watching his reaction closely, the girl rubbed her thumb in tiny circles against his frenulum, now quite slick from a steady flow of precum.

In a state of tortured bliss, Arlo was desperate to cum. He pleaded with his former tormentor not to stop. At least, to his ears he’d formed actual words. To Elyse, it was garbled nonsense, but the point was not lost on her. So she began slowly working her palm in circles across his overstimulated cockhead as a long, low moan escaped his lips.

“Are you finally enjoying yourself, thief?”

“Y-Yes, I’m so close…”

“Is that so?” She increased her pace as Arlo’s bucking hips and curled toes said he was nearly there. “You needed this so badly, didn’t you?”

“You’ve no idea…” he said, still picturing her velvety-soft soles wrapped tightly around his cock.

His reward was imminent; hours spent being tickle tortured by an entitled noble girl was nearly over. He was primed and ready to have his balls drained while fantasizing about the teen’s divine feet and all he’d do with them. But on the verge of a satisfying climax, she stopped, depriving him of a much-needed milking.

“Ughhh, fuck,” he growled. “Don’t do this, keep going.”

“Patience is a virtue,” she said with an impish grin.

Arlo swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue and replaced them with, “Of course, why rush things?” The thief then let an expression of vague sincerity form on his face, where it remained in evident discomfort.

“Oh my,” she said, laughing. “Look at you, so disappointed. You were right on the edge, hmm. But did you truly believe I’d let you cum so soon? Silly boy, I’m not quite finished with you yet…” Elyse lightly skimmed her nails across his bare thighs, watching his leaky cock twitch eagerly.

Arlo struggled to clear his mind, which was difficult with the blonde girl teasing him. In addition, the strange combination of nervous excitement and fatigue had begun to exact a toll. “Back to your mystery item,” he said, attempting to change the topic.

Elyse allowed it. “Go ahead.”

“Well, there must be something you can tell me about it. What else do the histories say?”

She steepled two fingers beneath her chin while pondering the question. “They are heavy on potential, and light on specifics.”

“I gathered as much. But there must be a starting point.”

“Indeed. Whispers of an ancient one; a man possessing exhaustive knowledge, dabbling in alchemy, astronomy and occasionally the arcane. It is rumoured that he is privy to its last known location.”

“That’ll suffice. Would it be too much to ask for his place of residence?”

“That I can provide.”

“Good,” he said, brightening a little. “A name would also help.”

“Aren’t you the inquisitive one?” She pinched his side, prompting a giggle from Arlo.

“Just trying to help. So, if you’d kindly point me in his direction…”

“Not so fast, I said we hadn’t finished yet. I need to spend some additional time with those sensitive feet of yours. You certainly enjoyed your time with mine.” Elyse moved to the end of the table, and once again took up her seat on the small wooden stool.

“B-But I thought we had an agreement…” said Arlo, striving to keep the panic from his voice.

The girl shook her head, signalling a negative. “No, not yet.” She ran a single finger down his bare left sole.

“Mphhehee…”

“We have a verbal contract, yes. But how am I to know whether you’ll fulfil your end?” The finger ran down the other sole now.

“Nghhehhee… fetch me ink and quill, and I’ll sign whatever you like.” Arlo immediately regretted the mention of a quill, as one was still resting behind the princess’ ear.

“It’s not a matter of contract so much as trust.”

Words were failing, so Arlo lifted his head from the table and tried a hard stare. Elyse chuckled, then puffed out her cheeks in mock scowl.

“You look so cute when you act tough,” she said. “Unfortunately, I know your weakness.”

“Wait, I—NYAHAAHAA!”

With fingers curled, she buried her nails into the base of his toes and dragged them downward while holding the terrified foot still with her other hand.

“FUCK—HEEHAHAHA!” bellowed Arlo, desperate to escape this unbearable sensation.

“Poor, ticklish boy. Do my nails feel good?”

“Pl—PLEEHEEASE! IT TICKLESS—HEEHHAHAHA!”

