TicklishLurker
4th Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Jan 13, 2006
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“How about this one, your majesty?” The servant held out a magazine, opened to a picture of a woman posing in a tiny bikini.
“Too thin. Look at her, she doesn’t even have breasts, what good is a wife who looks more like a young boy?” The Seelie king waved the magazine away. Another picture was shoved at him, this one of a bleached blond “singer.” “No,” he sneered, “not only is she tone deaf, but her breasts are fake. I don’t want a wife with breasts as hard as rocks.”
The fae fell back. Their king was hard to please. Though they had brought him images of those women thought to be the most beautiful of the human world, he did not want a single one for a bride. Each he dismissed for some flaw.
“Your highness,” one of his servants whined, “you must pick a human woman for a queen or our species will die out.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” He shouted, slamming his hands down as he forced himself out of his throne.
The Seelie, known to the humans as fairies, were dying out. Only by bringing in human blood would they live on. However the only other fae who were actually fertile had no desire to breed with humans. If the king married a human, however, they would give in. The Seelie would be saved, though their blood thinned, watered down.
Sighing, the king removed the silver ring from his long, thin pinky, and softly muttered a spell over it before dropping it into a crystal cup filled with cool spring water from the human realm. It twinkled for a moment before vanishing.
The ring would find him his bride.
..................................................................................
Rosie was angry. Angry beyond belief. Partly at herself. Mostly at her parents.
At 32, Rosie had thought herself strong enough, old enough to defy her mom and dad. However when her mom spotted the first hint of grey amongst the rose-gold colored locks that gave Rosie her name, it suddenly became mom’s goal in life to marry her commitment phobic daughter off. And not to just any man - but to a sportsman.
Camping was one thing Rosie hated with a passion. The smells, the dirt, the fishing, hiking, and all that crap. She hated it all. Her idea of a vacation was a trip to Vegas - losing money at the slots, riding Star Trek: The Experience, seeing Barry Manilow in concert. Room service and hot showers. As soon as she had turned 18 she stopped allowing her parents to drag her on the hated camping trips.
However, they had mentally beaten her down until she agreed to go, not knowing they had planned it to hook her up with a friend’s fish-crazy son.
She hated him at first sight. He wouldn’t leave her alone. Everything about him was wrong. He liked country music - Rosie hated it - he liked to camp, fish, hike, he hated Star Trek and loved Star Wars, he hated Vegas, he never picked up a book unless it had something to do with fishing. And he called Barry Manilow horrible bigoted names despite the fact that Barry had been in and was still in a loving relationship of 30 plus years with a woman named Linda Allen.
That morning when he had come to their camping trailer to pester Rosie again, she yelled at him. Told him exactly what she thought of him, of camping and the outdoors, of country, of everything. Ending with, “And for the record I’ll get married when Hell freezes over!”
This led to a huge fight with her parents as well. Ending with Rosie slamming out and going for a long walk in the woods. She learned quickly that while okay for short walks in the city, Birkenstocks were not made for long hikes on winding dirt trails.
Rubbing her tear reddened dark blue eyes, Rosie sat down on a rock and took off the leather sandals. She looked at her dirty, sore feet. Like they rest of her, they were short and plump, with pudgy toes. Her body was also short and plump with hips and a bust more suitable to a woman in a renaissance painting. A classic, heart shaped face complete with almond shaped eyes and a cupid’s bow mouth sat upon a short yet graceful neck.
Rosie now put her aching feet into the stream and wiggled her toes until the stream’s slit covered them. Then, remembering how as a child she did enjoy driving her feet deep into soft mud, she dug them in deeper until her feet were completely covered.
Her soft, sensitive soles now came in contact with something under the mud. Curious, she wiggled her foot around until she grabbed the item with her toes and pulled it out. A quick shake of her foot under the quick running water of the stream freed the mud on it. Then she bent her leg upwards until she could grab what she was holding.
It was a ring made of silver, shaped into a pair of intertwining vines. She tried it first on her right hand, but it was too small. It did, however, slip easily onto the ring finger of her left hand.
