TicklishLurker
4th Level Red Feather
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Fleur did not have an entirely easy life. Even before she was born it had been hard. Her mother had been found by the natives of the American colonies, young, pregnant and alone.
It seemed that one of the leaders of her small village had forced himself upon her. Once she found herself pregnant she had ran away into the woods.
Through a young medicine woman in training, Fleur’s mother had explained herself to the Indian elders. Unlike the people in her own village, they didn’t blame Fleur’s mother for what had happened to her.
So Fleur’s mother had been taken in by natives, traveling with them, learning their ways. However, she gave her life in giving birth to Fleur.
The medicine woman adopted Fleur and raised her as her own. Fleur was at that time named Little Flower, for with her golden hair and leaf green eyes she reminded them of a flower straining towards the sun. A French fur trapper fell in love with Fleur’s adopted mother and eventually married her while taking up living with her tribe. He was the one who gave her the name Fleur.
Their marriage, though brief, was happy. Fleur remembered many nights as they sat around, her father rubbing her mother’s feet. The sweet laughter from her mother as her father tickled her before deciding they needed some privacy stayed in Fleur’s mind.
Sadly, disease introduced by the white man took out most of the tribe, including Fleur’s adopted mother and the young warrior Fleur had promised herself to. In his sorrow Fleur’s father took her deep into the wild woods. There she was raised to be as strong and wild as any boy. She hunted, hiked, fished, trapped, even fought like a man.
Her body did not grow like a man’s though. She barely cleared five feet in height. Her hips flared wide and her bust was more then plentiful, she eventually had to tie it with tight animal skins for where she grew up corsets were not available.
Because of this her waist was not small and tight but soft and a bit on the thicker side. No matter how much she ran about the woods her body insisted on having the extra flesh a woman needed should she one day breed.
When Fleur was close to what her father assumed to be twenty, he finally realized he was doing her a great disservice. She needed to marry. So, with much protesting he dragged her to a much larger town. There he hired a woman to teach Fleur how to act like a lady.
Though she had no dowry, wild ways, and spoke the tongue of “the heathens” better then English or French, not to mention being an old maid, Fleur had no lack of suitors. To the surprise of everyone, she rejected them all.
She hated wearing dresses and having to do fancy things with her hair. The men wanted to put her in what she considered a fancy cage. This went on for five years.
Then her father died and Fleur was alone in the world. A man from England, a fine lord, had come to visit his younger brother and when he saw the blond beauty bedecked in black he started paying court to her. He promised Fleur the chance to be as wild as she wanted on his vast country estate as long as she promised to be a lady when in London.
Alone in the world, Fleur accepted his proposal - but of course they would have to wait a year for her mourning period to be over. He returned to England and when the year was nearly up he sent his fiancé the money for the fare. Fleur packed up her few things and began the long crossing.
Fleur’s bad luck struck during the crossing and pirates attacked their ship. The brigands killed the men and captured the women and children - what few there were.
Those like Fleur, who were virgins, were separated from the others. These pirates were also slavers who helped stock the harems of those strange men of the Biblical lands with women and eunuchs.
Despite her name, Fleur was no delicate flower. Even as the weeks passed while the pirates headed for the slave markets, Fleur planned and plotted with the other women.
They improvised weapons or stole them. One day they swarmed the pirates., killing most of them while they slept. Though a few of the women were killed, more of the pirates were and Fleur took over the ship. She kept only enough pirates alive to help them pilot the ship to England.
They had to stop long before England due to storms and lack of supplies. They landed, instead, in Spain. It took months before they were finally able to go on to England. When Fleur arrived in England she was in for yet another rude surprise. Her fine English lord was married.
“You didn’t expect me to honor our promises when you’re damaged goods, did you?” He asked her when she showed up at his London home. “It was scandal enough when I agreed to marry a heathen raised wild old maid. To marry someone who was not a virgin....”