“Aww, I know it does,” she cooed. “But you can handle a little tickling, right?”

The leather bindings holding his arms and legs securely in place stretched and squeaked as he fought fiercely for freedom.

“Struggle all you like, this is happening.” The blonde girl raked her nails down the pale, smooth sole of the bound man’s bare right foot, then showed the same savage treatment to his left while holding back his toes with an iron grip.

“NYAHAHA! NOT MY FEEHEEHEET!”

“Oh, yes. These soft, outstandingly sensitive soles don’t deserve mercy; they’re begging for unrelenting tickle torture, you and I both know it. Coochie, coochie, coo…”

Arlo cried out in ticklish agony as yet another swipe of her nails ignited every single nerve on the sole of his foot.

“P-PRINCESS, YOU CAHAHAHAN’T—NOHOHOOO!” he protested, through spasms of escalating laughter.

“I assure you, thief, I very much can.” Elyse paused momentarily, just to catch him off guard, then resumed her ticklish assault.

Arlo’s body jolted violently with each stroke of the girl’s nails upon his bare soles. She’d succeeded in robbing the air from his lungs, if that was indeed her goal, and every ragged gasp for oxygen was interrupted by another bout of maniacal laughter.

Changing things up, the girl slid her fingers between each of his frantically wiggling toes; they curled over, no doubt attempting to catch her devious digits as they burrowed between. Once or twice she’d been caught but it hardly mattered, as the cruel, ticklish attack would continue regardless.

“NYAAHAA—I C-CAHAHAN’T TAHAHAHAKE IT!”

“You’ll have to since you brought this on yourself. Tickling is such an interesting form of torture, wouldn’t you agree?” she asked, while her index finger found a home between the second and third toe of his left foot. “It somehow manages to nestle itself in that peculiar space between dread and delight, agony and ecstasy, provoking wholly unique reactions…”

How Arlo managed to hear her words over his own banshee-like wailing was a mystery. Yet he listened to her monologue as fingertips ran rampant across his bare foot-bottoms; it was a torturous dance and his devastatingly ticklish feet flailed madly in response. Her movements were like leaves on a storm wind, wild and unpredictable, and the girl seemed intent on pushing him into a state of tickle-induced delirium.

“…a creamy-white sole, married to the sweet sounds of crazed laughter, now that is something to behold. Are you listening? Come now, try to focus. Or is this just too much to handle?”

“EIIEHEHAHAHA! I CAN’T B-BREEHEEHEEATHE!”

With one final scrape of her purple nails on his bare soles, Elyse gave the cackling lad a break at last.

Chest heaving, Arlo was nearly too hoarse to speak, nor did he want to. His face was scarlet, nearing the colour of the jewels adorning her circlet.

“Can you imagine being subjected to that sort of torture for hours on end? How long would you last before spirit and body gave in?” Her smile was a wicked one, but Arlo wouldn’t know, as he no longer had the energy to lift his head from the table.

“While you’re catching your breath, allow me to tell you one final story,” she said while removing the feather from behind her ear. “Earlier I mentioned my familiarity with your situation, that’s because I know the feeling of true helplessness.”

The soft feather made contact with his bare right foot, and Arlo immediately tried to shrink away from its touch, but the bonds held tight.

“Nghheheehee… no m-more…”

“Relax, thief. I’ll be gentle.”

Phantom tingles still haunted his soles; he simply couldn’t handle any more tickling, but his silent prayers to an absent god had gone unanswered. Resigned to his fate, Arlo didn’t bother to argue.

“On this particular morning,” she began, “I traded clothing with my handmaiden and slipped past the guard assigned to minimize my mischief. After descending into town, I spent hours exploring back alleys and open-air markets. Soon enough, I detected the sound of laughter; faint and distant, but distinct. So I followed it, the noise growing louder with every step. Upon arrival, the roar of many voices caught my attention - peals of laughter, cackles, jubilation - but it’s what I saw that amazed me. Twin sets of stocks, with townspeople locked inside; men and women, side by side, trapped and tickled.”