The second she had slipped it on, a bird of prey swooped down and took one of her sandals and flew up a tree. Leaving it there. Cursing, Rosie took a look at the tree. Though not the most athletic person, she figured with as many thick branches growing on it, anyone could climb this tree. So, setting one tender foot on a branch, she began her climb up.
It wasn’t long before she cried out, for a splinter of green wood has driven itself into her already abused sole of her right foot.
“Are you all right?”
The voice belonged to a man sitting astride a chestnut colored horse not far beneath her. Between the horse and the man’s own height, he could easily reach up and grab Rosie’s ankles. He was a handsome man with dark black hair and earth brown eyes. His skin was a light nut brown and his clothes of an odd, old fashion cut.
“A bird took my sandal and left it up this tree.” Rosie said. “And then I went and stepped on a splinter.”
The man looked at Rosie’s injured foot dangling above him. A small drop of blood oozing from the dirt and bark covered flesh. He took her ankle firmly in his hand and carefully pinched the sliver of green wood, easily plucking it out. Then he lightly brushed some of the debris away. Rosie giggled and tried to jerk her foot away, but his grip was like iron.
“Thanks, but I’m really ticklish.” She said, hoping it would cause him to let her go. Instead his grip seemed to get stronger.
Suddenly he grabbed her other ankle and with a hard tug easily dislodged Rosie from the tree. He held her in front of him upon his horse. She was unable to struggle free.
It seemed insane, but the stream itself seemed to raise up and form a door that they entered. The landscape changed. Instead of hard, dirt paths, there was grass that looked as soft and lush as velvet. Trees that grew leaves of gold and silver with fruits of various precious gemstones.
Everywhere were people as well, all tall and graceful, the women full hipped and full busted as Rosie, but as tall as the men. While their hair varied in shades, their skin was all the same nut color. Reminding Rosie of trees and plants in full bloom.
“Let it be known,” the man said, holding up Rosie’s left hand so the ring showed, “that the King of the Seelie has found a bride amongst the humans!”
“Over my dead body!” Rosie said, trying to twist away. Instead she found herself shoved into the waiting hands of Seelie women. They were as strong as the king. Dragging her off to dress her for her unwanted nuptials.
.................................................................................................
Despite she the fact she had fought them at every step of the way, the fairies had managed to dress Rosie in a gown of green. They had bathed her first. Scrubbing her hard, using fairy magic to remove every trace of body hair. Her wounded foot healed by their magic. Then forced her into the gown and stockings that they had informed her had been spun from spiders’ silk. Light weight and slick. Slippers as soft as rose petals completed the outfit.
They had tried to tempt her into eating and drinking, but Rosie had read enough books to know that as long as she not willingly partake of fairy food she could return to the human world.
The king now entered, carrying a pewter goblet filled with wine. “Drink and we shall be wed.”
Rosie took the goblet, then threw the contents in the Seelie king’s face. “I’m never marrying - NEVER!” She shouted. “Now return me to my world!”
Instead the king grew angry. With a wave of his hand roots shot out and grabbed Rosie, holding her off the ground in a prone position. Her arms and legs held out and away from her body so she was shaped like an X.
The king had known Rosie’s mind from the first moment he touched her. He was able to see in her mind. He knew that she feared marriage. He also knew what else she feared - and at the same time craved. Lightly he blew his breath against the edge of the sleeve of Rosie’s gown. Then did the same to the other one.
Within seconds of that, Rosie thought she’d go back. From her wrists down deep in her armpits she was being - TICKLED! It was light there were tiny fingers, one for each tickling nerve ending, all over her arms and armpits. Every single nerve was being tormented by horrible tickling sensations. She laughed, laughed so hard that she couldn’t quite breath. For what seemed like an eternity she was being tickled. Then when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer or she would surely die, it stopped. She took in great gulps of air.
The wine soaked king turned Rosie’s tear streaked face to him. “Marry me?”
“N-No!” She snarled out.
“So be it.” He intoned.
Another light blowing of breath and suddenly Rosie’s torso was being tortured by tickling. Every rib stroked by invisible fingers. Her soft belly assaulted be creepy, crawly tickles, her back stroked by feather light touches. Even her breasts stroked and tickled by fae magic. Her nipples grew hard. She laughed helplessly and struggled futilely against the roots that held her. Her head turned now towards the fairy women. One sat, half nude and touching herself, another was at her feet, sucking her toes, the third was stroking the sitting one’s breasts with a feather. The sitting Seelie woman giggled and moaned lustfully.
