This story is, in many ways, a different style of writing for me, which is to say it’s a good deal darker then my normal style. I think the reason for me writing this is twofold. One, I love the works of HP Lovecraft, and those works have influenced this story. In fact the idea of this story quickly came together after reading one of Lovecraft’s pieces. The second reason is that my other series, the Stocksvill series which I am still working on, is a much more light hearted series. This series and yes I said the word series as I am hoping to continue with this, will be much darker in the ways of tickle torture and much more sexual. At any rate, I’m hoping people enjoy this story. On a side note, I have to give thanks to MTJPub for being so supportive of my work. He's deffinitly one of the reasons i continue to write
The Call of C’Ticalhu
The Tickler in the Darkness
Part 1
“Before you, son, you see a broken, shadow of the man I once was. Its true, even to this day, few professors at Featherworth University can claim to be as knowledgeable as me in the fields of mythology and folklore. However, I’ve come to learn that knowledge is not always a boon. Indeed, I’ve learned things over the years that still cause me to wake, screaming in the night. I imagine you would too, if what befell me were to befall you as well.”
“However, I get ahead of myself. You should know that the only reason I tell you these things is because you have a keen mind. Indeed, my fellow colleagues speak well of you and your interests in your studies. You seem to have a keen mind and a sharp wit. All good things, to be sure. I warn you though; such things can lead to the most disastrous of fates.”
“That is, in part, why I have decided to speak with you. To warn you of the follies of not leaving some things be, for the sake of knowledge. Some things which are buried by time are best left that way. Part of it, I do admit, is for a selfish reason as well. Assuredly, you have heard how my wife disappeared five years ago, on that ill-fated expedition? Yes, I thought so. Few who inquire about me have not heard those whispers and the gossip that surrounds it. It took me two years of leave before I was able to return to my teaching, even if it is on a limited basis.”
“I have never told the true accounts of what happened on that journey of exploration. If I did, people would think me mad. I suppose I could not blame them. But I swear to you on my wife’s soul, it did happen!”
“Please, a moment to compose myself. I did not mean to yell, but it truly is a troubling experience. One that I would not wish on my worst enemy, so I hope you can see why I am giving you this warning. As a scientist, we are compelled to search for the truth. That is our nature. That is who we are. Some truths are more unsettling then others, beyond the scope of human imagination, where it is best left”.
You know, you remind me of Vanessa. She was my star student. She had a craving for knowledge I had never seen before. She would spend hours upon hours pouring over the books in the Featherworth library, simply trying to retain every word. I would not put that feat beyond her. She had a memory that seemed to be able to capture everything, like a net being thrown over a school of fish. The simplest of inquiring provocations would bring forth a well of knowledge she had remembered. Indeed, I had high hopes for her.”
“So, given her almost compulsive need to learn, it was not a surprise to me that one day she requested that I accompany her to The Vault, so she may look at those aged and coveted tombs. Yes, you’ve been in there a few times, have you not? How fortunate it is for both of us to attend such a exclusive and prestigious school, with such a wealth of knowledge. Though I say to you, that wealth is not a complete one. Hark my words, there are things that are in those books and scripts that even the most detailed of summary can not prepare you for. Only a fool would think so, and we were the greatest of fools. Content in our intellects and belief in superiority, we thought we were prepared.”
“I’m sorry, I ramble on again and get ahead of myself. I hope you can forgive an old man, who is much older then he looks, and feels even older then that. Now, where was I? Oh yes, The Vault. As you know, Featherworth University was founded by Lord and Lady Featherworth. They spent a great deal of money to build this ancient school. Why they would build it here, in this remote location, I know not, but I’ve learned that some questions are best not asked. What I do know, is that the Featherworth’s already had an impressive collection of books in their family library, the type of which is reserved for only those with great wealth, that they generously donated to the school once it was set up. Many of these books were one of a kind, highly sought by collectors and museums alike. It would only make sense that they restrict access to the books. As you assuredly know, the only way a student may look at one of those books, is if a professor is with them.”
“Having spent hours myself looking over such books, it came as no shock when Vanessa requested access to them. How could I refuse her? She was the best and brightest I had seen in years, and in many ways I felt an affinity for her like that of a father. So, I let her look at the books. For days she poured over them, from sun up to sun set, and had she been allowed, I’m sure she would have stayed all night during her first week.”
