munchausen
TMF Expert
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[This is a relatively short entry in The Voyage Out series, meant to move the action along and to be, I hope, entertaining in its own right. Hopefully the next installment will come very soon – I’m anxious to return to our heroines!
Anyone confused by the plot points in this chapter should look back at “Part VI: Yelena Kant Stop Laughing” for the origins of this too-long neglected storyline. Feedback is greedily coveted.]
Previous parts can be found here:
Part one:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...=&threadid=4438
2:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...=&threadid=4654
3:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...=&threadid=9546
4:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=12001
5:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=13848
6:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=17137
7:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=17215
Interlude:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=31373
8: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=31374
9: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=32409
10: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=45148
11: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=74104
The Voyage Out, Part XII: Kimmie’s Comeuppance. Wicked Plans Put in Motion.
Kimmie waited nervously in the sumptuous, high-ceilinged antechamber outside Yelena Kant’s office in her palace on the outskirts of Khalhasa. She had failed – failed resoundingly and miserably – and now she awaited the consequences.
After losing Francesca and being left ignominiously bound to a tree in the midst of the northern woods, Kymara (or Kimmie, as she liked to be called) awoke hours later to find no trace of her quarry’s signature anywhere. A simple spell had freed her from her bonds, but no amount of desperate searching had revealed Francesca’s whereabouts, or even the direction in which she might have traveled. Even the underbrush all around looked completely undisturbed.
She had searched for much longer than it took to realize that her efforts were hopeless; the alternative to success was too daunting to face. At last, ashen-faced and tingling with fear, she had flown back to Khalhasa and called in her report to Yelena Kant. Icy silence – a full ten seconds worth – had been the response. Then, in a cordial tone that nevertheless carried an undertone of menace, Yelena had asked her to report to her palace the following day at 4:00, in civilian attire.
So here Kimmie sat, looking lovely but strikingly ordinary compared to her usual gaudy “good fairy” attire, in a conservative white blouse against which her remarkable breasts strained noticeably, a longish black suit jacket, a shortish black skirt, and black pumps without stockings. Her long, impressive mane of blonde curls had been more or less tamed and done up in a bun, from which a few tresses escaped fetchingly to fall around her cheeks. Powerful sorceress that she was, she looked for all the world like an overachieving Southern sorority girl dressed up for an internship. Her makeup was understated today, but her pixieish beauty, manifest in her big blue eyes, long lashes, and delicate, heart-shaped face was undiminished. She held a handbag in her lap with both hands and sat with her knees and ankles pressed primly together, tapping the toes of her pumps against the floor nervously to send quiet echoes throughout the chamber.
She had been waiting for over an hour, with no sign of life after Yelena’s comical little assistant Gustav had admitted her and led her here. He had done a poor job of hiding his ogling of her, and she felt half-moved to adopt her usual coquettish flirtations, but fear and trepidation won out, and she had nodded in stony silence as he took his leave.
Her heart nearly gave out when suddenly the large, ornate door to Yelena’s inner office swung open, and her unmistakable voice, soft yet commanding, said, “You may come in, Kymara.”
Kimmie was somewhat surprised, upon entering the large, dark-panelled inner office, to discover that Yelena was not alone. Two others were there with her – one was Mina Elhonne, the silver-haired executive from the Kandaele Corporation. This put an interesting cast on things – while Yelena Kant worked overtly in partnership with the Kandaele Corporation, she had also employed Kimmie and several others to spy on, sabotage, and otherwise act counter to the corporation’s interests. There was an unspoken rivalry between magical and technological/economic power on this continent, and both Yelena and MacArthur and his people played both sides with consummate skill.
The other guest made her breath catch in her throat.
One of the best-kept secrets in Delryn was the secret partnerships between both Yelena Kant and her operatives, the Kandaele Corporation, and the mysterious tyrant of the north, Jaga Khan. Jaga Khan ruled a large country in the far north through force and fear, swelling his own coffers through primitive use of slave labor and forcefully extracted energy. He was something of a crackpot, and his aims were never entirely clear even to those who dealt with him most directly. Some said he was developing weapons of enormous power, exploiting loopholes in the Sorceress’s benign rules of magick, with which he would conquer and expand his empire. Others thought him motivated primarily by vanity, content to use his ever-expanding army of slaves (most captured from the Other Side) to mine the precious stones so abundant in the North and pile them before his throne.
Most believed the threat he posed to be insignificant, and that his empire should simply be ignored, its practices perhaps lamented, but nothing more. The Kandaele Corporation, however, could not ignore the massive amounts of energy stockpiled in the North – energy that could power technologies heretofore unheard of. The fact that that energy was generated through cruel and torturous means simply meant that their dealings with him would have to be kept secret from the naïve public. Yelena worked with him for two reasons – one, she made an obscene amount of money from their association, and two, she believed that he possessed secrets of magick that the “civilized” world had not yet fathomed.
It was not Jaga Khan who sat before her this day, though: he rarely ventured forth from his own lands, and commanded audiences in his own palace. The imposing figure who occupied the third chair, though, was very nearly as intimidating.
