"Basta!" the woman in the stocks shouted as the musketeers continued their relentless tickling of the soles of the woman's 40-year-old feet as she shook the stocks so hard it almost seemed as the whole thing would overturn right there in the middle of the Canelli town piazza. "BASTA!!!!!"
The ends of the woman's long black hair fell into her mouth as she screamed for mercy. Fifteen minutes of nearly non-stop tickling and this poor, helpless barefooted lady was ready to break. Then, almost as if a sixth sense was at work, the torture stopped. The musketeers dropped their feathers, unlocked the lock on the stocks, untied the woman's wrists from the backboard and allowed her to go free. At first she couldn't even raise her legs from the spot where her ankles had been locked in place for the ungodly tickle-torture she knew she was going to receive. He arms hung limp by her side as she wheezed, trying to get back to a normal state after the ordeal of having the feathers brush over the bottoms of her hyper-ticklish feet. At long last she was strong enough to remove herself and put her shoes on. Not a moment too soon, someone else was waiting to experience the historically significant recreation of the torturing of the native women of Canelli.
"This is what you want?" Brunella asked Shelly, still stunned by the idea that any woman would voluntarily undergo the tickling of her feet and toes while immobilized in that ghastly device. Shelly nodded.
"OK. Don't say I didn't warn you. I'm going over to that cafe there. You join me when you're done making an ass of yourself."
Shelly ignored her friend's disapproval. Nothing would satisfy her until she tried it. Maybe she would hate it. Sure, she was scared. She knew how dreadfully ticklish her feet were. And her toes! Oh good Lord, her toes! Merely threatening to touch her toes could send Shelly into a panic. But curiosity outweighed fear. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. William Blake said that. Shelly learned it in her British literature class at Emily Dickinson College. But what if excess kills you before you become wise?
Shelly got in what she thought was a line, behind a hefty Englishwoman with red hair. A tiny young woman, about half the age of the Italian lady who had gone in the stocks before, was now being locked in for her tickle-torture. The girl looked even younger than Shelly, barely out of her teens, with short gold hair and fair skin. She appeared to speak German, or maybe Dutch, Shelly did not know.
"Are you waiting for this?" Shelly asked the Englishwoman.
"Oh, yes, and I can 'ardly wait for my turn."
There was no fear in the portly British woman's voice. She looked a bit older than Shelly, maybe in her middle or late 20s. She wore pleated slacks and a sleeveless blouse that showed off her somewhat beefy arms.
"Have you done this before?" Shelly inquired.
"Well, not 'ere love. But I just adore being tickled."
"You do?"
"Oh, yes. My boyfriend just loves tying me up and tickling me until I'm leveled to tears I am."
"Seriously?"
"The greatest feeling in the world, dear. Your body is so all a-tingle when it's over. You're feeling so alive and so sensual."
"Sensuous," Shelly corrected. "Vegetables are sensual. People are sensuous."
"Yes, right, sensuous. Well, my name's Lesley. Good to meet you."
"I'm Rochelle. My friends call me Shelly."
"Well, then, I hope I can call you Shelly. We should be mates, right? After all we both love to be tickled."
"Uh, actually, I've never been tickled. That is, not like this...not like you and your boyfriend do it."
"Is that so, love?"
"Yes, I'm just curious, you know...I see these other women doing it. I guess it's what you do when you're here. I want to see what it's like."
"You do seem a bit edgy, you do."
"Well, you know...by the way, how does your boyfriend tie you up? Like does he put you in a chair or what does he do?"
"Oh, love, he ties me all kinds of ways. Sometimes he ties my 'ands and feet to the posts on 'is bed with me laying there on my back. Sometimes 'e ties my 'ands to a hook in the ceiling of his flat. Sometimes it's to an old chair. Whatever 'e wants I let 'im do."
"How many times has he done this?"
"Oh, goodness Shelly, too many times to count. We've been going with each other for four years now. It's been so wonderful. I just can't wait to get off from the factory and go meet 'im every evening. We 'ave a pint or two at the pub and head off to 'is flat..."
"You do this every night?"
"Almost, love. Almost."
