It took me a while to crank this out, but here it is! I've given a link to part one in case the two should become separated. Enjoy, and please tell me what you think!
Link to part one
Discourses on Tickling 2: On the Winning and Training of Apprentices
by
Kid Indy
The city of Bari, on the coast of the Kingdom of Naples, was in an uproar. A mob was assembled in front of the mayor's house, chanting for the death of the mayor's youngest daughter, Antonia. In the darkness, torches illuminating the enraged faces of the crowd, the mayor emerged from the front door and scanned from side to side, assessing the situation. Looking for the head of the bakers' guild, a troublesome man if ever trouble were in a man, he shouted down the masses as he attempted to talk with their stout ringleader.
"What is the nature of this disturbance? Why do you disturb the peace?"
"Why do you disturb the peace, mayor? Why is your blood bringing the curse down on us?"
"What in the world are you talking about, Paulo? What blood of mine would curse our town?"
As the crowd began again to shout, the baker made a motion to some people behind him. From among the densely packed bodies emerged a young woman, her olive skin dirty, her thick, curly black hair in a mess about her head. She staggered and fell on her knees before the mayor. His eyes filled with rage as he stepped to confront the head baker.
"Paulo! I should have your head for this! This is my daughter, you little scum!"
The fat man sneered in the torchlight. "Your daughter is a witch, O Mayor." At this the crowd again launched into a roar.
The mayor called out in his most authoritative voice, "I will hear none of this!"
Another of the bakers' guild stepped forward. "She was caught among the gypsies!"
The mayor cast an angry glance down at Antonia, then looked at the bakers. "There is no crime in being among travelers. Now begone."
The guildmaster again spoke. "She was committing unnatural acts among them." The crowd, slightly more subuded, agreed.
The mayor's face flushed. "What on earth are you talking about?"
The second baker sneered in triumph and called, for the crowd as much as for the mayor, "She was in the embrace of a gypsy woman!" The crowd leapt like newly fueled fire at this. The mayor, looking down at Antonia and seeing that she was indeed guilty, became even more pallid in the fires' light.
The head baker again spoke: "If we suffer this sorceress to remain among us, the curses of heaven will rain down on our town! The plague will return! Our wives will be barren! The rain will stop coming!" The crowd was nearly in a frenzy. "For consorting with gypsies and with powers against nature, we must burn the witch!" The crowd could not agree more, and they began to drag Antonia towards the center of the square. As people began to gather wood and to pile it, a man emerged from the crowd and began to speak quietly with the mayor. Antonia was tied securely to a stake in the center of the woodpile, and torches were brought. The mayor stepped onto a platform and called out again.
"People of Bari!" Even the torchbearers turned to see what the mayor would say. "An emissary from the Holy See is among us!" The people, even the bakers, quickly knelt. "He comes with demands from Rome!"
The mayor's mysterious guest stepped onto the platform alongside the mayor. Two lage men with sheathed swords advanced to stand on his left and right. His face was smooth save for a small, tightly clipped beard on his chin. His voice carried over the silence: "It has come to the attention of the Most Holy Father that the Inquisition has been usurped by common townspeople. This must not be!" The people began to grumble, and he spoke up again. "Where is the woman with whom this young woman was caught?" The people looked around at each other.
The head baker spoke sullenly: "She ran off with the rest of 'em. Gypsies, you know?"
"Gypsies indeed. Very well. We shall escort the young woman to Rome for a proper trial. The real Inquisition will handle the business of trying witches. If we learn again that you are attempting to burn witches, the Pope will indeed bring serious measures to bear! Now turn this young woman over!" The people began to grumble, then to groan as the robed man led the young woman into the mayor's house. After several minutes, the mayor opened an upper window and spoke to the gathered people.
"The holy summoner will depart with my wayward daughter in the morning. When Rome has decided, a letter will come to proclaim her guilt or innocence." The crowd dispersed, and the night passed. In the morning the robed man, his six armed guards, and the eighteen year old daughter of the mayor, his only remaining unmarried daugter, emerged from the large house and departed along the sea coast on horseback, the eight people on eight horses.
Antonia was allowed to ride her own horse, as the six men would certainly catch her, and she had no place to run to where she knew anybody--except for Bari. And she knew what awaited her if she returned there without a verdict. An hour or so passed with nobody speaking, but Antonia began to tire of the silence. She prodded her horse to ride alongside the summoner. When she caught his eye, she asked, "When did Rome start caring about accused sorceresses?"
The man's face remained cold. "Why do you question the one who rescued you? I could have let you burn."
"But then you'd be in trouble with the Pope, no?"
Now a smile broke. "Do you think the Pope cares about your fate?"
Now Antonia was confused. He had said he was an emissary from the Pope, hadn't he? She spoke again, trying to get information. "When will my trial start once we get to Rome?"
"There will be no trial, young one. And we're not going to Rome."