Samarrah Bellocque was Jaga Khan’s most trusted operative. She served as diplomatic liaison, personal bodyguard, chief minister, and, it was generally understood, mistress to the mysterious tyrant. Kimmie, small in stature as it was, certainly felt dwarfed by her presence – but she made even the statuesque Yelena Kant appear small. Samarrah stood close to seven feet in height, and had the lean, powerful musculature of a female bodybuilder without masculinity or loss of grace. Her skin was olive; her eyes large, very dark, and dramatic, wreathed by long black lashes and crowned by dark, thin brows, one of which habitually raised in an expression of arrogance. Near-giantess that she was, she was astonishingly beautiful – her facial features an exotic, delicate blend that hinted of a complex mix of Asian, Arab, Caribbean, and Mediterranean ancestry, with a broad, haughty mouth marked by perfect teeth, the canines slightly elongated to give only the barest hint of a fang-like appearance: just enough to accentuate, rather than mar, her imposing, almost frightening beauty. Her hair, naturally deep black, was dyed platinum blonde, and was cropped quite short except for long bangs that tickled her chiseled jawline.
She wore what amounted to a cross between a catsuit and black leather armor – a form-fitting sheath of black leather that accentuated her long, muscular legs, ripped abs, and tight buttocks, set off against a black leather breastplate, belt, ankle-high boots, and gloves. Her eyes burned into Kimmie’s flushed face, and one corner of her mouth curled into a tiny smirk.
Yelena spoke, her face stern but softened by – was it amusement? “Kymara, my darling, I fear you’ve disappointed me greatly. Such a failure, particularly in capturing a single, normal woman, reflects poorly on sorceresses in general. When one of my operatives fails, I must take responsibility, and explain that failure to my partners.”
Kimmie hung her head, made a slight deferential bow. “I apologize, Ms. Kant. I was careless and overconfident. I ask your leave to redeem myself in the future.”
Yelena nodded once, curtly. “You will have that opportunity. Today, though, I require your assistance in a different capacity.”
Kimmie blinked – she had expected a round chewing-out, and perhaps worse, from her usually fiery-tempered employer. She allowed herself a shred of guarded, hesitant hope. “Certainly. I’m happy to serve in whatever capacity.” When she spoke officiously, her Southern drawl became a faint undertone.
“Ms. Elhonne,” she indicated the coolly smirking silver-haired executrix to her left, “and Ms. Bellocque,” she indicated the formidable figure on her right, “have expressed an interest in seeing Gustav’s inventions. I would like for you to assist him in demonstrating them.”
What the hell? Was she going to be a stage bimbo, pointing to machines like some tart on a gameshow? “Of course,” she said, feigning enthusiasm.
“Excellent. Take the elevator at the rear of this room. Gustav will show you what to wear, and instruct you as to what you should do. You will follow his instructions without complaint or question.” With this last sentence, Yelena allowed a touch of the old steel to creep into her voice.
Kimmie nodded and went, wobbling a bit on her high heels as she navigated the lush, thick carpet.
From that point, Kimmie’s sense of relief vanished rapidly. Twenty minutes later, she found herself standing barefoot on the cold, lacquered wood floor of what looked rather like an enormous racquetball court. Her smart business outfit had been exchanged for a revealing, one-piece V-shaped black bikini which exposed the inner hemisphere of each breast and her pleasantly toned stomach down to just below her navel. Gustav, awkward and stuttering, had explained to her that this garment was specially constructed to enable him to track her bodily responses – a fair explanation for why she had to wear it, but not for why he had created it that way in the first place. She had noticed the priapic scientist trying unsuccessfully to hide his erection as he looked her over hungrily from her delicate, silver-painted toes to her blonde ringlets, now freed from their bun to hang around her bare shoulders. It was a reaction she certainly did not mind inspiring in men, but she found little pleasure in it unless it was on her own terms.
As she stood in the center of the vast, empty chamber, surrounded by fifty yards of floor on all sides, Kimmie quickly realized that being ogled by Gustav was likely to be the least of her worries, as Mina Elhonne, Samarrah Bellocque, and Yelena Kant filed into an observation room behind a large plexiglass window in one wall and took their seats in three plush swivel chairs to watch. She breathed deeply, tensing and relaxing her muscles, waiting for the revelation of her fate. There was a soft click, then Yelena Kant’s voice over a speaker.
“Kymara, dear, Ms. Elhonne and Ms. Bellocque have expressed some interest in a new invention of Gustav’s. You are to assist in the demonstration. You may put your fears to rest – you will come to no harm. At least, that is what Gustav assures me. Your job will be to use your magicks to the best of your ability to stave off what comes at you, and to escape, avoid, or destroy the attackers without leaving the chamber. I would like you to do your very best. And Kimmie – your participation is greatly appreciated.”
Kimmie fought back the urge to curse under her breath – who knew how well she could be heard? She rose up on her toes and narrowed her eyes, preparing for her attackers.