Even as Rosie was being so ruthlessly tickled, she could feel the fairy king’s breath in her ear, hear him as he whispered, “This pleasure can be your’s. All I need from you is a child. You will be free to sleep with whomever pleases you once you give me that. Here you’ll have eternal youth and life.”
“Biahahahaaaite meheheheheee!” She laughed out.
The tickling stopped. The king tried to ply her with water, knowing she was thirsty from all her laughing. But she wouldn’t take it. He had to force it down her mouth, and most she spat back out. So it would not bind her to his world for she had not taken it willingly.
He knew though she was aroused. Or “horny” as humans put it. He could see that even with the tickling stopped, her nipples still stood out firm and proud, he could smell the mating scent coming from between her legs.
“Fine, keep resisting,” he said, pinching one of her nipples, “I have more plans for you anyway.”
The dress suddenly dissolved from her body. Leaving Rosie nude except for the stockings and shoes. The fairy women laughed and abandoned their games to come over.
“How pale her skin is,” said one, stroking Rosie’s arm, acting like she hadn’t seen it before when she had forced Rosie into the tub. Tickling her. “And so soft. How do you get your skin so soft, mortal?”
“She is a plump one,” said another at Rosie’s belly, swirling her fingers around Rosie’s belly button. “Like a bird ready to be plucked and roasted.”
The third began to brush Rosie’s exposed armpits with her long, thin fingers. “And so sensitive! Look how she twitches and giggles at every touch.”
Meanwhile the king was running his fingers up and down Rosie’s stocking clad legs. Pinching her knees. He tickled her inner thighs and chuckled as her hips suddenly bucked and wiggled lewdly at him.
This light, playful tickle torture went on for a long time. Rosie couldn’t answer them, refused to. She just hung there, being tickled out of her mind, laughing. Her body responded to the touches that she both dreaded and longed for.
Rosie had always been afraid no one would understand - but she just loved to be tickled as part of foreplay. Be it cruel and vicious, or playful and fun, she didn’t care. Rosie just never got to the point of climax without being tickled. When she had tried to explain this in the past, some guys took her up on it but quickly lost interest, seeing it as too much work, others thought she was sick and told her to “seek help.” So she had finally given up hope. Refusing to commit - fearing to give her heart up to someone who would never give her the type of touching she craved.
Now she was in a sexual hell. Turned on beyond belief. Longing for more. Yet hating every minute of it because she knew that this was an attempt to force her into that state she did not want to be in - marriage. To be someone’s wife. So what if he did this now? What if in their bed he wanted to be just the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am type? Didn’t he just say he just wanted her to give him a child?
The tickling stopped just before it could bring her to climax. The king was now standing at her feet. “Now will you marry me?”
“I’m not your brood mare!” Rosie growled, too drained to shout.
“Don’t you understand your importance, woman?” He said even as he began to remove Rosie’s slippers. “The Seelie are dying out. All of our women are sterile. To keep the race alive the Seelie men must breed with human women to create children who will be fertile. The ring chose you as my perfect bride.” He now stared lustfully at the stocking clad feet, the roots moving them closer together. “And you are perfect.” He ran his fingers over the tips of her toes. “The feet of human women are so fascinating. So soft. Even the ones who run around barefoot have softer feet then a fae woman’s. But the most amazing thing is the mentality about their feet. Fae women acknowledge that the feet are an erogenous zone for them. Human women are so fearful to admit it, even though they use their feet to flirt.”
Placing a finger on the ball of each foot, the king slowly dragged the digits down, groaning with his own arousal. Those soft, fleshy soles, mouth watering soles. Right there before him. Served up as if on a platter.
He took his time. Tickling only briefly. Softly. Savoring every moment. Working up. His fingers would sometimes just trace the outline of Rosie’s feet. As if drawing them. Sometimes he’d stroke the soles with his whole hand. He was like a pilgrim, worshiping at the altar of her suddenly sainted feet. Going through a long, drawn out ritual.