Antonia gasped, and she looked around. Six men. She could never escape. Who was this man? Summoning what courage she could, she asked, "Then where are we going?"
"Florence eventually, but tonight, we're stopping at an inn just over this ridge."
Now her eyes widened. She had heard merchants talking about the Charybdis, the inn a day's travel up the road on the sea shore--she knew that it was a house of ill repute, protected by corrupt magistrates and the home of all kinds of vice. Her head started turning this way and that, looking for any chance to get away.
"Now Antonia, why do you look so frightened? You don't think I'm going to turn you into a whore, do you?" She could only tremble. "No, my girl. We're stopping for the night, and when we've got a bit of privacy, I'm going to tell you why I rescued you from the townspeople. I don't think you're a sorceror, Antonia. I'm not going to hurt you, and neither will my men."
"Who are you?"
"In good time, my girl. In good time. Now ride quietly for a while." She did, and they arrived at the already-loud Charybdis Inn as the sun was going down. The man, his six guards, and Antonia entered a gate in a tall wood fence. Antonia's eyes boggled as she contemplated the place: not only was there a dock in the small bay, and not only were there ships docked, but the inn itself comprised five buildings, each as large as her father's house. The seven of them approached the nearest, and she could hear music and shouting already.
Once inside, Antonia shrunk inside her own skin: this place made Gypsy camps look quite safe. Rough-looking sailors pawed at whores while pipers and drummers and string players provided a noisy anthem for carousing. The harlots were of various sorts, old and young, from all over Europe and from places that Antonia could not even imagine. Beer and wine, rum and whiskey filled the air as the men breathed it into the air. Antonia noted that one man was leading a woman in her thirties out the door and towards another building.
The man rounded up his guards and pulled Antonia close. "Antonia and I will take one room. You'll escort us there. Bar the room from the outside, and make sure that at least two of you keep watch at all times. Here's some gold--it ought to be sufficient to entertain all of you. If I give the knock, let me out. If the knock is not mine, you know whose it is!" All seven men smiled at Antonia, who swallowed hard. "Now let's get a room for Antonia and me, and remember--make sure that at least two of you are keeping watch!"
They approached the bar, and a man wearing an eyepatch and a patchy beard threw up his hands in joy. "Ah, Machiavelli! It's been too long, friend!"
Antonia screamed and started to run. Two guards grabbed her and hauled her back to the bar. When she returned and stopped screaming, she heard the innkeeper say to her captor, "What, are my women not good enough for you? Have you risen above my business?"
The man, Machiavelli, smiled and said, "We might just come back for another after a while, but for now, I only want a room as far away from the gate as possible with hot water drawn and a large bed with steady posts."
"As you wish, friend." The one-eyed man called for one of his hired men and relayed instructions. The young man led the eight of them to the building farthest away from the gate and gave one of the hired men the key. Three of the men followed Antonia and Machiavelli inside.
Antonia spoke up for the first time since she screamed at the bar: "We know of you in Bari, Machiavelli. I should have known you weren't any religious man!"
"No, Antonia. A religious man would have seen you burn for the common good. All I ask is that you take off your clothes for your own good."
Antonia looked at the swords the guards were carrying and decided that, at this point, living would be her goal. She took off her shoes, revealing soft, light brown feet. "I'll take no pleasure from this, Machiavelli, and neither will you. I love only Samantha."
"Samantha. The Gypsy girl, I take it?"
"Yes, you monster. We loved each other."
"And yet she ran from town just as every Gypsy runs from every good girl in every good town. Isn't that right?"
Antonia's eyes teared up as she discarded the last of her clothing. She cried, "We'll be together again, you beast! We'll find each other!"
"And if you do, you'll be ready to be her lover, Antonia. And you'll have me to thank. I'm not going to take off any of my clothes. That isn't what this is about. Now go ahead and take a bath. I'll have my men turn away while you do. We've had a long day's journey, and I'm sure you could use some hot water on you." Seeing that she had little choice, she sat down in the steaming tub and washed herself. Machiavelli, though not staring, enjoyed immensely her limbs' movements as she cleaned her hair, her torso, those luscious olive feet. She dried herself off, and Machiavelli told his men to gather around.
"Now, Antonia, lie down on the bed and let my men prepare you for our evening." The naked young woman did, and her newly clean, radiant beauty was not lost on anyone in the room. "No, lie on your stomach." She did, and everyone got to see the graceful lines of her shoulders, back, and bottom. Machiavelli waited as two guards fastened soft leather cuffs around her wrists. They tied the cuffs to the bedframe so that her hands could not leave the bottom edge of the bed by any more than a foot. Her legs they cuffed as well and tied to the bedposts at the head. Antonia's face turned towards one wall, where the fewest people would be in her field of vision. Machiavelli sat next to the young woman.
"You may leave now, but remember, two guards." The other men left the room.
"I wish they had just burned me." She began to cry softly.
