Howdy, gang!
Let me know what you think of this series as we roll on, and if you haven't yet, enjoy Part One!
Foreign Aid, part two (m/f)
by
Kid Indy
Making a deal with the devil is never a move that increases a person's sense of security. As the days passed Alyana Pulanski was looking over her shoulder, afraid that the French mercenary whose help had come her way would suddenly evaporate and the revolutionary militias would once again descend on her camp, killing and abducting the wounded and sick she was treating and possibly doing worse to her young body. But she was also on the lookout for Andre Denard, the mercenary, afraid that he might come and take from her what she was trading for the protection, to humiliate her in front of her crew and use his quick, strong hands to make her laugh.
She had sworn Carlos to secrecy on the tickling, making him promise to tell the rest of the crew that Denard had simply wanted to dine with her. The crew, street-smart from working in war zones, suspected a more conventional exchange going on, which Alyana didn't like, but she knew well enough that rumors of sex were nothing compared to what would break out if people knew the real truth.
The days until Alyana's next evening off sped by, refugees coming to their camp steadily. The crew administered the medicines that they needed, tended the hurts that forced travels inflict, and even delivered a couple babies. Denard's soldiers of fortune were always just close enough to escort families to points of departure so that the refugees could leave the region, though Denard himself never showed himself. In fact, the mercenary crew more than once arrived just as crucial supplies were running out, selling them to the aid workers at a deep discount or even giving them to the operation for free. The rumors kept spreading, and the patients kept arriving, until Alyana's next evening off.
Once again she brought Carlos with her, but this time she wore a tight blue dress and sandals that made Alyana look like a sexy 26-year-old out on the prowl.
Sharon, one of Alyana's crew, could not help herself. "So, Alyana, are you going out for some French cuisine?"
Alyana turned red; she had to maintain a story that back in America would have ruined a reputation she valued but here was the only cover that could shelter her from people's knowing the truth. So she played the double-agent, denying feebly what wasn't true: "Oh, Sharon! It's not really a date."
"Who said anything about a date? Are you going out with Andre again?"
"It's not a date, Sharon! We're just having dinner." That part was a lie, and she knew it.
Now Linda, who had overheard, was getting in on the fun. "Just watch out for those French boys, Alyana! We all know what they're after!" Alyana smiled and put on a show of protest, knowing exactly what this French boy was after but unable to confide in anybody but Carlos, the only other person in on the real story.
In a few minutes the same car arrived that took Carlos and Alyana to the river before, and they boarded. Carlos was visibly uneasy, knowing that he was going to hear Alyana's tortured laughter again, but they came aboard nonetheless.
"Alyana! Carlos! Welcome back!" This time Denard's hand sent a brief spark through Alyana as it took hers, and her body's attraction to his added just a bit of extra shame. "Carlos, once again I'll ask you to dine with my officers while Alyana and I dine privately this evening." Once again he dutifully joined the officers as Denard and Alyana went into his private cabin.
A fine dinner of local vegetarian cuisine followed, and the wine poured freely. They talked about books and politics and all sorts of pleasant things that took Alyana's mind off of the rigors of foreign aid but reminded her that she was there to be tickled. Every time Andre Denard's wit made Alyana laugh, and it was not merely once, she could remember his other methods for making her laugh, and her inner conflict became more pronounced as the evening advanced.
"I hope, Alyana, that my men's help has satisfied your company's needs."
"Yes, Andre, they've been quite helpful. So much so that my own crew is talking not a little bit about you and about me!"
"Let them talk, I say. Your work is too important to let a few chattering birds slow it!"
Alyana paused. "So are you ready for tonight's..."
"Am I ready for tonight's what?"
Alyana's face grew red. "You're really going to make me say it?"
"I won't make you do anything, my beauty. But I would love to hear you ask me."
Alyana's lips pursed. "Andre, would you like to tickle me?"
Denard's eyes lit up. "I feared you'd never ask!" He stood and walked over to a padded stool, which Alyana had ignored earlier, but now she saw that two soft fur-lined leather straps with steel buckles dangled from its side. "Tonight, O beautiful lady, I want you to choose your fate."
"You mean I don't have to let you tickle me?"
