Hi all! It's been a while since I've written, but a while ago I wrote a fantasy story called City of Sororities, and later a sequel to it, which were both great fun to write. It had been suggested that I write a short story looking in on some of the past characters, which struck me as a good idea. So I've fun short story which I hope will prove entertaining, and also stands alone if you're not familiar with the other stories. I hope everyone enjoys it!
Erika’s heart pounded in her chest as she tore through the branches, not even daring to stop and look behind her. She could hear them keeping pace with her, not even trying to hide their location anymore. Their heavy footsteps echoed in her ears as she ran forwards blindly, fleeing without a plan on pure animal instinct. She was no longer watching for landmarks or trying to keep her bearings. The only thing she knew is that she had to get away.
A dull thunk next to her focused her attention: an arrow quivered in a tree trunk several feet from her head. But this didn’t bother Erika: she knew that they wouldn’t dare harm her after tracking her so far. If they were shooting arrows around her, it was only to throw her off her game. Another shaft flew by her head, picking off several leaves from a nearby tree branch. Another warning shot, she thought. Fine, let them waste their time firing arrows. Every pause they took to shoot meant a few extra steps she could gain on them. With a little luck, she might just pull this off…
Oh no.
A bola whirled by her waist, wrapping itself around a nearby tree branch. If just one of those caught her by the ankles, then it would be all over. Erika began to panic, and fear made her run even faster. She couldn’t get caught now! Before she even had time to think, a second bola flew by her coming within a meter of her right leg. Erika was shaken with terror as she imagined what they would do if they caught her.
Just as she turned the corner, a grinning figure leapt out on front of her, blocking the path. It was an ambush! Without even thinking, Erika turned a hard right and broke off from the path, tearing into the wilderness to escape her predators. There was still time to get away! All she had to do was…
There were no words to describe Erika’s anguish as she felt the rope wrap around her ankles, the weights of the bola hitting her ankles and tying them together. She tripped forward, her face falling onto the soft forest grass beneath her. She tried to get up, but in an instant, her pursuers were upon her. It was all over.
“Tie her up!” cried a voice behind her in triumph. Two muscular women ran up to Erika, and before she could even turn around to fight them off, they had bound her wrists together behind her back, and lashed her ankles together with cords of thick rope. She lay on her stomach, flailing helplessly like a wild beast caught by hunters.
A third woman stepped into the clearing behind them. She was dressed in merchant’s clothing, an odd contrast to her warrior accomplices. And yet it was clear she was in control. The other two looked at her expectantly as she casually sauntered over to Erika’s fallen body.
“She doesn’t look like a wizard,” said one of the warrior women skeptically.
“She isn’t,” replied the merchant, “but you’ll get your payment all the same. Now give it to me.”
The taller of the two women produced an ordinary, dull-looking broadsword from a makeshift scabbard, which may as well have been a bundle of rags. She looked at it in a way that made it clear the dingy weapon had some sentimental value, and after a brief pause, handed it over as requested. The merchant woman smiled. She placed the sword gingerly on the ground directly next to Erika’s struggling body. Erika felt her heart plummet. It was the same thing she had seen a hundred times before.
“Let me go!” she cried, tearing at her bonds. “Let me go!” But even as she screamed the words she knew that hope was lost. Oh please, she thought to herself as tears welled up in her eyes. Not again. Please not again.
But the merchant woman simply smiled at Erika, and reached into a fold of her cloak. And out of it she produced the one object that Erika had learned these last few months to fear more than anything else. A soft, downy feather rustled gently in the breeze.
“No! No!! Noooo!!!!!” screamed Erika straining at her bonds with desperate strength. But it was no use: the two warrior women flanking her each grabbed a hold of one of her boots, and with a quick pull they each slid them off. And there they were, wriggling naked in the cool air: Erika’s bare feet, lying helpless on the forest floor, her tender soles turned upwards and flushed pink in anticipation. She could feel the soft caress of the grass send chills through her body, but that was nothing compared to what was about to come.
“Please! Not the feet!” cried Erika. “Anything but the feet!” She couldn’t see behind her, but she knew it was coming: the soft feather drawing closer to her poor soles, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, steeling herself for the moment of contact. She could fight this. She could—
“MMMMMMMPPPPPPHHHHHHH!!!!!” A huge forced grin broke out across Erika’s face, and her entire body went into convulsions at that first, mind-shattering touch. It was only a gentle caress, but to Erika’s hypersensitive feet it was pure, unmitigated torture. She tore at her bonds with furious strength, thinking only of escape. Tears welled up in her eyes as the feather slowly glided up and down her bare soles, while Erika fought with every ounce of energy to fight back the laughter.
“Koochie koochie koo,” teased the stranger behind her. “You can’t fight it for long, my dear. I know just how ticklish these tootsies are.” She swept the feather across the bottoms of Erika’s helpless feet with quick flicks of her wrist in a maddeningly crafted technique. This was a woman who knew how to handle a feather.
“Is it happening?” asked one of the guards.
“And moment now,” replied the merchant woman. “Tickly, tickly feet. Let’s see them squirm.”
“MMMMMPPPPHHHHHAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!! YEEEEAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” And after mere seconds, Erika could bear it no longer. Her quivering lips opened up and gales of wild, ticklish laughter poured forth, drowning out everything else. The treetops rustled as a flock of birds flew away from the screams, and the entire forest echoed with Erika’s laughter. The soft feather danced across her feet with new enthusiasm, plunging her into an abyss of madness. Her toes squirmed and splayed in all directions, but they only succeeded in spreading apart and letting soft, tickly blades of grass slip in between and amplify her torture. Erika could barely see through the tears, but she could feel the heat on her right ring finger. The ring was beginning to glow. It was starting.
“Good girl,” cooed the feather-wielding stranger behind her. “Laugh for us. Scream as hard as you can.” She slid the diabolical feather over Erika’s tender arches, lingering over the softest and most torturous spots.
“WAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!! MERCEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!!” screamed Erika through waves of furious laughter. Her tears watered the forest floor, her disheveled hair flew in all directions, and every muscle in her body was on fire. But mercy was not forthcoming.
Through the soft, deliberate feathering of Erika’s soles, all eyes were on the ring on her right hand. The ring began to glow more brightly now, pulsing with power that seemed to grow the more Erika’s laughter became wilder. It gave off heat like a blazing fire, but Erika was unaffected. The only thing she could feel anymore was the soft, feathery torture on her bare feet.
“I knew these lovely ticklish feet wouldn’t disappoint me,” said the merchant woman. “Now let’s see the magic happen.”
“BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” Erika was babbling beyond speech, but the spectacle continued to grow. The dull broadsword in the grass next to her began slowly levitating off the ground, bathed in the light of the ring. Slowly, tendrils of light began to engulf the blade, causing it to shine with the same blinding light. From out of nowhere, magical runes began to etch themselves into the steel of the blade, and the edge began to sharpen itself without the touch of any earthly tool. Erika could not see through her tears, but she didn’t have to: she knew what was happening. And in a few seconds more, the transfer of power reached a crescendo: hundreds of glowing tendrils wrapped themselves around the blade, and there was an enormous flash of light that forced everyone to cover their eyes. And a moment later, the sword lay back in the grass. It was over.
But to Erika, only one thing mattered: the relief beyond imagination as her tormentor gently released the feather and let it flutter to the ground. Erika collapsed on the ground, soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. The tickle torture was over. For now.
The larger of the two warrior women picked the sword off the ground, holding it approvingly in her hand. She felt its weight, and then brandished it in the air. The blade gave off a faint slicing sound, and a thin trail of glittering light followed in its wake for a split second. The two of them grinned appreciatively, holding their new trophy as they walked off along the forest path until they were out of sight.
“You’re lucky I told them that your talent only works once per customer,” said the merchant woman, still lingering above Erika’s bound body. “Otherwise, we might have been at this for a very long time.”
“What…do you want…with me?” gasped Erika weakly.
“Allow me to explain why I have tracked you down,” said the merchant woman. “You see, I am a weapons merchant by trade. And my business is moving the most finely crafted arms available. Hundreds and hundreds of them.” Erika felt herself go weak as nightmarish visions flooded her mind.
But the stranger saw her expression and grinned. “Very fortunately for you, that is not why I am here. Enchanting hundreds of weapons involves a luxury of time I do not have. Instead, I have a proposition for you.” Erika looked up. This was becoming unexpected.
“You see, as I mentioned before, I sell weapons.” The merchant woman coughed. “’Magic’ weapons.”
Erika cocked an eyebrow. “Did you just use air-quotes when you said the word ‘magic’?”
The stranger sighed. “Some people can be extremely pedantic about the definition of the word. When it comes down to it, does it really matter? The merchandise I move is all top-quality.” She thought for a moment. “Most of it, anyway. But not everyone appreciates my admittedly flexible definition of ‘magical’ weapons. Which is why I usually make a point of moving on before any customers have a chance to get buyer’s remorse.”
Erika nodded. It was a useful thing to remember in her profession, as well.
“But unfortunately,” continued the merchant woman, “business has been less than ideal recently. A few days ago I did business with a rather unpleasant group of individuals, who were eager to arm themselves with weapons that would make them unstoppable. I may have…overstated the effect that my weapons would have on their combat prowess. And now I understand that they are looking for me intending to obtain satisfaction.”
“Are these the kinds of people who take out satisfaction in the form of kneecaps?” asked Erika.
The merchant woman grimaced. “Exactly the kind. I had intended to be far away from here by now, but a storm kept me in the area, and now they’re on my trail. To be blunt, I need a truly impressive weapon to give them to buy their understanding: a crown jewel that will clear my debt in one stroke. And that is where your marvelous ring comes in.”
“But you said—“ Erika’s heart began racing again.
“Don’t worry, if I wanted to tickle those precious feet of yours some more, we wouldn’t be having this pleasant conversation.” The merchant woman’s smile sent shivers down Erika’s spine. “You see, I’m a bit of a magic scholar myself. I know how that ring of yours works.”
“Most people do by now,” grumbled Erika.
“Yes, that was unfortunate, wasn’t it?” remarked the merchant woman. “There you were, a successful thief who heard about a priceless magical ring being held by a coven of witches. A ring that had the power to enchant any weapon with magical spells. Why, it’s practically a license to mint coins. So you stole the ring in the dead of night. But what you didn’t know was that the witches put a curse on the ring to punish thieves. And now, the powers of the ring can only be unlocked through agonizing tickle torture of the owner. ”
“And everyone for miles around knows about it,” said Erika. “The ticklish thief and her magic ring: track her down and tickle a magic weapon out of her. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be on the run all the time, knowing that around every corner there could be another fortune-seeker waiting to tie me up and tickle my feet until I can’t take it anymore? Knowing that every time I wake up, I could be tied to the bed with my bare feet dangling in front of feathers, or brushes, or…”
“And you can’t take it off,” said the merchant woman. “The worst part of the curse is that it can only be given to a willing recipient.”
“And who would want to take this curse away from me?” asked Erika.
“I don’t envy you,” said the merchant woman. “But I know more about the ring than that. You see, the magic it imbues weapons with it drawn directly from the wearer. The more ticklish the wearer, the more you fight and the harder you laugh, the more energy is transferred to the crafted weapon. That’s why you need time to recover before you can make a new weapon: you need time to get your energy back. But even still you have a limit. I saw that weapon you created. It may have impressed those two rubes I hired, but it’s low-grade merchandise. You just don’t have the energy in you to make a truly legendary weapon, I’m afraid. And that brings me to my proposition: how would you like to be free of this curse forever?”
