It's time for the next chapter of CoS! Enjoy! 
The Characters:
Camilla – Strong and athletic, Camilla’s greatest aspiration is to rush the Sorority of City Guards. A believer in law and order above all, Camilla tends to be the responsible one in a group. She has been drafted by the Dark Lady, leader of the Sorority of Thieves, to find a dangerous magical idol. Camilla is ticklish all over her body, a weakness which cost her admission to the Sorority of City Guards the last time she rushed them.
Maggie – One-quarter giantess, Maggie is twelve feet tall with an enormous pair of feet to match her stature. Maggie belongs to the Sorority of Explorers, but despite her rustic job and physical strength she tends to be quite girly, taking regular pedicures as part of her life as a city girl. Maggie’s worst tickle spots are her giant-sized feet, which are hyper-ticklish to the touch. But there is a good side to her sensitive tootsies: an expert foot massage can take her to the heights of utter ecstasy.
Mindy – Geek girl and avid tabletop gamer, Mindy belongs to the Sorority of Sages where she studies the phenomenon of magic between roleplaying sessions. Mindy has no end of tickle spots, but is most ticklish on her upper body, especially her underarms and her enormous breasts. However, as ticklish as Mindy is, tickling has an intensely erotic effect on her. Being tickled, especially on her breasts, has brought Mindy to some of the most overwhelming orgasms she has ever experienced.
The Story So Far:
Our three heroines have been captured! Previously, Mindy had awoken to discover the identity of their captors: the shadow elves, a magical and reclusive race which was responsible for creating the golden idol the three girls have been chasing. And now, it appears the golden idol has its sights set on them!
Meanwhile, Camilla was plagued by nightmares, showing her visions of centuries ago when the idol was originally crafted by a powerful warlord whom it eventually turned against.
But while this happens, what of Maggie...?
City of Sororities - Chapter 6
Camilla dreamed again of the warlord: the beautiful female conqueror that she had seen in her last dream. She lay now on a great battlefield, in the aftermath of a struggle of epic proportions. Behind her lay the discarded bodies of her followers: stripped naked and unconscious, tickled into submission by their powerful foe. Stripped-off armor lay everywhere: breastplates, greaves, boots; all had been useless. She had believed that her forces were enough to stand up to the power of her wayward creation and subdue it once again. She had been wrong.
And now the warlord, like her followers before her, was helpless in the grip of the golden idol. Tendrils of light emanated from it, wrapping around her naked body as it effortlessly stripped off her clothing and protective jewelry. She lay suspended above the ground, tendrils holding her wrists and ankles and stretching them in four directions so her body was pulled taut and helpless. And for every exposed ticklish spot there was another tendril to mercilessly tickle it. Her soft underarms, her round breasts and firm tummy, her soft thighs and especially her tender feet: none of them were safe. The warlord howled with infuriated laughter at the hands of the idol.
She had seen her followers fall in the same way: infantry lifted off the ground by the dozens, their bellies tickled until they laughed themselves hoarse, with their weapons falling from their nerveless hands into a pile on the ground. An entire battalion, sent to ambush the idol’s altar while the main force attacked from the front, had been detected easily. All of them had been grabbed by the idol, their armored boots flung off with ease, and their feet were tickled until they were too weak to stand. The laughter echoing over the battlefield had even drowned out the army’s battle cries, and everywhere the proudest warriors of their kind had been reduced to screaming hysterics. It was a tickling massacre.
And the final one to fall had been herself. She tried to fight, but she was held motionless and the tickling tendrils were everywhere. She had grown in power since her last battle with the idol, but still she was no match for it now. From every ticklish victim it defeated, it absorbed more power, growing in strength and leaving drained, tickled girls in its wake. Now, it was after the ultimate power. It wanted the power of its creator, and it would tickle her to madness in order to get it.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! NOT THAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHATTT!!!” laughed the warlord as she felt the idol’s demands pressing upon her mind. But she couldn’t resist forever: her ticklish flesh was held hostage, and every minute new tendrils appeared to tickle her creamy white skin in places that had never been touched this way before. Her smooth, pale underarms and sensitive sides were stroked and squeezed without mercy, her belly button was circled by sharp, vibrating tips, and her ivory thighs and shapely ass were teased with maddeningly soft touches. But the worst was her ticklish feet: assaulted by dozens of tendrils, it was like being tickled by a beast with a hundred dexterous fingers on each sole. Her magic was no match for this torture, and like a woman hanging from a cliff, she felt her grasp slip away from her at last.
“I—I GIVE UP!!!!! AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” She let her mental defenses fall at last: even surrender was preferable to this unbearable tickling torture. She would give up everything: her powers, her station, her very self, if it would rescue her from this nightmare of ticklish madness. Her only refuge was complete surrender: to abandon the only thing which prolonged her torture, and give the idol what it wanted.
Deep inside, the defenses which kept the magic within her were released, and all her prodigious power pooled to the surface to be absorbed by her tormentor. The power of ages: stolen from her in moments, the thought of it was too much to bear. Already she could feel the bliss of unconsciousness come to rescue her at last. When she woke up she would be mortal, her powers gone, but even that was preferable to an eternity of ticklish madness. It was the only way to save herself.
As her final moments of consciousness passed by, Camilla had one final look at the warlord’s face: a beautiful visage contorted by furious, mad laughter. It was a fearful sight, but even more than the empathy it evoked, it left Camilla with a haunting sense of familiarity.
