It wasn't so bad at first. Shelly gritted her teeth as the tips of the feathers slid along the soles of her bare feet. She giggled a little, wagged her head and wiggled her toes other than her big toes that were tied so tightly to hooks on the top of the board that locked her ankles in place for this ritual tickle-torture for which she had voluteered at this festival in this Italian city she and her friend Brunella had never heard of until barely an hour ago and only because they almost ran out of gas for their rented Fiat. It was really somewhat pleasant, at first, despite Shelly's inability to move. The tingling sensation raced up and down her body. It was not unlike making out with a boy, something she had done a lot of since she was 13 and it was obvious she was the prettiest girl in school and that even though boys could be creeps, making out with them was coolsville.
"Tttsssssshhhhhhh," said Shelly as she finally opened her eyes because she wanted to see just what these men dressed in 17th century military outfits were doing to her. She couldn't take her eyes off them as they raked the bottoms of her feet and the tips of her toes with their long, sleek feathers.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh, sssssssshhhhheeeeeeee, hahahahahaha," Shelly cried. She could see out of the corner of her eye that nice English couple, Lesley and Bobby, watching her to see how she would handle her first tickle-torture. They were obviously masters of this art. Lesley held her shoes in one hand and had the other wrapped around Bobby's waist. She occasionally pawed the dusty street with her bare toes while Bobby kept brushing Lesley's red hair away from her face so he could kiss her forehead. How wonderful they had found each other, and had a love of tickling to keep things intersting in the bedroom.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyaaaaaaaa," Shelly cried, a little bit louder. The men had found the spots of her naked helpless feet and toes that would bring the greatest reaction from this ticklish American gal. "Yaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeee," she bellowed as the feathers lingered on the most deadly places on her exposed flesh, brushing her most tender spots with a new deviousness. One of the men stopped torturing Shelly's feet and moved up to her upper body. He stroked the feather across the little bit of exposed tummy between Shelly's waist and bellybutton.
"Naaaaaaaaa-ooooooooo," Shelly screamed. "No, please, no not there no no no no...." Meanwhile, the other musketeer had begun spider tickling Shelly's feet with his fingertips. "Ahhhhhhhrrrrrrrrrgggggggg," Shelly yelled in a voice that mixed agony and rapture. Things were getting more intense. How much would she be able to take? "Naaaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha." She was bucking like a wild stallion as best she could so tightly bound and locked in this devilish instrument of torture. The man at her feet kept tickling those bare soles and helpless toes while his paisano began flicking his feather over Shelly's face, making her spasm as the tip of the feather tormeted her nose and chin. Oh, why had she volunteered for something so horrible?
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaa," Shelly wailed. "No no no no no please no, please no more, let me go pleeeeeeeeeeeze ahahahahahahahahahahahahaha....."
Shelly had no idea how long she had been tortured. She was just glad when it was finally over. Shelly sat there, trying to catch her breath, wondering if she were merely getting a break before more tickling of her poor bare feet was forthcoming. No, there were other women waiting their turns. Shelly huffed and puffed as the musketeers untied her toes and lifted the board that held her ankles and unbuckled the belt that had strapped down her knees and undid the cuffs that held her arms above her head.
Shelly mustered the strength to get up. Her legs were a bit wobbly, but she was so happy to be free she even did a little hop right there. Like so many of the women tortured before her, she didn't bother putting her shoes back on, but left them by the stocks and walked over to Lesley and Bobby. Lesley dropped her shoes on the ground, gave Shelly a bear hug and kissed her on the mouth. There they were, a pudgy, fair-skinned, red-haired Englishwoman and a beautiful, tanned, blue-eyed, auburn-haired American woman in a tight embrace for having both come through an ordeal all in the name of recreating history in a foreign land.
"Oh, you were simply marvelous, love," Lesley said. "You came through that magnificently. A proper heroine. Just smashing."
"Thank you," Shelly replied, a bit of tear forming in her cobalt-blue eyes.
Shelly and Lesley unclinched and Shelly went to Bobby. She kissed hin as he grasped her hands.
"Yes, you handled yourself beautifully, love, beautifully. So how do you feel?"