Each touch sent shocks of pleasure up Rosie’s legs, through the juncture that declared her a woman, and up into her brain. One of the fairy women was now playing a feather around her breasts. Another leaned over her and kissed her softly. The third was playing a game where she was trying to count Rosie’s ribs, but every giggle made the fae lose count and she’d have to start over.
Then suddenly the fairy women backed off, for now the king’s foot tickling had grown until it was ruthless. Sending great bouts of air from Rosie’s lungs with heavy, loud laughter. Making her jerk violently against her bonds. Worse of all, it made her so hot and bothered she was ready to give the king anything he wanted so long as he gave her the release she needed.
How long the tickling went on she couldn’t say. At some point he ripped the stockings that made the tickling so much worse from her feet. Giving him access to the soft, thin flesh between her toes. Allowing him to suck and kiss said toes. Then suddenly her legs were wide open again. He was standing there, no longer tickling her feet, but tormenting her with the promise of sexual release by just - standing there.
He reached up and tickled her for a few minutes all over her soft, generous butt. “You’re a knowledgeable woman, my Rosie. You know that while only a few hours have past her, in your world it’s been as many weeks. You know that while you may never willingly take of fae food or drink, we could force enough in you to keep you alive - never releasing you until so much time has passed all you know and love is centuries dead. More then that, you know I can read your mind. That I know your every fear,” the roots raised her up until her vulva was the level of the king’s mouth, “and your every desire,” her breathed upon her flushed and wet skin.
Filled with tickle-lust, it didn’t take long for the Seelie king to bring her to climax. Her mind befuddled by the afterglow she didn’t notice that he was now holding her up instead of the roots and urging her to drink the freshly poured marriage wine. With a sip her found herself bound to him, the ring upon her finger glowing brightly, leaving underneath it a mark so even if she took it off, all would know she was a claimed woman. Commitment phobic Rosie now found herself in a commitment she could never escape. Oh yes, she could be with others, but no fae would dare try to steal away the king’s bride, for the mark would always allow him to find her.
And as the king took his bride to their chamber, she also knew that one fear would never come true. For the fae king’s fingers had already found their wiggling way to Rosie’s armpits.
~The End~
“Too thin. Look at her, she doesn’t even have breasts, what good is a wife who looks more like a young boy?” The Seelie king waved the magazine away. Another picture was shoved at him, this one of a bleached blond “singer.” “No,” he sneered, “not only is she tone deaf, but her breasts are fake. I don’t want a wife with breasts as hard as rocks.”
The fae fell back. Their king was hard to please. Though they had brought him images of those women thought to be the most beautiful of the human world, he did not want a single one for a bride. Each he dismissed for some flaw.
“Your highness,” one of his servants whined, “you must pick a human woman for a queen or our species will die out.”
“Don’t you think I know that?” He shouted, slamming his hands down as he forced himself out of his throne.
The Seelie, known to the humans as fairies, were dying out. Only by bringing in human blood would they live on. However the only other fae who were actually fertile had no desire to breed with humans. If the king married a human, however, they would give in. The Seelie would be saved, though their blood thinned, watered down.
Sighing, the king removed the silver ring from his long, thin pinky, and softly muttered a spell over it before dropping it into a crystal cup filled with cool spring water from the human realm. It twinkled for a moment before vanishing.
The ring would find him his bride.
..................................................................................
Rosie was angry. Angry beyond belief. Partly at herself. Mostly at her parents.
At 32, Rosie had thought herself strong enough, old enough to defy her mom and dad. However when her mom spotted the first hint of grey amongst the rose-gold colored locks that gave Rosie her name, it suddenly became mom’s goal in life to marry her commitment phobic daughter off. And not to just any man - but to a sportsman.
Camping was one thing Rosie hated with a passion. The smells, the dirt, the fishing, hiking, and all that crap. She hated it all. Her idea of a vacation was a trip to Vegas - losing money at the slots, riding Star Trek: The Experience, seeing Barry Manilow in concert. Room service and hot showers. As soon as she had turned 18 she stopped allowing her parents to drag her on the hated camping trips.
However, they had mentally beaten her down until she agreed to go, not knowing they had planned it to hook her up with a friend’s fish-crazy son.