* * * * *
Maggie’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, but there was very little to see. Maggie had been in her fair share of caves during her time with the Sorority of Explorers, and they generally tended to look the same. This one was clearly settled: if the torches that hung from the walls had not been an indicator of that, the enormous twelve-foot bondage rack she was tied to would have tipped her off.
Maggie tested its strength, but it had clearly been constructed with a woman of her musculature in mind. The shackles that held down her wrists, midsection, and ankles were all of a metal which was considerably stronger than steel. Maggie noticed for the first time that she was once again wearing her Sorority of Explorers clothing: her chainmail bikini instead of the maid’s uniform she had changed into in the Manor. Just as well; she felt more comfortable in it. The only exceptions were her sandals, which had been removed and placed on the rocky ground beside her. Clearly she had been prepared for something.
“I see you too are awake, my dear,” said a voice in the darkness.
As the figure stepped forward, Maggie felt all her mounting fury melt away as she looked upon the body of her captor. The gleaming pale white skin, the perfectly proportioned figure, the long luxurious hair that framed a face of breathtaking beauty: these combined to make Maggie forget that she was even supposed to be angry. But the distraction lasted only a moment, for the woman was carrying something in her hand that Maggie recognized at once. It was the golden idol.
“Who are you, and how did you get that?” Maggie demanded.
“I am the mistress of the idol, its guardian and rightful owner since long before you laid eyes on it,” answered the woman. “It was we who made it, long before your Sorority took what was rightfully ours.”
Maggie had to acknowledge that this might be true. Everything the Sorority of Explorers found had been made by someone; the difference was that they generally weren’t around to register complaints when their creations changed hands. Even still, Maggie didn’t consider it thievery: she instinctively felt that there had to be a statue of limitations on ownership. When you left something in some ruins in the middle of the deepest jungle for a few centuries, you really had to forfeit your rights to it when someone else went through the trouble of finding it again.
“But I discovered it!” insisted Maggie. “I didn’t steal anything!”
“It allowed itself to be found by you,” corrected the mistress. “It admired your great strengths: your fortitude, your resourcefulness, your sheer power. But more than that, what truly interested it was your…weaknesses.”
With a knowing smile, the mistress reached out to ever-so-lightly brush Maggie’s soles with the very tips of her fingernails.
“MMMMPPPHHHHH!!! GHHHHHHHHPPPHHH!!!” The touch lasted only a fraction of a second, but every muscle in Maggie’s body came to life with a jolt. Her toes curled forwards, her arms and legs jerked and tugged at their bondage, and her chest shuddered as she held her breath to keep from laughing out loud. Any chance she might have had of pretending was gone.
“Oh my, they are ticklish!” said the mistress with delight. She gently stroked the tops of Maggie’s feet, letting her fingertips touch the soft skin with her long fingernails trailing behind gently. Her tiny hands were dwarfed by Maggie’s enormous feet, but it was clear who had the upper hand. Moving along thirty-two inches of bare giant foot, their effect was electric.
“MMMMPPPHHHH!!! MMPPPPHEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!” Even though her soles remained untouched, the tickling was too much to hold in. Maggie erupted in high-pitched giggles as the mistress’ infuriatingly soft touch. Her fingers were like the caress of silk, followed by the sharp shock of her wicked fingernails. Together, the tickling was twice as diabolical.
“Ooh, and these are just the tops of them,” purred the mistress. “I wonder what these huge, beautiful soles must be like, hmm?”
“EEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!! DON’T—HEEHEEHEEHEEHEE—TOUCH THEM!!!” giggled Maggie. The broad grin on her face belied her rising terror. She trembled to think what those long, curved fingernails could do to her sensitive soles. But there was nothing to stop them from having free reign of her vulnerable tootsies.
“I don’t think you’re being honest with me,” smiled the mistress. “I think you want me to tickle those big, gorgeous feet. I think you want to feel these nails have their way with your soft, tender soles until you can’t take it anymore. Am I right?”
“PLEHEHEHEASE!!! NO!!! HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!” Maggie pleaded. Stroking the tops of her feet was bad enough, but she couldn’t survive a full-on assault against her ticklish soles. Her high-pitched girlish laughter echoed throughout the chamber, much to the delight of the mistress.
“Why, just look at them,” said the mistress, leaning down in front of Maggie’s bare feet. “They’re just begging to be touched.” Maggie could feel the warm breath on her pink, wrinkled soles as they towered above her captive’s face. The mistress removed her hands from Maggie’s feet, positioning her long, curved talons only inches from the trembling soles.
“I can see how soft they are from here,” said the mistress, licking her ruby lips. “You must take such good care of them. Why, it makes me wonder what would happen if I did…this.” And as she spoke, the mistress reached out and pressed a single fingernail into the exact center of Maggie’s left arch.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKK!!!” The shriek split the air with its intensity. Maggie was completely unprepared for the effects of the touch. As the silver nail pressed into the soft, fleshy surface, every muscle in Maggie’s body came to life in a wild, uncontrolled spasm. She jerked at her bonds with such force that she almost felt the room shake. Somehow the mistress had found a pressure point on the very first try.
“Even better than I had hoped,” said the mistress with a coy giggle. “Every shadow elf is trained in the arts of foot-tickling, you know. I thought we had the most ticklish feet of all, but these precious peds are something else altogether. I’m going to have fun applying my knowledge to these treasures.”
Maggie had only enough time to softly whisper, “No…” before all ten of those long, glittering fingernails buried themselves in the soft, pliant flesh of Maggie’s enormous soles.