“Of course, one might think that it would be easy to read many books in a weeks time, but the truth is many of the books in The Vault are that of a foreign tongue, difficult to translate if not impossible. Still, she set about the task like she had any other, that is to say, a strong dedication. I did not direct her to any particular book, as I believed that she already had intentions for her search, though there was another reason as well. Even though I had translated a few of the tombs, allowing Vanessa to work on her own allowed me time to continue my own research while she might translate a book that I had not already read, saving me the bother.”
“After the first week, I finally inquired as to what book she was studying. To my shock I learned that she had been reading the Nachuran DeMonto, also known as “The Book of The Ticklish”. Yes, I see by the shock in your eyes as well that you were as surprised as I was. I suppose I should not have been. Amongst the rare books we have in The Vault, the Nachuran DeMonto, bound in the flesh of women’s feet, written in the blood of the most ticklish human alive by the Mongolian Priestess Pagma, is certainly one of, if not the rarest book we have. I should have known she would have searched that book out first.”
“I was unprepared for how prepared Vanessa was. It seemed that, a summer prior to her approaching me, Vanessa had visited Asia and managed to get a loose grasp of the understanding of the Mongolian language. She had studied hard, but as you can imagine, the language has changed a great deal since the time it was first used, and with such a primitive language, even a direct translation is filled with flaws and room for interpretation. Still, I was impressed with the fervor in which she worked. Come the end of the weekend, she was confident enough in her translations to show them to me.”
“I examined her work. The translations were well done, if not a bit cryptic. Of course, who could say if the original text wasn’t just as cryptic? Still, an impressive work for a young women who only had a basic grasp of the language she was trying to translate.”
“Vanessa hadn’t started at the beginning of the book. Perhaps she thought that information in the middle of the book might be more interesting. The words she had written told of horrible things. Some of them were the sadistic works of the Mongols themselves told in detail. One incident involved the details of a small town that dared revolt against the Mongol Empire. One would think the captured in the town would be executed, but oh no. These were savage times, and far more savage people. The men and women of age were gathered up and stripped naked, bound to wooden posts in the village square. Then, under the supervision of the man in charge, they were- yes, that’s right, tickled. For days the sadistic tickling proceeded, day and night, until at last one of the captured townspeople expired. This is not the end though, and there are worse things then being tickled to death, I tell you.”
“The rest of the townspeople were used as an example to the other towns that might be tempted to rebel. They were spread like leaves in the wind, and taken to each town and city the Mongols controlled, and the process was repeated. Women’s feet were stroked, men’s ribs were counted, breasts were titillated with feathers and testicles were tormented with horse hair brushes. On and on this went. It took five years to travel through the Mongol empire and the few who were not dead had certainly lost their minds. We can only speculate what there fate was, other then the fact we know that they were given over to the Mongolian Priestess Pagma. I shudder to think what befell them after that.”
“There was more to the dark words that Vanessa had written then the torture of a people, though. She had, quiet by accident, in her readings learned roughly where the remaining towns people had been taken. Which is to say, a small temple of the Mongolian Priestess Pagma. While the details were not completely clear, it was suggested that this temple was located in the North-Western area of the Gobi desert. Admittedly, such a find would be spectacular, and for Vanessa, would assure her the chance to teach at the university of her choosing, which admittedly would have been Featherworth.”
“I presented my findings to the Dean of the school, Elizabeth Featherworth, which as you already know, is a descendent of the original Featherworth’s that established this school to begin with. As summer was approaching, she agreed to have the expedition funded, assuming I could gather the supplies and men and women of credible experience for such an endeavor. As you can imagine, Vanessa was overjoyed.”
“Finding men and women skilled enough to do the job was a simple matter. When one works in a University, there are many professors at hand to give you names. The more difficult part was procuring passage all the way to Mongolia. No easy feat, I assure you. However, we had time, and in a month, we were prepared. Along with Vanessa, I took my lovely wife Moira, who as luck would have it, had a bachelors in Archeology, along with Jim Cobb, Walter Scheen, and Janice Under, three recent graduates from Featherworth, who were of the utmost recommendation by there professors. What our team lacked in aged experience they more then made up for in enthusiasm and intelligence.”
“As you can imagine, it took us some time to cross the sea by ship. After all, Bosten to Europe is a trip, I can tell you. Getting to Mongolia was another journey in and of itself, though a rather uneventful one. When we got to Mongolia is when our adventure really began, for better or worse, though much more for the worse.”