Machiavelli leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Oh, Antonia. You're young. You'll find out soon enough that no loss of love will kill you. I think you need to lighten up." His fingers gently pinched a little bit of flesh just below her ribs, and her body bucked.
"Stop! Don't!"
"You see? Now you're not even thinking about that awful Gypsy girl!"
"Why do you have me naked?"
"So I can keep doing what I just did."
Antonia's head turned to face Machiavelli, and her hair fell in her panicked face. "No! Don't touch me! I only love Samantha!"
"As I said, Antonia, my clothes are to remain on. And as I said, you need to lighten up!" He pinched her again, and her knees dug into the soft matress, propelling her rear into the air. Still she could not move any limbs to protect herself. "You know why I've got you tied up now. And you will be laughing soon, so feel free to start when I start tickling in earnest."
Yes, she did know, but hearing the word still made her muscles tense. Machiavelli began to imagine the young woman's encounters with the gypsy. Perhaps Samantha would sometimes poke Antonia in the ribs in jest, or maybe even grab Antonia's sides with all her fingers. But Antonia could always move and fight back; now she had nowhere to go. Machiavelli's robe brushed against her back as he leaned up towards her underarms. She could say what she wanted, but Machiavelli knew; to deny her ticklishness would not last long, and she had nothing to offer him. When his fingers dug into both of her armpits, all she said was, "NO!"
But that was not a word Machiavelli wanted to hear. His first assault lasted for several seconds as he dug his fingers into the soft skin under Antonia's arms. She bucked and screamed, trying to twist away, but she could not get any leverage with her limbs secured to such distant points. Her head for a moment turned directly face down so that she could scream into the mattress, but in a matter of seconds, she had turned to one side and started laughing. His fingers moved in syncopated patterns, drawing shrieks of surprise that nicely offset the bubbling, giggling melody coming from the girl. Leaning partially over her back so as to get to both armpits, he could enjoy fully her body's quivering and shaking and occasional bucking as she laughed her madwoman's laugh. He stopped after a long bout of sustained tickling and began the banter again.
"Did Samantha ever tickle you like that, Antonia?"
Antonia's voice still cracked a bit when she said, "You monster."
Machiavelli made a quick pass with one finger under one arm, drawing out a squeal. "Did she?"
"Stop!" But he wouldn't; instead, he made another one-finger raid. Machiavelli saw the girl's face turning progressivly redder, her humiliation and anger coming to her.
"Did she?"
"No, not like this!"
"Did she touch you at all?" Silence. Machiavelli wriggled two fingers like walking legs in the same armpit, making Antonia squirm and hold in a giggle only with an irritated hum. "Did she?" She began to giggle again. "Did she, Antonia? Did she?"
"YES! Now stop!" And Machiavelli did, for the moment.
"Do you think she would enjoy tickling you like this?"
Antonia turned her neck as best she could to attempt to glare at her torturer. "No, you demon! She loves me!"
"Loves you? I doubt that. But I don't blame her for wanting your beautiful little body, my girl..." He began to scoot towards her bottom and to lean away from her gaze, and she screamed. With lightning speed, his hands had latched onto her sides, index fingers on her bottom ribs and the other three fingers digging into the soft flesh below. Antonia pulled on the ropes with what strength she could muster, but even a stronger woman could not have budged them with as little leverage as Antonia had. Her legs kicked out at nothing as might a captured frog's legs, only hers were no skinny appendages but smooth, flawless women's limbs with the delicious curves of youth and privilege. Machiavelli looked on them and licked his lips even as he enjoyed the feel of soft, smooth flesh beneath his fingertips. His thumbs were set firmly on her back, providing all the leverage needed to exploit her ticklish sides with all eight of his long fingers. Antonia would on occasion try to moan out a tortured laugh but would soon be pulled back into the girlish giggles that so naturally and irresistably flow forth when quick fingers tickle a sensitive body. The side of her head now pressed against the mattress as she laughed, Machiavelli could not see her eyes at all. He prolonged this tickling, enjoying her laughter and her gasps, slowing down to let her breathe when she needed to but making those stretches of flesh is own with prodding fingers. By the time he stopped, a thin film of sweat had begun to coat her torso.
"You see, Antonia? Your body is quite the prize, for a woman or a man. Samantha is a gypsy, my girl. Gypsies run away. Do you understand?"
Antonia's head still managed to turn towards Machiavelli, and he could still hear an attempt at defiance as she willed her voice from giggling to declaring, "You know nothing of true love. I will be with her again."
Machiavelli scooted down even further towards her feet. "Oh, I'm sure, Antonia. I'm sure she'll be thinking of you as she seduces her next maiden." He began to scratch at her inner thigh, which drew a renewed scream, this one a mix of ticklishness and alarm.
"NO! Don't touch me!"
"I'll bet she is tickling some noble's daughter right now, Antonia. But I'm sure she would have wanted to tickle you, too. Don't you think?" His fingers were now tracing up and down her legs, venturing dangerously close to her womanhood.