This time there were no giggles, no high-pitched squeals. The massive eruption of booming laughter showed the full force of what a pair of giant lungs could produce. The volume of her laughter drowned out thought itself, filling the room with deafening roars that shook the walls themselves. But the mistress remained an island of calm in the thundering storm of hysterics, her thin sharp fingernails skittering up and down the tall ticklish canvasses.
“Oh my, does this tickle?” she asked coquettishly, her question nearly inaudible over Maggie’s powerful bellows of laughter.
“YAAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAASSS!!!” Maggie roared, her face wet with tears. She had always known her ticklish feet were a liability, but she had never imagined torture like this. With such huge expanses of soft, pedicured sole to explore, there seemed no end to the agony those sharp nails could inflict.
“Koochie-koochie-koo,” giggled the mistress beneath Maggie’s booming giant laughter. “You are a sensitive one. I’m going to have to stop myself from tickling you to death, my big laughing beauty.”
“STAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAPPPPP!!!” Maggie howled. Grains of rock fell from the ceiling as Maggie pulled at her bonds with all her strength.
“Stop?” asked the mistress with a devilish smile. “Oh, I don’t think you want me to stop. I think you want me to stroke these beautiful arches—“
“BWAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
“—and play with your insteps—“
“WOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!!!”
“—and take these long, slender toes between my fingertips and tickle them one...by…one.”
“EEEEEAAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!!!” Maggie could no longer even see through the flood of tears, but she felt the mistress hold back each of her four-inch toes and slide a fingernail up and down the underside until she thought she would die. Those devilish fingernails danced and scribbled over the worst spots on her feet as though they knew exactly how to break her.
“I must give you credit, my big beauty,” cooed the mistress. “Any shadow elf would never have lasted this long. And I speak from experience both ways.” She giggled to herself and coquettishly shook her long head of silken black hair. Strands of soft hair brushed against Maggie’s soles and nestled in between her long splaying toes, tickling like feathers.
Maggie was past speech, babbling helplessly as the mistress slowly walked her fingers up and down her soles. With feet the size of hers, however, it was an epic journey. The fingers began at the soft, fleshy peaks of the balls of her feet, walking slowly down the lush valleys of her flawless arches until they arrived at her smooth heels. It felt like an eternity, with ticklish pressure points being exploited the entire way. Every time Maggie’s feet writhed, new locks of the mistress’ fluttering hair would fall between her toes, tickling the hidden regions with infuriating softness.
“These huge feet are such a lovely weakness,” said the mistress, tickling them to a bright red glow. “I’ll bet you would do anything to stop the tickling, am I right?”
“AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! RAHAHAHAHAHAIGHT!!!!! OOOHOOHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!!!!!” Maggie screamed. She couldn’t even think: her answer was a desperate response by her body to stop the torture before she was tickled to death. Even with her superhuman physiology, not even she could stand a tickling of this intensity for long.
“And what if I don’t stop?” asked the mistress with a wicked smile. Her long fingers with their long silver talons danced across Maggie’s feet like a spider’s legs. “If I only want to keep having my way with these insanely ticklish feet, how could you stop me?”
“BWAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” Maggie tried to beg for mercy, but the only thing that would come was mad laughter. She had never felt more helpless in her life.
“I’ve tickled races from throughout the Continent,” said the mistress as she traced the fleshy folds beneath the balls of Maggie’s feet, “and these ticklish peds are a treasure like I’ve never seen! Even giantesses have coveted our power and come to take it by force, and always their massive, ticklish feet pay the price for their impertinence. I have stood before them and tickled their titanic feet until they cried rivers that washed away the trees from the soil. I have feathered and brushed the feet of giantess chiefs until their desperate laughter shook the very earth. And yet none of those can compare to these delicious feet of yours.”
“EEEEEAAAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!!!!!” Even with Maggie’s superhuman circulation, the masterful manipulation of her feet was more than her body could cope with. Drowning in laughter, with every nerve in her body begging for escape, she felt the onset of unconsciousness approaching. It was the only thing that could save her from the tickling, but seconds before she passed out, Maggie suddenly felt the tickling abate.
“I know what you were hoping for,” smiled the mistress. “But I’m afraid I can’t let that happen just yet. After all, there are…expectations to fulfill.”
“What…what do you…want…with…me…” gasped Maggie, every word an effort to articulate as her lungs took in the gales of air that had been tickled out of her.
“I think that’s enough time to recover,” replied the mistress. “Why don’t I show you?”
With an expression of infinite longing, the mistress bent down and pressed her soft ruby lips into the center of Maggie’s foot, bestowing upon it a long kiss of admiration and worship. Her lips parted ever so slightly and her long tongue slipped between them, flicking its moist tip gently and teasingly across the soft and fragrant flesh of Maggie’s soles. The mistress leaned further and further into the kiss, her eyes closed in perfect rapture as her lips drank in the deep, heady sweetness.
“EEEEEEEAAAAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAA!!!” Maggie howled with laughter as her feet writhed beneath the tiny, gentle kiss. The sensation of the soft, slippery tongue teasing her feet was diabolical: it was almost worse than the fingernails. Maggie felt another kiss on her other foot: the soft lips making contact, and the tongue repeating its sharp but gentle licking that drove Maggie out of her mind.
“So impossibly soft,” doted the mistress, kneeling before Maggie’s bare feet in a gesture of near worship. “I want to taste them all over.” Planting a kiss near the heel of Maggie’s feet, the mistress gasped with pleasure and ran her tongue slowly and luxuriously over the entire expanse of Maggie’s bare feet, leaving glistening trails of moisture in her wake on the thrashing, desperately ticklish feet.
“STAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPPPPP!!!” screamed Maggie, but now she felt something different deep inside her. Through the torment was pleasure: a rush of euphoria as the tickling tongue gently massaged her soles, pressing its rigid tip into the pressure points that could make her moan. Even through her furious laughter she felt her heart flutter and her head go light with a wave of desire.
“Oooh, such lovely toes,” said the mistress, giving a soft moan of pleasure herself. “And I have them all to myself.”
Maggie had never experienced anything like this before. The mistress ran her long, silver fingernails over the slippery wet surfaces of Maggie’s soles, while her tongue licked beneath each of Maggie’s shapely, four-inch toes. With her eyes closed, the mistress plunged each of the squirming toes into her mouth, sucking on it slowly as she wrapped her tongue around it like an amorous boa constrictor. New planes of sensation opened up before Maggie, as she discovered heights of ticklishness she had never dreamed of. As much as she wanted it to stop, an even stronger force within her silently begged for it to continue.
“Mmm, do you like that?” asked the mistress in a husky voice.
“AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! YEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHESSSS!!!” The answer shocked Maggie as she heard her own voice, but it was true: the torture was pleasure beyond belief. Even the foot massages she so used to enjoy were only a shadow of this experience. She felt the nipples on her giant-sized breasts turn erect, and underneath the leather padding of her chainmail bikini, Maggie could feel herself beginning to grow moist at the onrush of pleasure.
“I can feel what an effect this is having on you,” said the mistress huskily. “How much more can these tender feet take, I wonder?”
“GHAAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAA!!!! MOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHORRRREEE!!!!” screamed Maggie, begging for more tickle torture on her huge, hypersensitive feet. Her feet glowed bright pink with increased circulation, and every second her soles became more ticklish and more erogenous. Every time the mistress’ tongue licked hungrily across one of Maggie’s innumerable magic spots, she could feel herself take another leap towards climax.
“You just love this, my big-soled siren,” teased the mistress, looking at the spreading wetness between Maggie’s legs. “Don’t fight it, my dear. Let it happen.”
“AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” Maggie felt as though she were holding onto a cliff’s edge with her fingertips, hanging above an ocean of rapture. She couldn’t let go, but with every second she felt her grip loosening, her self-control waning until finally she would fall…
But the mistress had been leaving one spot untouched. A small spot no larger than a fingertip on each of Maggie’s soles, just beneath the exact centers of her arches. Two priceless gems in the middle of a ticklish treasure trove. Planting her final kiss on Maggie’s perfect feet, the mistress pressed her fingernails gently into each one, and Maggie felt her grip on resistance crumble at last.
When a giantess reaches orgasm, the effects are felt in the fabric of magic itself. When that powerful body gives in to the deluge of boundless ecstasy and reaches climax, the deepest essence of their ancient race touches something equally ancient in the world around them. With an intense cry of unadulterated rapture that shook the walls themselves, Maggie arched her back and exploded with pleasure at the manipulation of her sensitive feet. The air itself seemed to be torn asunder with the sheer forces that were released as Maggie came with the strength of a giantess. She was bathed in a golden aura of blinding pleasure, the oldest of magics coming to life. And off in the darkness, the golden idol drank deeply of this sweet nectar.
* * * * *
At that instant, in another place, Camilla awoke with a start from her disturbing dreams. Her surroundings were alien to her, but she recognized them at once: these were the caverns in which her dreams had taken place. Somewhere, perhaps on the very ground beneath her, the great battles and feats of sorcery she had seen in her dreams had taken place. The chill air was heavy with the memories of centuries past.
Somehow, it did not surprise Camilla to discover that she, like the warlord in her dreams, was bound and shackled. She lay on an altar of jet-black rock: hard and smooth but somehow as warm as flesh to the touch. If it had not been for her shackled wrists and ankles, she might almost have considered it comfortable. She wore a pair of leather shorts and a low-cut top that she recognized as her own clothing, but she did not remember ever having changed into it.
But suddenly, a more immediate concern grabbed her attention. Someone was approaching. After the visions she had seen in her nightmares, her psyche conjured up all manner of horrors that might be about to befall her. It took all her courage to remain silent, breathing heavily as she craned her neck to see what this approaching figure might be.
“Stay quiet,” ordered a voice in the darkness. Camilla strained her eyes to see who was speaking. Slowly, a figure dressed in black strode calmly and confidently through the darkness towards the altar. What astonished Camilla the most was that it was not one of the women from her dream, with their pale white skin and unearthly features. It was human.
It was a tall, slender woman wearing a black form-fitting catsuit that flattered her extremely curvaceous figure. She wore a strip of black cloth over the lower half of her face, forming a mask that obscured her features. She wore black stiletto-heeled boots, but somehow she walked without her footsteps making a sound. Her long hair, as black as the rest of her ensemble, was tied back in a ponytail. Hanging from her belt, Camilla could see a small assortment of throwing stars and daggers.
“Who are you?” whispered Camilla, picking up on the woman’s air of stealthy urgency.
“My name is Sonia, from the Sorority of Thieves,” answered the woman. “I’m here to help you.”
With those words, the final piece of the puzzle in Camilla’s mind suddenly and unexpectedly fell into place. Camilla at last knew why the face of the beautiful warlord from her dreams had seemed so hauntingly familiar. Camilla had seen it once before: in the audience chamber of the Sorority of Thieves. It was the face of the Dark Lady Lucaria.
