Reunification, Part 1: The Regent of Madison (/f)

Reunification
I: The Regent of Madison
By Backstep

Peter Swinchul had just sat down on a stone to have a rest from working his field on a humid, sunny day in late summer when he heard the voice behind him. “What made thee, Hob, forsake the plough?”

He sighed and turned his head. “The hell?” he asked.

Drand Johnson stood there holding out a mug of water. “You should drink more, lest you fall over half dead, friend.”

Peter took the mug and drank gratefully. “Thanks. What’d you say just then?”

Drand sat on the rock next to Peter. “English, motherfucker; do you speak it?”

Peter gave Drand a critical look. “I’m not a student of the classics, Drand. I barely keep up with the news in town.”

Drand shrugged his thin shoulders. “It’s why I came. Because otherwise you wouldn’t come to sex fair tonight.”

Peter snorted and handed the mug back. “My wife is dead. I see no reason to go south, sit in a tent to sweat with horny men, and watch a whore do tricks and funnies.”

Drand looked mischievous. “There’s ay-cee tonight.”

Peter cocked an eyebrow. “Royalty, then. Someone important is coming?”

“Two women and a man spy from Zion were taken last night. He’s dead, but the two women will put on a show, like it or not.“

“Feh, gang rape, I suppose. So what?”

Drand put his hand on Peter’s shoulder. “It’s the Regent of Madison who’s coming.”

Peter felt a tightness in his chest as the statement sank in. “Are you teasing me?”

Drand looked genuinely hurt. “I walk the hell out here in this heat away from a nice job on town council during lunch to tell you to get your butt down to Bristol by sundown for a gag?”

Peter looked back at his field. “I’m sorry. But this… I haven’t talked about…”

Drand looked impatient. “Reunification is coming here, man. Not this year, but it’s coming. And when it does, they’ll either regulate the hell out of the fair or shut it down. You won‘t have many more chances.”

“So you think I’ll be stuck forking over a few sheckles to the whores for the lulz, yeah?”

“Dollars, Pete. They’ll be called dollars.”

Peter thought for a moment. “Sylvana only died this past Christmas. Would she really be cool with this? My going?”

Drand stood up and patted Peter on the back. “Don’t forget to bring a rag,” he said, and then left the young man to himself once more.

By the time the sun was setting, Peter found himself staring at the pavilion, money in hand. Wondering what the hell he was doing, he gave it over to a barker by the entrance and went inside. The cool air was refreshing as he went down to find a choice seat. Each chair had wood panels erected on each side for a small semi-privacy, but as Peter sat down on the thin cushion, he still felt terribly exposed to the men sitting around him. He also noted that women made up perhaps a fifth of the crowd for whatever purpose. It eased his mind about what he was doing.

After a short wait, the curtain parted and the audience perked up. Peter felt his mouth go dry and his heart race as the two women were led out on the wood stage by several citizens, both male and female. One was around twenty or so with red hair, looking skittish and fearful. The other was closer to thirty with light brown hair and piercing dark eyes. She looked defiant. Both were wearing only a bra and panties and slippers.

The barker came down the isle. “Welcome, all!” he shouted to the crowd. “Tonight we have captives from the city of Zion, subjects of Chicago!” A small but hearty chorus of boos rained down. “Diane and Carolyn,” he indicated the younger and older woman, respectively, “are here to entertain you tonight!” The boos faded somewhat, giving way to a few cheers and scattered applause. “And we have a special guest in our VIP box… ladies and gentleman, a warm welcome to Kellen Everyman, the Regent of Madison!”

Kellen gave a quick wave from his private box, and the crowd was suddenly subdued as they realized that this wasn’t going to go as they’d planned.

“Now, then,” the barker continued, “let’s bring out our devices, shall we?” Two x-frames were wheeled out onto the stage, three leather straps for each limb inserted into the wooden blocks to restrain the captives. “Ladies, your seats for the performance have arrived.” The crowd gave an appreciative chuckle.

Carolyn closed her eyes and allowed herself to be strapped down. Diane looked at the barker, her blue eyes wide. “Don’t… I don’t want to,” she whimpered. “I can’t.” The crowd laughed and jeered appreciatively as she was hoisted up and, despite her struggles, strapped down as well. Both women were spread-eagled and helpless.