“We arrived in the Mongolia from Kazakhstan. This meant we were in the north-western tip of the country and needed to travel to the south-eastern area. There we met our guides, a Mongolian man Gantulga and his wife Sasha, which is a Russian name, though she was obviously Mongolian. They were a pleasant couple in their late 30’s, and Sasha was able enough to speak English that we could understand her. A blessing indeed.”
“The first three days passed well enough. On the night of the fourth day, we were roused from our sleep by the sounds of horse hooves on the ground. A moment later our tent was torn open and several savage looking Mongol men dressed in animal furs holding rifles barged in. They yelled at us in their savage tongue, and while I hadn’t a clue what they were trying to say, the gestures they made with their rifles was enough to tell me they wanted us out of the tent. I wasn’t going to argue, and quickly lead Moira out of the tent.”
“When we were outside, I was startled to see what seemed to be a dozen men with several women, all armed and conversing in an angry tone with our guides. Vanessa, Jim, Walter, and Janice had also been pulled from their tents and stood there, the obvious fear and concern on their faces, illuminated by the torches the Mongolians held. They were, much like my wife and I, dressed in their undergarments, also having been roused from their sleep.”
“After several very tense moments, Sasha and her husband approached me. She explained, as best as she could, that our young friends had set there tents up too close to sacred ground. Because of that, they would need to be punished severally and immediately.
“A sudden fear shot up in me. What type of punishment were they going to inflict? I knew of how savage people had acted in the past. Whips, canes, hot pokers, I could only imagine. These were savages after all. Even in my wildest imagination, I could not have expected what was to come next.”
“Several men came forward, and began to hammer large, six-foot long wooden poles into the ground. They took out short strips of leather and bound the men and women’s ankles and wrists to the stakes. They now stood side by side, arms and legs stretched out. They had been positioned Jim, Vanessa, Walter, Janice.
“A large, muscular man walked forward from the group. In his hand, a large, sharp knife. As he approached Vanessa, knife upraised, I feared the worse. When his hand made a downward slashing motion, I couldn’t help but jump forward. Half a dosen rifles trained upon me in response. I stopped, hands upraised. The relief flowed over me like rippling waves of water as I saw that Vanessa had not been cut. Indeed, the blade had missed her skin entirely. The same could not be said for her clothing, as it had been carved up like a thanksgiving turkey.”
“All of them were given the same treatment, and before my eyes I watched as all of them had their clothes cut from their bodies like the husk of corn being pealed away. It was a lewd spectacle. The girls young, full breasts giving a jiggle as their bra’s fell away, and the men’s penis fell out of their pants like vipers hidden in an overhead canopy. In seconds, they were as naked as the day they were born. Exposed, bound and vulnerable, once I got over my shock at seeing so much exposed flesh, my fears began again. You can imagine my confusion when I saw a man passing feathers out to several men and women. When the feathers were passed out, four men and four women each had a single feather in their hands. They then slowly began to advance on their captives, the men towards the women, and the women towards the men.”
“Vanessa asked, her voice trembling, what the first man who approached her was going to do. I would have assumed she would have been afraid of being raped, but her eyes seemed to be more on the feather then the man himself. I don’t know if the man understood her or not, but if he did, he made no verbal response. He simply stood in front of her, and extended the feather toward the hollow of Vanessa’s right armpit. Vanessa’s eyes got wide, staring directly at the feather and trying to pull away. She couldn’t move an inch though, the binds holding her immobile.”
“At the first touch of the feather, Vanessa’s body became taught. Like the way a Charlie-horse causes a muscle to tighten. Her face tightened as well, her eyes squinting shut, her head turned to the side. Her tiny hands balled into little fists. The feather didn’t leave Vanessa’s armpit though. It gently began to sweep back and forth, the fine, stiff tip never leaving. A smile started to force itself to Vanessa’s face. She was trying not to laugh, that was obvious. Her face was scrunched up, her jaw trembling as she struggled. Her struggles only lasted for a minute at most before she tossed her head back and a stream of laughter poured out of her throat.”
“I admit, I had rarely heard Vanessa laugh over the years I knew her. Perhaps when a particularly good joke was told she might giggle a bit. There was no giggle in this case. This was full blown laughter at a level I had never heard from her before, and in any other situation, it might have been pleasant to see and hear such a degree of laughter come from the girl. In this case though, where the laughter was forced from her against her wishes, it was an unsettling sight.”