"No, I still want to tickle you, and I think you still want to laugh for me, but I want you to choose how I'm going to do so. You may choose to sit on my lap again, and you know what I'm going to do then."
Alyana began to squirm just remembering what that involved. "What's my other choice, then?"
Denard scooted the stool in front of her. "The foot stool. I will restrain your feet so that I can use both hands on them, and for the whole time we're together I'll tickle only your feet."
Alyana's breath caught as she thought of that possibility. She knew very well that, when they started wrestling, and Andre started tickling, his hands would be between her thighs again, and that kind of tickling she wanted to avoid at almost any cost. But not being able to move her feet the whole time he wanted to torture her was frightening in its own way.
"If I put my feet on the stool, you won't touch me anywhere else?"
"Not tonight, Alyana, though who can say what the future brings?"
Alyana bit her lower lip gently. She could remember both kinds of tickling, and if he could keep his hands off of her upper legs, she had to try that. "I'll put my feet on the stool, then."
Denard smiled a wolf's smile. "Then take those lovely shoes off, and let's enjoy the rest of our evening, shall we?"
Alyana slowly unfastened the straps on her sandals, and Denard made no attempt to pretend he wasn't staring. One by one she lifted them to the stool, and with a similar degree of deliberation, Denard fastened the straps around her ankles. The stool's frame was a heavy wood, as Alyana realized when she tried to pull the stool towards herself but instead scooted her own chair forwards.
Denard stood up, turned, and left the room. Alyana began to panic just a bit. "Andre? Andre! Where have you gone?" The moments seemed to take forever to pass as she considered loosing the straps and running, but finally he came back into the cabin, a small leather satchel in his left hand.
"I've not gone far, my beauty. I had to retrieve my things so that we could proceed!" He pulled a small glass flask from the bag, and Alyana's eyes tracked to it. Removing the cork, he emptied some onto his hand, set the bottle down on a nearby table, and rubbed his hands together.
"What are you doing now, Andre?"
"Preparing you to be tickled as few women have ever been tickled!" He grasped her right foot with both hands, rubbing what she now knew was a light oil over the sole, the toes, the heel, and the top. Alyana began to giggle as his strong hands rubbed her.
"You could just massage my feet, Andre. I'm terribly tired from working this week!"
He released her foot and began to get more oil from the flask. "This is better than massage oil, Alyana. As the thin film sits on your skin, all the nerve passages in your feet are dilating just slightly. After about a minute, the next thing to touch your feet will feel like nothing you've ever felt before."
Alyana couldn't decide whether to feel alarmed or not; as he worked the oil into her other foot. His hands tickled, but they also soothed her as they rubbed, and she did not even try to hide the soft moan of pleasure that was her body's response.
"So you're going to give me quite a foot-tickling, then?"
"That's only the beginning, my beauty. When I let you return to your camp, you will know your body in a way that not many women have ever known. But first we need to prepare you for the experience!"
With that he produced a fine-bristled cleaning brush, and Alyana gasped. "You can't tickle me with that!"
Denard chuckled, a deep sound. "I am, and this is only the beginning!" He wrapped his fingers around the top of her foot to brace it and began swiftly to scrub back and forth across her sole. Alyana screamed as a thousand tickling points danced across her skin. But screams don't last forever, and as the brush continued to do its work, she began to giggle with a manic intensity that she had never heard from herself. She tried to buck in her chair, but the straps kept her from getting any leverage, and she could only laugh and squeal as his brush kept working. She had no idea how long he had been at work when he stopped tickling her with the brush, but the hungry grin that remained on her face told her that he wasn't done.
"Okay, Andre! You had your fun! I can't laugh any more!"
"You only think that because we haven't started the Russian treatment!"
Alyana couldn't help but gasp at the phrase. "No, seriously, Andre, you have to let me go!" She gasped again as he saw him take a thin shaft of bamboo, rounded at the tip, in each hand. He sat them down and pulled two thick leather straps from the bag.
As he began to strap Alyana's arms to the chair's arms he continued. "Of course, bamboo isn't native to the frozen north, but follow me for a moment here. Nobody goes barefoot in those regions, so people's feet are quite vulnerable. The Soviets, scientific types that they are, decided to figure out the truth about ticklish feet. Rumor had it that one of Stalin's higher-ups had a thing for it. So they brought in bamboo and fashioned tickle-probes to test what spots on women's feet are most ticklish."