A small panel slid open near the base of the wall to her left, and two of the most ridiculous looking contraptions she had ever seen began to move in her direction. They were robots – about three feet high, shiny silver, with big, insectoid eyes, comical antennae, arms that ended in what looked like gun barrels, and legs ending in wheels. They zipped along at a pretty fair clip, Kimmie realized, and quickly took a magick-assisted leap that carried her to the far end of the chamber before casting a spell in her defense.
The aim of the spell was to seize and levitate one of the robots, then hurl it into the other, smashing them both – a common offensive adaptation of magick that, by its very nature, had few offensive capabilities. Her eyes widened as the glowing energy of her spell slid off of the rapidly-moving automaton like water. She cursed aloud and began to run, keeping as much distance between the fast but seemingly clumsy robots as possible, wracking her brain for a strategy to defeat them.
In the comfort of the richly appointed observation chamber, the three women discussed more important matters while viewing Kimmie’s predicament with the cool detachment of spectators at a not-particularly-interesting sporting event.
“Thank you for your time today, Yelena. I believe we have addressed most of the mundanities on our agenda. His Excellency the Khan was, of course, deeply disappointed with the results of the cruise ship folly, but wishes to extend his deep appreciation for the gift of amends you presented him, and wishes me to assure you that all is forgiven.”
Yelena forced back a scowl. In repayment for her failure to provide Jaga Khan with new subjects to use in his energy generation facilities, she had been obliged by the Kandaele Corporation, her current source of the fabulous wealth to which she had become so accustomed, to surrender an enormous quantity of stored mirth energy – a quantity that could only be gathered through the sustained, unaffected laughter of a powerful sorceress. Although they did not acknowledge it openly, everyone in the room knew the sort of humiliation Yelena would have had to endure to generate that kind of energy, and her knowledge of their knowledge rankled the proud sorceress to no end. Fortunately, they could not know of her unseemly sexual response to the humiliation…
“I appreciate his excellency’s indulgence,” Yelena forced herself to say.
“As do we at the Corporation,” Mina Elhonne added in her clipped British accent. Less familiar with magick than her two companions, she was watching with interest as Kimmie took to the air to avoid her pursuers.
“In any event,” Samarrah went on, privately noting Yelena’s veiled annoyance at Mina, “I have come not simply to discuss matters of finance. I have come to offer my personal assistance in the power cell project.”
Yelena raised an eyebrow in surprise, unconsciously mimicking Samarrah’s habitual expression. The power cell project was, essentially, a manhunt –or, rather, womanhunt. The Kandaele Corporation’s sophisticated magickal detection equipment had recently revealed the presence of three women of enormous sorcerous potential on the continent, and had agreed to devote their energies and the talents of Yelena Kant and her operatives to capturing them for use in growing Jaga Khan’s already massive stockpile of mirth energy. “We shall be honored to have your assistance.”
Through the window, the robots had sprouted wings and were now pursuing Kimmie through the air with surprising agility. It won’t be long now, Yelena thought idly.
Mina Elhonne spoke again, this time commanding Yelena’s undivided attention. “Perhaps I should clarify. Ms. Bellocque will be an equal partner in the operation. You and she will be coordinating it jointly. She will be a field general, of sorts, and will be working with one of your operatives and one of ours to track the power cells down.”
Yelena started to speak, then bit her tongue. Her pride flared up, but she was in no position, in light of her recent massive failure, to gainsay the Corporation. “Very well.”
Kimmie was in the midst of an aerial somersault when ultra-strong, flexible steel cables struck her with blinding speed, wrapping her in what was essentially a cocoon from shoulders to ankles. Through her panic came the mortifying realization that her stunningly large breasts were left uncovered, and that the constriction of the coils had pulled the bikini so that they popped free in all their naked glory. She was suspended in air, only her pretty blonde head, full breasts, and bare feet outside the steel swaths.
While the one robot held her in place, the other buzzed up to her, hanging for a moment in front of her face, livid as it was with anger and embarrassment. Its arms extended toward her, and two telescoping appendages emerged from them, each tipped with a small, spinning wheel composed of what looked like tiny feathers.
Mina watched with amusement as the feathers bedeviled Kimmie, reaching out to brush her cheeks, her nose, behind her ears, her neck, evoking reactions ranging from muffled curses to squeals of irritated laughter to a powerful sneeze. Kimmie had never looked quite so ridiculous as at that moment.
“Have you selected the operative that you would like to send on this mission, Ms. Kant?” Samarrah asked deferentially.
Yelena thought for a moment. Cyan and Desyr were still out on personal business for her – she had not yet heard of Desyr’s failure and capture. Kimmie was obviously not the right choice, based on this spectacle. Powerful as they were, the three of them were not the best suited for a task of this kind…
Kimmie’s eyes went wide and she shrieked as she felt the feathery wheels dip from her face and neck to zip agonizingly under the curves of her breasts, venturing up to send shivery shockwaves through her erect nipples, then tracing their undersides. Her breasts were obviously very sensitive in a sexual sense, and some of the touches, particularly to her nipples, made her jump as if goosed. She also discovered very quickly, to her further humiliation and chagrin, that they could be very ticklish to the right kind of touch – and this absurd robot certainly knew how to touch them! She twitched and wriggled to the best of her limited ability as peals of sunny giggles poured out of her, her face smiling beatifically against her will at this unexpectedly erotically charged tickling.