Elyse traced her feather’s tip along the soles of his feet, mapping his most ticklish areas; just below the toes was a winner in this regard, as each time she tickled him there all five curled up tight, as if he were making a foot-fist, only to splay out again when her feathery blade caressed his arch.

“Airing on the side of caution, I kept my distance, concealed by shadow in the mouth of an alleyway, not wanting to meet the same fate. From there I studied the scene. But as I soon discovered, it wasn’t punishment, but spectacle; as much for idle entertainment as a stage play. Curiosity, the insatiable bitch that she is, drew me nearer, and as I left my hiding spot a hand gripped my wrist. ‘An onlooker!’ they shouted. ‘Seize her, bring her to join in the fun!’ another declared, and I soon found myself being dragged hurriedly across the courtyard to the roar of an approving crowd. Their cheers were deafening as I was forced into an empty stockade, and applause thundered as they unlaced and promptly removed my shoes. I’ll never forget that feeling; rough-hewn boards sealing shut around my wrists and ankles, the snap of a padlock ensuring I wouldn’t escape.”

The princess wouldn’t relent; she was meticulous in her feathering, ensuring every inch of Arlo’s soles received the touch of her fluffy feather.

“What happened next?” he said with an exhale, not realizing he’d been holding his breath.

“I was left to the mercy of the mob that day, but there was none to be found. They were a ravenous bunch, craving a young girl’s laughter, and I fed them. They gorged themselves on my frenzied cries for help, my whimpering and bleats of protest served only as encouragement. They tore at my clothes, revealing my vulnerable areas piece by piece. My bare flesh must’ve been irresistible, as more appeared with each teary blink, and as the crowd swelled their wiggling fingers became frighteningly numerous. Nothing was safe, not the bare hollows of my underarms, nor my bellybutton or thighs. I couldn’t locate a ringleader, so I appealed to the crowd en masse. Seeking their humanity I implored them to stop, explaining that I was not part of the show. It made little difference, and once they’d grown tired of my speech a sock was stuffed into my mouth.”

She flicked her white plume across both arches, then slipped it between two trembling toes and pulled it through.

“Mphhehehehee…”

“Certain phrases were frequently repeated. ‘Kitchy koo, tickle, tickle…’ I could feel their hot breath as they whispered into my ear, amplifying the agony,” she said with a shudder. “These tickle-taunts were like the chorus of a hymn, like many voices singing in unison, all with slight variations in tempo, cadence and rhythm. They wanted me to join them, adding a background vocal of endless laughter and giggles. I did not disappoint. They withdrew stifled shrieks and desperate squeaks; feebly wailing into the gag, I did what I could with what little breath I had.”

His toes, still fearful of the feather, scrunched tightly once again as she swept it left to right, making certain each frightened digit received some attention.

“Speaking of breath, each one came sharp and fast while trying to predict their next attack. At one point, I felt a tongue probing between my toes, delicately slithering in each crevasse. For a moment it felt as if a serpent had engulfed them, intent on swallowing them whole. Soon after a boy began nibbling on them, if you can believe it. They endeavoured to make me suffer the worst possible torture for a girl with undeniably ticklish feet. The sensations provoked by their tongues on my soles were dreadfully unbearable, likewise, the myriad of rogue fingertips exploring my upper body near drove me mad, and I could do naught but sob muffled pleas for mercy into the gag.”

The downy feather twirled between her fingers, producing a score of laughter from her astonishingly ticklish captive. It dusted the tops of both feet and flossed once again between all ten wiggly toes, and when they curled over she simply traced the wrinkles on his arches.

“Nghheieehehe…”

“I swear, every inch of me was enjoyed that day, with droves of eager townsfolk lining up, all waiting for their turn at the tragically ticklish teenage girl in the stocks. Male, female, young and old. All delighted in torturing an unwilling participant, savagely terrorizing my defenceless feet and near-naked body with sadistic delight. I was breathless and bawling by the time they decided to set me free.”