“The rest of her colleges looked at her in wonder. They were undoubtedly in as much shock as myself at seeing Vanessa reduced to a hysterical heap. Their attention towards the girl only lasted for a few moments though, as the rest of the advancing Mongolians quickly reminded them of their own situation. All of them began to protest as the other Mongolians began to advance on them, feathers drawn, yet it all ended the same. Each and every one of them was reduced to inconsolable hysterics. Oh, some of them fought it more then others. Janice in particular put up a good struggle as the feathers gently stroked her porcelain skin, but it was only a matter of time. From the way she flinched at the first kiss of the feather, you knew she was as doomed as the rest, even if it took a little more time for her to meet her doom.”
“Vanessa and Janice tittered and laughed with abandon as they were tickled all over their torsos. Vanessa seemed to be particularly ticklish under the armpits and when one of the savages began to flick a feather into the depths of her navel, she literally screamed with laughter. Janice, for her part seemed to be much more sensitive around her breasts.”
“Don’t think me lewd for saying this Archer, but she was a rather buxom young woman. While Vanessa was of smaller stature, with a well proportioned and athletic body, Janice was something else. She was as tall as most men, and her breasts hung on her chest like ripe melons. Puberty had been generous to the girl, and at her youthful age, the consequences of being so overtly endowed had not yet touched her, allowing her breasts to still stand surprisingly high upon her chest. I suppose it shouldn’t have been that much a surprise that they were targeted, or how violently she laughed as the feathers mapped each inch of her quivering mammories. When one of the men cupped her left breast to hold it still and began to trace the edge of the areola with his feather, she was reduced to sobbing, laughing hysterics the likes I had never seen before.”
“The boys were doing no better than the girls, I’m sad to say. Despite being the stronger of the sexes, they fell into laughter almost as quickly as the girls. I’m sure it was only their male pride that kept them from laughing for the first few minutes, but that simply made their eventual fall into insane laughter all the more painful, I’m sure.”
“Jim and Walter were both impressive specimens of the male species, and I mean that in more than just one way, if you catch my drift. As the Mongolian females tickled the men, they would press their nubile bodies to them. They were savages, yes, but they were still females and admittedly attractive ones at that.”
“The closeness of the women, the softness of their touch and the warmth of their bodies, was not ignored by the young men. The effects on the men were obvious, and quickly noted by the female Mongolians. In fact, I have little doubt that it was by accident. Before long, the two men’s manhood was standing at attention, an impressive sight indeed, and one the Mongolian females seemed to cherish.”
“Dropping to their knees, with a glint of amusement in their eyes and the smile of a succubus on their full lips, painted red with the juice of berries from the smell on the wind, the four women went to work. Using their feathers with the skill of surgeons and showing the aggressiveness of a wolverine. The four women, two to each male as I had pointed out earlier, seemed to know instinctively what to do, no doubt having planned the next stage of their attack. One of the girls took her feather and began to flick it up and down the throbbing shafts of the males, focusing underneath the bulbous helmets of their manhoods. The other girl would use her feather and begin tracing it along the large, dangling sacks between the men’s legs.”
“They deftly ravaged those boy’s poor testicles with their feathers. The screams they made sounded as though they were being eviscerated, and in a way they were. Oh certainly, not in the manner of flesh, which despite their suffering was quit whole, but in the manner of their masculinity, their manliness, which was stripped away from them with the simple flick of a well placed feather. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m sure had I been in such a predicament myself, being quiet ticklish as well, I would have been reduced to a frenzied, hysterical wreck as well. These women were obviously quiet skilled in what they were doing, and from the looks of sadistic glee on their faces, reveling in every shriek of laughter they forced out of the two poor men.”
“I can tell you, Archer, it was a sight. My wife, had she not been made of sterner stuff, would have probably fainted at such a vulgar display. But then, I suppose for someone like yourself, the sight wouldn’t have been that outrageous. You are from a younger generation, with your Newspeak and Newdress, pushing the limits of what is decent. Oh, don’t misunderstand me. Pushing the boundaries of society can be a good thing, and I imagine my father felt very much the same of the antics I got into when I was a strapping young man. Still, I’m sure when you get to be my age, you’ll feel similar.”