As she began to giggle, she screamed out an attempt at a protest. "I only love Samantha!"
"Then why are your legs bucking so? It's almost as if you wanted me to give you just what Samantha did! Do you want that?" His fingers had begun to flick at her womanhood, each slight brush drawing a gasp through the giggling. Her hips bucked up and down, slamming her belly and her thighs against the mattress as his fingers worked their magic.
"No, please, no!" She managed to cry, though her laughing made it hard to sound convincing. "Don't make me!"
"Don't make you what, Antonia?" He suddenly stopped and stood up. He quickly undid one ankle cuff, then the other. Samantha made a weak attempt to kick out at him, and he used her momentum to roll he rover onto her back. He fell across one leg, grabbing the other ankle with one hand and the cuff with the other. Though she attempted to kick away, her leg had to return to him before she could attempt another, and when it did, he quickly cuffed her and secured it. She tried again to hurt him as he got up off of her other leg, but with similar efficiency he cuffed it. Now she could see him and know what was coming next. His hands free again, he reached into his robe and produced a long, stiff feather in each. The shiny black quills appeared to draw almost to a needle's point at the ends. "Now I'm going to see how much you really like this. Remember, Antonia, I can see your face!" He leaned in with the feathers, drawing between her legs.
Antonia's face was trying to be angry, but they could do little about it when the feathers started to trace thin lines across her hips. As they made their diagonal way across hip, groin muscle, inner thigh, belly, she shrieked as she tried to buck away from the feathers' tips. Machiavelli could see her hip muscles working anew as they started to pump, and he knew that she was experiencing this against her will. Her laughter was no longer a giggle but a series of hiccups in the midst of her moans, and her face was at the same time fixed in a laughing smile and contorted by the pleasure that had her, no matter how much she hated it. After many passes and many moans, he used the feathers' tips, both at once, to bring her past the edge that her body so dearly wanted to plunge over. With a moan and a rattle, her head fell to one side as the bedsheet received her gift. Machiavelli stopped and observed her deep breathing.
After letting her bask in the moment for a fair spell, Machiavelli once again spoke. "Is that what Samantha did to you, Antonia?"
Antonia, eyes still closed, nodded.
"I'm sure she did. And I'm sure that she's run off on you now. But if she were here, Antonia..." Antonia's eyes quickly opened. "If she were here, I don't know if her gypsy curiosity would be able to stand looking at these lovely toes without tickling them. What do you think, Antonia?"
"No, please, don't!"
But his feathers were already making their way to the pink soles of her olive-hued feet. He began furiously to scratch at those soles with the springy, pinpoint feather tips, and Antonia's body all of a sudden became animated again. Her hands jerked at the twisted ropes above her head, and her legs tried in vain to pull her love-quickened feet past the limits of the ropes. Machiavelli followed her feet in their short trips back and forth, putting his mark in a thousand quick pulls over the soft skin. Her face was once again desperate, her earlier giggling still the base but striped by shrieks as the feathers found all the wonderful spots where the treasures of her soles made themselves known. After several minutes of this, Machiavelli saw her arms lose strength, and he knew that her body was beginning to fail her. He dropped one feather and grabbed her left foot, wrapping his thumb across her sole and fingers across the top. With greater control and without her full strength thrashing, he was able to thread his remaining feather deftly between two toes. The last bit of strength that remained in her lit her eyes up as he sawed the feather back and forth, making hundreds of the feather's barbs dash in frenzied succession across the soft, untested skin between her toes. She screamed, laughed, and Machiavelli could see, gave up what little she had left. After drawing her nearly to unconsciousness, he released her foot and let her rest. "Soon, my Antonia, you will be able to do what I just did to any woman you please. If we ever meet Samantha again, you will make her pay for abandoning you, and she will belong to you forever." Antonia, eyes still closed, only breathed softly in response.
Murmurs were already about the tavern when Machiavell, Antonia, and two guards returned two hours after they left. The older prostitutes knew what a return trip from Machiavelli meant and accordingly attached themselves with haste to drinkers in the bar. But one young harlot, from India so far as Machiavelli could surmise, remained standing and unattached, wondering at the glow about Antonia as she entered the room. Machiavelli hailed the eyepatched man again.
"Ah, monsignior Carlo, I think that Antonia and I will have the services of one of your girls tonight after all." His eye did not take long to fall on the young, slender Malabar so suddenly taken with Antonia. "What's the story with this one?"
Carlo leered. "She'll be an extra charge, because she's not two weeks off of her ship. But for what you like, she'll be ideal. Smooth skin. No scars or callouses. And she jumps whenever you touch 'er." Carlo licked his lips as he reported.
Machiavelli grinned. "Excellent. I'll keep the same room, and I'll have the Indian girl. Antonia, our first lesson begins tonight."