“Now, then,” said the barker, making his way offstage, “I’ll leave you to it for the moment. I’ll be back in a bit. Enjoy the show, everyone!” He walked offstage and the crowd settled in.

One of the younger men went to Diane. “You have very soft skin,” he said. He danced his fingers gently against her belly, causing Diane to yelp and try to stifle her giggling.

A slender young woman was by Carolyn. “Are you ticklish?” she asked. Carolyn didn’t reply, but simply kept her eyes shut. “Oh, not one to talk? Well, we’ll get you singing soon enough.” She slowly moved her hands up and down Carolyn’s ribs. Carolyn shut her eyes tighter and squirmed, trying not to give into the tingling sensations up and down her sides.

An attractive man in his 30’s quickly removed Diane’s left slipper. “You know,” he said admiringly, “it’s hard being a foot guy around here. Nothing but hookers or rape gangs at the fair every night. I want you to know how appreciative I am.” He knelt down and placed her big toe in his mouth, using his free hand to gently strum her bare sole.

Diane squealed helplessly. “Nn-eehee! St-nn-stop! Nnn-ee!”

“Look,” said the woman stroking Carolyn‘s ribs, “your friend is enjoying herself. Don’t you want to join her?”

“Are her feet tickly?” asked a young, though somewhat overweight man.

“Maybe,” said the woman. “But I’ll just bet… here, help me out.” They knelt by her underarms and the woman made a motion. He nodded in reply. “Ready?” she asked. “And… go.” Both of them began giving gentle, wet kisses to Carolyn’s warm, soft armpits.

Carolyn was bucking in her restrains, a grimace on her face as she strained against the sensations. Her jaw was clenched tight, the muscles in her arms straining as she fought with everything she had. She let out a low groan.

“Almost there,” said a middle-aged woman. She removed Carolyn’s right slipper, exposing her size 9 bare foot. She placed her short nails on Carolyn’s slightly rough heel. “Come on, Carolyn. Time to give us some laughs.” She ran her hands along the tender wrinkles along Carolyn’s arch. “Come on, cootchie coo!”

Carolyn couldn’t contain her reaction. It started as a giggle and swelled into helpless laughter. “Nnn--ahhha! Naa-ha!” she cried out, the tickling overcoming her resolve. Naa-ss-staap!”

“Oh, your fiend has a case of the giggles,” said the man working over Diane’s tummy. He stopped for a moment. “I think we should start a competition. What do you think, Marcus?”

Marcus, who knew a comedic beat when he saw one, let out a muffled assessment.

The man looked down with mock admonishment. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Marcus.” There was scattered applause and laughs in the crowd. Peter was too distracted by his desires to pay much heed.

Marcus looked up. “We could use some more help out here, don’t you think?”

A separate group who’d been milling onstage got closer. “I’ll get the other foot,” one woman said. She pulled Diane’s other slipper off.

“No!” shouted Diane, pulling against her bonds.

She teased her fingers between Diana’s flailing toes and ran them over the lines criss-crossing Diane’s bare size 5 foot. She tested one area after another for ticklishness, causing Diana to descend into helpless cackles. Marcus moved his tongue gently through Diane’s toes.

A man took Carolyn’s other slipper off. He quietly tickled her left foot clumsily, obviously a little bored. The middle-aged woman at the other foot, in contrast, was clearly enjoying herself immensely. “And how would this tickly gal react if I started using my tongue?” she asked. She held Carolyn’s toes as best she could and ran her warm tongue slowly and lovingly up and down Carolyn’s creamy arch. Another man pressed his lips down on Carolyn’s belly button and gave a long, wet raspberry. All the while, her armpits were being nibbled and kissed.

Carolyn managed not to beg for mercy, but was laughing uncontrollably at the pounding sensations that swept over her. “Naaa-haaa! Iiieeee-ahhaaa!” She cried out. Her cheeks turned pink, her eyes shut and tearing up from laughter.

A woman with a vial of oil came from behind Diane. She poured a good measure over the woman’s underarms. Then, she took her nails and ran them through the slick oil over Diane’s sensitive hollows.

Diane bucked and began screaming with laughter; it was obviously her worst spot. She threw her head back and bellowed as hands and mouths worked their way over her body. “Naaaahaa! Pl-pleeeheeaassee nnnaaahaa!