"Andre, don't touch me with those!"
Denard grinned and laughed. "So in the process of this research, they discovered that women's feet don't have one ticklish spot but ticklish paths. Every woman is different, and each day the path might be somewhere else." She screamed as he leaned in closer to her feet, and he paused to let her finish before saying, "And that's what I'm going to explore with these." She felt the tip of one bamboo tickler sweep from the ball of her foot down her instep, and she squealed. "Every sweep that I do here is going to tickle your feet terribly, because they're oiled up, and the brush cleared away your skin's natural resistance to their touch." He swept again on the same foot, this time from the the ball of her foot across the width of the foot to a spot just under her smallest toe. Again she squealed. "But one of these passes, I'm going to find your most ticklish path, and your body is going to tell me secrets that it hasn't even told you, Alyana."
He swept a bamboo tip from the middle of Alyana's heel to the center, and Alyana felt as though she could break the chair on which she was sitting. She not only screamed but kept laughing when the bamboo tool had lifted. The sensation terrified her, and her terror only increased when she saw Denard's grin broaden. "It never takes long, my beauty. Now we can really have the fun you came here to have!"
"No, Andre! Please! Just untie me and let me go!"
"Now the real joy of the Russian treatment begins. I'm going to start tickling your feet with my fingers again, and for a while--only I know how long--I'm going to avoid that path. But when the moment arrives, and you won't know until it's here, I'm going to start tickling that path, and when a warm finger is wiggling and scratching and torturing that path..."
Alyana suddenly realized that she was holding her breath as he was talking.
"When my fingers start walking that path, you're going to be ticklish like most women couldn't even imagine!"
"Please..."
"You might want to deny that you find it pleasing, Alyana, but that won't change the fact that this is pleasure, pleasure for me and pleasure for your lovely, ticklish skin!" As he said that last word he began to tickle her foot, and Alyana was awash in sensation as her terrified anticipation met a lover's anticipation and both of those forces pulled her ticklish nerves tight for Denard to play on. She sang a tormented song for the French man, her feet in the moment making her laugh and squeal, but the part of her that lived just a moment in the future tried to hold her breath, waiting for the finger to walk the path. She faded in and out of conscious thought as his fingers stroked and rubbed first her heel, then the crescent of her instep, the skin between her toes, the ball of her foot.
In one of those moments of clear thought Alyana felt a sense of triumph--there was nothing to this Russian treatment, and he really didn't have any secret weapon. The tickling was real, but she knew the worst that could happen. For a brief moment, just before she faded out again, she enjoyed a small laugh of joy at her triumph.
Then he hit the path.
Alyana's head thrashed, her long curly hair whipping around her cyclone world, as he began to tickle from the center of her heel to the center of her sole. She screamed as the ticklish feelings escalated, and she could feel an ache between her legs that she had no power to stop. Denard drank in her helpless torment; this was the refined pleasure that he had worked all this time for. Alyana's scream couldn't even withstand this kind of tickling, and soon she was laughing and moaning in pleasure and gasping for air in between. Her hands, before balled into fists, now flopped this way and that; she had no anger left, only ecstasy, and Denard planned to keep her there for a while. He didn't even have to lift her skirt to see, simply knew by sense of smell, that she was going places sensually that she had no way to prepare for, and yet he tickled more. He heard her gasp through another explosion, then a third, before he finally relented. Her head, sweaty from the exertion, hung down.
"Don't try to talk, Alyana. Just enjoy the feeling."
Alyana panted.
"My people will give you clothes to change into, and we'll take care of cleaning these." He began to unstrap her arm restraints, then her ankle restraints. "When you come back I'll give your clothes back, and I want you to bring a swimming suit so that we can enjoy my hot tub together."
Alyana continued to breathe quickly. Could he really mean to do more to her? She began to think about where she would go to hide from this terrible man.
"The people of this region thank you, Alyana. You're giving me a kind of pleasure that I can't find many places, but you're giving them a chance to live through this war."
For the first time since the tickling stopped Alyana lifted her eyes to glare at Andre Denard. She could not speak still, but the mixture of rage and resignation in her eyes told a thousand stories.