Antonia's eyes at once glowed with desire and with malice as she answered softly, "Yes, master."
Link to part one
Discourses on Tickling 2: On the Winning and Training of Apprentices
by
Kid Indy
The city of Bari, on the coast of the Kingdom of Naples, was in an uproar. A mob was assembled in front of the mayor's house, chanting for the death of the mayor's youngest daughter, Antonia. In the darkness, torches illuminating the enraged faces of the crowd, the mayor emerged from the front door and scanned from side to side, assessing the situation. Looking for the head of the bakers' guild, a troublesome man if ever trouble were in a man, he shouted down the masses as he attempted to talk with their stout ringleader.
"What is the nature of this disturbance? Why do you disturb the peace?"
"Why do you disturb the peace, mayor? Why is your blood bringing the curse down on us?"
"What in the world are you talking about, Paulo? What blood of mine would curse our town?"
As the crowd began again to shout, the baker made a motion to some people behind him. From among the densely packed bodies emerged a young woman, her olive skin dirty, her thick, curly black hair in a mess about her head. She staggered and fell on her knees before the mayor. His eyes filled with rage as he stepped to confront the head baker.
"Paulo! I should have your head for this! This is my daughter, you little scum!"
The fat man sneered in the torchlight. "Your daughter is a witch, O Mayor." At this the crowd again launched into a roar.
The mayor called out in his most authoritative voice, "I will hear none of this!"
Another of the bakers' guild stepped forward. "She was caught among the gypsies!"
The mayor cast an angry glance down at Antonia, then looked at the bakers. "There is no crime in being among travelers. Now begone."
The guildmaster again spoke. "She was committing unnatural acts among them." The crowd, slightly more subuded, agreed.
The mayor's face flushed. "What on earth are you talking about?"
The second baker sneered in triumph and called, for the crowd as much as for the mayor, "She was in the embrace of a gypsy woman!" The crowd leapt like newly fueled fire at this. The mayor, looking down at Antonia and seeing that she was indeed guilty, became even more pallid in the fires' light.
The head baker again spoke: "If we suffer this sorceress to remain among us, the curses of heaven will rain down on our town! The plague will return! Our wives will be barren! The rain will stop coming!" The crowd was nearly in a frenzy. "For consorting with gypsies and with powers against nature, we must burn the witch!" The crowd could not agree more, and they began to drag Antonia towards the center of the square. As people began to gather wood and to pile it, a man emerged from the crowd and began to speak quietly with the mayor. Antonia was tied securely to a stake in the center of the woodpile, and torches were brought. The mayor stepped onto a platform and called out again.
"People of Bari!" Even the torchbearers turned to see what the mayor would say. "An emissary from the Holy See is among us!" The people, even the bakers, quickly knelt. "He comes with demands from Rome!"
The mayor's mysterious guest stepped onto the platform alongside the mayor. Two lage men with sheathed swords advanced to stand on his left and right. His face was smooth save for a small, tightly clipped beard on his chin. His voice carried over the silence: "It has come to the attention of the Most Holy Father that the Inquisition has been usurped by common townspeople. This must not be!" The people began to grumble, and he spoke up again. "Where is the woman with whom this young woman was caught?" The people looked around at each other.
The head baker spoke sullenly: "She ran off with the rest of 'em. Gypsies, you know?"
"Gypsies indeed. Very well. We shall escort the young woman to Rome for a proper trial. The real Inquisition will handle the business of trying witches. If we learn again that you are attempting to burn witches, the Pope will indeed bring serious measures to bear! Now turn this young woman over!" The people began to grumble, then to groan as the robed man led the young woman into the mayor's house. After several minutes, the mayor opened an upper window and spoke to the gathered people.
"The holy summoner will depart with my wayward daughter in the morning. When Rome has decided, a letter will come to proclaim her guilt or innocence." The crowd dispersed, and the night passed. In the morning the robed man, his six armed guards, and the eighteen year old daughter of the mayor, his only remaining unmarried daugter, emerged from the large house and departed along the sea coast on horseback, the eight people on eight horses.
Antonia was allowed to ride her own horse, as the six men would certainly catch her, and she had no place to run to where she knew anybody--except for Bari. And she knew what awaited her if she returned there without a verdict. An hour or so passed with nobody speaking, but Antonia began to tire of the silence. She prodded her horse to ride alongside the summoner. When she caught his eye, she asked, "When did Rome start caring about accused sorceresses?"
The man's face remained cold. "Why do you question the one who rescued you? I could have let you burn."
"But then you'd be in trouble with the Pope, no?"
Now a smile broke. "Do you think the Pope cares about your fate?"
Now Antonia was confused. He had said he was an emissary from the Pope, hadn't he? She spoke again, trying to get information. "When will my trial start once we get to Rome?"
"There will be no trial, young one. And we're not going to Rome."
Antonia gasped, and she looked around. Six men. She could never escape. Who was this man? Summoning what courage she could, she asked, "Then where are we going?"