The Characters:
Camilla – Strong and athletic, Camilla’s greatest aspiration is to rush the Sorority of City Guards. A believer in law and order above all, Camilla tends to be the responsible one in a group. She has been drafted by the Dark Lady, leader of the Sorority of Thieves, to find a dangerous magical idol. Camilla is ticklish all over her body, a weakness which cost her admission to the Sorority of City Guards the last time she rushed them.
Maggie – One-quarter giantess, Maggie is twelve feet tall with an enormous pair of feet to match her stature. Maggie belongs to the Sorority of Explorers, but despite her rustic job and physical strength she tends to be quite girly, taking regular pedicures as part of her life as a city girl. Maggie’s worst tickle spots are her giant-sized feet, which are hyper-ticklish to the touch. But there is a good side to her sensitive tootsies: an expert foot massage can take her to the heights of utter ecstasy.
Mindy – Geek girl and avid tabletop gamer, Mindy belongs to the Sorority of Sages where she studies the phenomenon of magic between roleplaying sessions. Mindy has no end of tickle spots, but is most ticklish on her upper body, especially her underarms and her enormous breasts. However, as ticklish as Mindy is, tickling has an intensely erotic effect on her. Being tickled, especially on her breasts, has brought Mindy to some of the most overwhelming orgasms she has ever experienced.
The Story So Far:
Our three heroines have been captured! Previously, Mindy had awoken to discover the identity of their captors: the shadow elves, a magical and reclusive race which was responsible for creating the golden idol the three girls have been chasing. And now, it appears the golden idol has its sights set on them!
Meanwhile, Camilla was plagued by nightmares, showing her visions of centuries ago when the idol was originally crafted by a powerful warlord whom it eventually turned against.
But while this happens, what of Maggie...?
City of Sororities - Chapter 6
Camilla dreamed again of the warlord: the beautiful female conqueror that she had seen in her last dream. She lay now on a great battlefield, in the aftermath of a struggle of epic proportions. Behind her lay the discarded bodies of her followers: stripped naked and unconscious, tickled into submission by their powerful foe. Stripped-off armor lay everywhere: breastplates, greaves, boots; all had been useless. She had believed that her forces were enough to stand up to the power of her wayward creation and subdue it once again. She had been wrong.
And now the warlord, like her followers before her, was helpless in the grip of the golden idol. Tendrils of light emanated from it, wrapping around her naked body as it effortlessly stripped off her clothing and protective jewelry. She lay suspended above the ground, tendrils holding her wrists and ankles and stretching them in four directions so her body was pulled taut and helpless. And for every exposed ticklish spot there was another tendril to mercilessly tickle it. Her soft underarms, her round breasts and firm tummy, her soft thighs and especially her tender feet: none of them were safe. The warlord howled with infuriated laughter at the hands of the idol.
She had seen her followers fall in the same way: infantry lifted off the ground by the dozens, their bellies tickled until they laughed themselves hoarse, with their weapons falling from their nerveless hands into a pile on the ground. An entire battalion, sent to ambush the idol’s altar while the main force attacked from the front, had been detected easily. All of them had been grabbed by the idol, their armored boots flung off with ease, and their feet were tickled until they were too weak to stand. The laughter echoing over the battlefield had even drowned out the army’s battle cries, and everywhere the proudest warriors of their kind had been reduced to screaming hysterics. It was a tickling massacre.
And the final one to fall had been herself. She tried to fight, but she was held motionless and the tickling tendrils were everywhere. She had grown in power since her last battle with the idol, but still she was no match for it now. From every ticklish victim it defeated, it absorbed more power, growing in strength and leaving drained, tickled girls in its wake. Now, it was after the ultimate power. It wanted the power of its creator, and it would tickle her to madness in order to get it.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! NOT THAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHATTT!!!” laughed the warlord as she felt the idol’s demands pressing upon her mind. But she couldn’t resist forever: her ticklish flesh was held hostage, and every minute new tendrils appeared to tickle her creamy white skin in places that had never been touched this way before. Her smooth, pale underarms and sensitive sides were stroked and squeezed without mercy, her belly button was circled by sharp, vibrating tips, and her ivory thighs and shapely ass were teased with maddeningly soft touches. But the worst was her ticklish feet: assaulted by dozens of tendrils, it was like being tickled by a beast with a hundred dexterous fingers on each sole. Her magic was no match for this torture, and like a woman hanging from a cliff, she felt her grasp slip away from her at last.
“I—I GIVE UP!!!!! AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” She let her mental defenses fall at last: even surrender was preferable to this unbearable tickling torture. She would give up everything: her powers, her station, her very self, if it would rescue her from this nightmare of ticklish madness. Her only refuge was complete surrender: to abandon the only thing which prolonged her torture, and give the idol what it wanted.
Deep inside, the defenses which kept the magic within her were released, and all her prodigious power pooled to the surface to be absorbed by her tormentor. The power of ages: stolen from her in moments, the thought of it was too much to bear. Already she could feel the bliss of unconsciousness come to rescue her at last. When she woke up she would be mortal, her powers gone, but even that was preferable to an eternity of ticklish madness. It was the only way to save herself.
As her final moments of consciousness passed by, Camilla had one final look at the warlord’s face: a beautiful visage contorted by furious, mad laughter. It was a fearful sight, but even more than the empathy it evoked, it left Camilla with a haunting sense of familiarity.
* * * * *
Maggie’s eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness, but there was very little to see. Maggie had been in her fair share of caves during her time with the Sorority of Explorers, and they generally tended to look the same. This one was clearly settled: if the torches that hung from the walls had not been an indicator of that, the enormous twelve-foot bondage rack she was tied to would have tipped her off.