She hated him at first sight. He wouldn’t leave her alone. Everything about him was wrong. He liked country music - Rosie hated it - he liked to camp, fish, hike, he hated Star Trek and loved Star Wars, he hated Vegas, he never picked up a book unless it had something to do with fishing. And he called Barry Manilow horrible bigoted names despite the fact that Barry had been in and was still in a loving relationship of 30 plus years with a woman named Linda Allen.
That morning when he had come to their camping trailer to pester Rosie again, she yelled at him. Told him exactly what she thought of him, of camping and the outdoors, of country, of everything. Ending with, “And for the record I’ll get married when Hell freezes over!”
This led to a huge fight with her parents as well. Ending with Rosie slamming out and going for a long walk in the woods. She learned quickly that while okay for short walks in the city, Birkenstocks were not made for long hikes on winding dirt trails.
Rubbing her tear reddened dark blue eyes, Rosie sat down on a rock and took off the leather sandals. She looked at her dirty, sore feet. Like they rest of her, they were short and plump, with pudgy toes. Her body was also short and plump with hips and a bust more suitable to a woman in a renaissance painting. A classic, heart shaped face complete with almond shaped eyes and a cupid’s bow mouth sat upon a short yet graceful neck.
Rosie now put her aching feet into the stream and wiggled her toes until the stream’s slit covered them. Then, remembering how as a child she did enjoy driving her feet deep into soft mud, she dug them in deeper until her feet were completely covered.
Her soft, sensitive soles now came in contact with something under the mud. Curious, she wiggled her foot around until she grabbed the item with her toes and pulled it out. A quick shake of her foot under the quick running water of the stream freed the mud on it. Then she bent her leg upwards until she could grab what she was holding.
It was a ring made of silver, shaped into a pair of intertwining vines. She tried it first on her right hand, but it was too small. It did, however, slip easily onto the ring finger of her left hand.
The second she had slipped it on, a bird of prey swooped down and took one of her sandals and flew up a tree. Leaving it there. Cursing, Rosie took a look at the tree. Though not the most athletic person, she figured with as many thick branches growing on it, anyone could climb this tree. So, setting one tender foot on a branch, she began her climb up.
It wasn’t long before she cried out, for a splinter of green wood has driven itself into her already abused sole of her right foot.
“Are you all right?”
The voice belonged to a man sitting astride a chestnut colored horse not far beneath her. Between the horse and the man’s own height, he could easily reach up and grab Rosie’s ankles. He was a handsome man with dark black hair and earth brown eyes. His skin was a light nut brown and his clothes of an odd, old fashion cut.
“A bird took my sandal and left it up this tree.” Rosie said. “And then I went and stepped on a splinter.”
The man looked at Rosie’s injured foot dangling above him. A small drop of blood oozing from the dirt and bark covered flesh. He took her ankle firmly in his hand and carefully pinched the sliver of green wood, easily plucking it out. Then he lightly brushed some of the debris away. Rosie giggled and tried to jerk her foot away, but his grip was like iron.
“Thanks, but I’m really ticklish.” She said, hoping it would cause him to let her go. Instead his grip seemed to get stronger.
Suddenly he grabbed her other ankle and with a hard tug easily dislodged Rosie from the tree. He held her in front of him upon his horse. She was unable to struggle free.
It seemed insane, but the stream itself seemed to raise up and form a door that they entered. The landscape changed. Instead of hard, dirt paths, there was grass that looked as soft and lush as velvet. Trees that grew leaves of gold and silver with fruits of various precious gemstones.
Everywhere were people as well, all tall and graceful, the women full hipped and full busted as Rosie, but as tall as the men. While their hair varied in shades, their skin was all the same nut color. Reminding Rosie of trees and plants in full bloom.
“Let it be known,” the man said, holding up Rosie’s left hand so the ring showed, “that the King of the Seelie has found a bride amongst the humans!”
“Over my dead body!” Rosie said, trying to twist away. Instead she found herself shoved into the waiting hands of Seelie women. They were as strong as the king. Dragging her off to dress her for her unwanted nuptials.
.................................................................................................