Wow, Shelly thought. What a cool couple they must be. Lesley certainly isn't the most attractive female in the world, but she seems to have such a great relationship, if all she told Shelly was true.
The women talked so much they ignored the giggles of the petite woman now in the stocks, whose high-pitched laughter filled the sky as the Canelli men stroked their feathers over the bare soles and pudgy little toes of her tiny feet. She wriggled her upper body and twitched her feet, but in general seemed less ticklish than the black African woman and the older Italian woman who had preceded her to the torturing. When she was released, there was little recovery time as there had been when the Italian lady had been let go. Like the Negro woman, this petite little gal didn't even bother putting her shoes back on, but strolled alone, barefoot, through the festival crowd.
Now it was Lesley's turn. Her hands were tightly strapped to the backboard as her ankles were locked in their holes. The musketeers pulled off her shoes to reveal a pair of enormous feet, damned near twice what the little gal who had gone before had. The belt across Lesley's knees was tightened, and the laces binding her toes to the board were fixed. She gave a frightened moan as the musketeers were securing her for the tickling.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh-eeeeeeeeeeeeeee," Lesley screamed as the feathers raked the bottoms of her bare feet and the sensitive folds between her toes. Lesley twisted her head and bounced on her well-padded butt when the men attacked the soles of her feet with the tips of the feathers. "No, please, no, no, no" she screamed as the torturing continued. "Aaaayyyyyyyaaaaaaeeee. Please, NOOOOOOOOOOO, NOOOOOOOOOO."
Shelly thought, Lesley enjoyed this? And she got it every night? How could she stand it?
One musketeer began tickling Lesley's feet with his fingers as the other went up to her bare arms with the feather. Lesley was beside herself in laughter. Was this chubby English gal going to lose her mind, or suffer heart failure? Shelly was truly mystified.
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha," Lesley cried as the feather stroked her naked, helpless upper arms and ten tickling fingers assaulted her feet. "Noooooooooo, let me goooooooo, ahahahahahahahaha, noooooooooo." Old Lesley, it seemed, had bitten off more than she could chew. Certainly her boyfriend would never have done THIS to her?
After almost 20 minutes of hideous torture, Lesley was allowed to go free. A fantastically handsome man had stopped by to watch the proceedings. When Lesley got up she walked over to him, still barefoot, and gave him a giant hug and a long, deep kiss. Was this gorgeous man, who looked like that TV actor, Roger Moore from "The Saint," be this husky woman's lover?
"Looks like you 'ad fun when I was off by m'self," the man said to Lesley after the kiss.
"Shelly, this is Bobby, my boyfriend. The chap I was telling you about. Bobby this is Shelly, from somewhere in the states."
"Good day, Shelly," Bobby said as he stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you."
"Good day," Shelly answered, somewhat nervously, thinking off all the times Bobby must have had Lesley bound in his flat and the hours he spent tickling her helpless body. She shook his hand as he musketeers yelled for the pretty lady --bella signorina-- to get into the stocks and take her turn experiencing a bit of history.
"What say we watch Shelly get 'er ticklin'?" Lesley said.
"All right with me," Bobby answered.
Shelly slowly mounted the table where she would be sitting, helpless to move for the next 15-20 minutes. She shivered as she felt the cuffs surround her wrists. She had a spasm as the cuffs were locked, her hands now held over her head with nothing she could do to free them. Her blood ran cold as then the wooden top of the board that would hold her feet was lowered onto her ankles. She almost didn't feel the belt that strapped her knees in place being pulled tight, but she sure watched with terror as the musketeers removed the sandals from her size 9 American feet. She closed her eyes, afraids to even look as the men tied her toes to the hooks on the board. She opened them, eyeing herself in the most helpless position she had ever been placed, as terrified as the time she'd screwed up enough courage to ride that giant roller-coaster at the amusement park when she was 10 years old.
The sun beat down hot on Shelly's head, but her arms were already starting to feel numb from the blood rushing downward. Her bare toes felt like icicles. Sweat was forming on her brow. She tried wiggling her feet, but movement was nearly impossible. Her mouth was dry as fresh cotton.