"Oh, goodness, I just feel wonderful. Exhilirating. I feel alive...so erotic...like I want to make love to the whole world right here in the middle of this square."
Bobby turned to Lesley. "You mind, love?" Lesley slapped Bobby's right arm in a playful way.
"Oh, he's always saying things like that," Lesley said to Shelly. "He's always making me laugh he is."
Shelly did a double-take at that last sentence. Of course Bobby makes Lesley laugh. He ties her up every night and tickles the bejeezus out of her.
"Yes, I know," Shelly said...then, turning to Bobby, she added, "she told me."
"She did?" Bobby answered with a puzzled look on his face.
"Look, why don't you two join me and my friend for a glass of wine," Shelly said.
"Oh, thank you anyway Shelly, but we need to be gone. It was so nice to meet you and I hope you saw how much fun it is to have a proper tickling once in a while."
Shelly gave Lesley no answer, just a good-bye and a small wave. The two left, still with their arms around each other. Lesley still barefoot in the hot Italian afternoon.
Shelly found Brunella sitting at a small table outside a wine bar. Brunella was barefoot, with her toes resting on an empty chair in front of her. Shelly sat down and ordered a glass of Piedmontese.
"So how was it?" Brunella asked, a tone of disapproval in her question.
"It was all right," Shelly said. "I liked it. I'd do it again."
Brunella rolled her eyes and told Shelly she was out of her mind. Out of her mind? Shelly almost went there in the 15-20 minutes she was held barefoot by the stocks as she was tickled to near madness.
"Nell, I can't describe it. It was such a feeling. I don't know what to say. It was, I guess, electrifying. It made my whole body come awake with a weird sensation. And, oh, I just felt so beautiful, like I was the first woman in the world. A rush came over my body like you..."
Brunella had heard enough and cut off her friend in mid-sentence.
"Now you have to try it," Shelly said.
"Shelllllll-eeeeeeee, I'm not going to try it. What do you think I am? Crazy?"
"No, I think you're chicken."
"I am not nuts is what I am not. It isn't about being chicken. What kind of a maniac would allow herself to be put in that thing and have two creeps who look like they jumped off the wrapper of a candy bar tickle her feet?" That's just loony."
"What kind of woman would do that? Look at how many have done in it the short time we've been here. Are they all loony?"
"Yes, they are, and I'm not going to be one of them."
"That's 'cause you're chicken," said Shelly, just before she began flapping her arms and yelling "baaaaak, baaaaak, baaaak" loud enough to make the Italian
men behind the bar stare at her even harder than when they stared at her as she was walking barefoot towards their table as here comes a signorina even more beautiful than the long-haired donna who was already sitting there.
"Stop it, Shel. They're all staring at us."
"I'd stare too at a 5 1/2-foot chicken. Baaaaaaaaak."
"I suppose you're going to ride me about this for the rest of our trip."
"Probably. Look, Miss Primative Cultures Major, why don't you get yourself in there and see what being a woman in primative culture is really like. You can write your thesis about it."
"All right, if I do this will you shut up about it for the rest of the time we're in Italy?"
"Promise...Scout's honor. Cross my heart and hope to die stick a needle in my eye."
Brunella nervously rose from her chair. She left her shoes at the cafe, as she knew she wouldn't need them. Shelly followed, cradling both pairs of shoes in her arm. The musketeers motioned for the bella donna to come and sit in the stocks. Brunella slowly, with major trepidation, sat down. The men grabbed her arms and cuffed them to the backboard. Brunella felt feverish as the board came down to lock her ankles in place. Goosebumps were popping all over her olive-hued skin. The belt was tightened over her knees. Brunella's big brown eyes doubled in size as the soldiers started tying her toes to the hooks. Why did they have to do that, Couldn't she at least be able to wiggle her feet as her bare soles were being tortured by the men's fingers and their insidious feathers?