His touch-starved cock throbbed at the thought of the princess locked in stocks, sinking her teeth into the makeshift gag as raucous cheers went up from a crowd of people determined to tickle her to tears. Sensing this, Elyse shifted her attention away from his feet, placed the feather on the table and arose from her stool.

“Now do you see?” she asked, walking beside the man. “I, too, know what you’re going through.”

“Yet you refuse to stop,” he replied. “You speak of trust, yet I know precious little about you. By the way, is there any truth to the stories you’ve told?”

“Certainly, but any good tale deserves embellishment,” she said with a cheeky smile. “Trust will come in time, I’m certain.”

“Then release me, give me the opportunity to prove myself.”

“Hmm, soon I think.”

Arlo released a long sigh that spoke of thinning patience. “It would be wise to get started. Suitable reconnaissance must be performed, otherwise I’m risking life and limb for nothing. This ‘ancient one’ you speak of, who is—”

She pressed her index finger against her lips and shushed him. “Is that truly what’s on your mind at the moment?”

“Well, it’d be on your mind too if we switched places. Where can I find—”

She repeated the gesture, forestalling any further questions from the man. “Suppress your curiosity for now,” she said, “and let us conclude our business here in this damp chamber.”

Elyse longed to feel him again. The tingly ache between her thighs had grown, and although the urge to climb atop the table and ride him was overwhelming, time was ticking by. Tempering her wilder impulses, she instead made a loose fist and slid it down his shaft.

“Ohh—ughhh…” he moaned.

“This is what you wanted, is it not?”

“God, yess, I need it…”

“Then allow me to finish what you started.”

She wrapped both her little hands tightly around his fat cock and began vigorously pumping. There was no teasing this time; no build-up, no warning. She was relentless in her desire to see him cum, lustfully stroking the entire swollen length of his dick.

“Fuckk, don’t s-stop,” he begged. “I’m so close…”

“You’re right on the edge, you have been all this time. You just need a hand to take you all the way,” she whispered in a low, seductive purr. “Which I’d love to do, but only if we can trust each other. Can I trust you, Arlo?”

The thief grunted; evidently, this throaty noise was meant to serve as a ‘yes’.

“Excellent.” She interlaced her fingers and used both thumbs to rub that sensitive spot just below his cockhead. “Now, cum for me.”

“Nghhhh…” he groaned as his thighs trembled.

At last, merciful release. His pulsing cock shot thick ropes of cum into the air, landing on his stomach as a long-overdue orgasm wracked his body.

“Mhmm, that’s a good boy…” she said, as the last couple bursts of sticky seed ran down over her knuckles while milking him dry.

Arlo’s moans of pleasure eventually subsided, and in the quiet that followed he found a sort of peace, if only for a moment. Elyse, having wiped her hands on a nearby scrap of cloth, sat back down on the small wooden stool, eyes fixed firmly on his bare soles. The thief, oblivious to her intentions, let out a sigh of obvious satisfaction as his body tingled all over.

“This… has been quite a night,” he mused, interrupting the room’s ominous silence. “But I think it’s time we got down to the business of your shapeshifting item. As you said, until I look for it, I’ll find nothing.”

“Perhaps,” she said. “But, I wonder…”

Arlo’s mind clung to the remnants of euphoria, which prevented him from focusing. His toes and fingers twitched reflexively as aftershocks rippled through him.

“Wondering… what?” he said finally, only now noticing how quickly she’d returned to her seated position.

“Nothing important, really. Just whether or not your sensitivity has increased.” Her hands were inches away from his trapped feet.

“I’m not sure… wait, what? My sensi—EIIEHEHAHAHA!”

She was on the attack once again. Pinching his big toes together, she’d begun to flutter her fingertips just below. “Mhmm, seems I have my answer. See, your nerve endings are on high alert, a direct result of your recent orgasm. Not that I was finding it particularly difficult getting you to laugh prior, but now…”

“S-STAHAHAP IT!”