“I am a virgin, you arse!” She shouted at him. “Virgins fetch a higher price on the slave market!”
“It doesn’t matter if you are or not. It only matters what people think.” He paused to look over her figure, her pretty impish face. “However, I could set you up as my mistress.”
Fleur responded by spitting in his face before stomping out. She wandered the London streets, ignoring all, breaking the wrist of a would be thief without a second thought.
Her mind was on her life. On the love she wished she could find. The young warrior whom she had once wanted to marry. They had promised themselves to each other one day when he had taken one of her dainty feet in his hands to help remove a splinter. She had loved him in a heartbeat. Then illness had taken him from her along with so many others.
In a way, her fiance’s betrayal of her was a good thing. Fleur had only agreed to wed him so she would not be alone in the world. There was no love between them. The problem now was that she had no money to return to the colonies.
Fleur had no friends or family to appeal to. Though her defeat of the pirates made her a hero in the eyes of many, more looked upon her as some kind of freak, like they would those pathetic creatures who displayed their disfigurements for money.
She walked the entire night through. By morning she was footsore and no closer to a solution. Sitting down on a broken portion of the Roman wall that once surrounded all of London, Fleur tried to think of a way to earn passage home.
“Yer awrfull pensive lookin’, deary.” The words belonged to an aged streetwalker.
Fleur was no fool. She knew that this woman would just as soon cut her throat as look at her. Yet Fleur also knew this woman was probably the only one who’d listen to her. So after a few minutes of terse conversation, Fleur unloaded her entire story.
The entire time that Fleur spoke, the woman was studying her. The time on the pirate ship as it’s captain had left her with a finally fading tan, her hair as yellow as the petals of a sunflower was coming down from it’s hastily made bun revealing that it fell far past her waist. The prostitute fingered some of these locks now.
“I know a way ye can make some fast cash, lassie. Oh nae tha’!” She laughed with her nearly toothless mouth. “Yer too tough and wild for that, lass! The men who come to women of the night want an easy conquest. Nay - I were just thinkin. Git a short ‘aircut, some tight bindin’s ‘ere,” she roughly palmed Fleur’s more then ample bust, “some extra paddin’ ‘ere,” she poked at Fleur’s waist, still uncorseted so Fleur squealed with tickle-induced laughter for a few seconds, “an’ some extry thick soled boots on yer dainty feet....aye. The money ye’d get sellin’ yer ‘air to a wig maker would be more then enough to buy a ‘orse, a gun, and some men’s clothin’..... Lass, ye’ ever think of bein’ a ‘ighwayman?”
Fleur smiled; “Well, it beats going back to the colonies.”
......................................................
Joseph Goldsmith had not always been Goldsmith. He had been named Joseph Gilman. Born in the Jewish ghetto of London, he had married at 16 for the first time through a matchmaker. The marriage had been unhappy and, thankfully, childless.
Oh, he had been sad when his wife died, but more for the way she died then missing her self. She had been violated and beaten to death by drunken “Christian” noblemen. No one, not even a harpy of a wife, deserved that.
Because he had been “just a poor Jew” and they rich “Christians” the courts ignored his pleas for justice. A few of the guilty feeling wives of these men had forced what Joseph considered blood money upon him. For several years he didn’t touch it, leaving it in an old jar under his bed.
Then, at the age of 25, he had stopped into one of those horrible exhibitions of “human oddities.” One was a woman billed as “Diabolica” and said to be the offspring of a demon and an angel.
She had the face of an angel, but two growths from her forehead that resembled flesh covered horns. A growth on her back just above her shoulder blade looked like a portion of a half-formed wing if one looked at it right.
Then finally there were her feet. One was cloven like a hoof without the hard covering. The other was perfection itself. Joseph paid extra to touch that soft, lily white foot and Diabolica laughed, a sweet, angelic, crystal laugh.
With the money from the jar, Joseph bought Diabolica - her real name was Sarah - from her cruel owner. They married and his family disowned him.