“At any rate-ah yes, some bourbon would be good actually. I suggest you have a drink yourself, as things will be turning darker soon. Too dark for some, I imagine, though you strike me as a man of stern stuff, Archer. Still, I’ll need a drink to continue. Not from recounting what I just told you, mind. It was an unpleasant experience to be sure, but nothing compared to what would happen later.”
The Call of C’Ticalhu
The Tickler in the Darkness
Part 1
“Before you, son, you see a broken, shadow of the man I once was. Its true, even to this day, few professors at Featherworth University can claim to be as knowledgeable as me in the fields of mythology and folklore. However, I’ve come to learn that knowledge is not always a boon. Indeed, I’ve learned things over the years that still cause me to wake, screaming in the night. I imagine you would too, if what befell me were to befall you as well.”
“However, I get ahead of myself. You should know that the only reason I tell you these things is because you have a keen mind. Indeed, my fellow colleagues speak well of you and your interests in your studies. You seem to have a keen mind and a sharp wit. All good things, to be sure. I warn you though; such things can lead to the most disastrous of fates.”
“That is, in part, why I have decided to speak with you. To warn you of the follies of not leaving some things be, for the sake of knowledge. Some things which are buried by time are best left that way. Part of it, I do admit, is for a selfish reason as well. Assuredly, you have heard how my wife disappeared five years ago, on that ill-fated expedition? Yes, I thought so. Few who inquire about me have not heard those whispers and the gossip that surrounds it. It took me two years of leave before I was able to return to my teaching, even if it is on a limited basis.”
“I have never told the true accounts of what happened on that journey of exploration. If I did, people would think me mad. I suppose I could not blame them. But I swear to you on my wife’s soul, it did happen!”
“Please, a moment to compose myself. I did not mean to yell, but it truly is a troubling experience. One that I would not wish on my worst enemy, so I hope you can see why I am giving you this warning. As a scientist, we are compelled to search for the truth. That is our nature. That is who we are. Some truths are more unsettling then others, beyond the scope of human imagination, where it is best left”.
You know, you remind me of Vanessa. She was my star student. She had a craving for knowledge I had never seen before. She would spend hours upon hours pouring over the books in the Featherworth library, simply trying to retain every word. I would not put that feat beyond her. She had a memory that seemed to be able to capture everything, like a net being thrown over a school of fish. The simplest of inquiring provocations would bring forth a well of knowledge she had remembered. Indeed, I had high hopes for her.”
“So, given her almost compulsive need to learn, it was not a surprise to me that one day she requested that I accompany her to The Vault, so she may look at those aged and coveted tombs. Yes, you’ve been in there a few times, have you not? How fortunate it is for both of us to attend such a exclusive and prestigious school, with such a wealth of knowledge. Though I say to you, that wealth is not a complete one. Hark my words, there are things that are in those books and scripts that even the most detailed of summary can not prepare you for. Only a fool would think so, and we were the greatest of fools. Content in our intellects and belief in superiority, we thought we were prepared.”
“I’m sorry, I ramble on again and get ahead of myself. I hope you can forgive an old man, who is much older then he looks, and feels even older then that. Now, where was I? Oh yes, The Vault. As you know, Featherworth University was founded by Lord and Lady Featherworth. They spent a great deal of money to build this ancient school. Why they would build it here, in this remote location, I know not, but I’ve learned that some questions are best not asked. What I do know, is that the Featherworth’s already had an impressive collection of books in their family library, the type of which is reserved for only those with great wealth, that they generously donated to the school once it was set up. Many of these books were one of a kind, highly sought by collectors and museums alike. It would only make sense that they restrict access to the books. As you assuredly know, the only way a student may look at one of those books, is if a professor is with them.”
“Having spent hours myself looking over such books, it came as no shock when Vanessa requested access to them. How could I refuse her? She was the best and brightest I had seen in years, and in many ways I felt an affinity for her like that of a father. So, I let her look at the books. For days she poured over them, from sun up to sun set, and had she been allowed, I’m sure she would have stayed all night during her first week.”
“Of course, one might think that it would be easy to read many books in a weeks time, but the truth is many of the books in The Vault are that of a foreign tongue, difficult to translate if not impossible. Still, she set about the task like she had any other, that is to say, a strong dedication. I did not direct her to any particular book, as I believed that she already had intentions for her search, though there was another reason as well. Even though I had translated a few of the tombs, allowing Vanessa to work on her own allowed me time to continue my own research while she might translate a book that I had not already read, saving me the bother.”