Maggie tested its strength, but it had clearly been constructed with a woman of her musculature in mind. The shackles that held down her wrists, midsection, and ankles were all of a metal which was considerably stronger than steel. Maggie noticed for the first time that she was once again wearing her Sorority of Explorers clothing: her chainmail bikini instead of the maid’s uniform she had changed into in the Manor. Just as well; she felt more comfortable in it. The only exceptions were her sandals, which had been removed and placed on the rocky ground beside her. Clearly she had been prepared for something.
“I see you too are awake, my dear,” said a voice in the darkness.
As the figure stepped forward, Maggie felt all her mounting fury melt away as she looked upon the body of her captor. The gleaming pale white skin, the perfectly proportioned figure, the long luxurious hair that framed a face of breathtaking beauty: these combined to make Maggie forget that she was even supposed to be angry. But the distraction lasted only a moment, for the woman was carrying something in her hand that Maggie recognized at once. It was the golden idol.
“Who are you, and how did you get that?” Maggie demanded.
“I am the mistress of the idol, its guardian and rightful owner since long before you laid eyes on it,” answered the woman. “It was we who made it, long before your Sorority took what was rightfully ours.”
Maggie had to acknowledge that this might be true. Everything the Sorority of Explorers found had been made by someone; the difference was that they generally weren’t around to register complaints when their creations changed hands. Even still, Maggie didn’t consider it thievery: she instinctively felt that there had to be a statue of limitations on ownership. When you left something in some ruins in the middle of the deepest jungle for a few centuries, you really had to forfeit your rights to it when someone else went through the trouble of finding it again.
“But I discovered it!” insisted Maggie. “I didn’t steal anything!”
“It allowed itself to be found by you,” corrected the mistress. “It admired your great strengths: your fortitude, your resourcefulness, your sheer power. But more than that, what truly interested it was your…weaknesses.”
With a knowing smile, the mistress reached out to ever-so-lightly brush Maggie’s soles with the very tips of her fingernails.
“MMMMPPPHHHHH!!! GHHHHHHHHPPPHHH!!!” The touch lasted only a fraction of a second, but every muscle in Maggie’s body came to life with a jolt. Her toes curled forwards, her arms and legs jerked and tugged at their bondage, and her chest shuddered as she held her breath to keep from laughing out loud. Any chance she might have had of pretending was gone.
“Oh my, they are ticklish!” said the mistress with delight. She gently stroked the tops of Maggie’s feet, letting her fingertips touch the soft skin with her long fingernails trailing behind gently. Her tiny hands were dwarfed by Maggie’s enormous feet, but it was clear who had the upper hand. Moving along thirty-two inches of bare giant foot, their effect was electric.
“MMMMPPPHHHH!!! MMPPPPHEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!” Even though her soles remained untouched, the tickling was too much to hold in. Maggie erupted in high-pitched giggles as the mistress’ infuriatingly soft touch. Her fingers were like the caress of silk, followed by the sharp shock of her wicked fingernails. Together, the tickling was twice as diabolical.
“Ooh, and these are just the tops of them,” purred the mistress. “I wonder what these huge, beautiful soles must be like, hmm?”
“EEEEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!! DON’T—HEEHEEHEEHEEHEE—TOUCH THEM!!!” giggled Maggie. The broad grin on her face belied her rising terror. She trembled to think what those long, curved fingernails could do to her sensitive soles. But there was nothing to stop them from having free reign of her vulnerable tootsies.
“I don’t think you’re being honest with me,” smiled the mistress. “I think you want me to tickle those big, gorgeous feet. I think you want to feel these nails have their way with your soft, tender soles until you can’t take it anymore. Am I right?”
“PLEHEHEHEASE!!! NO!!! HEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!!!” Maggie pleaded. Stroking the tops of her feet was bad enough, but she couldn’t survive a full-on assault against her ticklish soles. Her high-pitched girlish laughter echoed throughout the chamber, much to the delight of the mistress.
“Why, just look at them,” said the mistress, leaning down in front of Maggie’s bare feet. “They’re just begging to be touched.” Maggie could feel the warm breath on her pink, wrinkled soles as they towered above her captive’s face. The mistress removed her hands from Maggie’s feet, positioning her long, curved talons only inches from the trembling soles.
“I can see how soft they are from here,” said the mistress, licking her ruby lips. “You must take such good care of them. Why, it makes me wonder what would happen if I did…this.” And as she spoke, the mistress reached out and pressed a single fingernail into the exact center of Maggie’s left arch.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKKKK!!!” The shriek split the air with its intensity. Maggie was completely unprepared for the effects of the touch. As the silver nail pressed into the soft, fleshy surface, every muscle in Maggie’s body came to life in a wild, uncontrolled spasm. She jerked at her bonds with such force that she almost felt the room shake. Somehow the mistress had found a pressure point on the very first try.
“Even better than I had hoped,” said the mistress with a coy giggle. “Every shadow elf is trained in the arts of foot-tickling, you know. I thought we had the most ticklish feet of all, but these precious peds are something else altogether. I’m going to have fun applying my knowledge to these treasures.”
Maggie had only enough time to softly whisper, “No…” before all ten of those long, glittering fingernails buried themselves in the soft, pliant flesh of Maggie’s enormous soles.
