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New Story: The Liberation, I (f/f, m/f)

Shem the Penman

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Apr 3, 2001
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[This story turned out unsuitable for Tales from the Asylum, so I'm just gonna post it. I'm posting it in two sections because the TMF won't let me post more than 30,000 characters in one go. Enjoy, or don't, as you will. I've been trying to do more realistic stories lately, but this came out as another one of those fantasy ideas. What can you do?]

THE LIBERATION
Another one of those stories (f/f, m/f)

The Princess Ardent was beautiful in the way of princesses, her skin pink as a cherry blossom, her hair the deep red-brown of the best mahogany, her face oval and gentle and capable of going from a pensive solemnity to merry laughter in the beat of a heart. Rarely did it do so, though, for the Princess, being what she was, was encumbered by strictures that seemed to condemn her to a life of solitude.

When she had been born, the King had declared that his daughter would remain absolutely untouched until she married. Any father might make such a vow knowing he could do little to ensure it came true, but the King was a man of great force and little imagination, who meant exactly what he said, no more and no less. Within a year of her birth, his wizards delivered to him two automatons, one of bronze and the other of steel, which for their own amusement they had cast in the form of beautiful youths. Once the Princess had learned to dress and feed herself, the automatons were her constant companions, and they would suffer no one, not even her own servants, to touch her. Endlessly vigilant, the steel and bronze men trailed her through the echoing halls of the Palace and stood by her bed at
night. They suffered no one to so much as brush against her by accident, and those who did so lost a hand, if not their life, to the swift and inhumanly strong grip of the mechanical men.

With the automatons shadowing her, the Princess found herself alone for the most part, for who would dare seek her company knowing that one careless gesture might mean death? As she grew into a woman, the King seemed in no hurry to marry her away, and in fact it was whispered that he might simply have forgotten her. In the endless Palace, it was easy to lose things, and they had not seen each other for a decade or more. She was not called to come to court, and the few visitors to the Palace whose path crossed hers knew her only as a sad and lovely woman who walked silently, accompanied by the heavy, measured tread of her automatons. But there were stranger sights to be seen in the Palace, and few remembered her for long. Though she was allowed to leave the Palace and ride about, the automatons also had instructions not to let her travel too far, and since she could not leave the Palace grounds, she encountered no one who might be willing to help her.

She had few servants and ladies-in-waiting, and those who stayed with her did so only because they loved her and were fiercely loyal. Over the years, they had worked out ways to serve her without much risk to themselves. The maid who wakened her in the morning did so by softly laying the tip of a long wand on her shoulder as she slept. Another maid held her clothes for the day up on the ends of similar wands, and then laced up her gowns with the help of small tongs while the Princess gripped the top of a chair lest she touch the woman by accident. When she went out to ride, her grooms lifted her in and out of the saddle by means of an arrangement of harnesses and pulleys.

But while these arrangements might be practical, they did nothing to ease the Princess's other troubles. It is the nature of the human soul to desire physical contact, the stimulation touch brings, and when deprived of that, the soul withers. The Princess surrounded herself with things that were good to touch - clothes of silk, satin, and brocade; furnishings of carved wood, smooth marble, soft velvet; animals, whose warm fur she could touch without causing the automatons to react. But it was not enough. She pined, she hoped, she wished for the feel of a caressing hand or arms embracing her. Sometimes she found herself on the verge of suddenly embracing whoever she was speaking to at the moment, and when that happened, she would hurry away, fearful and guilty, to be alone until the impulse passed. Her loyal servants saw how she felt, and worried for her, but none could think of how to help.

Then one day, while the Princess Ardent lay discontentedly on a couch and tried to read a tedious poem, a small maid named Trina was chasing dust mice out from under the couch and somehow, carelessly, swiped her duster across the top of one of the Princess's slippered feet. The Princess jumped and nearly dropped her book, making an odd noise in her throat. Trina, too, leaped back and apologized profusely. The Princess waved off her apologies and returned to the poem, but it was a little while before Trina recovered her composure and bent down again to continue her dusting - only to find that the Princess had let one of her legs slip off the side of the couch, dangling partway to the floor and right in front of Trina. This sort of carelessness was quite out of character for Ardent, who was always punctilious about not putting herself in her companions' way lest an accident occur, and Trina glanced at her mistress. Ardent was still reading ... but Trina could see that she was staring at the page with a peculiar fixity, almost as if she were deliberately trying to ignore Trina and her own leg.