“I’d do anything,” said Erika without hesitation.
“What we need,” said the merchant woman, “is a new wearer to take your ring. Someone who can summon the cosmic levels of energy needed to craft a truly unique weapon. I get my weapon, and you get freedom from your curse. It’s win-win.”
“But where could we find someone like that?” asked Erika, skeptical.
“We’ll need someone who isn’t from around this area, so they wouldn’t have heard about your infamous reputation,” said the merchant woman. “Ideally someone with innate magical talent. And above all, we need someone with unbearably ticklish feet.”
Maggie Stoneheave stepped out of her bath, luxuriously wiggling her moist toes into the fluffy bathmat beneath her. She blew out the scented candles encircling the tub and reached for her towel to begin drying off her dripping golden-blonde hair. Maggie was in a good mood this evening; she hadn’t expected to find a bathtub her size this far out in the provinces. Such things were not to be taken for granted when you were twelve feet tall.
Maggie was one-quarter giant, a race rarely seen even in the hustle and bustle of Port Bastion, the most advanced city on the entire continent. But today, Maggie was not among the familiar comforts of Port Bastion. She found herself, along with a small cadre of her sorority sisters, in a rural backwoods area on official business for the Sorority of Adventurers. The five Sororities were the centers of learning and power in Port Bastion, and hence on the entire continent. But the prestige of being a sorority sister meant that she had duties to uphold. And currently, the Sorority of Adventurers was interested in rumors of a local coven of witches which may be in possession of some powerful artifacts. Naturally, it was in everyone’s best interests to procure these artifacts for an organization that could give them the study they deserved.
Despite being one-quarter giant, Maggie was a city girl at heart. While the rest of her sorority sisters took pride in traveling light, Maggie always took along voluminous pieces of luggage stocked with giant-sized beauty products. Her lip gloss, body lotions, and nail polish were absolute essentials and she refused to go anywhere without them, which was just as well since her superhuman strength allowed her to carry all this and more without breaking a sweat. Maggie especially took good care of her feet: even for her massive stature they were disproportionately large, more than half the height of some of her shorter sorority sisters. But she was gifted with high curved arches and long, slender toes with nails which she painted cherry-red; with the use of pumice stones and moisturizing scrubs she kept them baby-soft and enormously pampered.
Maggie finished up her beauty regimen and wrapped her towel around her midsection. She looked around for her sandals; at her size, shoes were difficult to find even custom-made and she had come to prefer the comfort of sandals. She was sure she had left them by the door…
Maggie’s eye fell on the door; it was cracked open. Then she realized that not only were her sandals missing, her clothes that she’d left on the bed were conspicuously absent. Maggie smiled to herself. Well, if the girls were playing a prank on her she was willing to be a good sport about it. Nothing to do but go downstairs and see what their game was.
Barefoot and wrapped in a white bath towel, Maggie headed out of her room and down the steps of the tavern that her sorority was staying in tonight. They were the only guests here, so a half-naked giant woman wasn’t likely to cause too much commotion. She wound her way down the narrow staircase that led to the bar area downstairs: she found it completely deserted. The old woman who singlehandedly ran the place was doubtless off in the kitchen preparing a meal for her famished adventurers, but the absence of any of her sorority sisters made Maggie sure she was being set up somehow. Her eye fell on the tavern’s back door, leading out into the back yard. Just like the door in her room, it had been left ajar. So that was where she was being led, she thought. Maggie wound her way past oaken casks of ale that would doubtless be tapped for the evening’s revelries, and stepped outside.
It was a pleasantly warm evening, enough so that even a giantess in a bath towel could enjoy it. The yard in back of the tavern was a large area, enclosed by a simple wooden fence and ringed by an orchard of apple trees that stood laden with ripe delicious fruit. A small vegetable garden in the corner gave it a rustic charm. Maggie’s eyes swept the area, looking for where she was supposed to go next…
And there, in the branches of one of the apple trees, were her clothes. She could see them from here, neatly folded and placed next to her sandals. Another girl might have had to climb the tree, but they were easily in arm’s reach for Maggie, once she crossed the yard to get them. But still, there had to be some surprise. Maybe her sisters had laid a rope snare for her? Or perhaps some other clever trap?
Maggie froze. It was worse than that.
The entire yard was filled with meadowsilk.
She could see it now from the doorsteps: the distinctive blue-green color and the way it moved in the wind. Meadowsilk was a kind of grass found out in the provinces: each strand was as thin as a spider’s web, and as soft as a down feather. And there was an entire backyard of it between Maggie and her shoes. She looked down at her pampered bare feet and suddenly felt very nervous.
A gentle breeze blew across the yard, rustling the thin blades of grass and lightly lifting up Maggie’s bath towel. She could feel the knot beginning to give way: if she tried to sprint across the yard the towel would fall from her body before she was halfway across. Maggie swallowed hard. The only option was to walk across and get her shoes. She quivered slightly, summoned up all her strength, and took the first step into the grass.
“Mmmmmphhh!” Maggie had to fight to hold back a burst of giggles as her bare foot set down amidst the soft, swaying meadowsilk. At nearly a foot tall, it engulfed her massive bare feet, stroking them with a thousand wispy filaments at once. She could feel herself trembling as she moved further forwards. Every step meant brushing her soles against the agonizingly soft grass: the sensation was exactly like heaving her feet feathered. Maggie’s mighty muscles began to tremble, forcing herself to push on with every step.
Maggie had to fight harder and harder to hold back the laughter. Stepping forwards meant countless feathery strands sweeping across the balls of her feet and down her curvaceous arches; placing her foot down meant that the grass would slip in between her toes and tickle the sensitive spaces hidden between. Even standing still was torture: the gentle breeze caused the grass to sway back and forth, tickling the tops of her feet that were almost as sensitive as her soles. How far had she gone now? Surely she was almost there, she told herself desperately. She looked back at the tavern door. Three steps. She had gone three steps.
Maggie felt the knot of her bath towel slipping even further, but could not focus on anything but resisting the sensations. All her legendary strength was no match for her greatest weakness: two enormous, tender soles whose expanses were vulnerable to more tickling than a human woman could ever experience. She felt her legs begin to go weak beneath her; the tree with her shoes looked farther away than ever. There it stood taunting her, so close but unimaginably far.
“Hahahahahahahahaha!! Enough! I give up!” Maggie laughed, hoping someone was around to rescue her. But no one came: she was barefoot and alone in a field of feathery tortures. If such a thing was possible, her feet seemed to be getting more sensitive by the second! They were flushed pink by now, and every hesitant step forwards brought forth shrieks of high-pitched girlish laughter: an odd sound to hear from such an imposing titan. The knot on her towel was almost undone, but she had to keep going. Just another step…
Suddenly, there was a quick gust of wind, and the ticklish shock to Maggie’s poor bare feet was more than she could bear. A sharp howl of laughter, a reflexive kick, and it was all over: Maggie lost her balance and fell on her back. As she twisted in midair, the loose knot gave way completely and her bath towel fell away, blown aside in the wind. And an instant later, all twelve feet of Maggie’s glistening, naked body fell backwards into a foot of meadowsilk.
“WAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!!” The gossamer-soft blades of grass caught her fall, and stroked every inch of nude, sensitive skin at once. They brushed over the bottoms of her feet, tickling up her legs and behind her knees, which forced her to kick and spread her legs, opening the way for them to slip between her creamy inner thighs. The feathery softness tickling between her legs was torturous bliss: her screams mixed with moans of pleasure as her pink, swollen lips dripped wetness onto the grass below. She rolled across the grassy field, trying to escape, but only exposed more ticklish body parts to the gentle torture. Maggie’s enormous, spherical breasts caught caresses from the grass; her nipples, painfully erect from furious arousal, only became harder as they were teased. And then, above the sound of her own wild laughter, she heard their voices.
“Now, girls! Get her!”
From behind the orchard trees, her sorority sisters leapt out from hiding and ran towards the fallen Maggie. Maggie tried to run, but her nerveless legs were not even strong enough to stand. Rushing towards her, the girls piled on top of Maggie, each one of them plunging their fingers into a ticklish body part. Two of them grabbed Maggie’s wrists, each holding one of her weakened arms above her head, while two more wriggled their fingers deep into Maggie’s underarms. Two of the girls straddled her stomach, playing with her wildly bouncing breasts that shook with her chest’s convulsive laughter. Another girl kissed and licked Maggie’s belly button, running her fingers over the giantess’ taut stomach. And two of the most adventurous girls straddled Maggie’s ankles, riding her kicking legs like wild stallions, earning the right to sink their fingernails into the greatest treasures of all: Maggie’s inhumanly ticklish bare feet.
“WAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!” Maggie tried to beg for mercy, but she was too far gone. The world around her was a blur of tears, but even through the unbearable torture she could feel herself getting more and more aroused. The girls sucked on her erect nipples, sending waves of pleasure through Maggie’s body that forced her legs open further, awaiting more tickles. And the girls’ hands found their way to Maggie’s inner thighs, stroking and coaxing more laughter out of the delicate regions hidden there. Soft hands teased and caressed tender skin, causing Maggie to become wetter by the second, until she felt the deluge building up inside her and there was nothing she could do but…
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!!!! I’M—I’M—!!!!!”
At that instant, everyone for miles around could hear the sound: the unmistakable scream of pure, unbridled female rapture. Carried on the winds, and amplified by the magic that only occurs when one of the ancient races reaches climax, the scream sent a shudder of otherworldly pleasure through anyone lucky enough to hear it. And then, there was silence: the soft calm of post-coital bliss that warmed like the rays of the setting sun.
It was a good evening.
“So you seem to know a lot for a weapons merchant,” said Erika, riding alongside her new ally in her merchant’s wagon. “What’s your story anyway?”
“Mostly experience,” replied Maron, which the merchant woman had introduced as her name. “A long time ago I used to deal in magical artifacts, in a more literal sense of the word. Things picked up here and there from tombs and temples and other places they weren’t being used. And as a merchant, I found out most magic items have one thing in common.”
“What’s that?” asked Erika.
“They were made by people who didn’t fancy them being owned by merchants. And so most of them have curses on them, which it turns out is very bad for business. Oh sure, most of them do something interesting, like glow in the dark; that makes them easy to unload on easily-impressed customers. But sell someone one sword that forces its owner to start insulting tall, burly strangers? You never hear the end of it.”
“Did that happen often?” asked Erika.
“Oh, it always happens.” Maron rolled her eyes. “So since angry customers pretty much come with the territory, I decided I may as well deal in merchandise that was less dangerous to me, personally.”
“Well, carrying this ring around isn’t safe for either of us,” observed Erika drily. “So I hope you have a plan to find a mark to take it from us.”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Maron. “From what I hear, a group of adventurers from Port Bastion is passing through the next town here tonight. They’ll be perfect: always eager to get their hands on new relics.” Her eyes lit up as they came to a small blacksmith’s shop. “And here’s where the money to put us up for the night is going to come from! Follow me.”