Despite she the fact she had fought them at every step of the way, the fairies had managed to dress Rosie in a gown of green. They had bathed her first. Scrubbing her hard, using fairy magic to remove every trace of body hair. Her wounded foot healed by their magic. Then forced her into the gown and stockings that they had informed her had been spun from spiders’ silk. Light weight and slick. Slippers as soft as rose petals completed the outfit.
They had tried to tempt her into eating and drinking, but Rosie had read enough books to know that as long as she not willingly partake of fairy food she could return to the human world.
The king now entered, carrying a pewter goblet filled with wine. “Drink and we shall be wed.”
Rosie took the goblet, then threw the contents in the Seelie king’s face. “I’m never marrying - NEVER!” She shouted. “Now return me to my world!”
Instead the king grew angry. With a wave of his hand roots shot out and grabbed Rosie, holding her off the ground in a prone position. Her arms and legs held out and away from her body so she was shaped like an X.
The king had known Rosie’s mind from the first moment he touched her. He was able to see in her mind. He knew that she feared marriage. He also knew what else she feared - and at the same time craved. Lightly he blew his breath against the edge of the sleeve of Rosie’s gown. Then did the same to the other one.
Within seconds of that, Rosie thought she’d go back. From her wrists down deep in her armpits she was being - TICKLED! It was light there were tiny fingers, one for each tickling nerve ending, all over her arms and armpits. Every single nerve was being tormented by horrible tickling sensations. She laughed, laughed so hard that she couldn’t quite breath. For what seemed like an eternity she was being tickled. Then when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer or she would surely die, it stopped. She took in great gulps of air.
The wine soaked king turned Rosie’s tear streaked face to him. “Marry me?”
“N-No!” She snarled out.
“So be it.” He intoned.
Another light blowing of breath and suddenly Rosie’s torso was being tortured by tickling. Every rib stroked by invisible fingers. Her soft belly assaulted be creepy, crawly tickles, her back stroked by feather light touches. Even her breasts stroked and tickled by fae magic. Her nipples grew hard. She laughed helplessly and struggled futilely against the roots that held her. Her head turned now towards the fairy women. One sat, half nude and touching herself, another was at her feet, sucking her toes, the third was stroking the sitting one’s breasts with a feather. The sitting Seelie woman giggled and moaned lustfully.
Even as Rosie was being so ruthlessly tickled, she could feel the fairy king’s breath in her ear, hear him as he whispered, “This pleasure can be your’s. All I need from you is a child. You will be free to sleep with whomever pleases you once you give me that. Here you’ll have eternal youth and life.”
“Biahahahaaaite meheheheheee!” She laughed out.
The tickling stopped. The king tried to ply her with water, knowing she was thirsty from all her laughing. But she wouldn’t take it. He had to force it down her mouth, and most she spat back out. So it would not bind her to his world for she had not taken it willingly.
He knew though she was aroused. Or “horny” as humans put it. He could see that even with the tickling stopped, her nipples still stood out firm and proud, he could smell the mating scent coming from between her legs.
“Fine, keep resisting,” he said, pinching one of her nipples, “I have more plans for you anyway.”
The dress suddenly dissolved from her body. Leaving Rosie nude except for the stockings and shoes. The fairy women laughed and abandoned their games to come over.
“How pale her skin is,” said one, stroking Rosie’s arm, acting like she hadn’t seen it before when she had forced Rosie into the tub. Tickling her. “And so soft. How do you get your skin so soft, mortal?”
“She is a plump one,” said another at Rosie’s belly, swirling her fingers around Rosie’s belly button. “Like a bird ready to be plucked and roasted.”
The third began to brush Rosie’s exposed armpits with her long, thin fingers. “And so sensitive! Look how she twitches and giggles at every touch.”
Meanwhile the king was running his fingers up and down Rosie’s stocking clad legs. Pinching her knees. He tickled her inner thighs and chuckled as her hips suddenly bucked and wiggled lewdly at him.
This light, playful tickle torture went on for a long time. Rosie couldn’t answer them, refused to. She just hung there, being tickled out of her mind, laughing. Her body responded to the touches that she both dreaded and longed for.