The musketeers picked up their feathers and walked down to Shelly's feet.
The ends of the woman's long black hair fell into her mouth as she screamed for mercy. Fifteen minutes of nearly non-stop tickling and this poor, helpless barefooted lady was ready to break. Then, almost as if a sixth sense was at work, the torture stopped. The musketeers dropped their feathers, unlocked the lock on the stocks, untied the woman's wrists from the backboard and allowed her to go free. At first she couldn't even raise her legs from the spot where her ankles had been locked in place for the ungodly tickle-torture she knew she was going to receive. He arms hung limp by her side as she wheezed, trying to get back to a normal state after the ordeal of having the feathers brush over the bottoms of her hyper-ticklish feet. At long last she was strong enough to remove herself and put her shoes on. Not a moment too soon, someone else was waiting to experience the historically significant recreation of the torturing of the native women of Canelli.
"This is what you want?" Brunella asked Shelly, still stunned by the idea that any woman would voluntarily undergo the tickling of her feet and toes while immobilized in that ghastly device. Shelly nodded.
"OK. Don't say I didn't warn you. I'm going over to that cafe there. You join me when you're done making an ass of yourself."
Shelly ignored her friend's disapproval. Nothing would satisfy her until she tried it. Maybe she would hate it. Sure, she was scared. She knew how dreadfully ticklish her feet were. And her toes! Oh good Lord, her toes! Merely threatening to touch her toes could send Shelly into a panic. But curiosity outweighed fear. The road of excess leads to the palace of wisdom. William Blake said that. Shelly learned it in her British literature class at Emily Dickinson College. But what if excess kills you before you become wise?
Shelly got in what she thought was a line, behind a hefty Englishwoman with red hair. A tiny young woman, about half the age of the Italian lady who had gone in the stocks before, was now being locked in for her tickle-torture. The girl looked even younger than Shelly, barely out of her teens, with short gold hair and fair skin. She appeared to speak German, or maybe Dutch, Shelly did not know.
"Are you waiting for this?" Shelly asked the Englishwoman.
"Oh, yes, and I can 'ardly wait for my turn."
There was no fear in the portly British woman's voice. She looked a bit older than Shelly, maybe in her middle or late 20s. She wore pleated slacks and a sleeveless blouse that showed off her somewhat beefy arms.
"Have you done this before?" Shelly inquired.
"Well, not 'ere love. But I just adore being tickled."
"You do?"
"Oh, yes. My boyfriend just loves tying me up and tickling me until I'm leveled to tears I am."
"Seriously?"
"The greatest feeling in the world, dear. Your body is so all a-tingle when it's over. You're feeling so alive and so sensual."
"Sensuous," Shelly corrected. "Vegetables are sensual. People are sensuous."
"Yes, right, sensuous. Well, my name's Lesley. Good to meet you."
"I'm Rochelle. My friends call me Shelly."
"Well, then, I hope I can call you Shelly. We should be mates, right? After all we both love to be tickled."
"Uh, actually, I've never been tickled. That is, not like this...not like you and your boyfriend do it."
"Is that so, love?"
"Yes, I'm just curious, you know...I see these other women doing it. I guess it's what you do when you're here. I want to see what it's like."
"You do seem a bit edgy, you do."
"Well, you know...by the way, how does your boyfriend tie you up? Like does he put you in a chair or what does he do?"
"Oh, love, he ties me all kinds of ways. Sometimes he ties my 'ands and feet to the posts on 'is bed with me laying there on my back. Sometimes 'e ties my 'ands to a hook in the ceiling of his flat. Sometimes it's to an old chair. Whatever 'e wants I let 'im do."
"How many times has he done this?"
"Oh, goodness Shelly, too many times to count. We've been going with each other for four years now. It's been so wonderful. I just can't wait to get off from the factory and go meet 'im every evening. We 'ave a pint or two at the pub and head off to 'is flat..."
"You do this every night?"
"Almost, love. Almost."
Wow, Shelly thought. What a cool couple they must be. Lesley certainly isn't the most attractive female in the world, but she seems to have such a great relationship, if all she told Shelly was true.