They tied up their cart and Maron led the way into a small, poorly-lit building flanked with shelves. A forge in the back provided most of the light, by which they could see a hearty-looking blacksmith standing behind the counter, sharpening a blade with a whetstone. “What can I do for you?” she asked without looking up.
“No, the question is what we can do for you!” said Maron, stepping forwards. “You see, we are two travelers from distant lands, carrying a vast array of rare and valuable artifacts which we are willing to let go at extremely reasonable prices!” The blacksmith looked at Maron with dimmed eyes but said nothing. Maron clearly took it as a positive sign.
“Take, for example, this fine specimen!” she said, placing a silver bow on the blacksmith’s counter. “This bow was crafted from the Moontimber trees of the frozen north, whose mystical wood can only be harvested once every—“
The blacksmith picked it up and looked at it. “This is oak with silver paint on it.”
“Or this piece!” said Maron quickly, holding up a rune-inscribed dagger. “An assassin’s knife, forged using the magical metal-folding techniques of the sages in the far-off, legendary city of Pinnia!”
“Pinnia? You mean that town two days’ west of here?”
Erika folded her arms. “I thought you were supposed to be good at this.”
“Come on, they can’t all be gems,” sighed Maron wearily. “It’s been a long day.” She turned back to the blacksmith. “Very well, no more games. Would you like an undeniably real magic weapon, purchasable for only a pittance? I have one. Just give us a few minutes to…produce it.”
Erika suddenly paled. “Oh no. No. You are not thinking of what I think you are.”
“It’s either that, or we sleep under the stars tonight.”
“Then that’s what we’re doing!” snapped Erika.
“And how do you propose we find our contacts if we can’t meet them at the inn?” asked Maron drily.
Erika glared at her companion. “I want a sixty-forty split.”
Maron laughed derisively. “You mean sixty for me. It’s my weapon we’ll be using, after all.”
“And it’s my—!“ Erika couldn’t bring herself to think about it. “Fine. Even split, then. Final offer.”
“Done,” said Maron quickly. “Now come on.” And before Erika had a chance to change her mind, Maron had led her back to the cart, opening up the back to reveal a reclining seat with a pair of padded stocks at the foot of it. Erika trembled as she saw it, with beads of cold sweat trickling down her brow and a lump in her throat. She shut her eyes tightly and tried to think of something else, to give her the courage to sit down. It would be over soon, she told herself, over in no time…
And the instant she sat down in the chair, Erika felt the stocks clamp shut around her ankles and cuffs snap shut on her wrists, and then that terrible prelude to torture: boots pulled off, revealing her bare, wiggling feet to the cool outside air. Erika’s eyes flew open in panic as her flight response took over, struggling for freedom.
“No! No! I changed my mind! Please! I don’t want to do this!” she cried.
“There’s no room for regrets in business,” said Maron with an ominous smile. From a nearby shelf she picked up a small implement between her thumb and forefinger: it was a thin, soft-bristled brush. Erika shrieked aloud at the sight of it, her feet wriggling wildly in their bondage.
“Please! I can’t take it!” she pleaded, thrashing in the hope that maybe she could overpower her bonds. But Maron had built this chair to safely hold an extremely powerful, extremely ticklish victim. She could only watch in horror as the brush descended slowly towards her helpless feet, ready to mercilessly slide across her soft ticklish soles…the panic was almost too bear…
“No! I’ll do anything!” Erika begged. “Just don’t—YEEEAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”
“See, it’s not so bad,” teased Maron, guiding the brush in long, slithering paths up and down the furiously ticklish surfaces with an artist’s touch. She mixed up her slow, languid strokes with quick, sharp strokes, never giving Erika’s poor feet a moment to adapt. She amused herself by making a note of every particularly soft spot she found, returning to it later by flipping the brush around in her hand and pressing its round-pointed end into the soft flesh. These “surprise attacks” produced the wildest reactions: thundering, unbroken screams that could last for seconds.
“YOU MONSTER!!! WAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!! STOP!!! STAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAPPPP!!!” cried Erika.
“What’s the matter, can’t take a little tickling?” giggled Maron, painting short strokes in the centers of her arches. “I would have thought you’d be used to it by now.”
“I’M TOO TICKLISH!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”
“And it’s a good thing you are, my dear,” said Maron. “These ticklish tootsies should provide us with a splendid weapon. But don’t you worry about that; all I need you to do is keep laughing.”
That was clearly not going to be a problem for the infamous “ticklish thief”. She threw back her head and howled as Maron used every devious trick she knew to torment a ticklish pair of feet. Touching just the right pressure points, she knew how to make Erika’s toes fly apart, and immediately she would swoop in to tickle the hidden spots between and underneath the toes. And as Erika lost herself in hysteria, the ring on her finger slowly began to glow again.
“Oh my, that’s faster than ever,” said Maron with pleasant approval, looking at the ring. “You know, I was afraid I was going to have to tickle you half to death to get just one weapon out of you. But you’re doing such a marvelous job, you might have two or three weapons in you before you get tickled to unconsciousness.” She giggled. “Sorry I didn’t mention it sooner.”
“I—I’LL GET YOU FOR THIS!!!!! WAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!” was all Erika could scream.
“You’ll thank me when we have the extra money,” said Maron. “All courtesy of these wonderful ticklish feet of yours. Really, you should be proud.”
But Erika was past the point of trading insults, reduced to speechless babble by the agonizingly soft strokes of the brush. And as her feet glowed bright red, so did an ornately carved knife laid on the floor beside her. It would be the first of several, thought Maron with pleasure, so long as she could moderate her tickling technique to provide unbearable torture while keeping her conscious the entire time. Of course, afterwards it would probably be a good idea to make sure her partner passed out from tickling when her usefulness was over. After all, she was bound to want some revenge; best to make sure she was too weak to get it for some time.
Outside the cart, a passing party of adventurers stopped in at the blacksmith’s shop. Most notable among them was a twelve-foot tall blonde woman, whose clothing bore the insignia of the Sorority of Adventurers.
“What’s going on out there?” she asked the blacksmith, pointing towards the merchant’s cart parked outside. Wild, hysterical laughter echoed from within, and the entire cart was shaking as though someone inside was fighting for their life.
The blacksmith seemed more interested in the blade she was sharpening. “Out-of-towners,” she explained tersely.
Maggie shrugged and moved on. It seemed as good an explanation as she was likely to get.
“I’m still not talking to you,” seethed Erika as the two of them walked away from the stables holding Maron’s cart for the night. By the time she had woken up she had been too weak for murderous rage to take root, but she was still not inclined to be friendly to her partner.
“Come on, I didn’t enjoy it any more than you did,” Maron lied. “But you have to admit, I was right about needing the extra money. I’ve procured everything we need, and I’ve even been able to make a few…discreet inquiries about town. I’ve got the perfect mark to take the ring from you.”
As she expected, this got Erika’s attention. “Really? Who is it?”
“You’ll know her when you see her,” said Maron. “Trust me. She’s at the tavern right now; it’s the perfect time to complete the deal before she gets wise.”
The tavern she led them to was a large, rustic-looking structure that was clearly the social hub of this small town. A warm light spilled out through the door onto the dusky streets, inviting passers-by to come in and forget their troubles after a hard day’s work. But for the two traveling companions, work was just beginning. They pushed their way through a pair of swinging doors and swept the room for their mark.
There was only one person Maron could have been talking about, and she sat at a table surrounded by a group of adventurers in high spirits. The woman towered above everyone else in the tavern: she was easily twelve feet tall, but perfectly proportioned from head to toe. She was clearly not human: hopefully there was some magic in her. But most importantly of all, hopefully she hadn’t heard about the infamous ring.
Maron and Erika inconspicuously took their seats at an empty table next to them and ordered a drink. Maron produced a sack of merchandise on the table, and as they had planned, the two of them began haggling.
“You’re not going to find better craftsmanship this side of Port Bastion!” exclaimed Maron in her finest sales voice, holding up a large, ornate pair of earrings.
“It’s too expensive,” stated Erika with considerably less acting flair. When she noticed Maron’s disappointed look, she added, “Why, you’d be lucky to get half your price!”
“I see you’re a hard bargainer,” continued Maron. “Very well! I can throw in a bolt of purest silk from the Eastlands, used to make the most delicate and refined high fashions!” She glanced over at the next table. Good. They had Maggie’s attention.
“That’s still not enough to barter for my ring,” replied Erika, as she had been instructed to say. “You see,” she said, leaning forwards and speaking in a whisper that was just loud enough for an eavesdropper to overhear, “This ring is magic.”
That did it. Maggie pulled out her chair and walked over to their table, carrying her drink. “Excuse me,” she said, “did I overhear the two of you saying that you had a magic artifact to sell?”
“Indeed she does!” answered Maron, clearly trusting more in her own acting skills. “And yet, nothing I offer will satisfy her! I happen to have more merchandise than gold at the moment, perhaps I can offer you some of my humble wares to refresh my stock of coin?”
But as she had hoped, Maggie was far more interested in the prospect of a magic ring. “This ring,” asked Maggie of Erika, “can I see it?”
Almost hesitantly, Erika listed her hand and displayed the ring that felt almost like an extension of her body now: a ring of pure, untarnished gold whose band was covered in ornate etchings which looked almost too fine to have been carved by a human hand. Atop it was set a brilliant gemstone: from every angle the gem seemed to shine a different color, catching the light and reflecting it in impossible angles. Circling the band were tiny specks of light, glittering like stars in the night sky. There was no denying it: it was breathtaking to behold.
“It’s beautiful,” gasped Maggie. She stood transfixed by the ring for a moment, then added a bit sadly, “It’s too bad it won’t fit me.”
“But it will!” insisted Erika. “You see, part of the magic of the ring is that it adjusts itself perfectly to the finger of the wearer!”
“Now just a moment!” interjected Maron with token resistance. “No need to find another buyer! I may be able to sweeten the deal…”
“Would you like to…try it on?” asked Erika, looking at Maggie. Erika hesitated for a split second as the words left her mouth, waiting with palpable apprehension for her answer. She was afraid for a moment that she was giving away the game, that she looked too desperate for an answer. But fortunately, Maggie was not looking at Erika’s expression. She was looking at the ring, almost enchanted by its beauty that seemed to call out to her. It was difficult to look at anything else.
“I’d…love to,” said Maggie.
An almost incredulous look came across Erika’s face, as though she could not actually believe the answer. She sat in shock, letting the truth of it sink in, and her face changed to an expression of infinite relief. She raised her hand, extending it towards Maggie, who reached out and effortlessly slid the ring off Erika’s finger. Erika looked at her bare ring finger, and a smile of wonder crossed her face.
Maggie put her drink on the table and slipped the ring on her own finger. Just as the seller had promised, it immediately expanded to accommodate her own giantess-sized digit! Now it was even more beautiful and brilliant than ever: Maggie gazed at her new acquisition, and without taking her eyes off it, took a sip from her drink.