"Florence eventually, but tonight, we're stopping at an inn just over this ridge."
Now her eyes widened. She had heard merchants talking about the Charybdis, the inn a day's travel up the road on the sea shore--she knew that it was a house of ill repute, protected by corrupt magistrates and the home of all kinds of vice. Her head started turning this way and that, looking for any chance to get away.
"Now Antonia, why do you look so frightened? You don't think I'm going to turn you into a whore, do you?" She could only tremble. "No, my girl. We're stopping for the night, and when we've got a bit of privacy, I'm going to tell you why I rescued you from the townspeople. I don't think you're a sorceror, Antonia. I'm not going to hurt you, and neither will my men."
"Who are you?"
"In good time, my girl. In good time. Now ride quietly for a while." She did, and they arrived at the already-loud Charybdis Inn as the sun was going down. The man, his six guards, and Antonia entered a gate in a tall wood fence. Antonia's eyes boggled as she contemplated the place: not only was there a dock in the small bay, and not only were there ships docked, but the inn itself comprised five buildings, each as large as her father's house. The seven of them approached the nearest, and she could hear music and shouting already.
Once inside, Antonia shrunk inside her own skin: this place made Gypsy camps look quite safe. Rough-looking sailors pawed at whores while pipers and drummers and string players provided a noisy anthem for carousing. The harlots were of various sorts, old and young, from all over Europe and from places that Antonia could not even imagine. Beer and wine, rum and whiskey filled the air as the men breathed it into the air. Antonia noted that one man was leading a woman in her thirties out the door and towards another building.
The man rounded up his guards and pulled Antonia close. "Antonia and I will take one room. You'll escort us there. Bar the room from the outside, and make sure that at least two of you keep watch at all times. Here's some gold--it ought to be sufficient to entertain all of you. If I give the knock, let me out. If the knock is not mine, you know whose it is!" All seven men smiled at Antonia, who swallowed hard. "Now let's get a room for Antonia and me, and remember--make sure that at least two of you are keeping watch!"
They approached the bar, and a man wearing an eyepatch and a patchy beard threw up his hands in joy. "Ah, Machiavelli! It's been too long, friend!"
Antonia screamed and started to run. Two guards grabbed her and hauled her back to the bar. When she returned and stopped screaming, she heard the innkeeper say to her captor, "What, are my women not good enough for you? Have you risen above my business?"
The man, Machiavelli, smiled and said, "We might just come back for another after a while, but for now, I only want a room as far away from the gate as possible with hot water drawn and a large bed with steady posts."
"As you wish, friend." The one-eyed man called for one of his hired men and relayed instructions. The young man led the eight of them to the building farthest away from the gate and gave one of the hired men the key. Three of the men followed Antonia and Machiavelli inside.
Antonia spoke up for the first time since she screamed at the bar: "We know of you in Bari, Machiavelli. I should have known you weren't any religious man!"
"No, Antonia. A religious man would have seen you burn for the common good. All I ask is that you take off your clothes for your own good."
Antonia looked at the swords the guards were carrying and decided that, at this point, living would be her goal. She took off her shoes, revealing soft, light brown feet. "I'll take no pleasure from this, Machiavelli, and neither will you. I love only Samantha."
"Samantha. The Gypsy girl, I take it?"
"Yes, you monster. We loved each other."
"And yet she ran from town just as every Gypsy runs from every good girl in every good town. Isn't that right?"
Antonia's eyes teared up as she discarded the last of her clothing. She cried, "We'll be together again, you beast! We'll find each other!"
"And if you do, you'll be ready to be her lover, Antonia. And you'll have me to thank. I'm not going to take off any of my clothes. That isn't what this is about. Now go ahead and take a bath. I'll have my men turn away while you do. We've had a long day's journey, and I'm sure you could use some hot water on you." Seeing that she had little choice, she sat down in the steaming tub and washed herself. Machiavelli, though not staring, enjoyed immensely her limbs' movements as she cleaned her hair, her torso, those luscious olive feet. She dried herself off, and Machiavelli told his men to gather around.
"Now, Antonia, lie down on the bed and let my men prepare you for our evening." The naked young woman did, and her newly clean, radiant beauty was not lost on anyone in the room. "No, lie on your stomach." She did, and everyone got to see the graceful lines of her shoulders, back, and bottom. Machiavelli waited as two guards fastened soft leather cuffs around her wrists. They tied the cuffs to the bedframe so that her hands could not leave the bottom edge of the bed by any more than a foot. Her legs they cuffed as well and tied to the bedposts at the head. Antonia's face turned towards one wall, where the fewest people would be in her field of vision. Machiavelli sat next to the young woman.
"You may leave now, but remember, two guards." The other men left the room.
"I wish they had just burned me." She began to cry softly.