Rosie had always been afraid no one would understand - but she just loved to be tickled as part of foreplay. Be it cruel and vicious, or playful and fun, she didn’t care. Rosie just never got to the point of climax without being tickled. When she had tried to explain this in the past, some guys took her up on it but quickly lost interest, seeing it as too much work, others thought she was sick and told her to “seek help.” So she had finally given up hope. Refusing to commit - fearing to give her heart up to someone who would never give her the type of touching she craved.
Now she was in a sexual hell. Turned on beyond belief. Longing for more. Yet hating every minute of it because she knew that this was an attempt to force her into that state she did not want to be in - marriage. To be someone’s wife. So what if he did this now? What if in their bed he wanted to be just the wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am type? Didn’t he just say he just wanted her to give him a child?
The tickling stopped just before it could bring her to climax. The king was now standing at her feet. “Now will you marry me?”
“I’m not your brood mare!” Rosie growled, too drained to shout.
“Don’t you understand your importance, woman?” He said even as he began to remove Rosie’s slippers. “The Seelie are dying out. All of our women are sterile. To keep the race alive the Seelie men must breed with human women to create children who will be fertile. The ring chose you as my perfect bride.” He now stared lustfully at the stocking clad feet, the roots moving them closer together. “And you are perfect.” He ran his fingers over the tips of her toes. “The feet of human women are so fascinating. So soft. Even the ones who run around barefoot have softer feet then a fae woman’s. But the most amazing thing is the mentality about their feet. Fae women acknowledge that the feet are an erogenous zone for them. Human women are so fearful to admit it, even though they use their feet to flirt.”
Placing a finger on the ball of each foot, the king slowly dragged the digits down, groaning with his own arousal. Those soft, fleshy soles, mouth watering soles. Right there before him. Served up as if on a platter.
He took his time. Tickling only briefly. Softly. Savoring every moment. Working up. His fingers would sometimes just trace the outline of Rosie’s feet. As if drawing them. Sometimes he’d stroke the soles with his whole hand. He was like a pilgrim, worshiping at the altar of her suddenly sainted feet. Going through a long, drawn out ritual.
Each touch sent shocks of pleasure up Rosie’s legs, through the juncture that declared her a woman, and up into her brain. One of the fairy women was now playing a feather around her breasts. Another leaned over her and kissed her softly. The third was playing a game where she was trying to count Rosie’s ribs, but every giggle made the fae lose count and she’d have to start over.
Then suddenly the fairy women backed off, for now the king’s foot tickling had grown until it was ruthless. Sending great bouts of air from Rosie’s lungs with heavy, loud laughter. Making her jerk violently against her bonds. Worse of all, it made her so hot and bothered she was ready to give the king anything he wanted so long as he gave her the release she needed.
How long the tickling went on she couldn’t say. At some point he ripped the stockings that made the tickling so much worse from her feet. Giving him access to the soft, thin flesh between her toes. Allowing him to suck and kiss said toes. Then suddenly her legs were wide open again. He was standing there, no longer tickling her feet, but tormenting her with the promise of sexual release by just - standing there.
He reached up and tickled her for a few minutes all over her soft, generous butt. “You’re a knowledgeable woman, my Rosie. You know that while only a few hours have past her, in your world it’s been as many weeks. You know that while you may never willingly take of fae food or drink, we could force enough in you to keep you alive - never releasing you until so much time has passed all you know and love is centuries dead. More then that, you know I can read your mind. That I know your every fear,” the roots raised her up until her vulva was the level of the king’s mouth, “and your every desire,” her breathed upon her flushed and wet skin.
Filled with tickle-lust, it didn’t take long for the Seelie king to bring her to climax. Her mind befuddled by the afterglow she didn’t notice that he was now holding her up instead of the roots and urging her to drink the freshly poured marriage wine. With a sip her found herself bound to him, the ring upon her finger glowing brightly, leaving underneath it a mark so even if she took it off, all would know she was a claimed woman. Commitment phobic Rosie now found herself in a commitment she could never escape. Oh yes, she could be with others, but no fae would dare try to steal away the king’s bride, for the mark would always allow him to find her.
And as the king took his bride to their chamber, she also knew that one fear would never come true. For the fae king’s fingers had already found their wiggling way to Rosie’s armpits.
~The End~
