Sablesword
TMF Master
- Joined
- Jun 13, 2001
- Messages
- 785
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- 18
This is another piece from my centaur-tickling series. Right now it's only the start of a story, or maybe just a vignette.
***
The two young women smiled as they approached Zorian the merchant. Under other circumstances he would have been pleased to see two pretty females smile at him. But not at just this moment. He was a “flatfooter”, a human visitor, and they were centaurs, locals living in this village deep in the centaurs’ Land. Zorian’s pass tokens expired today, and he had to face the ordeal of getting them renewed.
He sat on a chair made especially for him, crudely carved from a bolder. Ropes tied his wrists to the arms of this chair, and his legs stretched out before him, ankles separated and tied in place as well, to two heavy posts sunk into the ground. His feet were stripped bare, and his large toes tied back with leather thongs. The centaur females had been tickling his feet before they paused to check the sundial nearby. Now they took up again where they had left off.
Zorian screwed up his face as they gently tormented his soles. As he always did at this point, he wished for an experienced tormentess rather than bright young things eager to prove themselves. Of course, he admitted to himself as the tickling started to force giggles from him, an experienced tormentess would have him wishing for someone new.
Worse yet, gods curse it, they were learning fast. Zorian thrashed, but the ropes and leather thongs held his feet perfectly, and guffaws began pouring out of him. The one on his left foot - Syna - used her fingers, alternating gentle probes with more vigorous tickle-attacks on the instep, ball, heel, toe-pads, and between the toes. The other centaur, Aclina, used a river-smoothed stone coated with olive oil to tickle his right foot, rubbing it in a circular motion. Zerbino's eyes bulged as the arcs brought it closer and closer and closer - and he squealed when it finally passed over a most sensitively ticklish part of his foot. The right-foot centaur grinned at him, and sent the oily pebble on a scribbling squiggle, before beginning the cyclic pattern again, on a sole whose sensitivity had increased. Zerbino squirmed and laughed and laughed and squirmed.
Now Syna used her fingernails, poking and scraping. Aclina set aside her pebble for a cloth square, pulling it between his toes. They alternated their tickle-attacks, with occasional simultaneous strikes, and Zorian could only squirm and endure, laughing helplessly. He could not even get breath to beg for them to stop - and he knew anyway that begging for mercy would be worse than useless. Tears rolled down his cheeks as the laughter poured out of him.
And now they brought out the feathers: Wing-feathers of the vos-hawk, the most demonically effective tickling-feather known to man or centaur. Zorian howled. This was tickling, this was merciless tickling, this was tickling that made his soles feel a yard long, with every speck of them helplessly exposed and vulnerable, so that nothing existed except his soles and the tickling and the laughter...
At last it ended. The shadow had finally reached the gnomen on the sundial, and Aclina and Syna freed Zorian of his bonds. He sat on the grass, feet tucked in, waiting until he could bear to pull his boots on.
Zorian liked the centaurs. He had started by making a small fortune trading with them, and now his fortune was not-so-small. And there was no malice in their tickle-torture, for all it's mercilessness. Alja Kentaros mor kental velator velex bartaros mel Uru, nor Kentaros yonvel morkap i patalo, the prophesy said, "If the Kentaros should ever fail to visit merciless torment on foreigners who enter the Land, then will the Kentaros suffer betrayal and ruination." Zerbino didn't want to be the one to bring ruination on the centaurs, even if it meant a monthly session tickle-torture. But now he promised himself, as he always did after getting his pass-tokens renewed, that this trip would be his last. And as always, he knew he'd break this promise. The trading opportunities would be too good, or he'd need the money, or the risks elsewhere would be too high, or something. So he'd find himself once again barefoot, enduring the ordeal of a flatfooter entering the centaur Land.
***
The two young women smiled as they approached Zorian the merchant. Under other circumstances he would have been pleased to see two pretty females smile at him. But not at just this moment. He was a “flatfooter”, a human visitor, and they were centaurs, locals living in this village deep in the centaurs’ Land. Zorian’s pass tokens expired today, and he had to face the ordeal of getting them renewed.
He sat on a chair made especially for him, crudely carved from a bolder. Ropes tied his wrists to the arms of this chair, and his legs stretched out before him, ankles separated and tied in place as well, to two heavy posts sunk into the ground. His feet were stripped bare, and his large toes tied back with leather thongs. The centaur females had been tickling his feet before they paused to check the sundial nearby. Now they took up again where they had left off.
Zorian screwed up his face as they gently tormented his soles. As he always did at this point, he wished for an experienced tormentess rather than bright young things eager to prove themselves. Of course, he admitted to himself as the tickling started to force giggles from him, an experienced tormentess would have him wishing for someone new.
Worse yet, gods curse it, they were learning fast. Zorian thrashed, but the ropes and leather thongs held his feet perfectly, and guffaws began pouring out of him. The one on his left foot - Syna - used her fingers, alternating gentle probes with more vigorous tickle-attacks on the instep, ball, heel, toe-pads, and between the toes. The other centaur, Aclina, used a river-smoothed stone coated with olive oil to tickle his right foot, rubbing it in a circular motion. Zerbino's eyes bulged as the arcs brought it closer and closer and closer - and he squealed when it finally passed over a most sensitively ticklish part of his foot. The right-foot centaur grinned at him, and sent the oily pebble on a scribbling squiggle, before beginning the cyclic pattern again, on a sole whose sensitivity had increased. Zerbino squirmed and laughed and laughed and squirmed.
Now Syna used her fingernails, poking and scraping. Aclina set aside her pebble for a cloth square, pulling it between his toes. They alternated their tickle-attacks, with occasional simultaneous strikes, and Zorian could only squirm and endure, laughing helplessly. He could not even get breath to beg for them to stop - and he knew anyway that begging for mercy would be worse than useless. Tears rolled down his cheeks as the laughter poured out of him.
And now they brought out the feathers: Wing-feathers of the vos-hawk, the most demonically effective tickling-feather known to man or centaur. Zorian howled. This was tickling, this was merciless tickling, this was tickling that made his soles feel a yard long, with every speck of them helplessly exposed and vulnerable, so that nothing existed except his soles and the tickling and the laughter...
At last it ended. The shadow had finally reached the gnomen on the sundial, and Aclina and Syna freed Zorian of his bonds. He sat on the grass, feet tucked in, waiting until he could bear to pull his boots on.
Zorian liked the centaurs. He had started by making a small fortune trading with them, and now his fortune was not-so-small. And there was no malice in their tickle-torture, for all it's mercilessness. Alja Kentaros mor kental velator velex bartaros mel Uru, nor Kentaros yonvel morkap i patalo, the prophesy said, "If the Kentaros should ever fail to visit merciless torment on foreigners who enter the Land, then will the Kentaros suffer betrayal and ruination." Zerbino didn't want to be the one to bring ruination on the centaurs, even if it meant a monthly session tickle-torture. But now he promised himself, as he always did after getting his pass-tokens renewed, that this trip would be his last. And as always, he knew he'd break this promise. The trading opportunities would be too good, or he'd need the money, or the risks elsewhere would be too high, or something. So he'd find himself once again barefoot, enduring the ordeal of a flatfooter entering the centaur Land.