The women talked so much they ignored the giggles of the petite woman now in the stocks, whose high-pitched laughter filled the sky as the Canelli men stroked their feathers over the bare soles and pudgy little toes of her tiny feet. She wriggled her upper body and twitched her feet, but in general seemed less ticklish than the black African woman and the older Italian woman who had preceded her to the torturing. When she was released, there was little recovery time as there had been when the Italian lady had been let go. Like the Negro woman, this petite little gal didn't even bother putting her shoes back on, but strolled alone, barefoot, through the festival crowd.
Now it was Lesley's turn. Her hands were tightly strapped to the backboard as her ankles were locked in their holes. The musketeers pulled off her shoes to reveal a pair of enormous feet, damned near twice what the little gal who had gone before had. The belt across Lesley's knees was tightened, and the laces binding her toes to the board were fixed. She gave a frightened moan as the musketeers were securing her for the tickling.
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh-eeeeeeeeeeeeeee," Lesley screamed as the feathers raked the bottoms of her bare feet and the sensitive folds between her toes. Lesley twisted her head and bounced on her well-padded butt when the men attacked the soles of her feet with the tips of the feathers. "No, please, no, no, no" she screamed as the torturing continued. "Aaaayyyyyyyaaaaaaeeee. Please, NOOOOOOOOOOO, NOOOOOOOOOO."
Shelly thought, Lesley enjoyed this? And she got it every night? How could she stand it?
One musketeer began tickling Lesley's feet with his fingers as the other went up to her bare arms with the feather. Lesley was beside herself in laughter. Was this chubby English gal going to lose her mind, or suffer heart failure? Shelly was truly mystified.
"Hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha," Lesley cried as the feather stroked her naked, helpless upper arms and ten tickling fingers assaulted her feet. "Noooooooooo, let me goooooooo, ahahahahahahahaha, noooooooooo." Old Lesley, it seemed, had bitten off more than she could chew. Certainly her boyfriend would never have done THIS to her?
After almost 20 minutes of hideous torture, Lesley was allowed to go free. A fantastically handsome man had stopped by to watch the proceedings. When Lesley got up she walked over to him, still barefoot, and gave him a giant hug and a long, deep kiss. Was this gorgeous man, who looked like that TV actor, Roger Moore from "The Saint," be this husky woman's lover?
"Looks like you 'ad fun when I was off by m'self," the man said to Lesley after the kiss.
"Shelly, this is Bobby, my boyfriend. The chap I was telling you about. Bobby this is Shelly, from somewhere in the states."
"Good day, Shelly," Bobby said as he stuck out his hand. "Nice to meet you."
"Good day," Shelly answered, somewhat nervously, thinking off all the times Bobby must have had Lesley bound in his flat and the hours he spent tickling her helpless body. She shook his hand as he musketeers yelled for the pretty lady --bella signorina-- to get into the stocks and take her turn experiencing a bit of history.
"What say we watch Shelly get 'er ticklin'?" Lesley said.
"All right with me," Bobby answered.
Shelly slowly mounted the table where she would be sitting, helpless to move for the next 15-20 minutes. She shivered as she felt the cuffs surround her wrists. She had a spasm as the cuffs were locked, her hands now held over her head with nothing she could do to free them. Her blood ran cold as then the wooden top of the board that would hold her feet was lowered onto her ankles. She almost didn't feel the belt that strapped her knees in place being pulled tight, but she sure watched with terror as the musketeers removed the sandals from her size 9 American feet. She closed her eyes, afraids to even look as the men tied her toes to the hooks on the board. She opened them, eyeing herself in the most helpless position she had ever been placed, as terrified as the time she'd screwed up enough courage to ride that giant roller-coaster at the amusement park when she was 10 years old.
The sun beat down hot on Shelly's head, but her arms were already starting to feel numb from the blood rushing downward. Her bare toes felt like icicles. Sweat was forming on her brow. She tried wiggling her feet, but movement was nearly impossible. Her mouth was dry as fresh cotton.
The musketeers picked up their feathers and walked down to Shelly's feet.
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