Yelena smiled as she felt the telltale tingle of mirth energy released from a source of considerable power into the atmosphere – it added pleasingly to her own energies. Soon, she knew, the feeling would become almost unbearably intense. She had actually worn an energy damper today – a small, unremarkable ring on her little finger – to keep the onrush of energy from becoming too much for her. It would be unseemly, to say the least, to experience a spontaneous orgasm in the midst of negotiations, and the kind of energy Kimmie would generate soon would be enough to overwhelm even Yelena’s steely self-control.
For now, she enjoyed the faint hum of increasing power – it had not yet reached the point at which it triggered an erotic response. “I have the perfect operative in mind. I will send for her this evening, and she will meet your emissaries tomorrow.”
“Excellent,” Mina said, somewhere between consternation at the scene before her and giggling at the ridiculousness of it. “The closest of the power cells appears to be here.” She indicated a spot about two hundred miles north of Khalkasa on a map. “It’s woodland territory, mostly, but there are a fair number of villages about. I suggest you begin with her.”
“Agreed,” Samarrah said with a nod. Their business more or less completed, the three sat back to watch the coup de grace of Kimmie’s torment.
Kimmie gasped with relief for the briefest of moments as the brushes left her breasts – which had now taken on a bright rosy glow of overstimulation. Quickly, though, she realized the thing’s next target – “Oh shitshitshitshitshitshitshitSHIIIIIIIIT!!!”
Like the rest of her, Kimmie’s petite, delicate feet were undeniably cute. Today, they were particularly nicely decorated, with silver polish on the toenails and a ring – one set with a pearl, the other with turquoise – on each second toe. When she curled her toes tightly, as she was doing now, a rich display of crinkles enlivened their bare bottoms. As the robot’s appendages – now altered slightly to supplement the feathers with soft bristles – lost no time in revealing, the barefoot witch’s slender soles were stunningly, dramatically, devastatingly ticklish.
The robot attacked with sudden and irresistible vigor, targeting the very center of her left sole while moving methodically, slowly, from the heel of her right foot up over the bottom, dipping agonizingly into the high arch, brushing gently at the ball, teasing the spaces between and the tips of her alternately wiggling and clenching toes. The tickling of her breasts had been maddening, arousing, as much about sexual teasing as about producing laughter (though it had done that well enough). The tickling of her feet, on the other hand, wracked her instantly with spasms of uncontrollable laughter – her cute southern giggle was swiftly replaced by a full-throated, whiskey-voiced laugh.
Yelena Kant felt a thrill of excitement jolt through her inner parts, and bit back a gasp of arousal as the tremendous mirth energies flowed off of Kimmie. Mina Elhonne was colored by a rare blush – something about watching this cute blonde witch foot-tickled into helplessness gave her an odd rush of excitement and embarrassment – the closest feeling she could relate it to was a moment in college when her roommate had walked in on her one evening while she was masturbating. She had been under the covers, and was fairly certain that the girl had not realized what she was doing, despite her flushed face and flustered air – but she had a similar feeling now, as if some embarrassing secret had almost, but not quite, been revealed. It made her feel peculiarly, illogically vulnerable.
Samarrah had a very different reaction. She watched the girl’s bucking and struggling with sharp attention; she seemed to be cataloguing every tickly touch on toes or soles and the heaving, guffawing woman’s response thereto. She spoke into a microphone – “Closer, please, Gustav.” The robots, without missing a beat, bore the giggling sorceress right up to the glass window, elevated her so that the bottoms of her bare feet were mere inches from Samarrah’s face as she studied every wrinkly flex of the ticklish soles, every convulsive clench of the dainty toes, as Kimmie whooped and hollered with laughter that managed, despite its wildness, remain somehow distinctly Southern.
Yelena, struggling to keep a clear head against the arousal that built in her despite the damper ring due to the influx of energy into her body, realized what Samarrah was doing. She was preparing – learning techniques, and learning about the responses of at least one specimen of her potential prey.
By the time Kimmie was emptied of all energy, Mina had taken her leave, a bit flustered; Samarrah had catalogued a number of useful techniques; Gustav had pleasured himself three times in his secret observation chamber, and was considering a fourth, spurred on by the bouncing bare breasts of the tortured blonde beauty; and Yelena was in an almost torturous, teeth-gritting state of arousal, scarcely able to wait for the imposing giantess to take her leave. As for Kimmie, she was laid gently on the ground by the robots and released from her bonds, heaving, gasping, still giggling, rubbing the soles of her feet together to try to get rid of the tickling sensations that still gave her phantom spasms of laughter.
“You may go,” Yelena said tersely, before moving as quickly as dignity would allow to her private chambers to relieve her unbearable tension in a solitary yet enormously energetic and epically episodic evening of pleasure. Much later, as she relaxed in a steaming bath, her dark crimson hair floating about her shoulders in a corona, she regained her usually unflappable self-possession enough to turn to matters of business. Reaching for a button on the edge of the bath, she spoke: “Gustav. Find Agent Naveau.”