And that was when she knew something had gone wrong. Immediately she felt sleepy and light-headed; her mental processes ground to such a halt that she was unable to draw the basic conclusion. She only knew that she was tired beyond belief: she was about to collapse. She had to get to her room, she thought, as she staggered up the stairs without saying goodbye to her friends or her new acquaintances. She had to reach the bed before…
Maggie groggily opened her eyes to a dark, windowless room. The light from a single lamp glowing in the corner showed a room almost devoid of furniture: everything was bare except for a large metal-framed bed which Maggie found herself laying on as she awoke. She seemed to still be clothed, although her sandals were missing. And it was clear she wasn’t going anywhere: around her wrists and ankles were thick, solid iron manacles that chained her to the bedpost. As restraints, they would have been ridiculously excessive for anyone but Maggie. Someone had clearly gone through a lot of trouble on her behalf.
And there they stood in front of her: Maron and Erika surveyed their handiwork, although Maron was clearly much more confident about the results. Maggie glared at them over her massive bare feet.
“I don’t think you realize exactly how much of a mistake you just made,” she growled at the two of them. Erika took an involuntary step backwards.
“Oh, everything here is quite intentional, I assure you,” insisted Maron. “Not to mention costly. Finding enough sedative to knock out a giantess was challenging, to say the least.”
“Then you’ve never seen what a giantess can do when she’s awake and angry,” replied Maggie with a snarl. She shook the chains with a flex of her muscles as easily as if they had been thread. “These flimsy things won’t hold me for long, and when I get out of here—“
“Then I suppose we’ll have to work quickly,” said Maron with a confident smile. And with that, she pressed her fingernail into the center of Maggie’s towering right foot.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKK!!!!!” The scream shook the entire room, piercing the darkness with deafening loudness. All of a sudden, her bravado was gone. Maggie’s eyes darted around; she was very, very frightened.
“No! Please not that!” Maggie cried. “Not the feet!”
“Ticklish, are we?” asked Maron, fairly purring with self-satisfaction. “Yes, I knew I’d made the right decision with you. Although I never dared to hope they’d be this tender.” Maron leaned forwards and let her hot breath fall on Maggie’s flushed, sensitive soles. They twitched instinctively, and Maron beamed at the sight.
“P—please!” said Maggie, already beginning to panic. “You don’t know what you’re doing!” Maggie’s toes curled downwards, and her feet reflexively tried to protect themselves from the coming onslaught, hiding one sole behind its equally ticklish partner.
“And here I thought we were about to tickle you within an inch of your life. I must have been mistaken,” quipped Maron. Maggie whimpered softly.
“Well I’m about ready to begin,” said Erika, walking towards the bed.
“I couldn’t agree more,” agreed Maron. From the folds of her cloak she removed a long object bundled in cloth. As she unwrapped it, it was a sword: a magnificently crafted blade that must have cost a fortune. Runic symbols were inscribed on its blade and the hilt was carved out of ebony bone into the shape of winged serpents. Maron gingerly placed the sword on the ground beside the bed.
“No! Don’t do this!” cried Maggie, too terrified to even think about the strange sword. “We can make a deal! I can—YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAAAAAAAA!!!!!”
From the instant the swarm of fingernails touched her soft feet, poor Maggie did not even have a prayer at resistance. The room filled with the booming, thunderous laughter that only a giant-sized pair of lungs could produce. Maggie fought back with all her might, but the iron chains refused to break before her unfocused jerks and spasms. She was a prisoner, and her captives had only one thing on their minds: tickle torture.
Maron was a cruel, purposeful tickler: clearly an expert at the persuasive arts and no stranger to a pair of bound, ticklish feet. She meticulously applied the lessons that she had learned on countless other howling victims, plying her diabolical art on a canvas that was much larger than even she was used to. Running her fingers up and down Maggie’s right foot, she applied careful pressure, feeling for soft spots and memorizing every inch of tender terrain to use against her victim. She worked her way slowly up Maggie’s instep, circling the huge, fleshy ball of her foot and making it dance for her. And even someone as experienced as Maron was astonished at how soft these feet were: every inch of them baby-soft and perfectly pedicured.
Erika, on the other foot, tickled with abandon and fiendish delight: her assault betrayed a vengefulness that only a girl who had endured a hundred ticklings from strangers could bring to bear. She skittered her sharp fingernails across Maggie’s sole in wild, random patterns, devouring the smooth softness with glee. In her mind’s eye, Erika could imagine every woman who had ever tied her up and tickled her feet, and now she saw all of their faces in Maggie. At long last she had the chance for revenge against the world, and she was going to take it out on Maggie’s unbearably ticklish sole.
“WAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!! STAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAPPP!!!!!” screamed Maggie, her huge, muscular body convulsing before this two-pronged assault. The iron chains clanked and the bed was lifted off the floor with the force of her struggling. But nothing could buy Maggie even a moment of respite. Twenty merciless fingernails pressed into her soft flesh, rounding her heels and sliding up her long, tall arches until she could take no more. And as she bellowed with wild laughter, the ring on her finger softly began to glow.
“It’s happening!” exclaimed Erika, seeing the familiar phenomenon on another victim for the first time.
“Koochie koochie koo,” taunted Maron, coaxing even more laughter with an effortless flick of her fingers. “That’s it! Show us how hard you can laugh!”
“YAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!! I GIVE UP!!!!” pleaded Maggie, thrashing from side to side. A deluge of tears flew from her cheeks into the air like raindrops, and her strength was so great that the entire room shook as though in an earthquake. Her sweat drenched the bedspread beneath her, and Maggie’s writhing feet turned a bright shade of pink beneath the merciless fingernails. She only knew that the room was getting somehow brighter, but her mind was too far gone to care.
“Yes! More! Give us your power!” commanded Maron, looking with avarice at the now brightly-glowing ring on Maggie’s finger. Slowly, the sword Maron had placed on the ground began to glow as well. The luminous strands of magical power reached out through the air and wrapped around the blade, lifting it off the ground until it hovered just within arm’s reach. The runes inscribed on the blade began to glow, and light poured into the etchings as though it were liquid power. Like a heartbeat, it began to pulse with warmth and energy. Maron stared at it, without stopping her tickling for a moment. But then they heard it.
“Come out, you thief!” cried a furious voice in the hall outside the door. Maron recognized the voice immediately. She staggered back several steps and blanched white. For the first time since Erika had known her, she looked genuinely frightened.
“No!” muttered Maron. “How did she find me? Not now! Not now!”
“Show yourself, or I’ll flay you alive!” cried the voice. There several sets of heavy footsteps outside, and they were coming this way. Maron looked around the room in vain for some heavy object with which to bar the door, but nothing was available. In desperation, she held her own back to the door to reinforce it.
“Don’t stop!” shouted Maron at Erika. “Whatever you do now, keep tickling those feet!”
“With pleasure,” purred Erika. She had faced marauders before and could hold her own in any fight. But she was enjoying her work too much to care regardless. She reached out with both hands to grasp Maggie’s gargantuan foot, and plunged her face deep within the soft flesh and licked.
“YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAA!!!!! WAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!” The touch of the fingernails was nothing compared to the touch of Erika’s warm, moist tongue running across her tender sole. Maggie could not even beg for mercy: words were lost in an outpouring of pure hysteria.
Erika gave a muffled moan of lust as she held her face to the warm, ticklish flesh. Maggie’s foot was so large that it completely enveloped her face: she had to move her head up and down to cover all of the massive arches with sweeps of her tongue. The musky fragrance of the giantess’ bare foot in her face was intoxicating: she breathed it in deeply as she planted kisses with her moist lips, and teased soft spots with the rigid tip of her tongue. Faint marks of lipstick were left all across the vast expanse of that sole, as well as glistening trails of saliva that sparkled in the light. When Erika reached the top of her foot, she immersed every one of Maggie’s long, wriggling toes into her mouth, letting it slide sensually between her lips and curling her tongue around it like a serpent. For Maggie it was hellish torture; for Erika it was pure bliss.
There was a great pounding on the door: someone was trying to break it down from the other side. “I’ve got your head now, merchant!” cried the voice on the other side.
“Wait! I’ll have your payment!” cried Maron, barricading the door with her own body. “I just need a little more time! Any second now!” But their visitor was not inclined to be patient. Another blow to the door nearly knocked it off its hinges.
The sword hovering in the center of the room was glowing brightly now, more radiantly than white-hot steel from a forge. The pulses of power were more frequent now, washing over the room with greater intensity than even Erika had ever seen. Whatever else Maron had told her, she was right about one thing the giantess woman was ticklish beyond anything in even Erika’s darkest nightmares. And all that desperate energy flowed through the ring into the blade, imbuing it with power that few mortals had ever seen.
But all Maggie knew was that she was close to the breaking point. She howled and babbled wordlessly as Erika’s soft lips and moist tongue had their way with her ticklish sole: devouring it amorously as Maggie spiraled into madness. Even her nearly boundless strength was failing her as her greatest weakness was exploited without mercy. Every inch of her massive sole glistened with moisture, and now Erika ran her fingernails across the frictionless surface to form a duet of ticklish agony. And then, as Erika plunged her mouth into the exact center of Maggie’s ticklish arch, she could take no more.
“YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!” Maggie’s laughter turned to a final, piercing scream of such power that everyone present could feel it resonate throughout their bodies. There was a final blinding pulse of light, and the transfer of power was complete. The glowing sword fell to the ground, and before it had even hit, Maron was running towards it like a drowning woman grasping at a lifeboat. Just as she left her position in front of the door, a final, mighty kick broke down the door, causing it to fall inwards, and a group of three armor-clad women warriors charged into the room. But Maggie did not see what happened next. Her strength gone, Maggie slumped backwards and let the shroud of sleep fall over her.
“So I guess the merchant ended up paying off her debt,” remarked Leia, taking another drink from her mug. She sat opposite Maggie in the Lodge back at the Sorority of Adventurers, back in the familiar comforts of Port Bastion.
“In a way,” said Maggie impishly, taking a drink of her own bright pink cocktail. “I had some of our sisters look into this merchant and what she wanted. It turns out she was a con-artist who had tried to cheat an infamous clan of bandits. Their leader didn’t take kindly to being sold faulty merchandise. But apparently, she was so impressed at the sword the merchant managed to craft, she forgave the debt right there and let the two of them walk.”
“Why do I sense there’s more to it than you’re telling me?” asked Leia.
“Very smart.” Maggie smiled. “You see, the ring they had me wear apparently siphons ticklish energy from its wearer to place enchantments on weapons. But apparently, I was so ticklish, something totally unexpected happened. The sword gained all of the enchantments they expected, but it picked up a little something…more, too. Specifically, it picked up the ticklish resonance of the ring-wearer. And now, the sword carries it, too.”
Leia grinned. “So what does that mean, exactly?”
“It means that somewhere out there, there’s a bandit leader with a sword that shatters steel and bites through armor, and that also curses its owner with unbearably ticklish feet. Just as sensitive as someone else you might know.” Maggie giggled self-deprecatingly and took another sip of her cocktail.
“Bet she wasn’t happy about that,” said Leia.
“You can say that again,” replied Maggie. “Those two managed to get a few towns away before the bandit leader found out, but now she’s even more furious than before. She’s put out a huge bounty on both of their heads. They won’t be able to stop running for a long, long time.”
“And the ring?”
Maggie flashed it, still on her finger. “Completely drained of power. Now it’s just an ordinary piece of jewelry. I think I’ll hold onto it.”
Leia laughed appreciatively. “Sounds like a happy ending, then. Looks like those big, ticklish feet of yours were useful after all!”
Maggie laughed back. “I’ll drink to that.”