“After the first week, I finally inquired as to what book she was studying. To my shock I learned that she had been reading the Nachuran DeMonto, also known as “The Book of The Ticklish”. Yes, I see by the shock in your eyes as well that you were as surprised as I was. I suppose I should not have been. Amongst the rare books we have in The Vault, the Nachuran DeMonto, bound in the flesh of women’s feet, written in the blood of the most ticklish human alive by the Mongolian Priestess Pagma, is certainly one of, if not the rarest book we have. I should have known she would have searched that book out first.”
“I was unprepared for how prepared Vanessa was. It seemed that, a summer prior to her approaching me, Vanessa had visited Asia and managed to get a loose grasp of the understanding of the Mongolian language. She had studied hard, but as you can imagine, the language has changed a great deal since the time it was first used, and with such a primitive language, even a direct translation is filled with flaws and room for interpretation. Still, I was impressed with the fervor in which she worked. Come the end of the weekend, she was confident enough in her translations to show them to me.”
“I examined her work. The translations were well done, if not a bit cryptic. Of course, who could say if the original text wasn’t just as cryptic? Still, an impressive work for a young women who only had a basic grasp of the language she was trying to translate.”
“Vanessa hadn’t started at the beginning of the book. Perhaps she thought that information in the middle of the book might be more interesting. The words she had written told of horrible things. Some of them were the sadistic works of the Mongols themselves told in detail. One incident involved the details of a small town that dared revolt against the Mongol Empire. One would think the captured in the town would be executed, but oh no. These were savage times, and far more savage people. The men and women of age were gathered up and stripped naked, bound to wooden posts in the village square. Then, under the supervision of the man in charge, they were- yes, that’s right, tickled. For days the sadistic tickling proceeded, day and night, until at last one of the captured townspeople expired. This is not the end though, and there are worse things then being tickled to death, I tell you.”
“The rest of the townspeople were used as an example to the other towns that might be tempted to rebel. They were spread like leaves in the wind, and taken to each town and city the Mongols controlled, and the process was repeated. Women’s feet were stroked, men’s ribs were counted, breasts were titillated with feathers and testicles were tormented with horse hair brushes. On and on this went. It took five years to travel through the Mongol empire and the few who were not dead had certainly lost their minds. We can only speculate what there fate was, other then the fact we know that they were given over to the Mongolian Priestess Pagma. I shudder to think what befell them after that.”
“There was more to the dark words that Vanessa had written then the torture of a people, though. She had, quiet by accident, in her readings learned roughly where the remaining towns people had been taken. Which is to say, a small temple of the Mongolian Priestess Pagma. While the details were not completely clear, it was suggested that this temple was located in the North-Western area of the Gobi desert. Admittedly, such a find would be spectacular, and for Vanessa, would assure her the chance to teach at the university of her choosing, which admittedly would have been Featherworth.”
“I presented my findings to the Dean of the school, Elizabeth Featherworth, which as you already know, is a descendent of the original Featherworth’s that established this school to begin with. As summer was approaching, she agreed to have the expedition funded, assuming I could gather the supplies and men and women of credible experience for such an endeavor. As you can imagine, Vanessa was overjoyed.”
“Finding men and women skilled enough to do the job was a simple matter. When one works in a University, there are many professors at hand to give you names. The more difficult part was procuring passage all the way to Mongolia. No easy feat, I assure you. However, we had time, and in a month, we were prepared. Along with Vanessa, I took my lovely wife Moira, who as luck would have it, had a bachelors in Archeology, along with Jim Cobb, Walter Scheen, and Janice Under, three recent graduates from Featherworth, who were of the utmost recommendation by there professors. What our team lacked in aged experience they more then made up for in enthusiasm and intelligence.”
“As you can imagine, it took us some time to cross the sea by ship. After all, Bosten to Europe is a trip, I can tell you. Getting to Mongolia was another journey in and of itself, though a rather uneventful one. When we got to Mongolia is when our adventure really began, for better or worse, though much more for the worse.”
“We arrived in the Mongolia from Kazakhstan. This meant we were in the north-western tip of the country and needed to travel to the south-eastern area. There we met our guides, a Mongolian man Gantulga and his wife Sasha, which is a Russian name, though she was obviously Mongolian. They were a pleasant couple in their late 30’s, and Sasha was able enough to speak English that we could understand her. A blessing indeed.”