Anyone confused by the plot points in this chapter should look back at “Part VI: Yelena Kant Stop Laughing” for the origins of this too-long neglected storyline. Feedback is greedily coveted.]
Previous parts can be found here:
Part one:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...=&threadid=4438
2:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...=&threadid=4654
3:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...=&threadid=9546
4:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=12001
5:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=13848
6:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=17137
7:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=17215
Interlude:
http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=31373
8: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=31374
9: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showth...&threadid=32409
10: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=45148
11: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?t=74104
The Voyage Out, Part XII: Kimmie’s Comeuppance. Wicked Plans Put in Motion.
Kimmie waited nervously in the sumptuous, high-ceilinged antechamber outside Yelena Kant’s office in her palace on the outskirts of Khalhasa. She had failed – failed resoundingly and miserably – and now she awaited the consequences.
After losing Francesca and being left ignominiously bound to a tree in the midst of the northern woods, Kymara (or Kimmie, as she liked to be called) awoke hours later to find no trace of her quarry’s signature anywhere. A simple spell had freed her from her bonds, but no amount of desperate searching had revealed Francesca’s whereabouts, or even the direction in which she might have traveled. Even the underbrush all around looked completely undisturbed.
She had searched for much longer than it took to realize that her efforts were hopeless; the alternative to success was too daunting to face. At last, ashen-faced and tingling with fear, she had flown back to Khalhasa and called in her report to Yelena Kant. Icy silence – a full ten seconds worth – had been the response. Then, in a cordial tone that nevertheless carried an undertone of menace, Yelena had asked her to report to her palace the following day at 4:00, in civilian attire.
So here Kimmie sat, looking lovely but strikingly ordinary compared to her usual gaudy “good fairy” attire, in a conservative white blouse against which her remarkable breasts strained noticeably, a longish black suit jacket, a shortish black skirt, and black pumps without stockings. Her long, impressive mane of blonde curls had been more or less tamed and done up in a bun, from which a few tresses escaped fetchingly to fall around her cheeks. Powerful sorceress that she was, she looked for all the world like an overachieving Southern sorority girl dressed up for an internship. Her makeup was understated today, but her pixieish beauty, manifest in her big blue eyes, long lashes, and delicate, heart-shaped face was undiminished. She held a handbag in her lap with both hands and sat with her knees and ankles pressed primly together, tapping the toes of her pumps against the floor nervously to send quiet echoes throughout the chamber.
She had been waiting for over an hour, with no sign of life after Yelena’s comical little assistant Gustav had admitted her and led her here. He had done a poor job of hiding his ogling of her, and she felt half-moved to adopt her usual coquettish flirtations, but fear and trepidation won out, and she had nodded in stony silence as he took his leave.
Her heart nearly gave out when suddenly the large, ornate door to Yelena’s inner office swung open, and her unmistakable voice, soft yet commanding, said, “You may come in, Kymara.”
Kimmie was somewhat surprised, upon entering the large, dark-panelled inner office, to discover that Yelena was not alone. Two others were there with her – one was Mina Elhonne, the silver-haired executive from the Kandaele Corporation. This put an interesting cast on things – while Yelena Kant worked overtly in partnership with the Kandaele Corporation, she had also employed Kimmie and several others to spy on, sabotage, and otherwise act counter to the corporation’s interests. There was an unspoken rivalry between magical and technological/economic power on this continent, and both Yelena and MacArthur and his people played both sides with consummate skill.
The other guest made her breath catch in her throat.
One of the best-kept secrets in Delryn was the secret partnerships between both Yelena Kant and her operatives, the Kandaele Corporation, and the mysterious tyrant of the north, Jaga Khan. Jaga Khan ruled a large country in the far north through force and fear, swelling his own coffers through primitive use of slave labor and forcefully extracted energy. He was something of a crackpot, and his aims were never entirely clear even to those who dealt with him most directly. Some said he was developing weapons of enormous power, exploiting loopholes in the Sorceress’s benign rules of magick, with which he would conquer and expand his empire. Others thought him motivated primarily by vanity, content to use his ever-expanding army of slaves (most captured from the Other Side) to mine the precious stones so abundant in the North and pile them before his throne.
Most believed the threat he posed to be insignificant, and that his empire should simply be ignored, its practices perhaps lamented, but nothing more. The Kandaele Corporation, however, could not ignore the massive amounts of energy stockpiled in the North – energy that could power technologies heretofore unheard of. The fact that that energy was generated through cruel and torturous means simply meant that their dealings with him would have to be kept secret from the naïve public. Yelena worked with him for two reasons – one, she made an obscene amount of money from their association, and two, she believed that he possessed secrets of magick that the “civilized” world had not yet fathomed.
It was not Jaga Khan who sat before her this day, though: he rarely ventured forth from his own lands, and commanded audiences in his own palace. The imposing figure who occupied the third chair, though, was very nearly as intimidating.