City of Sororities:
The Buyer Beware
The Buyer Beware
Erika’s heart pounded in her chest as she tore through the branches, not even daring to stop and look behind her. She could hear them keeping pace with her, not even trying to hide their location anymore. Their heavy footsteps echoed in her ears as she ran forwards blindly, fleeing without a plan on pure animal instinct. She was no longer watching for landmarks or trying to keep her bearings. The only thing she knew is that she had to get away.
A dull thunk next to her focused her attention: an arrow quivered in a tree trunk several feet from her head. But this didn’t bother Erika: she knew that they wouldn’t dare harm her after tracking her so far. If they were shooting arrows around her, it was only to throw her off her game. Another shaft flew by her head, picking off several leaves from a nearby tree branch. Another warning shot, she thought. Fine, let them waste their time firing arrows. Every pause they took to shoot meant a few extra steps she could gain on them. With a little luck, she might just pull this off…
Oh no.
A bola whirled by her waist, wrapping itself around a nearby tree branch. If just one of those caught her by the ankles, then it would be all over. Erika began to panic, and fear made her run even faster. She couldn’t get caught now! Before she even had time to think, a second bola flew by her coming within a meter of her right leg. Erika was shaken with terror as she imagined what they would do if they caught her.
Just as she turned the corner, a grinning figure leapt out on front of her, blocking the path. It was an ambush! Without even thinking, Erika turned a hard right and broke off from the path, tearing into the wilderness to escape her predators. There was still time to get away! All she had to do was…
There were no words to describe Erika’s anguish as she felt the rope wrap around her ankles, the weights of the bola hitting her ankles and tying them together. She tripped forward, her face falling onto the soft forest grass beneath her. She tried to get up, but in an instant, her pursuers were upon her. It was all over.
“Tie her up!” cried a voice behind her in triumph. Two muscular women ran up to Erika, and before she could even turn around to fight them off, they had bound her wrists together behind her back, and lashed her ankles together with cords of thick rope. She lay on her stomach, flailing helplessly like a wild beast caught by hunters.
A third woman stepped into the clearing behind them. She was dressed in merchant’s clothing, an odd contrast to her warrior accomplices. And yet it was clear she was in control. The other two looked at her expectantly as she casually sauntered over to Erika’s fallen body.
“She doesn’t look like a wizard,” said one of the warrior women skeptically.
“She isn’t,” replied the merchant, “but you’ll get your payment all the same. Now give it to me.”
The taller of the two women produced an ordinary, dull-looking broadsword from a makeshift scabbard, which may as well have been a bundle of rags. She looked at it in a way that made it clear the dingy weapon had some sentimental value, and after a brief pause, handed it over as requested. The merchant woman smiled. She placed the sword gingerly on the ground directly next to Erika’s struggling body. Erika felt her heart plummet. It was the same thing she had seen a hundred times before.
“Let me go!” she cried, tearing at her bonds. “Let me go!” But even as she screamed the words she knew that hope was lost. Oh please, she thought to herself as tears welled up in her eyes. Not again. Please not again.
But the merchant woman simply smiled at Erika, and reached into a fold of her cloak. And out of it she produced the one object that Erika had learned these last few months to fear more than anything else. A soft, downy feather rustled gently in the breeze.
“No! No!! Noooo!!!!!” screamed Erika straining at her bonds with desperate strength. But it was no use: the two warrior women flanking her each grabbed a hold of one of her boots, and with a quick pull they each slid them off. And there they were, wriggling naked in the cool air: Erika’s bare feet, lying helpless on the forest floor, her tender soles turned upwards and flushed pink in anticipation. She could feel the soft caress of the grass send chills through her body, but that was nothing compared to what was about to come.
“Please! Not the feet!” cried Erika. “Anything but the feet!” She couldn’t see behind her, but she knew it was coming: the soft feather drawing closer to her poor soles, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She gritted her teeth and clenched her fists, steeling herself for the moment of contact. She could fight this. She could—
“MMMMMMMPPPPPPHHHHHHH!!!!!” A huge forced grin broke out across Erika’s face, and her entire body went into convulsions at that first, mind-shattering touch. It was only a gentle caress, but to Erika’s hypersensitive feet it was pure, unmitigated torture. She tore at her bonds with furious strength, thinking only of escape. Tears welled up in her eyes as the feather slowly glided up and down her bare soles, while Erika fought with every ounce of energy to fight back the laughter.
“Koochie koochie koo,” teased the stranger behind her. “You can’t fight it for long, my dear. I know just how ticklish these tootsies are.” She swept the feather across the bottoms of Erika’s helpless feet with quick flicks of her wrist in a maddeningly crafted technique. This was a woman who knew how to handle a feather.
“Is it happening?” asked one of the guards.
“And moment now,” replied the merchant woman. “Tickly, tickly feet. Let’s see them squirm.”
“MMMMMPPPPHHHHHAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!! YEEEEAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” And after mere seconds, Erika could bear it no longer. Her quivering lips opened up and gales of wild, ticklish laughter poured forth, drowning out everything else. The treetops rustled as a flock of birds flew away from the screams, and the entire forest echoed with Erika’s laughter. The soft feather danced across her feet with new enthusiasm, plunging her into an abyss of madness. Her toes squirmed and splayed in all directions, but they only succeeded in spreading apart and letting soft, tickly blades of grass slip in between and amplify her torture. Erika could barely see through the tears, but she could feel the heat on her right ring finger. The ring was beginning to glow. It was starting.
“Good girl,” cooed the feather-wielding stranger behind her. “Laugh for us. Scream as hard as you can.” She slid the diabolical feather over Erika’s tender arches, lingering over the softest and most torturous spots.
“WAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAA!!! MERCEEEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEEHEE!!!” screamed Erika through waves of furious laughter. Her tears watered the forest floor, her disheveled hair flew in all directions, and every muscle in her body was on fire. But mercy was not forthcoming.
Through the soft, deliberate feathering of Erika’s soles, all eyes were on the ring on her right hand. The ring began to glow more brightly now, pulsing with power that seemed to grow the more Erika’s laughter became wilder. It gave off heat like a blazing fire, but Erika was unaffected. The only thing she could feel anymore was the soft, feathery torture on her bare feet.
“I knew these lovely ticklish feet wouldn’t disappoint me,” said the merchant woman. “Now let’s see the magic happen.”
“BWAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!” Erika was babbling beyond speech, but the spectacle continued to grow. The dull broadsword in the grass next to her began slowly levitating off the ground, bathed in the light of the ring. Slowly, tendrils of light began to engulf the blade, causing it to shine with the same blinding light. From out of nowhere, magical runes began to etch themselves into the steel of the blade, and the edge began to sharpen itself without the touch of any earthly tool. Erika could not see through her tears, but she didn’t have to: she knew what was happening. And in a few seconds more, the transfer of power reached a crescendo: hundreds of glowing tendrils wrapped themselves around the blade, and there was an enormous flash of light that forced everyone to cover their eyes. And a moment later, the sword lay back in the grass. It was over.
But to Erika, only one thing mattered: the relief beyond imagination as her tormentor gently released the feather and let it flutter to the ground. Erika collapsed on the ground, soaked in sweat and gasping for breath. The tickle torture was over. For now.
The larger of the two warrior women picked the sword off the ground, holding it approvingly in her hand. She felt its weight, and then brandished it in the air. The blade gave off a faint slicing sound, and a thin trail of glittering light followed in its wake for a split second. The two of them grinned appreciatively, holding their new trophy as they walked off along the forest path until they were out of sight.
“You’re lucky I told them that your talent only works once per customer,” said the merchant woman, still lingering above Erika’s bound body. “Otherwise, we might have been at this for a very long time.”
“What…do you want…with me?” gasped Erika weakly.
“Allow me to explain why I have tracked you down,” said the merchant woman. “You see, I am a weapons merchant by trade. And my business is moving the most finely crafted arms available. Hundreds and hundreds of them.” Erika felt herself go weak as nightmarish visions flooded her mind.
But the stranger saw her expression and grinned. “Very fortunately for you, that is not why I am here. Enchanting hundreds of weapons involves a luxury of time I do not have. Instead, I have a proposition for you.” Erika looked up. This was becoming unexpected.
“You see, as I mentioned before, I sell weapons.” The merchant woman coughed. “’Magic’ weapons.”
Erika cocked an eyebrow. “Did you just use air-quotes when you said the word ‘magic’?”
The stranger sighed. “Some people can be extremely pedantic about the definition of the word. When it comes down to it, does it really matter? The merchandise I move is all top-quality.” She thought for a moment. “Most of it, anyway. But not everyone appreciates my admittedly flexible definition of ‘magical’ weapons. Which is why I usually make a point of moving on before any customers have a chance to get buyer’s remorse.”
Erika nodded. It was a useful thing to remember in her profession, as well.
“But unfortunately,” continued the merchant woman, “business has been less than ideal recently. A few days ago I did business with a rather unpleasant group of individuals, who were eager to arm themselves with weapons that would make them unstoppable. I may have…overstated the effect that my weapons would have on their combat prowess. And now I understand that they are looking for me intending to obtain satisfaction.”
“Are these the kinds of people who take out satisfaction in the form of kneecaps?” asked Erika.
The merchant woman grimaced. “Exactly the kind. I had intended to be far away from here by now, but a storm kept me in the area, and now they’re on my trail. To be blunt, I need a truly impressive weapon to give them to buy their understanding: a crown jewel that will clear my debt in one stroke. And that is where your marvelous ring comes in.”
“But you said—“ Erika’s heart began racing again.
“Don’t worry, if I wanted to tickle those precious feet of yours some more, we wouldn’t be having this pleasant conversation.” The merchant woman’s smile sent shivers down Erika’s spine. “You see, I’m a bit of a magic scholar myself. I know how that ring of yours works.”
“Most people do by now,” grumbled Erika.
“Yes, that was unfortunate, wasn’t it?” remarked the merchant woman. “There you were, a successful thief who heard about a priceless magical ring being held by a coven of witches. A ring that had the power to enchant any weapon with magical spells. Why, it’s practically a license to mint coins. So you stole the ring in the dead of night. But what you didn’t know was that the witches put a curse on the ring to punish thieves. And now, the powers of the ring can only be unlocked through agonizing tickle torture of the owner. ”
“And everyone for miles around knows about it,” said Erika. “The ticklish thief and her magic ring: track her down and tickle a magic weapon out of her. Do you have any idea what it’s like to be on the run all the time, knowing that around every corner there could be another fortune-seeker waiting to tie me up and tickle my feet until I can’t take it anymore? Knowing that every time I wake up, I could be tied to the bed with my bare feet dangling in front of feathers, or brushes, or…”
“And you can’t take it off,” said the merchant woman. “The worst part of the curse is that it can only be given to a willing recipient.”
“And who would want to take this curse away from me?” asked Erika.
“I don’t envy you,” said the merchant woman. “But I know more about the ring than that. You see, the magic it imbues weapons with it drawn directly from the wearer. The more ticklish the wearer, the more you fight and the harder you laugh, the more energy is transferred to the crafted weapon. That’s why you need time to recover before you can make a new weapon: you need time to get your energy back. But even still you have a limit. I saw that weapon you created. It may have impressed those two rubes I hired, but it’s low-grade merchandise. You just don’t have the energy in you to make a truly legendary weapon, I’m afraid. And that brings me to my proposition: how would you like to be free of this curse forever?”