“The first three days passed well enough. On the night of the fourth day, we were roused from our sleep by the sounds of horse hooves on the ground. A moment later our tent was torn open and several savage looking Mongol men dressed in animal furs holding rifles barged in. They yelled at us in their savage tongue, and while I hadn’t a clue what they were trying to say, the gestures they made with their rifles was enough to tell me they wanted us out of the tent. I wasn’t going to argue, and quickly lead Moira out of the tent.”
“When we were outside, I was startled to see what seemed to be a dozen men with several women, all armed and conversing in an angry tone with our guides. Vanessa, Jim, Walter, and Janice had also been pulled from their tents and stood there, the obvious fear and concern on their faces, illuminated by the torches the Mongolians held. They were, much like my wife and I, dressed in their undergarments, also having been roused from their sleep.”
“After several very tense moments, Sasha and her husband approached me. She explained, as best as she could, that our young friends had set there tents up too close to sacred ground. Because of that, they would need to be punished severally and immediately.
“A sudden fear shot up in me. What type of punishment were they going to inflict? I knew of how savage people had acted in the past. Whips, canes, hot pokers, I could only imagine. These were savages after all. Even in my wildest imagination, I could not have expected what was to come next.”
“Several men came forward, and began to hammer large, six-foot long wooden poles into the ground. They took out short strips of leather and bound the men and women’s ankles and wrists to the stakes. They now stood side by side, arms and legs stretched out. They had been positioned Jim, Vanessa, Walter, Janice.
“A large, muscular man walked forward from the group. In his hand, a large, sharp knife. As he approached Vanessa, knife upraised, I feared the worse. When his hand made a downward slashing motion, I couldn’t help but jump forward. Half a dosen rifles trained upon me in response. I stopped, hands upraised. The relief flowed over me like rippling waves of water as I saw that Vanessa had not been cut. Indeed, the blade had missed her skin entirely. The same could not be said for her clothing, as it had been carved up like a thanksgiving turkey.”
“All of them were given the same treatment, and before my eyes I watched as all of them had their clothes cut from their bodies like the husk of corn being pealed away. It was a lewd spectacle. The girls young, full breasts giving a jiggle as their bra’s fell away, and the men’s penis fell out of their pants like vipers hidden in an overhead canopy. In seconds, they were as naked as the day they were born. Exposed, bound and vulnerable, once I got over my shock at seeing so much exposed flesh, my fears began again. You can imagine my confusion when I saw a man passing feathers out to several men and women. When the feathers were passed out, four men and four women each had a single feather in their hands. They then slowly began to advance on their captives, the men towards the women, and the women towards the men.”
“Vanessa asked, her voice trembling, what the first man who approached her was going to do. I would have assumed she would have been afraid of being raped, but her eyes seemed to be more on the feather then the man himself. I don’t know if the man understood her or not, but if he did, he made no verbal response. He simply stood in front of her, and extended the feather toward the hollow of Vanessa’s right armpit. Vanessa’s eyes got wide, staring directly at the feather and trying to pull away. She couldn’t move an inch though, the binds holding her immobile.”
“At the first touch of the feather, Vanessa’s body became taught. Like the way a Charlie-horse causes a muscle to tighten. Her face tightened as well, her eyes squinting shut, her head turned to the side. Her tiny hands balled into little fists. The feather didn’t leave Vanessa’s armpit though. It gently began to sweep back and forth, the fine, stiff tip never leaving. A smile started to force itself to Vanessa’s face. She was trying not to laugh, that was obvious. Her face was scrunched up, her jaw trembling as she struggled. Her struggles only lasted for a minute at most before she tossed her head back and a stream of laughter poured out of her throat.”
“I admit, I had rarely heard Vanessa laugh over the years I knew her. Perhaps when a particularly good joke was told she might giggle a bit. There was no giggle in this case. This was full blown laughter at a level I had never heard from her before, and in any other situation, it might have been pleasant to see and hear such a degree of laughter come from the girl. In this case though, where the laughter was forced from her against her wishes, it was an unsettling sight.”