This time there were no giggles, no high-pitched squeals. The massive eruption of booming laughter showed the full force of what a pair of giant lungs could produce. The volume of her laughter drowned out thought itself, filling the room with deafening roars that shook the walls themselves. But the mistress remained an island of calm in the thundering storm of hysterics, her thin sharp fingernails skittering up and down the tall ticklish canvasses.
“Oh my, does this tickle?” she asked coquettishly, her question nearly inaudible over Maggie’s powerful bellows of laughter.
“YAAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAASSS!!!” Maggie roared, her face wet with tears. She had always known her ticklish feet were a liability, but she had never imagined torture like this. With such huge expanses of soft, pedicured sole to explore, there seemed no end to the agony those sharp nails could inflict.
“Koochie-koochie-koo,” giggled the mistress beneath Maggie’s booming giant laughter. “You are a sensitive one. I’m going to have to stop myself from tickling you to death, my big laughing beauty.”
“STAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAPPPPP!!!” Maggie howled. Grains of rock fell from the ceiling as Maggie pulled at her bonds with all her strength.
“Stop?” asked the mistress with a devilish smile. “Oh, I don’t think you want me to stop. I think you want me to stroke these beautiful arches—“
“BWAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!”
“—and play with your insteps—“
“WOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOOHOO!!!”
“—and take these long, slender toes between my fingertips and tickle them one...by…one.”
“EEEEEAAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!!!” Maggie could no longer even see through the flood of tears, but she felt the mistress hold back each of her four-inch toes and slide a fingernail up and down the underside until she thought she would die. Those devilish fingernails danced and scribbled over the worst spots on her feet as though they knew exactly how to break her.
“I must give you credit, my big beauty,” cooed the mistress. “Any shadow elf would never have lasted this long. And I speak from experience both ways.” She giggled to herself and coquettishly shook her long head of silken black hair. Strands of soft hair brushed against Maggie’s soles and nestled in between her long splaying toes, tickling like feathers.
Maggie was past speech, babbling helplessly as the mistress slowly walked her fingers up and down her soles. With feet the size of hers, however, it was an epic journey. The fingers began at the soft, fleshy peaks of the balls of her feet, walking slowly down the lush valleys of her flawless arches until they arrived at her smooth heels. It felt like an eternity, with ticklish pressure points being exploited the entire way. Every time Maggie’s feet writhed, new locks of the mistress’ fluttering hair would fall between her toes, tickling the hidden regions with infuriating softness.
“These huge feet are such a lovely weakness,” said the mistress, tickling them to a bright red glow. “I’ll bet you would do anything to stop the tickling, am I right?”
“AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! RAHAHAHAHAHAIGHT!!!!! OOOHOOHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!!!!!” Maggie screamed. She couldn’t even think: her answer was a desperate response by her body to stop the torture before she was tickled to death. Even with her superhuman physiology, not even she could stand a tickling of this intensity for long.
“And what if I don’t stop?” asked the mistress with a wicked smile. Her long fingers with their long silver talons danced across Maggie’s feet like a spider’s legs. “If I only want to keep having my way with these insanely ticklish feet, how could you stop me?”
“BWAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” Maggie tried to beg for mercy, but the only thing that would come was mad laughter. She had never felt more helpless in her life.
“I’ve tickled races from throughout the Continent,” said the mistress as she traced the fleshy folds beneath the balls of Maggie’s feet, “and these ticklish peds are a treasure like I’ve never seen! Even giantesses have coveted our power and come to take it by force, and always their massive, ticklish feet pay the price for their impertinence. I have stood before them and tickled their titanic feet until they cried rivers that washed away the trees from the soil. I have feathered and brushed the feet of giantess chiefs until their desperate laughter shook the very earth. And yet none of those can compare to these delicious feet of yours.”
“EEEEEAAAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAA!!!!!” Even with Maggie’s superhuman circulation, the masterful manipulation of her feet was more than her body could cope with. Drowning in laughter, with every nerve in her body begging for escape, she felt the onset of unconsciousness approaching. It was the only thing that could save her from the tickling, but seconds before she passed out, Maggie suddenly felt the tickling abate.
“I know what you were hoping for,” smiled the mistress. “But I’m afraid I can’t let that happen just yet. After all, there are…expectations to fulfill.”
“What…what do you…want…with…me…” gasped Maggie, every word an effort to articulate as her lungs took in the gales of air that had been tickled out of her.
“I think that’s enough time to recover,” replied the mistress. “Why don’t I show you?”
With an expression of infinite longing, the mistress bent down and pressed her soft ruby lips into the center of Maggie’s foot, bestowing upon it a long kiss of admiration and worship. Her lips parted ever so slightly and her long tongue slipped between them, flicking its moist tip gently and teasingly across the soft and fragrant flesh of Maggie’s soles. The mistress leaned further and further into the kiss, her eyes closed in perfect rapture as her lips drank in the deep, heady sweetness.
“EEEEEEEAAAAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAA!!!” Maggie howled with laughter as her feet writhed beneath the tiny, gentle kiss. The sensation of the soft, slippery tongue teasing her feet was diabolical: it was almost worse than the fingernails. Maggie felt another kiss on her other foot: the soft lips making contact, and the tongue repeating its sharp but gentle licking that drove Maggie out of her mind.
“So impossibly soft,” doted the mistress, kneeling before Maggie’s bare feet in a gesture of near worship. “I want to taste them all over.” Planting a kiss near the heel of Maggie’s feet, the mistress gasped with pleasure and ran her tongue slowly and luxuriously over the entire expanse of Maggie’s bare feet, leaving glistening trails of moisture in her wake on the thrashing, desperately ticklish feet.
“STAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPPPPP!!!” screamed Maggie, but now she felt something different deep inside her. Through the torment was pleasure: a rush of euphoria as the tickling tongue gently massaged her soles, pressing its rigid tip into the pressure points that could make her moan. Even through her furious laughter she felt her heart flutter and her head go light with a wave of desire.
“Oooh, such lovely toes,” said the mistress, giving a soft moan of pleasure herself. “And I have them all to myself.”
Maggie had never experienced anything like this before. The mistress ran her long, silver fingernails over the slippery wet surfaces of Maggie’s soles, while her tongue licked beneath each of Maggie’s shapely, four-inch toes. With her eyes closed, the mistress plunged each of the squirming toes into her mouth, sucking on it slowly as she wrapped her tongue around it like an amorous boa constrictor. New planes of sensation opened up before Maggie, as she discovered heights of ticklishness she had never dreamed of. As much as she wanted it to stop, an even stronger force within her silently begged for it to continue.
“Mmm, do you like that?” asked the mistress in a husky voice.
“AAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!! YEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHESSSS!!!” The answer shocked Maggie as she heard her own voice, but it was true: the torture was pleasure beyond belief. Even the foot massages she so used to enjoy were only a shadow of this experience. She felt the nipples on her giant-sized breasts turn erect, and underneath the leather padding of her chainmail bikini, Maggie could feel herself beginning to grow moist at the onrush of pleasure.
“I can feel what an effect this is having on you,” said the mistress huskily. “How much more can these tender feet take, I wonder?”
“GHAAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAA!!!! MOHOHOHOHOHOHOHOHORRRREEE!!!!” screamed Maggie, begging for more tickle torture on her huge, hypersensitive feet. Her feet glowed bright pink with increased circulation, and every second her soles became more ticklish and more erogenous. Every time the mistress’ tongue licked hungrily across one of Maggie’s innumerable magic spots, she could feel herself take another leap towards climax.
“You just love this, my big-soled siren,” teased the mistress, looking at the spreading wetness between Maggie’s legs. “Don’t fight it, my dear. Let it happen.”
“AAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” Maggie felt as though she were holding onto a cliff’s edge with her fingertips, hanging above an ocean of rapture. She couldn’t let go, but with every second she felt her grip loosening, her self-control waning until finally she would fall…
But the mistress had been leaving one spot untouched. A small spot no larger than a fingertip on each of Maggie’s soles, just beneath the exact centers of her arches. Two priceless gems in the middle of a ticklish treasure trove. Planting her final kiss on Maggie’s perfect feet, the mistress pressed her fingernails gently into each one, and Maggie felt her grip on resistance crumble at last.
When a giantess reaches orgasm, the effects are felt in the fabric of magic itself. When that powerful body gives in to the deluge of boundless ecstasy and reaches climax, the deepest essence of their ancient race touches something equally ancient in the world around them. With an intense cry of unadulterated rapture that shook the walls themselves, Maggie arched her back and exploded with pleasure at the manipulation of her sensitive feet. The air itself seemed to be torn asunder with the sheer forces that were released as Maggie came with the strength of a giantess. She was bathed in a golden aura of blinding pleasure, the oldest of magics coming to life. And off in the darkness, the golden idol drank deeply of this sweet nectar.
* * * * *
At that instant, in another place, Camilla awoke with a start from her disturbing dreams. Her surroundings were alien to her, but she recognized them at once: these were the caverns in which her dreams had taken place. Somewhere, perhaps on the very ground beneath her, the great battles and feats of sorcery she had seen in her dreams had taken place. The chill air was heavy with the memories of centuries past.
Somehow, it did not surprise Camilla to discover that she, like the warlord in her dreams, was bound and shackled. She lay on an altar of jet-black rock: hard and smooth but somehow as warm as flesh to the touch. If it had not been for her shackled wrists and ankles, she might almost have considered it comfortable. She wore a pair of leather shorts and a low-cut top that she recognized as her own clothing, but she did not remember ever having changed into it.
But suddenly, a more immediate concern grabbed her attention. Someone was approaching. After the visions she had seen in her nightmares, her psyche conjured up all manner of horrors that might be about to befall her. It took all her courage to remain silent, breathing heavily as she craned her neck to see what this approaching figure might be.
“Stay quiet,” ordered a voice in the darkness. Camilla strained her eyes to see who was speaking. Slowly, a figure dressed in black strode calmly and confidently through the darkness towards the altar. What astonished Camilla the most was that it was not one of the women from her dream, with their pale white skin and unearthly features. It was human.
It was a tall, slender woman wearing a black form-fitting catsuit that flattered her extremely curvaceous figure. She wore a strip of black cloth over the lower half of her face, forming a mask that obscured her features. She wore black stiletto-heeled boots, but somehow she walked without her footsteps making a sound. Her long hair, as black as the rest of her ensemble, was tied back in a ponytail. Hanging from her belt, Camilla could see a small assortment of throwing stars and daggers.
“Who are you?” whispered Camilla, picking up on the woman’s air of stealthy urgency.
“My name is Sonia, from the Sorority of Thieves,” answered the woman. “I’m here to help you.”
With those words, the final piece of the puzzle in Camilla’s mind suddenly and unexpectedly fell into place. Camilla at last knew why the face of the beautiful warlord from her dreams had seemed so hauntingly familiar. Camilla had seen it once before: in the audience chamber of the Sorority of Thieves. It was the face of the Dark Lady Lucaria.
I'm f'n speechless!
Haha.