“I’d do anything,” said Erika without hesitation.
“What we need,” said the merchant woman, “is a new wearer to take your ring. Someone who can summon the cosmic levels of energy needed to craft a truly unique weapon. I get my weapon, and you get freedom from your curse. It’s win-win.”
“But where could we find someone like that?” asked Erika, skeptical.
“We’ll need someone who isn’t from around this area, so they wouldn’t have heard about your infamous reputation,” said the merchant woman. “Ideally someone with innate magical talent. And above all, we need someone with unbearably ticklish feet.”
* * * * *
Maggie Stoneheave stepped out of her bath, luxuriously wiggling her moist toes into the fluffy bathmat beneath her. She blew out the scented candles encircling the tub and reached for her towel to begin drying off her dripping golden-blonde hair. Maggie was in a good mood this evening; she hadn’t expected to find a bathtub her size this far out in the provinces. Such things were not to be taken for granted when you were twelve feet tall.
Maggie was one-quarter giant, a race rarely seen even in the hustle and bustle of Port Bastion, the most advanced city on the entire continent. But today, Maggie was not among the familiar comforts of Port Bastion. She found herself, along with a small cadre of her sorority sisters, in a rural backwoods area on official business for the Sorority of Adventurers. The five Sororities were the centers of learning and power in Port Bastion, and hence on the entire continent. But the prestige of being a sorority sister meant that she had duties to uphold. And currently, the Sorority of Adventurers was interested in rumors of a local coven of witches which may be in possession of some powerful artifacts. Naturally, it was in everyone’s best interests to procure these artifacts for an organization that could give them the study they deserved.
Despite being one-quarter giant, Maggie was a city girl at heart. While the rest of her sorority sisters took pride in traveling light, Maggie always took along voluminous pieces of luggage stocked with giant-sized beauty products. Her lip gloss, body lotions, and nail polish were absolute essentials and she refused to go anywhere without them, which was just as well since her superhuman strength allowed her to carry all this and more without breaking a sweat. Maggie especially took good care of her feet: even for her massive stature they were disproportionately large, more than half the height of some of her shorter sorority sisters. But she was gifted with high curved arches and long, slender toes with nails which she painted cherry-red; with the use of pumice stones and moisturizing scrubs she kept them baby-soft and enormously pampered.
Maggie finished up her beauty regimen and wrapped her towel around her midsection. She looked around for her sandals; at her size, shoes were difficult to find even custom-made and she had come to prefer the comfort of sandals. She was sure she had left them by the door…
Maggie’s eye fell on the door; it was cracked open. Then she realized that not only were her sandals missing, her clothes that she’d left on the bed were conspicuously absent. Maggie smiled to herself. Well, if the girls were playing a prank on her she was willing to be a good sport about it. Nothing to do but go downstairs and see what their game was.
Barefoot and wrapped in a white bath towel, Maggie headed out of her room and down the steps of the tavern that her sorority was staying in tonight. They were the only guests here, so a half-naked giant woman wasn’t likely to cause too much commotion. She wound her way down the narrow staircase that led to the bar area downstairs: she found it completely deserted. The old woman who singlehandedly ran the place was doubtless off in the kitchen preparing a meal for her famished adventurers, but the absence of any of her sorority sisters made Maggie sure she was being set up somehow. Her eye fell on the tavern’s back door, leading out into the back yard. Just like the door in her room, it had been left ajar. So that was where she was being led, she thought. Maggie wound her way past oaken casks of ale that would doubtless be tapped for the evening’s revelries, and stepped outside.
It was a pleasantly warm evening, enough so that even a giantess in a bath towel could enjoy it. The yard in back of the tavern was a large area, enclosed by a simple wooden fence and ringed by an orchard of apple trees that stood laden with ripe delicious fruit. A small vegetable garden in the corner gave it a rustic charm. Maggie’s eyes swept the area, looking for where she was supposed to go next…
And there, in the branches of one of the apple trees, were her clothes. She could see them from here, neatly folded and placed next to her sandals. Another girl might have had to climb the tree, but they were easily in arm’s reach for Maggie, once she crossed the yard to get them. But still, there had to be some surprise. Maybe her sisters had laid a rope snare for her? Or perhaps some other clever trap?
Maggie froze. It was worse than that.
The entire yard was filled with meadowsilk.
She could see it now from the doorsteps: the distinctive blue-green color and the way it moved in the wind. Meadowsilk was a kind of grass found out in the provinces: each strand was as thin as a spider’s web, and as soft as a down feather. And there was an entire backyard of it between Maggie and her shoes. She looked down at her pampered bare feet and suddenly felt very nervous.
A gentle breeze blew across the yard, rustling the thin blades of grass and lightly lifting up Maggie’s bath towel. She could feel the knot beginning to give way: if she tried to sprint across the yard the towel would fall from her body before she was halfway across. Maggie swallowed hard. The only option was to walk across and get her shoes. She quivered slightly, summoned up all her strength, and took the first step into the grass.
“Mmmmmphhh!” Maggie had to fight to hold back a burst of giggles as her bare foot set down amidst the soft, swaying meadowsilk. At nearly a foot tall, it engulfed her massive bare feet, stroking them with a thousand wispy filaments at once. She could feel herself trembling as she moved further forwards. Every step meant brushing her soles against the agonizingly soft grass: the sensation was exactly like heaving her feet feathered. Maggie’s mighty muscles began to tremble, forcing herself to push on with every step.
Maggie had to fight harder and harder to hold back the laughter. Stepping forwards meant countless feathery strands sweeping across the balls of her feet and down her curvaceous arches; placing her foot down meant that the grass would slip in between her toes and tickle the sensitive spaces hidden between. Even standing still was torture: the gentle breeze caused the grass to sway back and forth, tickling the tops of her feet that were almost as sensitive as her soles. How far had she gone now? Surely she was almost there, she told herself desperately. She looked back at the tavern door. Three steps. She had gone three steps.
Maggie felt the knot of her bath towel slipping even further, but could not focus on anything but resisting the sensations. All her legendary strength was no match for her greatest weakness: two enormous, tender soles whose expanses were vulnerable to more tickling than a human woman could ever experience. She felt her legs begin to go weak beneath her; the tree with her shoes looked farther away than ever. There it stood taunting her, so close but unimaginably far.
“Hahahahahahahahaha!! Enough! I give up!” Maggie laughed, hoping someone was around to rescue her. But no one came: she was barefoot and alone in a field of feathery tortures. If such a thing was possible, her feet seemed to be getting more sensitive by the second! They were flushed pink by now, and every hesitant step forwards brought forth shrieks of high-pitched girlish laughter: an odd sound to hear from such an imposing titan. The knot on her towel was almost undone, but she had to keep going. Just another step…
Suddenly, there was a quick gust of wind, and the ticklish shock to Maggie’s poor bare feet was more than she could bear. A sharp howl of laughter, a reflexive kick, and it was all over: Maggie lost her balance and fell on her back. As she twisted in midair, the loose knot gave way completely and her bath towel fell away, blown aside in the wind. And an instant later, all twelve feet of Maggie’s glistening, naked body fell backwards into a foot of meadowsilk.
“WAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!!!” The gossamer-soft blades of grass caught her fall, and stroked every inch of nude, sensitive skin at once. They brushed over the bottoms of her feet, tickling up her legs and behind her knees, which forced her to kick and spread her legs, opening the way for them to slip between her creamy inner thighs. The feathery softness tickling between her legs was torturous bliss: her screams mixed with moans of pleasure as her pink, swollen lips dripped wetness onto the grass below. She rolled across the grassy field, trying to escape, but only exposed more ticklish body parts to the gentle torture. Maggie’s enormous, spherical breasts caught caresses from the grass; her nipples, painfully erect from furious arousal, only became harder as they were teased. And then, above the sound of her own wild laughter, she heard their voices.
“Now, girls! Get her!”
From behind the orchard trees, her sorority sisters leapt out from hiding and ran towards the fallen Maggie. Maggie tried to run, but her nerveless legs were not even strong enough to stand. Rushing towards her, the girls piled on top of Maggie, each one of them plunging their fingers into a ticklish body part. Two of them grabbed Maggie’s wrists, each holding one of her weakened arms above her head, while two more wriggled their fingers deep into Maggie’s underarms. Two of the girls straddled her stomach, playing with her wildly bouncing breasts that shook with her chest’s convulsive laughter. Another girl kissed and licked Maggie’s belly button, running her fingers over the giantess’ taut stomach. And two of the most adventurous girls straddled Maggie’s ankles, riding her kicking legs like wild stallions, earning the right to sink their fingernails into the greatest treasures of all: Maggie’s inhumanly ticklish bare feet.
“WAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!” Maggie tried to beg for mercy, but she was too far gone. The world around her was a blur of tears, but even through the unbearable torture she could feel herself getting more and more aroused. The girls sucked on her erect nipples, sending waves of pleasure through Maggie’s body that forced her legs open further, awaiting more tickles. And the girls’ hands found their way to Maggie’s inner thighs, stroking and coaxing more laughter out of the delicate regions hidden there. Soft hands teased and caressed tender skin, causing Maggie to become wetter by the second, until she felt the deluge building up inside her and there was nothing she could do but…
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHA!!!!! I’M—I’M—!!!!!”
At that instant, everyone for miles around could hear the sound: the unmistakable scream of pure, unbridled female rapture. Carried on the winds, and amplified by the magic that only occurs when one of the ancient races reaches climax, the scream sent a shudder of otherworldly pleasure through anyone lucky enough to hear it. And then, there was silence: the soft calm of post-coital bliss that warmed like the rays of the setting sun.
It was a good evening.
* * * * *
“So you seem to know a lot for a weapons merchant,” said Erika, riding alongside her new ally in her merchant’s wagon. “What’s your story anyway?”
“Mostly experience,” replied Maron, which the merchant woman had introduced as her name. “A long time ago I used to deal in magical artifacts, in a more literal sense of the word. Things picked up here and there from tombs and temples and other places they weren’t being used. And as a merchant, I found out most magic items have one thing in common.”
“What’s that?” asked Erika.
“They were made by people who didn’t fancy them being owned by merchants. And so most of them have curses on them, which it turns out is very bad for business. Oh sure, most of them do something interesting, like glow in the dark; that makes them easy to unload on easily-impressed customers. But sell someone one sword that forces its owner to start insulting tall, burly strangers? You never hear the end of it.”
“Did that happen often?” asked Erika.
“Oh, it always happens.” Maron rolled her eyes. “So since angry customers pretty much come with the territory, I decided I may as well deal in merchandise that was less dangerous to me, personally.”
“Well, carrying this ring around isn’t safe for either of us,” observed Erika drily. “So I hope you have a plan to find a mark to take it from us.”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” said Maron. “From what I hear, a group of adventurers from Port Bastion is passing through the next town here tonight. They’ll be perfect: always eager to get their hands on new relics.” Her eyes lit up as they came to a small blacksmith’s shop. “And here’s where the money to put us up for the night is going to come from! Follow me.”
They tied up their cart and Maron led the way into a small, poorly-lit building flanked with shelves. A forge in the back provided most of the light, by which they could see a hearty-looking blacksmith standing behind the counter, sharpening a blade with a whetstone. “What can I do for you?” she asked without looking up.