“The rest of her colleges looked at her in wonder. They were undoubtedly in as much shock as myself at seeing Vanessa reduced to a hysterical heap. Their attention towards the girl only lasted for a few moments though, as the rest of the advancing Mongolians quickly reminded them of their own situation. All of them began to protest as the other Mongolians began to advance on them, feathers drawn, yet it all ended the same. Each and every one of them was reduced to inconsolable hysterics. Oh, some of them fought it more then others. Janice in particular put up a good struggle as the feathers gently stroked her porcelain skin, but it was only a matter of time. From the way she flinched at the first kiss of the feather, you knew she was as doomed as the rest, even if it took a little more time for her to meet her doom.”
“Vanessa and Janice tittered and laughed with abandon as they were tickled all over their torsos. Vanessa seemed to be particularly ticklish under the armpits and when one of the savages began to flick a feather into the depths of her navel, she literally screamed with laughter. Janice, for her part seemed to be much more sensitive around her breasts.”
“Don’t think me lewd for saying this Archer, but she was a rather buxom young woman. While Vanessa was of smaller stature, with a well proportioned and athletic body, Janice was something else. She was as tall as most men, and her breasts hung on her chest like ripe melons. Puberty had been generous to the girl, and at her youthful age, the consequences of being so overtly endowed had not yet touched her, allowing her breasts to still stand surprisingly high upon her chest. I suppose it shouldn’t have been that much a surprise that they were targeted, or how violently she laughed as the feathers mapped each inch of her quivering mammories. When one of the men cupped her left breast to hold it still and began to trace the edge of the areola with his feather, she was reduced to sobbing, laughing hysterics the likes I had never seen before.”
“The boys were doing no better than the girls, I’m sad to say. Despite being the stronger of the sexes, they fell into laughter almost as quickly as the girls. I’m sure it was only their male pride that kept them from laughing for the first few minutes, but that simply made their eventual fall into insane laughter all the more painful, I’m sure.”
“Jim and Walter were both impressive specimens of the male species, and I mean that in more than just one way, if you catch my drift. As the Mongolian females tickled the men, they would press their nubile bodies to them. They were savages, yes, but they were still females and admittedly attractive ones at that.”
“The closeness of the women, the softness of their touch and the warmth of their bodies, was not ignored by the young men. The effects on the men were obvious, and quickly noted by the female Mongolians. In fact, I have little doubt that it was by accident. Before long, the two men’s manhood was standing at attention, an impressive sight indeed, and one the Mongolian females seemed to cherish.”
“Dropping to their knees, with a glint of amusement in their eyes and the smile of a succubus on their full lips, painted red with the juice of berries from the smell on the wind, the four women went to work. Using their feathers with the skill of surgeons and showing the aggressiveness of a wolverine. The four women, two to each male as I had pointed out earlier, seemed to know instinctively what to do, no doubt having planned the next stage of their attack. One of the girls took her feather and began to flick it up and down the throbbing shafts of the males, focusing underneath the bulbous helmets of their manhoods. The other girl would use her feather and begin tracing it along the large, dangling sacks between the men’s legs.”
“They deftly ravaged those boy’s poor testicles with their feathers. The screams they made sounded as though they were being eviscerated, and in a way they were. Oh certainly, not in the manner of flesh, which despite their suffering was quit whole, but in the manner of their masculinity, their manliness, which was stripped away from them with the simple flick of a well placed feather. Don’t misunderstand me. I’m sure had I been in such a predicament myself, being quiet ticklish as well, I would have been reduced to a frenzied, hysterical wreck as well. These women were obviously quiet skilled in what they were doing, and from the looks of sadistic glee on their faces, reveling in every shriek of laughter they forced out of the two poor men.”
“I can tell you, Archer, it was a sight. My wife, had she not been made of sterner stuff, would have probably fainted at such a vulgar display. But then, I suppose for someone like yourself, the sight wouldn’t have been that outrageous. You are from a younger generation, with your Newspeak and Newdress, pushing the limits of what is decent. Oh, don’t misunderstand me. Pushing the boundaries of society can be a good thing, and I imagine my father felt very much the same of the antics I got into when I was a strapping young man. Still, I’m sure when you get to be my age, you’ll feel similar.”
“At any rate-ah yes, some bourbon would be good actually. I suggest you have a drink yourself, as things will be turning darker soon. Too dark for some, I imagine, though you strike me as a man of stern stuff, Archer. Still, I’ll need a drink to continue. Not from recounting what I just told you, mind. It was an unpleasant experience to be sure, but nothing compared to what would happen later.”