Machiavelli leaned in and whispered in her ear, "Oh, Antonia. You're young. You'll find out soon enough that no loss of love will kill you. I think you need to lighten up." His fingers gently pinched a little bit of flesh just below her ribs, and her body bucked.
"Stop! Don't!"
"You see? Now you're not even thinking about that awful Gypsy girl!"
"Why do you have me naked?"
"So I can keep doing what I just did."
Antonia's head turned to face Machiavelli, and her hair fell in her panicked face. "No! Don't touch me! I only love Samantha!"
"As I said, Antonia, my clothes are to remain on. And as I said, you need to lighten up!" He pinched her again, and her knees dug into the soft matress, propelling her rear into the air. Still she could not move any limbs to protect herself. "You know why I've got you tied up now. And you will be laughing soon, so feel free to start when I start tickling in earnest."
Yes, she did know, but hearing the word still made her muscles tense. Machiavelli began to imagine the young woman's encounters with the gypsy. Perhaps Samantha would sometimes poke Antonia in the ribs in jest, or maybe even grab Antonia's sides with all her fingers. But Antonia could always move and fight back; now she had nowhere to go. Machiavelli's robe brushed against her back as he leaned up towards her underarms. She could say what she wanted, but Machiavelli knew; to deny her ticklishness would not last long, and she had nothing to offer him. When his fingers dug into both of her armpits, all she said was, "NO!"
But that was not a word Machiavelli wanted to hear. His first assault lasted for several seconds as he dug his fingers into the soft skin under Antonia's arms. She bucked and screamed, trying to twist away, but she could not get any leverage with her limbs secured to such distant points. Her head for a moment turned directly face down so that she could scream into the mattress, but in a matter of seconds, she had turned to one side and started laughing. His fingers moved in syncopated patterns, drawing shrieks of surprise that nicely offset the bubbling, giggling melody coming from the girl. Leaning partially over her back so as to get to both armpits, he could enjoy fully her body's quivering and shaking and occasional bucking as she laughed her madwoman's laugh. He stopped after a long bout of sustained tickling and began the banter again.
"Did Samantha ever tickle you like that, Antonia?"
Antonia's voice still cracked a bit when she said, "You monster."
Machiavelli made a quick pass with one finger under one arm, drawing out a squeal. "Did she?"
"Stop!" But he wouldn't; instead, he made another one-finger raid. Machiavelli saw the girl's face turning progressivly redder, her humiliation and anger coming to her.
"Did she?"
"No, not like this!"
"Did she touch you at all?" Silence. Machiavelli wriggled two fingers like walking legs in the same armpit, making Antonia squirm and hold in a giggle only with an irritated hum. "Did she?" She began to giggle again. "Did she, Antonia? Did she?"
"YES! Now stop!" And Machiavelli did, for the moment.
"Do you think she would enjoy tickling you like this?"
Antonia turned her neck as best she could to attempt to glare at her torturer. "No, you demon! She loves me!"
"Loves you? I doubt that. But I don't blame her for wanting your beautiful little body, my girl..." He began to scoot towards her bottom and to lean away from her gaze, and she screamed. With lightning speed, his hands had latched onto her sides, index fingers on her bottom ribs and the other three fingers digging into the soft flesh below. Antonia pulled on the ropes with what strength she could muster, but even a stronger woman could not have budged them with as little leverage as Antonia had. Her legs kicked out at nothing as might a captured frog's legs, only hers were no skinny appendages but smooth, flawless women's limbs with the delicious curves of youth and privilege. Machiavelli looked on them and licked his lips even as he enjoyed the feel of soft, smooth flesh beneath his fingertips. His thumbs were set firmly on her back, providing all the leverage needed to exploit her ticklish sides with all eight of his long fingers. Antonia would on occasion try to moan out a tortured laugh but would soon be pulled back into the girlish giggles that so naturally and irresistably flow forth when quick fingers tickle a sensitive body. The side of her head now pressed against the mattress as she laughed, Machiavelli could not see her eyes at all. He prolonged this tickling, enjoying her laughter and her gasps, slowing down to let her breathe when she needed to but making those stretches of flesh is own with prodding fingers. By the time he stopped, a thin film of sweat had begun to coat her torso.
"You see, Antonia? Your body is quite the prize, for a woman or a man. Samantha is a gypsy, my girl. Gypsies run away. Do you understand?"
Antonia's head still managed to turn towards Machiavelli, and he could still hear an attempt at defiance as she willed her voice from giggling to declaring, "You know nothing of true love. I will be with her again."
Machiavelli scooted down even further towards her feet. "Oh, I'm sure, Antonia. I'm sure she'll be thinking of you as she seduces her next maiden." He began to scratch at her inner thigh, which drew a renewed scream, this one a mix of ticklishness and alarm.
"NO! Don't touch me!"
"I'll bet she is tickling some noble's daughter right now, Antonia. But I'm sure she would have wanted to tickle you, too. Don't you think?" His fingers were now tracing up and down her legs, venturing dangerously close to her womanhood.