Samarrah Bellocque was Jaga Khan’s most trusted operative. She served as diplomatic liaison, personal bodyguard, chief minister, and, it was generally understood, mistress to the mysterious tyrant. Kimmie, small in stature as it was, certainly felt dwarfed by her presence – but she made even the statuesque Yelena Kant appear small. Samarrah stood close to seven feet in height, and had the lean, powerful musculature of a female bodybuilder without masculinity or loss of grace. Her skin was olive; her eyes large, very dark, and dramatic, wreathed by long black lashes and crowned by dark, thin brows, one of which habitually raised in an expression of arrogance. Near-giantess that she was, she was astonishingly beautiful – her facial features an exotic, delicate blend that hinted of a complex mix of Asian, Arab, Caribbean, and Mediterranean ancestry, with a broad, haughty mouth marked by perfect teeth, the canines slightly elongated to give only the barest hint of a fang-like appearance: just enough to accentuate, rather than mar, her imposing, almost frightening beauty. Her hair, naturally deep black, was dyed platinum blonde, and was cropped quite short except for long bangs that tickled her chiseled jawline.
She wore what amounted to a cross between a catsuit and black leather armor – a form-fitting sheath of black leather that accentuated her long, muscular legs, ripped abs, and tight buttocks, set off against a black leather breastplate, belt, ankle-high boots, and gloves. Her eyes burned into Kimmie’s flushed face, and one corner of her mouth curled into a tiny smirk.
Yelena spoke, her face stern but softened by – was it amusement? “Kymara, my darling, I fear you’ve disappointed me greatly. Such a failure, particularly in capturing a single, normal woman, reflects poorly on sorceresses in general. When one of my operatives fails, I must take responsibility, and explain that failure to my partners.”
Kimmie hung her head, made a slight deferential bow. “I apologize, Ms. Kant. I was careless and overconfident. I ask your leave to redeem myself in the future.”
Yelena nodded once, curtly. “You will have that opportunity. Today, though, I require your assistance in a different capacity.”
Kimmie blinked – she had expected a round chewing-out, and perhaps worse, from her usually fiery-tempered employer. She allowed herself a shred of guarded, hesitant hope. “Certainly. I’m happy to serve in whatever capacity.” When she spoke officiously, her Southern drawl became a faint undertone.
“Ms. Elhonne,” she indicated the coolly smirking silver-haired executrix to her left, “and Ms. Bellocque,” she indicated the formidable figure on her right, “have expressed an interest in seeing Gustav’s inventions. I would like for you to assist him in demonstrating them.”
What the hell? Was she going to be a stage bimbo, pointing to machines like some tart on a gameshow? “Of course,” she said, feigning enthusiasm.
“Excellent. Take the elevator at the rear of this room. Gustav will show you what to wear, and instruct you as to what you should do. You will follow his instructions without complaint or question.” With this last sentence, Yelena allowed a touch of the old steel to creep into her voice.
Kimmie nodded and went, wobbling a bit on her high heels as she navigated the lush, thick carpet.
From that point, Kimmie’s sense of relief vanished rapidly. Twenty minutes later, she found herself standing barefoot on the cold, lacquered wood floor of what looked rather like an enormous racquetball court. Her smart business outfit had been exchanged for a revealing, one-piece V-shaped black bikini which exposed the inner hemisphere of each breast and her pleasantly toned stomach down to just below her navel. Gustav, awkward and stuttering, had explained to her that this garment was specially constructed to enable him to track her bodily responses – a fair explanation for why she had to wear it, but not for why he had created it that way in the first place. She had noticed the priapic scientist trying unsuccessfully to hide his erection as he looked her over hungrily from her delicate, silver-painted toes to her blonde ringlets, now freed from their bun to hang around her bare shoulders. It was a reaction she certainly did not mind inspiring in men, but she found little pleasure in it unless it was on her own terms.
As she stood in the center of the vast, empty chamber, surrounded by fifty yards of floor on all sides, Kimmie quickly realized that being ogled by Gustav was likely to be the least of her worries, as Mina Elhonne, Samarrah Bellocque, and Yelena Kant filed into an observation room behind a large plexiglass window in one wall and took their seats in three plush swivel chairs to watch. She breathed deeply, tensing and relaxing her muscles, waiting for the revelation of her fate. There was a soft click, then Yelena Kant’s voice over a speaker.
“Kymara, dear, Ms. Elhonne and Ms. Bellocque have expressed some interest in a new invention of Gustav’s. You are to assist in the demonstration. You may put your fears to rest – you will come to no harm. At least, that is what Gustav assures me. Your job will be to use your magicks to the best of your ability to stave off what comes at you, and to escape, avoid, or destroy the attackers without leaving the chamber. I would like you to do your very best. And Kimmie – your participation is greatly appreciated.”
Kimmie fought back the urge to curse under her breath – who knew how well she could be heard? She rose up on her toes and narrowed her eyes, preparing for her attackers.
A small panel slid open near the base of the wall to her left, and two of the most ridiculous looking contraptions she had ever seen began to move in her direction. They were robots – about three feet high, shiny silver, with big, insectoid eyes, comical antennae, arms that ended in what looked like gun barrels, and legs ending in wheels. They zipped along at a pretty fair clip, Kimmie realized, and quickly took a magick-assisted leap that carried her to the far end of the chamber before casting a spell in her defense.