There she was. Helpless. Trapped. Barefoot. Brunella was scared. Not even in an anticipatory way like Shelly. She began whining and moaning even before the torture began. She shut her eyes as she felt the first touch of the men's feathers across the tips of her naked toes.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! NO NO NO NO NO PLEEEEEEEZE NO MORE I BEG YOU STAAAAAAAAPPPPPPP STAAAAAAAAAPPPPP HAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO NO NO NO AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO MAKE IT STOP, NO MORE DON'T DON'T I CAN'T .... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEEEEEEEEZE LET ME GO DON'T NO NO NO STOP IT STOP IT AAAAAYYYAAAAAAYYYYY...."
For 10 minutes the brutal torture of Brunella continued. Festival goers who had simply walked by the other women held in the stocks and tickled halted at the sight and sounds of this most reluctant young lady, whose tolerance of tickling was near zero. The men did not ease up on her. One spider-tickled Brunella's bare feet as the other tickled her naked arms and under her tender chin. Tears streamed down Brunella's face. She writhed violently, trying oh so hard to free herself from the Renaissance torture device.
Shelly made a gesture to the musketeers. Her friend had enough. Brunella was not Shelly, and definitely was not Lesley. The torture stopped, and the men loosened the straps that held Brunella's arms. Shelly immediately rushed to her friend and hugged her right there in her seat on the stocks as the two Canelli men freed Brunella's legs from their bindings.
"Oh, Nell, I'm so sorry," Shelly said, not knowing whether her friend would hug her or hit her. "I had no idea. I'm sorry I made you do this."
"It's OK, Shel," said Brunella, her round, bronzed face stained with tears. "I'm all right. Really, I'm all right."
The girls hugged for a little while until one of the musketeers tapped Brunella on the shoulder and told them they had to move because a young lady with curly blonde hair was waiting to be tickled.
Shelly still held all four shoes as she and Brunella started walking away. "You aren't mad at me, are you?"
Brunella: "No, I'm not mad at you. I'm not happy you goaded me into this but I'm not angry. But you said you wouldn't say another word about this."
Shelly: "OK, not another word. By the way, what were you doing when I was in the stocks?"
Brunella: "Having a glass of red wine, and eavesdropping on some British guy who was yakking on an on about some rock 'n' roll band from Liverpool. Said they were going to be more popular than Elvis Presley some day."
Shelly let out loud, cackling laughter at the very thought of something so ridiculous. Didn't the geezer know that rock 'n' roll was dead? More popular than Elvis? An English group? Never! Brunella nodded and the friends went off to see what else the festival had to offer.
"Tttsssssshhhhhhh," said Shelly as she finally opened her eyes because she wanted to see just what these men dressed in 17th century military outfits were doing to her. She couldn't take her eyes off them as they raked the bottoms of her feet and the tips of her toes with their long, sleek feathers.
"Ohhhhhhhhhhh, sssssssshhhhheeeeeeee, hahahahahaha," Shelly cried. She could see out of the corner of her eye that nice English couple, Lesley and Bobby, watching her to see how she would handle her first tickle-torture. They were obviously masters of this art. Lesley held her shoes in one hand and had the other wrapped around Bobby's waist. She occasionally pawed the dusty street with her bare toes while Bobby kept brushing Lesley's red hair away from her face so he could kiss her forehead. How wonderful they had found each other, and had a love of tickling to keep things intersting in the bedroom.
"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhyyyyyyyaaaaaaaa," Shelly cried, a little bit louder. The men had found the spots of her naked helpless feet and toes that would bring the greatest reaction from this ticklish American gal. "Yaaaaaaaaeeeeeeeee," she bellowed as the feathers lingered on the most deadly places on her exposed flesh, brushing her most tender spots with a new deviousness. One of the men stopped torturing Shelly's feet and moved up to her upper body. He stroked the feather across the little bit of exposed tummy between Shelly's waist and bellybutton.
"Naaaaaaaaa-ooooooooo," Shelly screamed. "No, please, no not there no no no no...." Meanwhile, the other musketeer had begun spider tickling Shelly's feet with his fingertips. "Ahhhhhhhrrrrrrrrrgggggggg," Shelly yelled in a voice that mixed agony and rapture. Things were getting more intense. How much would she be able to take? "Naaaaaahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha." She was bucking like a wild stallion as best she could so tightly bound and locked in this devilish instrument of torture. The man at her feet kept tickling those bare soles and helpless toes while his paisano began flicking his feather over Shelly's face, making her spasm as the tip of the feather tormeted her nose and chin. Oh, why had she volunteered for something so horrible?