“No, the question is what we can do for you!” said Maron, stepping forwards. “You see, we are two travelers from distant lands, carrying a vast array of rare and valuable artifacts which we are willing to let go at extremely reasonable prices!” The blacksmith looked at Maron with dimmed eyes but said nothing. Maron clearly took it as a positive sign.
“Take, for example, this fine specimen!” she said, placing a silver bow on the blacksmith’s counter. “This bow was crafted from the Moontimber trees of the frozen north, whose mystical wood can only be harvested once every—“
The blacksmith picked it up and looked at it. “This is oak with silver paint on it.”
“Or this piece!” said Maron quickly, holding up a rune-inscribed dagger. “An assassin’s knife, forged using the magical metal-folding techniques of the sages in the far-off, legendary city of Pinnia!”
“Pinnia? You mean that town two days’ west of here?”
Erika folded her arms. “I thought you were supposed to be good at this.”
“Come on, they can’t all be gems,” sighed Maron wearily. “It’s been a long day.” She turned back to the blacksmith. “Very well, no more games. Would you like an undeniably real magic weapon, purchasable for only a pittance? I have one. Just give us a few minutes to…produce it.”
Erika suddenly paled. “Oh no. No. You are not thinking of what I think you are.”
“It’s either that, or we sleep under the stars tonight.”
“Then that’s what we’re doing!” snapped Erika.
“And how do you propose we find our contacts if we can’t meet them at the inn?” asked Maron drily.
Erika glared at her companion. “I want a sixty-forty split.”
Maron laughed derisively. “You mean sixty for me. It’s my weapon we’ll be using, after all.”
“And it’s my—!“ Erika couldn’t bring herself to think about it. “Fine. Even split, then. Final offer.”
“Done,” said Maron quickly. “Now come on.” And before Erika had a chance to change her mind, Maron had led her back to the cart, opening up the back to reveal a reclining seat with a pair of padded stocks at the foot of it. Erika trembled as she saw it, with beads of cold sweat trickling down her brow and a lump in her throat. She shut her eyes tightly and tried to think of something else, to give her the courage to sit down. It would be over soon, she told herself, over in no time…
And the instant she sat down in the chair, Erika felt the stocks clamp shut around her ankles and cuffs snap shut on her wrists, and then that terrible prelude to torture: boots pulled off, revealing her bare, wiggling feet to the cool outside air. Erika’s eyes flew open in panic as her flight response took over, struggling for freedom.
“No! No! I changed my mind! Please! I don’t want to do this!” she cried.
“There’s no room for regrets in business,” said Maron with an ominous smile. From a nearby shelf she picked up a small implement between her thumb and forefinger: it was a thin, soft-bristled brush. Erika shrieked aloud at the sight of it, her feet wriggling wildly in their bondage.
“Please! I can’t take it!” she pleaded, thrashing in the hope that maybe she could overpower her bonds. But Maron had built this chair to safely hold an extremely powerful, extremely ticklish victim. She could only watch in horror as the brush descended slowly towards her helpless feet, ready to mercilessly slide across her soft ticklish soles…the panic was almost too bear…
“No! I’ll do anything!” Erika begged. “Just don’t—YEEEAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”
“See, it’s not so bad,” teased Maron, guiding the brush in long, slithering paths up and down the furiously ticklish surfaces with an artist’s touch. She mixed up her slow, languid strokes with quick, sharp strokes, never giving Erika’s poor feet a moment to adapt. She amused herself by making a note of every particularly soft spot she found, returning to it later by flipping the brush around in her hand and pressing its round-pointed end into the soft flesh. These “surprise attacks” produced the wildest reactions: thundering, unbroken screams that could last for seconds.
“YOU MONSTER!!! WAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!! STOP!!! STAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAPPPP!!!” cried Erika.
“What’s the matter, can’t take a little tickling?” giggled Maron, painting short strokes in the centers of her arches. “I would have thought you’d be used to it by now.”
“I’M TOO TICKLISH!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!”
“And it’s a good thing you are, my dear,” said Maron. “These ticklish tootsies should provide us with a splendid weapon. But don’t you worry about that; all I need you to do is keep laughing.”
That was clearly not going to be a problem for the infamous “ticklish thief”. She threw back her head and howled as Maron used every devious trick she knew to torment a ticklish pair of feet. Touching just the right pressure points, she knew how to make Erika’s toes fly apart, and immediately she would swoop in to tickle the hidden spots between and underneath the toes. And as Erika lost herself in hysteria, the ring on her finger slowly began to glow again.
“Oh my, that’s faster than ever,” said Maron with pleasant approval, looking at the ring. “You know, I was afraid I was going to have to tickle you half to death to get just one weapon out of you. But you’re doing such a marvelous job, you might have two or three weapons in you before you get tickled to unconsciousness.” She giggled. “Sorry I didn’t mention it sooner.”
“I—I’LL GET YOU FOR THIS!!!!! WAAAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!!!” was all Erika could scream.
“You’ll thank me when we have the extra money,” said Maron. “All courtesy of these wonderful ticklish feet of yours. Really, you should be proud.”
But Erika was past the point of trading insults, reduced to speechless babble by the agonizingly soft strokes of the brush. And as her feet glowed bright red, so did an ornately carved knife laid on the floor beside her. It would be the first of several, thought Maron with pleasure, so long as she could moderate her tickling technique to provide unbearable torture while keeping her conscious the entire time. Of course, afterwards it would probably be a good idea to make sure her partner passed out from tickling when her usefulness was over. After all, she was bound to want some revenge; best to make sure she was too weak to get it for some time.
Outside the cart, a passing party of adventurers stopped in at the blacksmith’s shop. Most notable among them was a twelve-foot tall blonde woman, whose clothing bore the insignia of the Sorority of Adventurers.
“What’s going on out there?” she asked the blacksmith, pointing towards the merchant’s cart parked outside. Wild, hysterical laughter echoed from within, and the entire cart was shaking as though someone inside was fighting for their life.
The blacksmith seemed more interested in the blade she was sharpening. “Out-of-towners,” she explained tersely.
Maggie shrugged and moved on. It seemed as good an explanation as she was likely to get.
* * * * *
“I’m still not talking to you,” seethed Erika as the two of them walked away from the stables holding Maron’s cart for the night. By the time she had woken up she had been too weak for murderous rage to take root, but she was still not inclined to be friendly to her partner.
“Come on, I didn’t enjoy it any more than you did,” Maron lied. “But you have to admit, I was right about needing the extra money. I’ve procured everything we need, and I’ve even been able to make a few…discreet inquiries about town. I’ve got the perfect mark to take the ring from you.”
As she expected, this got Erika’s attention. “Really? Who is it?”
“You’ll know her when you see her,” said Maron. “Trust me. She’s at the tavern right now; it’s the perfect time to complete the deal before she gets wise.”
The tavern she led them to was a large, rustic-looking structure that was clearly the social hub of this small town. A warm light spilled out through the door onto the dusky streets, inviting passers-by to come in and forget their troubles after a hard day’s work. But for the two traveling companions, work was just beginning. They pushed their way through a pair of swinging doors and swept the room for their mark.
There was only one person Maron could have been talking about, and she sat at a table surrounded by a group of adventurers in high spirits. The woman towered above everyone else in the tavern: she was easily twelve feet tall, but perfectly proportioned from head to toe. She was clearly not human: hopefully there was some magic in her. But most importantly of all, hopefully she hadn’t heard about the infamous ring.
Maron and Erika inconspicuously took their seats at an empty table next to them and ordered a drink. Maron produced a sack of merchandise on the table, and as they had planned, the two of them began haggling.
“You’re not going to find better craftsmanship this side of Port Bastion!” exclaimed Maron in her finest sales voice, holding up a large, ornate pair of earrings.
“It’s too expensive,” stated Erika with considerably less acting flair. When she noticed Maron’s disappointed look, she added, “Why, you’d be lucky to get half your price!”
“I see you’re a hard bargainer,” continued Maron. “Very well! I can throw in a bolt of purest silk from the Eastlands, used to make the most delicate and refined high fashions!” She glanced over at the next table. Good. They had Maggie’s attention.
“That’s still not enough to barter for my ring,” replied Erika, as she had been instructed to say. “You see,” she said, leaning forwards and speaking in a whisper that was just loud enough for an eavesdropper to overhear, “This ring is magic.”
That did it. Maggie pulled out her chair and walked over to their table, carrying her drink. “Excuse me,” she said, “did I overhear the two of you saying that you had a magic artifact to sell?”
“Indeed she does!” answered Maron, clearly trusting more in her own acting skills. “And yet, nothing I offer will satisfy her! I happen to have more merchandise than gold at the moment, perhaps I can offer you some of my humble wares to refresh my stock of coin?”
But as she had hoped, Maggie was far more interested in the prospect of a magic ring. “This ring,” asked Maggie of Erika, “can I see it?”
Almost hesitantly, Erika listed her hand and displayed the ring that felt almost like an extension of her body now: a ring of pure, untarnished gold whose band was covered in ornate etchings which looked almost too fine to have been carved by a human hand. Atop it was set a brilliant gemstone: from every angle the gem seemed to shine a different color, catching the light and reflecting it in impossible angles. Circling the band were tiny specks of light, glittering like stars in the night sky. There was no denying it: it was breathtaking to behold.
“It’s beautiful,” gasped Maggie. She stood transfixed by the ring for a moment, then added a bit sadly, “It’s too bad it won’t fit me.”
“But it will!” insisted Erika. “You see, part of the magic of the ring is that it adjusts itself perfectly to the finger of the wearer!”
“Now just a moment!” interjected Maron with token resistance. “No need to find another buyer! I may be able to sweeten the deal…”
“Would you like to…try it on?” asked Erika, looking at Maggie. Erika hesitated for a split second as the words left her mouth, waiting with palpable apprehension for her answer. She was afraid for a moment that she was giving away the game, that she looked too desperate for an answer. But fortunately, Maggie was not looking at Erika’s expression. She was looking at the ring, almost enchanted by its beauty that seemed to call out to her. It was difficult to look at anything else.
“I’d…love to,” said Maggie.
An almost incredulous look came across Erika’s face, as though she could not actually believe the answer. She sat in shock, letting the truth of it sink in, and her face changed to an expression of infinite relief. She raised her hand, extending it towards Maggie, who reached out and effortlessly slid the ring off Erika’s finger. Erika looked at her bare ring finger, and a smile of wonder crossed her face.
Maggie put her drink on the table and slipped the ring on her own finger. Just as the seller had promised, it immediately expanded to accommodate her own giantess-sized digit! Now it was even more beautiful and brilliant than ever: Maggie gazed at her new acquisition, and without taking her eyes off it, took a sip from her drink.
And that was when she knew something had gone wrong. Immediately she felt sleepy and light-headed; her mental processes ground to such a halt that she was unable to draw the basic conclusion. She only knew that she was tired beyond belief: she was about to collapse. She had to get to her room, she thought, as she staggered up the stairs without saying goodbye to her friends or her new acquaintances. She had to reach the bed before…
* * * * *
Maggie groggily opened her eyes to a dark, windowless room. The light from a single lamp glowing in the corner showed a room almost devoid of furniture: everything was bare except for a large metal-framed bed which Maggie found herself laying on as she awoke. She seemed to still be clothed, although her sandals were missing. And it was clear she wasn’t going anywhere: around her wrists and ankles were thick, solid iron manacles that chained her to the bedpost. As restraints, they would have been ridiculously excessive for anyone but Maggie. Someone had clearly gone through a lot of trouble on her behalf.