Hysterics echoed around the hall. Both women on stage were being tormented and struggling against their bonds as the captors used fingers and tongues to worm their way into Diane and Carolyn’s most sensitive areas. Peter watched, unable to stop himself from unbuttoning his pants. His member felt like a rod of iron. He cradled it, trying to hold off release as long as he could. He licked his dry lips and swallowed.

The torment went on for what seemed like an age, both women beginning to sweat, tears dripping down their flushed cheeks as they struggled. Oil was dribbled into Carolyn’s underarms as well, causing the pitch of her peals of helpless laughter to change. Occasional phrases of “cootchcie coo!” or “delicious toes,” from the ticklers added to the torment of the ladies.

It was Diane’s voice who rang above the melee. “Iiiiee! Iii’m goooing to-to peeee!”

All at once the barker came out. “Hold on, ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted. “Let these ladies catch their wind for a moment.”

The ticklers stopped, allowing the women to gulp air. “Th-thank you,” gasped Diane.

The barker gave Diane a sharp glance. “So you have to go, do you?” Diane nodded weakly.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he continued. “How about I give you a tickle break if you let me remove your bra? Show these fine people your physique.”

Diane looked around nervously. Once, she would have felt shame to show herself to a crowd, but seeing as she expected at some point to have to… “Okay,” she said, still catching her breath.

The barker pulled a pair of sheers from a comically deep pocket (for stage effect, of course) and gave a few quick snips. Diane closed her eyes as whistles and catcalls rang out from the crowd. She was a b-cup and had quite the pleasant physique. “Okay,” said the barker. “Valerie and Gia?”

Two of the younger female tormentors stood by the barker. “Yeah, boss?” asked Gia, the darker-hued of the two.

The barker pointed at Diane. “Take a few moments ladies, if you would.” He leered at the captors. “Suckle her.”

“What?” shouted Diane in shock over the roar of the crowd. “I’m not… I’ve never!…”

“Leave her alone, you bastards!” cried Carolyn.

“I promised a tickle break,” he said. “Go to it, girls.” He went to Carolyn to remove her b-cup bra as well.

Both women advanced on Diane. “Oh my God,” she whispered. Both women leaned over her. “Oh my God!” she screamed. Gia and Valerie brought their mouths down over Diane’s nipples and moaned while licking and sucking on them gently.

Diane squirmed as best she could. The veins on her neck stood out as she strained, gasping as sensuous warmth spread through her against her will. “No,” she gasped, “I -I don’t… I…” She was torn between giving in as they licked and sucked on her nipples and closing her eyes and fighting until she tore herself apart. It went on for just a few moments, but the conflict of eroticism and distaste clashed within the captive woman. She gave a half moan/half sob and sagged in the straps, almost in despair.

A high-pitched squeal broke the moment as two of the men were running ice cubes along Carolyn’s ribs and over her nipples, eliciting an electric response. She shouted bloody murder at them as her skin became glistening with moisture , her nipples hardening from the cold.

“Mmm,” said Gia, wiping her mouth. “You are delicious.”

Valerie followed suit. “Looks like we could have rubbed ice on your nipples to make them hard. I liked this way better.”

Gia lazily drew a finger around Diane’s thigh near her panty line, eliciting a yelp. “Getting hot yet?” she asked seductively.

Diane swallowed. “I’m not a lesbian.”

“Oh,” said Valerie, pretending to be hurt. “You really feel that way?”

Diane blinked. “Um, yes.”

“Well,” said Gia, “then we’ll just get back to tickling you to death.”

Diane didn’t even have time to say anything before both women ran their fingers though Diane’s oil-slicked underarms. Two men had picked up small plastic toothbrushes from the old days that still looked to be in decent shape and started working Diane’s bare soles, the plastic bristles biting into her naked flesh as they scrubbed up and down.

Carolyn’s tormentors moved for a few moments to Diane. They placed their hands on her hips, sides ribs, knees. Any exposed flesh available was stroked, caressed, licked. They licked and suckled her nipples, pressed their wet tongues against her belly and deep into her navel.

Diane’s head was thrown back, her mouth open in screaming laughter. Veins stood out on her neck and forehead from strain, her face turning crimson from exertion. Fresh tears leaked from her eyes. She thrust her hips down over and over in agony.

Peter didn’t care who was watching. He wrapped the rag around himself and stroked rapidly, feeling pressure build within himself, brought to the brink of release. He waited for just a moment to time it out.