The aim of the spell was to seize and levitate one of the robots, then hurl it into the other, smashing them both – a common offensive adaptation of magick that, by its very nature, had few offensive capabilities. Her eyes widened as the glowing energy of her spell slid off of the rapidly-moving automaton like water. She cursed aloud and began to run, keeping as much distance between the fast but seemingly clumsy robots as possible, wracking her brain for a strategy to defeat them.
In the comfort of the richly appointed observation chamber, the three women discussed more important matters while viewing Kimmie’s predicament with the cool detachment of spectators at a not-particularly-interesting sporting event.
“Thank you for your time today, Yelena. I believe we have addressed most of the mundanities on our agenda. His Excellency the Khan was, of course, deeply disappointed with the results of the cruise ship folly, but wishes to extend his deep appreciation for the gift of amends you presented him, and wishes me to assure you that all is forgiven.”
Yelena forced back a scowl. In repayment for her failure to provide Jaga Khan with new subjects to use in his energy generation facilities, she had been obliged by the Kandaele Corporation, her current source of the fabulous wealth to which she had become so accustomed, to surrender an enormous quantity of stored mirth energy – a quantity that could only be gathered through the sustained, unaffected laughter of a powerful sorceress. Although they did not acknowledge it openly, everyone in the room knew the sort of humiliation Yelena would have had to endure to generate that kind of energy, and her knowledge of their knowledge rankled the proud sorceress to no end. Fortunately, they could not know of her unseemly sexual response to the humiliation…
“I appreciate his excellency’s indulgence,” Yelena forced herself to say.
“As do we at the Corporation,” Mina Elhonne added in her clipped British accent. Less familiar with magick than her two companions, she was watching with interest as Kimmie took to the air to avoid her pursuers.
“In any event,” Samarrah went on, privately noting Yelena’s veiled annoyance at Mina, “I have come not simply to discuss matters of finance. I have come to offer my personal assistance in the power cell project.”
Yelena raised an eyebrow in surprise, unconsciously mimicking Samarrah’s habitual expression. The power cell project was, essentially, a manhunt –or, rather, womanhunt. The Kandaele Corporation’s sophisticated magickal detection equipment had recently revealed the presence of three women of enormous sorcerous potential on the continent, and had agreed to devote their energies and the talents of Yelena Kant and her operatives to capturing them for use in growing Jaga Khan’s already massive stockpile of mirth energy. “We shall be honored to have your assistance.”
Through the window, the robots had sprouted wings and were now pursuing Kimmie through the air with surprising agility. It won’t be long now, Yelena thought idly.
Mina Elhonne spoke again, this time commanding Yelena’s undivided attention. “Perhaps I should clarify. Ms. Bellocque will be an equal partner in the operation. You and she will be coordinating it jointly. She will be a field general, of sorts, and will be working with one of your operatives and one of ours to track the power cells down.”
Yelena started to speak, then bit her tongue. Her pride flared up, but she was in no position, in light of her recent massive failure, to gainsay the Corporation. “Very well.”
Kimmie was in the midst of an aerial somersault when ultra-strong, flexible steel cables struck her with blinding speed, wrapping her in what was essentially a cocoon from shoulders to ankles. Through her panic came the mortifying realization that her stunningly large breasts were left uncovered, and that the constriction of the coils had pulled the bikini so that they popped free in all their naked glory. She was suspended in air, only her pretty blonde head, full breasts, and bare feet outside the steel swaths.
While the one robot held her in place, the other buzzed up to her, hanging for a moment in front of her face, livid as it was with anger and embarrassment. Its arms extended toward her, and two telescoping appendages emerged from them, each tipped with a small, spinning wheel composed of what looked like tiny feathers.
Mina watched with amusement as the feathers bedeviled Kimmie, reaching out to brush her cheeks, her nose, behind her ears, her neck, evoking reactions ranging from muffled curses to squeals of irritated laughter to a powerful sneeze. Kimmie had never looked quite so ridiculous as at that moment.
“Have you selected the operative that you would like to send on this mission, Ms. Kant?” Samarrah asked deferentially.
Yelena thought for a moment. Cyan and Desyr were still out on personal business for her – she had not yet heard of Desyr’s failure and capture. Kimmie was obviously not the right choice, based on this spectacle. Powerful as they were, the three of them were not the best suited for a task of this kind…
Kimmie’s eyes went wide and she shrieked as she felt the feathery wheels dip from her face and neck to zip agonizingly under the curves of her breasts, venturing up to send shivery shockwaves through her erect nipples, then tracing their undersides. Her breasts were obviously very sensitive in a sexual sense, and some of the touches, particularly to her nipples, made her jump as if goosed. She also discovered very quickly, to her further humiliation and chagrin, that they could be very ticklish to the right kind of touch – and this absurd robot certainly knew how to touch them! She twitched and wriggled to the best of her limited ability as peals of sunny giggles poured out of her, her face smiling beatifically against her will at this unexpectedly erotically charged tickling.