And there they stood in front of her: Maron and Erika surveyed their handiwork, although Maron was clearly much more confident about the results. Maggie glared at them over her massive bare feet.
“I don’t think you realize exactly how much of a mistake you just made,” she growled at the two of them. Erika took an involuntary step backwards.
“Oh, everything here is quite intentional, I assure you,” insisted Maron. “Not to mention costly. Finding enough sedative to knock out a giantess was challenging, to say the least.”
“Then you’ve never seen what a giantess can do when she’s awake and angry,” replied Maggie with a snarl. She shook the chains with a flex of her muscles as easily as if they had been thread. “These flimsy things won’t hold me for long, and when I get out of here—“
“Then I suppose we’ll have to work quickly,” said Maron with a confident smile. And with that, she pressed her fingernail into the center of Maggie’s towering right foot.
“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKK!!!!!” The scream shook the entire room, piercing the darkness with deafening loudness. All of a sudden, her bravado was gone. Maggie’s eyes darted around; she was very, very frightened.
“No! Please not that!” Maggie cried. “Not the feet!”
“Ticklish, are we?” asked Maron, fairly purring with self-satisfaction. “Yes, I knew I’d made the right decision with you. Although I never dared to hope they’d be this tender.” Maron leaned forwards and let her hot breath fall on Maggie’s flushed, sensitive soles. They twitched instinctively, and Maron beamed at the sight.
“P—please!” said Maggie, already beginning to panic. “You don’t know what you’re doing!” Maggie’s toes curled downwards, and her feet reflexively tried to protect themselves from the coming onslaught, hiding one sole behind its equally ticklish partner.
“And here I thought we were about to tickle you within an inch of your life. I must have been mistaken,” quipped Maron. Maggie whimpered softly.
“Well I’m about ready to begin,” said Erika, walking towards the bed.
“I couldn’t agree more,” agreed Maron. From the folds of her cloak she removed a long object bundled in cloth. As she unwrapped it, it was a sword: a magnificently crafted blade that must have cost a fortune. Runic symbols were inscribed on its blade and the hilt was carved out of ebony bone into the shape of winged serpents. Maron gingerly placed the sword on the ground beside the bed.
“No! Don’t do this!” cried Maggie, too terrified to even think about the strange sword. “We can make a deal! I can—YEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAAAAAAAA!!!!!”
From the instant the swarm of fingernails touched her soft feet, poor Maggie did not even have a prayer at resistance. The room filled with the booming, thunderous laughter that only a giant-sized pair of lungs could produce. Maggie fought back with all her might, but the iron chains refused to break before her unfocused jerks and spasms. She was a prisoner, and her captives had only one thing on their minds: tickle torture.
Maron was a cruel, purposeful tickler: clearly an expert at the persuasive arts and no stranger to a pair of bound, ticklish feet. She meticulously applied the lessons that she had learned on countless other howling victims, plying her diabolical art on a canvas that was much larger than even she was used to. Running her fingers up and down Maggie’s right foot, she applied careful pressure, feeling for soft spots and memorizing every inch of tender terrain to use against her victim. She worked her way slowly up Maggie’s instep, circling the huge, fleshy ball of her foot and making it dance for her. And even someone as experienced as Maron was astonished at how soft these feet were: every inch of them baby-soft and perfectly pedicured.
Erika, on the other foot, tickled with abandon and fiendish delight: her assault betrayed a vengefulness that only a girl who had endured a hundred ticklings from strangers could bring to bear. She skittered her sharp fingernails across Maggie’s sole in wild, random patterns, devouring the smooth softness with glee. In her mind’s eye, Erika could imagine every woman who had ever tied her up and tickled her feet, and now she saw all of their faces in Maggie. At long last she had the chance for revenge against the world, and she was going to take it out on Maggie’s unbearably ticklish sole.
“WAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!! STAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAPPP!!!!!” screamed Maggie, her huge, muscular body convulsing before this two-pronged assault. The iron chains clanked and the bed was lifted off the floor with the force of her struggling. But nothing could buy Maggie even a moment of respite. Twenty merciless fingernails pressed into her soft flesh, rounding her heels and sliding up her long, tall arches until she could take no more. And as she bellowed with wild laughter, the ring on her finger softly began to glow.
“It’s happening!” exclaimed Erika, seeing the familiar phenomenon on another victim for the first time.
“Koochie koochie koo,” taunted Maron, coaxing even more laughter with an effortless flick of her fingers. “That’s it! Show us how hard you can laugh!”
“YAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAA!!! I GIVE UP!!!!” pleaded Maggie, thrashing from side to side. A deluge of tears flew from her cheeks into the air like raindrops, and her strength was so great that the entire room shook as though in an earthquake. Her sweat drenched the bedspread beneath her, and Maggie’s writhing feet turned a bright shade of pink beneath the merciless fingernails. She only knew that the room was getting somehow brighter, but her mind was too far gone to care.
“Yes! More! Give us your power!” commanded Maron, looking with avarice at the now brightly-glowing ring on Maggie’s finger. Slowly, the sword Maron had placed on the ground began to glow as well. The luminous strands of magical power reached out through the air and wrapped around the blade, lifting it off the ground until it hovered just within arm’s reach. The runes inscribed on the blade began to glow, and light poured into the etchings as though it were liquid power. Like a heartbeat, it began to pulse with warmth and energy. Maron stared at it, without stopping her tickling for a moment. But then they heard it.
“Come out, you thief!” cried a furious voice in the hall outside the door. Maron recognized the voice immediately. She staggered back several steps and blanched white. For the first time since Erika had known her, she looked genuinely frightened.
“No!” muttered Maron. “How did she find me? Not now! Not now!”
“Show yourself, or I’ll flay you alive!” cried the voice. There several sets of heavy footsteps outside, and they were coming this way. Maron looked around the room in vain for some heavy object with which to bar the door, but nothing was available. In desperation, she held her own back to the door to reinforce it.
“Don’t stop!” shouted Maron at Erika. “Whatever you do now, keep tickling those feet!”
“With pleasure,” purred Erika. She had faced marauders before and could hold her own in any fight. But she was enjoying her work too much to care regardless. She reached out with both hands to grasp Maggie’s gargantuan foot, and plunged her face deep within the soft flesh and licked.
“YEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAHAAA!!!!! WAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!!!!!” The touch of the fingernails was nothing compared to the touch of Erika’s warm, moist tongue running across her tender sole. Maggie could not even beg for mercy: words were lost in an outpouring of pure hysteria.
Erika gave a muffled moan of lust as she held her face to the warm, ticklish flesh. Maggie’s foot was so large that it completely enveloped her face: she had to move her head up and down to cover all of the massive arches with sweeps of her tongue. The musky fragrance of the giantess’ bare foot in her face was intoxicating: she breathed it in deeply as she planted kisses with her moist lips, and teased soft spots with the rigid tip of her tongue. Faint marks of lipstick were left all across the vast expanse of that sole, as well as glistening trails of saliva that sparkled in the light. When Erika reached the top of her foot, she immersed every one of Maggie’s long, wriggling toes into her mouth, letting it slide sensually between her lips and curling her tongue around it like a serpent. For Maggie it was hellish torture; for Erika it was pure bliss.
There was a great pounding on the door: someone was trying to break it down from the other side. “I’ve got your head now, merchant!” cried the voice on the other side.
“Wait! I’ll have your payment!” cried Maron, barricading the door with her own body. “I just need a little more time! Any second now!” But their visitor was not inclined to be patient. Another blow to the door nearly knocked it off its hinges.
The sword hovering in the center of the room was glowing brightly now, more radiantly than white-hot steel from a forge. The pulses of power were more frequent now, washing over the room with greater intensity than even Erika had ever seen. Whatever else Maron had told her, she was right about one thing the giantess woman was ticklish beyond anything in even Erika’s darkest nightmares. And all that desperate energy flowed through the ring into the blade, imbuing it with power that few mortals had ever seen.
But all Maggie knew was that she was close to the breaking point. She howled and babbled wordlessly as Erika’s soft lips and moist tongue had their way with her ticklish sole: devouring it amorously as Maggie spiraled into madness. Even her nearly boundless strength was failing her as her greatest weakness was exploited without mercy. Every inch of her massive sole glistened with moisture, and now Erika ran her fingernails across the frictionless surface to form a duet of ticklish agony. And then, as Erika plunged her mouth into the exact center of Maggie’s ticklish arch, she could take no more.
“YEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!” Maggie’s laughter turned to a final, piercing scream of such power that everyone present could feel it resonate throughout their bodies. There was a final blinding pulse of light, and the transfer of power was complete. The glowing sword fell to the ground, and before it had even hit, Maron was running towards it like a drowning woman grasping at a lifeboat. Just as she left her position in front of the door, a final, mighty kick broke down the door, causing it to fall inwards, and a group of three armor-clad women warriors charged into the room. But Maggie did not see what happened next. Her strength gone, Maggie slumped backwards and let the shroud of sleep fall over her.
* * * * *
“So I guess the merchant ended up paying off her debt,” remarked Leia, taking another drink from her mug. She sat opposite Maggie in the Lodge back at the Sorority of Adventurers, back in the familiar comforts of Port Bastion.
“In a way,” said Maggie impishly, taking a drink of her own bright pink cocktail. “I had some of our sisters look into this merchant and what she wanted. It turns out she was a con-artist who had tried to cheat an infamous clan of bandits. Their leader didn’t take kindly to being sold faulty merchandise. But apparently, she was so impressed at the sword the merchant managed to craft, she forgave the debt right there and let the two of them walk.”
“Why do I sense there’s more to it than you’re telling me?” asked Leia.
“Very smart.” Maggie smiled. “You see, the ring they had me wear apparently siphons ticklish energy from its wearer to place enchantments on weapons. But apparently, I was so ticklish, something totally unexpected happened. The sword gained all of the enchantments they expected, but it picked up a little something…more, too. Specifically, it picked up the ticklish resonance of the ring-wearer. And now, the sword carries it, too.”
Leia grinned. “So what does that mean, exactly?”
“It means that somewhere out there, there’s a bandit leader with a sword that shatters steel and bites through armor, and that also curses its owner with unbearably ticklish feet. Just as sensitive as someone else you might know.” Maggie giggled self-deprecatingly and took another sip of her cocktail.
“Bet she wasn’t happy about that,” said Leia.
“You can say that again,” replied Maggie. “Those two managed to get a few towns away before the bandit leader found out, but now she’s even more furious than before. She’s put out a huge bounty on both of their heads. They won’t be able to stop running for a long, long time.”
“And the ring?”
Maggie flashed it, still on her finger. “Completely drained of power. Now it’s just an ordinary piece of jewelry. I think I’ll hold onto it.”
Leia laughed appreciatively. “Sounds like a happy ending, then. Looks like those big, ticklish feet of yours were useful after all!”
Maggie laughed back. “I’ll drink to that.”