As she began to giggle, she screamed out an attempt at a protest. "I only love Samantha!"
"Then why are your legs bucking so? It's almost as if you wanted me to give you just what Samantha did! Do you want that?" His fingers had begun to flick at her womanhood, each slight brush drawing a gasp through the giggling. Her hips bucked up and down, slamming her belly and her thighs against the mattress as his fingers worked their magic.
"No, please, no!" She managed to cry, though her laughing made it hard to sound convincing. "Don't make me!"
"Don't make you what, Antonia?" He suddenly stopped and stood up. He quickly undid one ankle cuff, then the other. Samantha made a weak attempt to kick out at him, and he used her momentum to roll he rover onto her back. He fell across one leg, grabbing the other ankle with one hand and the cuff with the other. Though she attempted to kick away, her leg had to return to him before she could attempt another, and when it did, he quickly cuffed her and secured it. She tried again to hurt him as he got up off of her other leg, but with similar efficiency he cuffed it. Now she could see him and know what was coming next. His hands free again, he reached into his robe and produced a long, stiff feather in each. The shiny black quills appeared to draw almost to a needle's point at the ends. "Now I'm going to see how much you really like this. Remember, Antonia, I can see your face!" He leaned in with the feathers, drawing between her legs.
Antonia's face was trying to be angry, but they could do little about it when the feathers started to trace thin lines across her hips. As they made their diagonal way across hip, groin muscle, inner thigh, belly, she shrieked as she tried to buck away from the feathers' tips. Machiavelli could see her hip muscles working anew as they started to pump, and he knew that she was experiencing this against her will. Her laughter was no longer a giggle but a series of hiccups in the midst of her moans, and her face was at the same time fixed in a laughing smile and contorted by the pleasure that had her, no matter how much she hated it. After many passes and many moans, he used the feathers' tips, both at once, to bring her past the edge that her body so dearly wanted to plunge over. With a moan and a rattle, her head fell to one side as the bedsheet received her gift. Machiavelli stopped and observed her deep breathing.
After letting her bask in the moment for a fair spell, Machiavelli once again spoke. "Is that what Samantha did to you, Antonia?"
Antonia, eyes still closed, nodded.
"I'm sure she did. And I'm sure that she's run off on you now. But if she were here, Antonia..." Antonia's eyes quickly opened. "If she were here, I don't know if her gypsy curiosity would be able to stand looking at these lovely toes without tickling them. What do you think, Antonia?"
"No, please, don't!"
But his feathers were already making their way to the pink soles of her olive-hued feet. He began furiously to scratch at those soles with the springy, pinpoint feather tips, and Antonia's body all of a sudden became animated again. Her hands jerked at the twisted ropes above her head, and her legs tried in vain to pull her love-quickened feet past the limits of the ropes. Machiavelli followed her feet in their short trips back and forth, putting his mark in a thousand quick pulls over the soft skin. Her face was once again desperate, her earlier giggling still the base but striped by shrieks as the feathers found all the wonderful spots where the treasures of her soles made themselves known. After several minutes of this, Machiavelli saw her arms lose strength, and he knew that her body was beginning to fail her. He dropped one feather and grabbed her left foot, wrapping his thumb across her sole and fingers across the top. With greater control and without her full strength thrashing, he was able to thread his remaining feather deftly between two toes. The last bit of strength that remained in her lit her eyes up as he sawed the feather back and forth, making hundreds of the feather's barbs dash in frenzied succession across the soft, untested skin between her toes. She screamed, laughed, and Machiavelli could see, gave up what little she had left. After drawing her nearly to unconsciousness, he released her foot and let her rest. "Soon, my Antonia, you will be able to do what I just did to any woman you please. If we ever meet Samantha again, you will make her pay for abandoning you, and she will belong to you forever." Antonia, eyes still closed, only breathed softly in response.
Murmurs were already about the tavern when Machiavell, Antonia, and two guards returned two hours after they left. The older prostitutes knew what a return trip from Machiavelli meant and accordingly attached themselves with haste to drinkers in the bar. But one young harlot, from India so far as Machiavelli could surmise, remained standing and unattached, wondering at the glow about Antonia as she entered the room. Machiavelli hailed the eyepatched man again.
"Ah, monsignior Carlo, I think that Antonia and I will have the services of one of your girls tonight after all." His eye did not take long to fall on the young, slender Malabar so suddenly taken with Antonia. "What's the story with this one?"
Carlo leered. "She'll be an extra charge, because she's not two weeks off of her ship. But for what you like, she'll be ideal. Smooth skin. No scars or callouses. And she jumps whenever you touch 'er." Carlo licked his lips as he reported.
Machiavelli grinned. "Excellent. I'll keep the same room, and I'll have the Indian girl. Antonia, our first lesson begins tonight."
Antonia's eyes at once glowed with desire and with malice as she answered softly, "Yes, master."