Yelena smiled as she felt the telltale tingle of mirth energy released from a source of considerable power into the atmosphere – it added pleasingly to her own energies. Soon, she knew, the feeling would become almost unbearably intense. She had actually worn an energy damper today – a small, unremarkable ring on her little finger – to keep the onrush of energy from becoming too much for her. It would be unseemly, to say the least, to experience a spontaneous orgasm in the midst of negotiations, and the kind of energy Kimmie would generate soon would be enough to overwhelm even Yelena’s steely self-control.
For now, she enjoyed the faint hum of increasing power – it had not yet reached the point at which it triggered an erotic response. “I have the perfect operative in mind. I will send for her this evening, and she will meet your emissaries tomorrow.”
“Excellent,” Mina said, somewhere between consternation at the scene before her and giggling at the ridiculousness of it. “The closest of the power cells appears to be here.” She indicated a spot about two hundred miles north of Khalkasa on a map. “It’s woodland territory, mostly, but there are a fair number of villages about. I suggest you begin with her.”
“Agreed,” Samarrah said with a nod. Their business more or less completed, the three sat back to watch the coup de grace of Kimmie’s torment.
Kimmie gasped with relief for the briefest of moments as the brushes left her breasts – which had now taken on a bright rosy glow of overstimulation. Quickly, though, she realized the thing’s next target – “Oh shitshitshitshitshitshitshitSHIIIIIIIIT!!!”
Like the rest of her, Kimmie’s petite, delicate feet were undeniably cute. Today, they were particularly nicely decorated, with silver polish on the toenails and a ring – one set with a pearl, the other with turquoise – on each second toe. When she curled her toes tightly, as she was doing now, a rich display of crinkles enlivened their bare bottoms. As the robot’s appendages – now altered slightly to supplement the feathers with soft bristles – lost no time in revealing, the barefoot witch’s slender soles were stunningly, dramatically, devastatingly ticklish.
The robot attacked with sudden and irresistible vigor, targeting the very center of her left sole while moving methodically, slowly, from the heel of her right foot up over the bottom, dipping agonizingly into the high arch, brushing gently at the ball, teasing the spaces between and the tips of her alternately wiggling and clenching toes. The tickling of her breasts had been maddening, arousing, as much about sexual teasing as about producing laughter (though it had done that well enough). The tickling of her feet, on the other hand, wracked her instantly with spasms of uncontrollable laughter – her cute southern giggle was swiftly replaced by a full-throated, whiskey-voiced laugh.
Yelena Kant felt a thrill of excitement jolt through her inner parts, and bit back a gasp of arousal as the tremendous mirth energies flowed off of Kimmie. Mina Elhonne was colored by a rare blush – something about watching this cute blonde witch foot-tickled into helplessness gave her an odd rush of excitement and embarrassment – the closest feeling she could relate it to was a moment in college when her roommate had walked in on her one evening while she was masturbating. She had been under the covers, and was fairly certain that the girl had not realized what she was doing, despite her flushed face and flustered air – but she had a similar feeling now, as if some embarrassing secret had almost, but not quite, been revealed. It made her feel peculiarly, illogically vulnerable.
Samarrah had a very different reaction. She watched the girl’s bucking and struggling with sharp attention; she seemed to be cataloguing every tickly touch on toes or soles and the heaving, guffawing woman’s response thereto. She spoke into a microphone – “Closer, please, Gustav.” The robots, without missing a beat, bore the giggling sorceress right up to the glass window, elevated her so that the bottoms of her bare feet were mere inches from Samarrah’s face as she studied every wrinkly flex of the ticklish soles, every convulsive clench of the dainty toes, as Kimmie whooped and hollered with laughter that managed, despite its wildness, remain somehow distinctly Southern.
Yelena, struggling to keep a clear head against the arousal that built in her despite the damper ring due to the influx of energy into her body, realized what Samarrah was doing. She was preparing – learning techniques, and learning about the responses of at least one specimen of her potential prey.
By the time Kimmie was emptied of all energy, Mina had taken her leave, a bit flustered; Samarrah had catalogued a number of useful techniques; Gustav had pleasured himself three times in his secret observation chamber, and was considering a fourth, spurred on by the bouncing bare breasts of the tortured blonde beauty; and Yelena was in an almost torturous, teeth-gritting state of arousal, scarcely able to wait for the imposing giantess to take her leave. As for Kimmie, she was laid gently on the ground by the robots and released from her bonds, heaving, gasping, still giggling, rubbing the soles of her feet together to try to get rid of the tickling sensations that still gave her phantom spasms of laughter.
“You may go,” Yelena said tersely, before moving as quickly as dignity would allow to her private chambers to relieve her unbearable tension in a solitary yet enormously energetic and epically episodic evening of pleasure. Much later, as she relaxed in a steaming bath, her dark crimson hair floating about her shoulders in a corona, she regained her usually unflappable self-possession enough to turn to matters of business. Reaching for a button on the edge of the bath, she spoke: “Gustav. Find Agent Naveau.”