Let me know what you think of this series as we roll on, and if you haven't yet, enjoy Part One!
Foreign Aid, part two (m/f)
by
Kid Indy
Making a deal with the devil is never a move that increases a person's sense of security. As the days passed Alyana Pulanski was looking over her shoulder, afraid that the French mercenary whose help had come her way would suddenly evaporate and the revolutionary militias would once again descend on her camp, killing and abducting the wounded and sick she was treating and possibly doing worse to her young body. But she was also on the lookout for Andre Denard, the mercenary, afraid that he might come and take from her what she was trading for the protection, to humiliate her in front of her crew and use his quick, strong hands to make her laugh.
She had sworn Carlos to secrecy on the tickling, making him promise to tell the rest of the crew that Denard had simply wanted to dine with her. The crew, street-smart from working in war zones, suspected a more conventional exchange going on, which Alyana didn't like, but she knew well enough that rumors of sex were nothing compared to what would break out if people knew the real truth.
The days until Alyana's next evening off sped by, refugees coming to their camp steadily. The crew administered the medicines that they needed, tended the hurts that forced travels inflict, and even delivered a couple babies. Denard's soldiers of fortune were always just close enough to escort families to points of departure so that the refugees could leave the region, though Denard himself never showed himself. In fact, the mercenary crew more than once arrived just as crucial supplies were running out, selling them to the aid workers at a deep discount or even giving them to the operation for free. The rumors kept spreading, and the patients kept arriving, until Alyana's next evening off.
Once again she brought Carlos with her, but this time she wore a tight blue dress and sandals that made Alyana look like a sexy 26-year-old out on the prowl.
Sharon, one of Alyana's crew, could not help herself. "So, Alyana, are you going out for some French cuisine?"
Alyana turned red; she had to maintain a story that back in America would have ruined a reputation she valued but here was the only cover that could shelter her from people's knowing the truth. So she played the double-agent, denying feebly what wasn't true: "Oh, Sharon! It's not really a date."
"Who said anything about a date? Are you going out with Andre again?"
"It's not a date, Sharon! We're just having dinner." That part was a lie, and she knew it.
Now Linda, who had overheard, was getting in on the fun. "Just watch out for those French boys, Alyana! We all know what they're after!" Alyana smiled and put on a show of protest, knowing exactly what this French boy was after but unable to confide in anybody but Carlos, the only other person in on the real story.
In a few minutes the same car arrived that took Carlos and Alyana to the river before, and they boarded. Carlos was visibly uneasy, knowing that he was going to hear Alyana's tortured laughter again, but they came aboard nonetheless.
"Alyana! Carlos! Welcome back!" This time Denard's hand sent a brief spark through Alyana as it took hers, and her body's attraction to his added just a bit of extra shame. "Carlos, once again I'll ask you to dine with my officers while Alyana and I dine privately this evening." Once again he dutifully joined the officers as Denard and Alyana went into his private cabin.
A fine dinner of local vegetarian cuisine followed, and the wine poured freely. They talked about books and politics and all sorts of pleasant things that took Alyana's mind off of the rigors of foreign aid but reminded her that she was there to be tickled. Every time Andre Denard's wit made Alyana laugh, and it was not merely once, she could remember his other methods for making her laugh, and her inner conflict became more pronounced as the evening advanced.
"I hope, Alyana, that my men's help has satisfied your company's needs."
"Yes, Andre, they've been quite helpful. So much so that my own crew is talking not a little bit about you and about me!"
"Let them talk, I say. Your work is too important to let a few chattering birds slow it!"
Alyana paused. "So are you ready for tonight's..."
"Am I ready for tonight's what?"
Alyana's face grew red. "You're really going to make me say it?"
"I won't make you do anything, my beauty. But I would love to hear you ask me."
Alyana's lips pursed. "Andre, would you like to tickle me?"
Denard's eyes lit up. "I feared you'd never ask!" He stood and walked over to a padded stool, which Alyana had ignored earlier, but now she saw that two soft fur-lined leather straps with steel buckles dangled from its side. "Tonight, O beautiful lady, I want you to choose your fate."
"You mean I don't have to let you tickle me?"