Trina, who had five sisters at home and knew quite a bit about things, smiled to herself and slowly drew her duster along the top of the foot and partway around the Princess's finely molded ankle. Ardent quivered subtly, and from behind the book Trina heard what were definitely muffled giggles. She ran the soft feathers up the Princess's calf, and the giggling noises got louder, the Princess's fingers tightening on the book - but she didn't lower it. "So that's the game, is it?" Trina said, smiling. Running the duster back down Ardent's leg, she gave it a little back-and-forth twitch, so the feathertips zigzagged unpredictably over the soft skin, and Ardent giggled out loud, the muscle of her calf jumping and tightening as if she had no control over it. "I'll play, but if you're ticklish as you appear, I can tell you now that you're losing...."

Kneeling down, Trina reversed her duster and picked up the dustpan she used. Trapping the heel of the Princess's shoe between the two handles, she easily drew the light slipper off. The Princess tried to stay impassive, but her toes clenched quickly, barely holding the slipper and leaving the foot half-bared. Trina glanced up to gauge her mistress's reaction, and suddenly noted that the gown she was wearing was a light, casual one that left her arms and shoulders bare. Reaching up, she touched the feathers to Ardent's bare arm, then wiggled it upward. Ardent sighed, then -- as the duster passed her elbow and continued climbing -- began to giggle again, then chuckle as the feathers teased the edge of her armpit. Squeeze her arm to her side as she might, she couldn't protect all of it, and the feathers on the soft slope of her chest and the side of her neck tickled no less unbearably. She tried to edge away from the tickling, but it somehow turned into an undignified squirm, and only her death grip on her book kept her from dropping it as Trina, sensing weakness, tickled her mercilessly all over the sensitive area.

"St--" But the word died on her lips, and Trina pretended not to hear it, knowing that the last thing the Princess wanted just then was for the tickling to stop.

"And down we go again," Trina announced, sitting back down on the floor. She wiggled the duster just an inch from Ardent's still-bared foot, so the tiny breeze the feathers made breathed on the exposed sole. From behind the book came a clear "Oh!" that mingled surprise and pleasure, and the Princess's leg jerked as if already being tickled. "Never been tickled on your foot, have you?" Trina asked mischievously. "It's a rare pleasure, I can tell you, and one you're going to learn right about ... now." With masterful timing, she delivered the "now" just as the swaying feathers first brushed across Ardent's skin. Ardent froze totally for just a second as the feathers tickled back and forth, covering her entire sole with delicate tickling, and then finally did drop her book, letting out a full-fledged squeal of laughter. She laughed in a way she seldom had as Trina whirled and spun the duster the length of her foot, tickling from the heel and ankle all the way up the sole. The feel of a dozen tiny feathers twirling in the crevices of her now-vulnerable toes was too much even for the sensation-starved Princess, though, as she finally jerked her leg away, conceding the game with one last peal of laughter.

Trina stood up, dusting off her skirt and looking down at her flustered mistress. The Princess was wide-eyed with patches of pink in her cheeks, glancing at Trina and then away again shyly, trying to frame a question for which she had no words. Then finally, as if picking her way through unfamiliar country in the dark, she slowly lay back on her couch, stretched out, and kicked off her other, putting her hands behind her head. She smiled up at Trina with un-royal tremulousness, and Trina returned the smile, warmly and gently. "It would be my pleasure," she said in response to the unasked question. "Lift those feet up and then we'll see how long you keep them there ... "

So Trina abandoned the dust mice under the couch for another time and instead dusted the Princess thoroughly, from bare soles to bare shoulders and back, and the Princess, all pretense of indifference gone, rolled about the couch laughing like the girl she had once been, and the beautiful automatons of steel and bronze watched her pleasure as impassively as they had her loneliness. The feathers brushing their charge's skin meant nothing to them, but they meant everything to Ardent at that point.

The Princess Ardent, her skin never touched, was intensely sensitive, to the point where even the light kiss of a feather tickled her exquisitely. And while tickling was still no substitute for the touch of a human hand, it was a sensation even sweeter than scratching a cat's head or lying on a silk-covered bed, and the Princess, nearly starved for sensation, was desperate for more. Her loyal companions were only too happy to give it to her. Tickling put a smile on the sad Princess's face and gave her a measure of sensual human contact in a life that had been up until then devoid of it.

The tickling almost stopped, though, when Lady Wolverton nearly died. She had been engaged in exploring the hollow of Ardent's arm with the tip of an artist's paintbrush while the Princess pressed her face into the cushions of her bed and giggled hysterically. But she did her job a little too well, swirling the brush around a particularly sensitive spot in the very center of the armpit, so that Ardent shrieked and reflexively brought her arm crashing down. If the lady had not suddenly fallen back on her fundament, the arm would have struck her, and then the automatons would likely have killed her a heartbeat later. As Lady Wolverton gasped and struggled to control her racing heart, the Princess, stricken and with tears starting to run down her face, fled the room.