Diane was bucking like a madwoman, trembling from the sensations that overwhelmed her. A female hand that gently tickled her labia through her panties set her off. Her head snapped back and her eyes went wide, spilling more hot tears. Her mouth froze in a shocked zero. “Aaaahhhhh! Noooaahhaaaaa!” she howled.

Diane lost bladder control, her panties becoming soaked with warmth as she sobbed with terrible relief.

Peter released into his rag, peeling the pulse from inside give his body a shudder as Diane lost control. He gasped in pleasure, feeling himself give in to the throbs within him.

Diane’s tormentors backed away as she gasped for breath, close to unconsciousness. The barker came out. “Well, I hope you enjoyed that introduction, ladies and gentlemen!” Scattered applause and a few cheers. “We’ll just take a few minutes to clean this lovely lady up and then the real fun can begin.”

Peter buttoned himself up after a moment, knowing that they were going to have forced sex onstage. Uninterested in participating, he stood a little shakily and walked down his isle. He glanced around and noted a dozen men and one woman heading out as well, but most were seated waiting for the main event. He decided to head for the exit by the stage at the front instead of the rear to beat the small crowd. It was a move that saved his life.

The barker had come out and snipped Carolyn’s panties, leaving both women nude while Diane was being cleaned up. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began when they had finished.

There was a commotion at the rear of the auditorium followed by a heavy thud and then an explosion. A shockwave swept through the building, ripping part of the roof in half and bringing it down on the seats, the weaker side collapsing on top of the rear exits. Fire from the blast swept through the building, and those who hadn’t been killed immediately swarmed in a panic to escape.

Peter had been propelled by the blast into the side of the stage onto his shoulder. Fighting off the bolt of pain from the impact, he saw the chaos swirling around him, fire blooming all over the auditorium. People were consumed by an instinctive mad dash to the exits including the barker. He looked onstage and saw both women looking panicked, shouting for someone to free them.

Unable to imagine leaving them to burn to death, he hoisted himself onstage and shouted uselessly to the surging crowds to help to no avail. He went to Carolyn first, unbuckling the straps on her right arm as fast as he could.

“So now you take pity?” Carolyn asked as he worked.

“Shut up,” he said with a bolt of annoyance. He freed her wrist. “Work on the rest yourself while I help your friend.”

He did the same to Diane. “I don’t want to die!” she said, her voice hoarse.

“Working on that,” he mumbled.

Smoke filled the building, the shouts of pain and death surrounding them as the women were slowly unbuckled. The three of them were choking and gasping in the haze as Diane and Carolyn were set free. Fire and bodies blocked the only available exit. Peter looked around for a way out, realizing that he’d die with the women on that stage. He felt dizzy from the heat and smoke, and saw the women, already weakened from their ordeal, were swooning.

Suddenly, he felt a device of some sort jammed over his head and a buckle secured under his chin. Startled, he sat upright and realized he could see better and breathe freely. He saw Kellen Everyman wearing a similar apparatus kneeling next to him. “You’ll be okay,” he said, his voice muffled. “Let’s get the women and get out of here. I have another way out.”

Kellen scooped up Carolyn into his arms and Peter did the same with Diane. Peter followed him back towards his private box. They took a left turn in the pitch black into a dark corridor, then a right and another left, pushing through the heat and billowing smoke. All at once they burst through an unmarked side door outside into the twilight.

They walked about thirty yards away from the building, set the women on a patch of grass and removed their breathing masks. Kellen checked the women. “They seem alright,” he said after a moment.

“Thank you, Regent!” said Peter. “You saved us!”

Kellen looked at the building consumed by fire and sighed. “I suppose that’ll have to do.” He glanced at Peter. “What’s your name?”

“Peter Swinchul, sir.”

“Do you have time to come with me for a few days? I could use your services.”

Peter nodded. “I have no children and my wife is dead. I have a farm…”

Kellen nodded. “Try not to worry about it for the moment.” He picked up a small black device and pushed a button and held it to his ear. “I need the cars here now. A man from Bristol and two women from Chicago are coming with us.” He touched the button again and put it in his pocket.

Peter was astonished. “Regent, is that a… cell phone?”

Kellen gave a crooked smile. “You might as well know now, by this time tomorrow, I’ll be Governor.”

“Governor?"

Kellen folded his arms as two large vans pulled up. “Governor of Wisconsin, of course.”

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