"No, I still want to tickle you, and I think you still want to laugh for me, but I want you to choose how I'm going to do so. You may choose to sit on my lap again, and you know what I'm going to do then."
Alyana began to squirm just remembering what that involved. "What's my other choice, then?"
Denard scooted the stool in front of her. "The foot stool. I will restrain your feet so that I can use both hands on them, and for the whole time we're together I'll tickle only your feet."
Alyana's breath caught as she thought of that possibility. She knew very well that, when they started wrestling, and Andre started tickling, his hands would be between her thighs again, and that kind of tickling she wanted to avoid at almost any cost. But not being able to move her feet the whole time he wanted to torture her was frightening in its own way.
"If I put my feet on the stool, you won't touch me anywhere else?"
"Not tonight, Alyana, though who can say what the future brings?"
Alyana bit her lower lip gently. She could remember both kinds of tickling, and if he could keep his hands off of her upper legs, she had to try that. "I'll put my feet on the stool, then."
Denard smiled a wolf's smile. "Then take those lovely shoes off, and let's enjoy the rest of our evening, shall we?"
Alyana slowly unfastened the straps on her sandals, and Denard made no attempt to pretend he wasn't staring. One by one she lifted them to the stool, and with a similar degree of deliberation, Denard fastened the straps around her ankles. The stool's frame was a heavy wood, as Alyana realized when she tried to pull the stool towards herself but instead scooted her own chair forwards.
Denard stood up, turned, and left the room. Alyana began to panic just a bit. "Andre? Andre! Where have you gone?" The moments seemed to take forever to pass as she considered loosing the straps and running, but finally he came back into the cabin, a small leather satchel in his left hand.
"I've not gone far, my beauty. I had to retrieve my things so that we could proceed!" He pulled a small glass flask from the bag, and Alyana's eyes tracked to it. Removing the cork, he emptied some onto his hand, set the bottle down on a nearby table, and rubbed his hands together.
"What are you doing now, Andre?"
"Preparing you to be tickled as few women have ever been tickled!" He grasped her right foot with both hands, rubbing what she now knew was a light oil over the sole, the toes, the heel, and the top. Alyana began to giggle as his strong hands rubbed her.
"You could just massage my feet, Andre. I'm terribly tired from working this week!"
He released her foot and began to get more oil from the flask. "This is better than massage oil, Alyana. As the thin film sits on your skin, all the nerve passages in your feet are dilating just slightly. After about a minute, the next thing to touch your feet will feel like nothing you've ever felt before."
Alyana couldn't decide whether to feel alarmed or not; as he worked the oil into her other foot. His hands tickled, but they also soothed her as they rubbed, and she did not even try to hide the soft moan of pleasure that was her body's response.
"So you're going to give me quite a foot-tickling, then?"
"That's only the beginning, my beauty. When I let you return to your camp, you will know your body in a way that not many women have ever known. But first we need to prepare you for the experience!"
With that he produced a fine-bristled cleaning brush, and Alyana gasped. "You can't tickle me with that!"
Denard chuckled, a deep sound. "I am, and this is only the beginning!" He wrapped his fingers around the top of her foot to brace it and began swiftly to scrub back and forth across her sole. Alyana screamed as a thousand tickling points danced across her skin. But screams don't last forever, and as the brush continued to do its work, she began to giggle with a manic intensity that she had never heard from herself. She tried to buck in her chair, but the straps kept her from getting any leverage, and she could only laugh and squeal as his brush kept working. She had no idea how long he had been at work when he stopped tickling her with the brush, but the hungry grin that remained on her face told her that he wasn't done.
"Okay, Andre! You had your fun! I can't laugh any more!"
"You only think that because we haven't started the Russian treatment!"
Alyana couldn't help but gasp at the phrase. "No, seriously, Andre, you have to let me go!" She gasped again as he saw him take a thin shaft of bamboo, rounded at the tip, in each hand. He sat them down and pulled two thick leather straps from the bag.
As he began to strap Alyana's arms to the chair's arms he continued. "Of course, bamboo isn't native to the frozen north, but follow me for a moment here. Nobody goes barefoot in those regions, so people's feet are quite vulnerable. The Soviets, scientific types that they are, decided to figure out the truth about ticklish feet. Rumor had it that one of Stalin's higher-ups had a thing for it. So they brought in bamboo and fashioned tickle-probes to test what spots on women's feet are most ticklish."