“Apologies, but I simply cannot stop. I just can’t get over how bewildering-ticklish these feet are, it’s remarkable.” Elyse began drawing a series of figure eights on both of his immobilized soles, insidiously tickling as he cackled mindlessly in bursts of deep belly laughter; an animalistic yowling the likes of which she’d never heard.

“NYAAHAAHAA—NOOHOO—LEMME GOOO!”

“We have some time left, just the two of us, why not enjoy it?” said the girl. She was adding or removing fingers as needed, speeding up or slowing down according to his reactions, which had become noticeably dramatic.

The foot tickling was unavoidable and ruthless; his body convulsed wildly against the restraints while the princess revelled in his childish cries for mercy. The thief’s struggles invigorated her, his helpless desperation serving to heighten her excitement. Arlo’s bare feet had proven to be far more sensitive than he could’ve ever imagined and unfortunately, there was no withholding laughter this time, his strength had faltered.

Returning to her favourite tickle tool - the stiff, white goose feather - Elyse zigzagged it across one sole, then the other, seeking to inflict as much ticklish suffering as she thought he could handle.

“PULEEHEEHEASE—DON’T… D-DO… THIS… TO ME—EIIEEHEHEHE!” he pleaded, each word preceded by a sharp intake of breath.

Ignoring his uncontrolled babbling, the nineteen-year-old wielded her feather with graceful precision, relentlessly assailing his tender boy feet with renewed vigour. An effective method involved feathering his right foot, focusing on his wrinkled arch, while sinking her fingertips into his left. This produced frenetic screaming and ear-splitting howls.

“My, you’re so loud. I just might have to gag you, lest father and his cronies hear all this commotion.”

“BWAAHAHAAA!—YOUCAAAHAANTDOTHISSS—NYEEHEHAHAHAA!”

His toes splayed out in frenzied terror, an opportunity she never let go to waste. The feathery plume was promptly used to floss between all ten; sliding it lazily from one toe to the next, stopping for a split second to allow him the chance to beg. And just when it appeared that he’d run out of air, she paused, graciously allowing the astoundingly ticklish lad a moment to catch what little breath he could, then continued to attack his feet with reckless abandon as the symphony of laughter climbed yet another octave.

Within minutes, the thief’s guttural screams had become incoherent ramblings as she skillfully maneuvered the blunt end of her quill just below his scrunched toes. Soon after, dozens of faint red lines crisscrossed both pale soles as the tickle-obsessed blonde scribbled and wrote freely, pretending they were parchment and her quill had been recently dipped in ink.

“F-FUCKK—IT TICKLESSTOOMUCHH—EIEHEHAHAHA!”

Arlo’s words of protest jumbled together as he was propelled beyond beastly yelps to a newfound state of madness brought on by the girl’s tireless pursuit of pushing sanity from his mind. He prayed for a break, just a minute would suffice, in order to fill his lungs with air, but the tickle torture grew steadily harsher with every passing second.

“You are quite possibly the most ticklish person I’ve ever met. Well, at least as far as boys are concerned. If only we had more time to spend together, alas I fear we’re nearly finished,” said the girl, listening to him wheeze out another plea for mercy. “Oh, what’s a few more minutes, hmm?” Elyse chuckled to herself, utterly engrossed in the torment she was administering, heedless of the passage of time.

“NOHHOO MORE! GYAHAHAHA! I… I… CAN’T…TAKEITANYMORE—EIEEHAHAHAHA!”

His laughter, having finally reached its crescendo, echoed off the stony walls of the princess’ private dungeon. The unlucky thief was seemingly condemned to this nightmare, locked away beneath the castle, forced to endure endless tickle torture at the hands of this feather-wielding, teenage tyrant.

But moments later, in the midst of what could be one of the most brutal and undeserved punishments on record, the tickling abruptly ended. Arlo’s vision was blurred; a ghostly shape rose from the end of the table, glided alongside him, and suddenly the pressure around his wrists dissipated, sending blood rushing into his hands and fingers.