After that, the Princess Ardent refused to let any of her friends tickle her again, and an even deeper gloom settled on her. It was up to the clever Trina to devise a solution this time. She had many acquaintances in the Palace, both high and low, and one of them was a pallid, hot-eyed torturer from the dungeons that plunged for miles beneath. Trina had found his company intriguing even as she deflected his advances, and now she realized that he could be useful as well. The next time she saw him, she asked him some questions, and then some more. And then she went to speak to another friend of hers, a carpenter.

The result: a sturdy wooden post, about the height of a tall man, with many metal rings along its length. It was set on a comfortably padded platform festooned with straps and buckles. On both the front and back of the platform were a pair of stocks, each set with its own adornment of rings.

After undressing to the minimum modesty required, the Princess would tie her hair back carefully. Then she could sit or kneel as she pleased, setting her own ankles in the stocks. She would fasten cuffs with long trailing ties on her wrists and similar, smaller ones to her toes and upper arms, attach a strap around her waist, and close similar straps above and below the knees. Then someone else could close the stocks, adjust the straps, take hold of the wrist ties and run them through the ring at the top of the post to draw her arms up, and likewise passing the other ties through rings provided for that purpose, and then tie it all in place firmly -- all without the slightest risk of touching flesh and being mauled. The result: the Princess would be as immobile as one of the poor victims of the torturers below, and her attendants were free to tickle her without fearing that an uncontrollable spasm of delight would mean their sudden death.

Now that it could be done safely, the Princess's appetite for tickling grew by leaps and bounds, striving to make up for those lonely years. Often, one tickler was not enough - she would ask for two, or three, or more. And someone who wandered in during one of these play sessions would have been witness to an extraordinary sight: a Princess of the Kingdom - a forgotten one, but still a Princess - stripped nearly to her skin and bound like one of the prisoners in the dungeons far below, pink and squirming and bright-eyed and breathless with giggles. And all about her sat or lay the ladies of her small court, tantalizing her soles with stiff-bristled brushes or caressing her thighs with brushes of softer hair, wielding feathers with practiced skill as they sought out the many tendernesses among the toes or just the right spot beneath the navel. It was a common topic among them as to just where the Princess was most ticklish, and before long even the least among them knew how to bring on a frenzy of laughter. Sometimes they even tickled each other as well as the Princess, to the amusement of all, and they devised many games and contests that involved enduring the touch of a feather on a sensitive spot in order to win the right to tickle the Princess. These games would go on until the Princess finally squealed she had had enough (which could take a while), at which point her attendants would set aside their toys and go through the procedure of binding her in reverse.

When the post was not in use, it stood in the Princess's bedroom with a gown draped over it, looking for all the world like an oddly sturdy display stand. The cuffs and ties, as well as the tools the attendants used to excite their mistress's skin, were concealed in an obscure drawer. The secret of the Princess's love for tickling was known to only her few intimates - for a while.

Also in the Palace was a man named Justin, who was both artificer and apprentice to Aristarchus, one of the wizards who had created the Princess's automatons. While hunting through his master's papers one day, Justin came across the plans for the automatons, and what he read there intrigued him. Over the next few days, he put subtle questions to Aristarchus, and the answers he got made him shake his head at the wizards' lack of foresight (for wizards, like the King himself, were infamous for the literalness of their imagination and their inexperience with certain realities of life as it was lived beyond their chambers). To himself, he made plans.

Threaded among the Palace's sprawling miles of halls and corridors was an almost equally extensive network of secret passages, like a shadowy reflection of the Palace itself. Justin, who enjoyed knowing secrets, had made it his business to learn as much as possible about the passages, and this knowledge stood him in good stead now. It was no great matter for him to observe the Princess unseen through cunningly devised peepholes and gratings, and it was not long before he was an audience as she allowed herself to be bound to the post. He noted well her insatiable appetite for being tickled, the flush of anticipation that colored her cheeks when she was bound to her post, the shine in her eyes and the fluttering of the pulse in her throat as she surrendered herself to the giggles. Though he was apprenticed to a wizard, Justin still knew something of the realities of life beyond the laboratory, and there was no doubt in his mind as to the significance of what he was seeing. It would, he reflected, make his job easier, not to mention even more fun.

[continued in II]
 
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