"Andre, don't touch me with those!"
Denard grinned and laughed. "So in the process of this research, they discovered that women's feet don't have one ticklish spot but ticklish paths. Every woman is different, and each day the path might be somewhere else." She screamed as he leaned in closer to her feet, and he paused to let her finish before saying, "And that's what I'm going to explore with these." She felt the tip of one bamboo tickler sweep from the ball of her foot down her instep, and she squealed. "Every sweep that I do here is going to tickle your feet terribly, because they're oiled up, and the brush cleared away your skin's natural resistance to their touch." He swept again on the same foot, this time from the the ball of her foot across the width of the foot to a spot just under her smallest toe. Again she squealed. "But one of these passes, I'm going to find your most ticklish path, and your body is going to tell me secrets that it hasn't even told you, Alyana."
He swept a bamboo tip from the middle of Alyana's heel to the center, and Alyana felt as though she could break the chair on which she was sitting. She not only screamed but kept laughing when the bamboo tool had lifted. The sensation terrified her, and her terror only increased when she saw Denard's grin broaden. "It never takes long, my beauty. Now we can really have the fun you came here to have!"
"No, Andre! Please! Just untie me and let me go!"
"Now the real joy of the Russian treatment begins. I'm going to start tickling your feet with my fingers again, and for a while--only I know how long--I'm going to avoid that path. But when the moment arrives, and you won't know until it's here, I'm going to start tickling that path, and when a warm finger is wiggling and scratching and torturing that path..."
Alyana suddenly realized that she was holding her breath as he was talking.
"When my fingers start walking that path, you're going to be ticklish like most women couldn't even imagine!"
"Please..."
"You might want to deny that you find it pleasing, Alyana, but that won't change the fact that this is pleasure, pleasure for me and pleasure for your lovely, ticklish skin!" As he said that last word he began to tickle her foot, and Alyana was awash in sensation as her terrified anticipation met a lover's anticipation and both of those forces pulled her ticklish nerves tight for Denard to play on. She sang a tormented song for the French man, her feet in the moment making her laugh and squeal, but the part of her that lived just a moment in the future tried to hold her breath, waiting for the finger to walk the path. She faded in and out of conscious thought as his fingers stroked and rubbed first her heel, then the crescent of her instep, the skin between her toes, the ball of her foot.
In one of those moments of clear thought Alyana felt a sense of triumph--there was nothing to this Russian treatment, and he really didn't have any secret weapon. The tickling was real, but she knew the worst that could happen. For a brief moment, just before she faded out again, she enjoyed a small laugh of joy at her triumph.
Then he hit the path.
Alyana's head thrashed, her long curly hair whipping around her cyclone world, as he began to tickle from the center of her heel to the center of her sole. She screamed as the ticklish feelings escalated, and she could feel an ache between her legs that she had no power to stop. Denard drank in her helpless torment; this was the refined pleasure that he had worked all this time for. Alyana's scream couldn't even withstand this kind of tickling, and soon she was laughing and moaning in pleasure and gasping for air in between. Her hands, before balled into fists, now flopped this way and that; she had no anger left, only ecstasy, and Denard planned to keep her there for a while. He didn't even have to lift her skirt to see, simply knew by sense of smell, that she was going places sensually that she had no way to prepare for, and yet he tickled more. He heard her gasp through another explosion, then a third, before he finally relented. Her head, sweaty from the exertion, hung down.
"Don't try to talk, Alyana. Just enjoy the feeling."
Alyana panted.
"My people will give you clothes to change into, and we'll take care of cleaning these." He began to unstrap her arm restraints, then her ankle restraints. "When you come back I'll give your clothes back, and I want you to bring a swimming suit so that we can enjoy my hot tub together."
Alyana continued to breathe quickly. Could he really mean to do more to her? She began to think about where she would go to hide from this terrible man.
"The people of this region thank you, Alyana. You're giving me a kind of pleasure that I can't find many places, but you're giving them a chance to live through this war."
For the first time since the tickling stopped Alyana lifted her eyes to glare at Andre Denard. She could not speak still, but the mixture of rage and resignation in her eyes told a thousand stories.