"Aaaaaaaaaaaaa," Shelly wailed. "No no no no no please no, please no more, let me go pleeeeeeeeeeeze ahahahahahahahahahahahahaha....."
Shelly had no idea how long she had been tortured. She was just glad when it was finally over. Shelly sat there, trying to catch her breath, wondering if she were merely getting a break before more tickling of her poor bare feet was forthcoming. No, there were other women waiting their turns. Shelly huffed and puffed as the musketeers untied her toes and lifted the board that held her ankles and unbuckled the belt that had strapped down her knees and undid the cuffs that held her arms above her head.
Shelly mustered the strength to get up. Her legs were a bit wobbly, but she was so happy to be free she even did a little hop right there. Like so many of the women tortured before her, she didn't bother putting her shoes back on, but left them by the stocks and walked over to Lesley and Bobby. Lesley dropped her shoes on the ground, gave Shelly a bear hug and kissed her on the mouth. There they were, a pudgy, fair-skinned, red-haired Englishwoman and a beautiful, tanned, blue-eyed, auburn-haired American woman in a tight embrace for having both come through an ordeal all in the name of recreating history in a foreign land.
"Oh, you were simply marvelous, love," Lesley said. "You came through that magnificently. A proper heroine. Just smashing."
"Thank you," Shelly replied, a bit of tear forming in her cobalt-blue eyes.
Shelly and Lesley unclinched and Shelly went to Bobby. She kissed hin as he grasped her hands.
"Yes, you handled yourself beautifully, love, beautifully. So how do you feel?"
"Oh, goodness, I just feel wonderful. Exhilirating. I feel alive...so erotic...like I want to make love to the whole world right here in the middle of this square."
Bobby turned to Lesley. "You mind, love?" Lesley slapped Bobby's right arm in a playful way.
"Oh, he's always saying things like that," Lesley said to Shelly. "He's always making me laugh he is."
Shelly did a double-take at that last sentence. Of course Bobby makes Lesley laugh. He ties her up every night and tickles the bejeezus out of her.
"Yes, I know," Shelly said...then, turning to Bobby, she added, "she told me."
"She did?" Bobby answered with a puzzled look on his face.
"Look, why don't you two join me and my friend for a glass of wine," Shelly said.
"Oh, thank you anyway Shelly, but we need to be gone. It was so nice to meet you and I hope you saw how much fun it is to have a proper tickling once in a while."
Shelly gave Lesley no answer, just a good-bye and a small wave. The two left, still with their arms around each other. Lesley still barefoot in the hot Italian afternoon.
Shelly found Brunella sitting at a small table outside a wine bar. Brunella was barefoot, with her toes resting on an empty chair in front of her. Shelly sat down and ordered a glass of Piedmontese.
"So how was it?" Brunella asked, a tone of disapproval in her question.
"It was all right," Shelly said. "I liked it. I'd do it again."
Brunella rolled her eyes and told Shelly she was out of her mind. Out of her mind? Shelly almost went there in the 15-20 minutes she was held barefoot by the stocks as she was tickled to near madness.
"Nell, I can't describe it. It was such a feeling. I don't know what to say. It was, I guess, electrifying. It made my whole body come awake with a weird sensation. And, oh, I just felt so beautiful, like I was the first woman in the world. A rush came over my body like you..."
Brunella had heard enough and cut off her friend in mid-sentence.
"Now you have to try it," Shelly said.
"Shelllllll-eeeeeeee, I'm not going to try it. What do you think I am? Crazy?"
"No, I think you're chicken."
"I am not nuts is what I am not. It isn't about being chicken. What kind of a maniac would allow herself to be put in that thing and have two creeps who look like they jumped off the wrapper of a candy bar tickle her feet?" That's just loony."
"What kind of woman would do that? Look at how many have done in it the short time we've been here. Are they all loony?"
"Yes, they are, and I'm not going to be one of them."