***​

“Appreciate it,” he murmured, paired with an awkward nod, after accepting a new tunic and trousers from the princess; it had been a tad chilly waiting for her to return with the clothes. His throat was dry and scratchy, and he hadn’t been able to meet her eyeline since she’d released him from his bonds, but after lacing up his boots and feeling the familiar weight of the dagger on his hip, Arlo felt whole again. He then stepped toward the window to retrieve his cloak.

“I’ll need more information,” he blurted, throwing it over his shoulders.

“Pardon?” Elyse was cleaning up scraps of cloth and bits of glass which littered the floor.

“The item you seek, I’ll need to know everything you do.”

“I told you, all I have is a lead. I’ll send a rider two days’ hence, he’ll have a map for you, with more correspondence to follow.

“How do you know I won’t disappear?”

“I have faith in you, thief.” She donned her own dark cloak once more. “Faith that you wouldn’t leave your friends in the lurch. That, and my dear father would receive a note detailing the whereabouts of your campsite should you elect to up and vanish.”

“Makes sense,” he said while rubbing sore wrists.

“Sadly, our time together has ended, I must be in my chambers at dawn when my handmaiden comes knocking.” She placed her palm on the heavy iron door. “When this opens I’ll go left, you go right. You’ll find a loose stone at the end of the hall, worn and discoloured, press it to reveal a passage. That’s your way out.”

He nodded in confirmation. Elyse then swung open the door and a heavy-shouldered shape lumbered toward her from the darkness. Rolling back on her heels, the princess muttered a very unladylike expletive, then backpedaled until bumping into the wooden table.

“Holy hell, big man!” exclaimed Arlo. “How long have you been waiting out there to make that entrance?”

“I have only just arrived.”

“All the same, impeccable timing. Reyna must be worried, or she wouldn’t have sent you. Quickly, grab—”

“Reyna was worried,” said the redhead as she entered the room, a thumb hitched in her sword belt. “‘It’ll be easy,’ you said. ‘A quick score’. How’d that work out, huh?”

“Aww, you do care. Thanks, to both of you.”

“Really? ‘Thanks’, that’s it?”

“There’s a thief’s gratitude for you!” boomed the big man.

“Well, if you were hoping for a heroic last-minute rescue, you’ll be disappointed to learn that I was just leaving,” said Arlo.

Reyna was looking around the chamber, noting various devices as well as the blonde girl who’d been steadily inching her way to the corner of the room. Her eyes widened after confirming the girl’s identity. “What’s she doing down here? And where’s this ‘priceless’ jewel?”

“About that…”

“Time to go,” interrupted the large man. “You can explain what delayed you after our safe arrival back at camp.”

The thief, watching dawn’s first light pour in through the window, offered no resistance. “Suits me fine, overstayed my welcome. Lead the way, and grab the girl.”

“Have you lost your mind?” Reyna took hold of his forearm. “Do you know who that is?”

“We’re well acquainted, but there’s no time to explain. I promise she’s important.”

Reyna looked to her large companion, whose face showed an equal measure of perplexity. She then turned back to Arlo and said, “I know she’s important, that’s why we’re not taking her anywhere.”

“We’ve struck a bargain,” Arlo continued, pressing a golden coin into her hand. “There’s a lot more where that came from, but she’s a crucial piece of the puzzle. Now, let’s go.”

“I am not going anywhere with you lot,” insisted the princess.

“You’re right about that,” said Reyna, pocketing the coin.

“Change of plans, highness,” said Arlo. “I’ll locate your mystery item, but you’re along for the ride. That way I won’t vanish and my payment is ensured. Collateral, and all that.” Then, before any additional rebuttals or objections could be voiced, Arlo said, “You know what to do, big guy.”

The large man took hold of the princess, now cowering in the corner, yanked her upright and secured both wrists behind her back with some cord. A hood was then placed roughly over her head.

To be continued.​

Thanks for reading! This story was modelled on works from fantasy authors such as Scott Lynch and Matthew Hughes. Additional inspiration came from Jai Sin’s Hidden Histories. And if you enjoyed this story, why not check out another…

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[Greenfalcon]

Absolutely fantastic!! Great story looking forward to the next!