"That's 'cause you're chicken," said Shelly, just before she began flapping her arms and yelling "baaaaak, baaaaak, baaaak" loud enough to make the Italian
men behind the bar stare at her even harder than when they stared at her as she was walking barefoot towards their table as here comes a signorina even more beautiful than the long-haired donna who was already sitting there.
"Stop it, Shel. They're all staring at us."
"I'd stare too at a 5 1/2-foot chicken. Baaaaaaaaak."
"I suppose you're going to ride me about this for the rest of our trip."
"Probably. Look, Miss Primative Cultures Major, why don't you get yourself in there and see what being a woman in primative culture is really like. You can write your thesis about it."
"All right, if I do this will you shut up about it for the rest of the time we're in Italy?"
"Promise...Scout's honor. Cross my heart and hope to die stick a needle in my eye."
Brunella nervously rose from her chair. She left her shoes at the cafe, as she knew she wouldn't need them. Shelly followed, cradling both pairs of shoes in her arm. The musketeers motioned for the bella donna to come and sit in the stocks. Brunella slowly, with major trepidation, sat down. The men grabbed her arms and cuffed them to the backboard. Brunella felt feverish as the board came down to lock her ankles in place. Goosebumps were popping all over her olive-hued skin. The belt was tightened over her knees. Brunella's big brown eyes doubled in size as the soldiers started tying her toes to the hooks. Why did they have to do that, Couldn't she at least be able to wiggle her feet as her bare soles were being tortured by the men's fingers and their insidious feathers?
There she was. Helpless. Trapped. Barefoot. Brunella was scared. Not even in an anticipatory way like Shelly. She began whining and moaning even before the torture began. She shut her eyes as she felt the first touch of the men's feathers across the tips of her naked toes.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!! NO NO NO NO NO PLEEEEEEEZE NO MORE I BEG YOU STAAAAAAAAPPPPPPP STAAAAAAAAAPPPPP HAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO NO NO NO AHAHAHAHAHAHAHA NO MAKE IT STOP, NO MORE DON'T DON'T I CAN'T .... AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA PLEEEEEEEEZE LET ME GO DON'T NO NO NO STOP IT STOP IT AAAAAYYYAAAAAAYYYYY...."
For 10 minutes the brutal torture of Brunella continued. Festival goers who had simply walked by the other women held in the stocks and tickled halted at the sight and sounds of this most reluctant young lady, whose tolerance of tickling was near zero. The men did not ease up on her. One spider-tickled Brunella's bare feet as the other tickled her naked arms and under her tender chin. Tears streamed down Brunella's face. She writhed violently, trying oh so hard to free herself from the Renaissance torture device.
Shelly made a gesture to the musketeers. Her friend had enough. Brunella was not Shelly, and definitely was not Lesley. The torture stopped, and the men loosened the straps that held Brunella's arms. Shelly immediately rushed to her friend and hugged her right there in her seat on the stocks as the two Canelli men freed Brunella's legs from their bindings.
"Oh, Nell, I'm so sorry," Shelly said, not knowing whether her friend would hug her or hit her. "I had no idea. I'm sorry I made you do this."
"It's OK, Shel," said Brunella, her round, bronzed face stained with tears. "I'm all right. Really, I'm all right."
The girls hugged for a little while until one of the musketeers tapped Brunella on the shoulder and told them they had to move because a young lady with curly blonde hair was waiting to be tickled.
Shelly still held all four shoes as she and Brunella started walking away. "You aren't mad at me, are you?"
Brunella: "No, I'm not mad at you. I'm not happy you goaded me into this but I'm not angry. But you said you wouldn't say another word about this."
Shelly: "OK, not another word. By the way, what were you doing when I was in the stocks?"
Brunella: "Having a glass of red wine, and eavesdropping on some British guy who was yakking on an on about some rock 'n' roll band from Liverpool. Said they were going to be more popular than Elvis Presley some day."
Shelly let out loud, cackling laughter at the very thought of something so ridiculous. Didn't the geezer know that rock 'n' roll was dead? More popular than Elvis? An English group? Never! Brunella nodded and the friends went off to see what else the festival had to offer.
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