They sat Shiva as if he was dead. As much because of his demonically disfigured wife as for the fact she was a gentile.
Thankfully, she had a half-brother who was a vicar of a small parish. He was the one who suggested the name Goldsmith and even arranged for his brother-in-law’s current job.
Ever since the murder of his first wife, Joseph had a desire to bring justice and order to the world. So now he was the law in this little village. No one questioned his pretended origins, even with his dark hair and eyes and large nose. (In fact, many of the gentile men here had noses twice the size of his, proving the old stereotypes to be untrue.)
Joseph’s second marriage lasted just under fifteen beautiful years and produced in their second year together two lovely children, twins. One boy and one girl.
Both had their mother’s angelic face and their father’s dark hair and eyes. At first Sarah had worried that their children would be born like her, but then her brother finally revealed the family secret.
Sarah’s mother, his step-mother, worried because her husband was angry that his first born son wanted to be a “weak, vile vicar” rather then a hard drinking and cussing sailor like himself. The woman took gypsy herbs to “ensure the birth of a strong son.” It was these herbs that had led to Sarah’s disfigurements.
It also led to poor health. Four years ago Sarah had succumbed to a lung infection. Joseph had been alone ever since.
Though disowned by his people, he never fully gave up his faith. By claiming stomach aliments he managed to keep a mostly kosher lifestyle. He couldn’t keep the holidays or Sabbath, but by the same token he couldn’t keep the Christian holidays or Sabbath either as crime never took time off.
He couldn’t return to his own people, even when they offered, for he would have to leave his children behind and he just wouldn’t do that. Having not been born of a Jewish mother, they would never be seen as Jews. Yet he could never really belong to the village even though these people cared about him. He was trapped forever between two worlds.
Nowadays, however, Joseph also had hope in his heart again. A few weeks ago a woman had moved to their village.
The woman was young, about thirty, with golden hair. More then that, Joseph sensed a certain kinship with her. He had heard her history. Born in the American colonies, raised by an Indian and a French fur trader, once engaged to an English lord, abducted by pirates, and rescued herself. She was a wild, untamed creature.
He had only seen her once. A child had fallen into the swift flowing river one Sunday. Joseph and the other villagers had raced there, but none knew how to swim. Suddenly a naked nymph plunged into the river, strong arms pulling her along.
Fleur pulled the child out, revealing she hadn’t been naked but simply wearing tan colored breeches and a tan shirt. However she might as well be nude for all they were clinging to her body. Joseph, however, had been taken with her feet.
Though she walked barefoot now he could see they were soft as silk for she winced with every stone. Pale white with fleshy arches and tiny toes. He wanted those feet. Wanted to hold them, stroke them, tickle them.
He toyed with the idea of paying court to the wild beauty. His daughter needed a mother. Someone to tell her about all those things only a woman was comfortable talking about.
He just didn’t have the time. A few villages away the Lupine, a highwayman who had been avoiding justice these past four years, had been striking. They asked for the law in all nearby villages to help. Every night was spent on combing the roads. Perhaps when the Lupine moved on.
.............................................................
Fleur pulled on her mask and made sure her hair was well pinned up beneath her hat. Though not as long as it once had been, she had been growing it out for she found longer hair to be the perfect disguise.
In a few minutes she could change from her dark highwayman clothing to one of the simple dresses she carried in a bag upon her saddle. Once she let her hair down no one would guess the woman walking alongside the road was the same highwayman who had robbed them earlier.
For four years she had been the Lupine. By saving the money she stole she could’ve easily retired. She might have become a lady farmer or something. The thing was, she rather enjoyed the thrill.
First there were the descriptions she heard of herself. Descriptions of a tall man who demanded kisses from the women instead of jewels - something she had never done. A regular demon.
Even with the thick soled boots Fleur could hardly be called tall. The black stallion she rode helped her height. As for the demon reputation, well, one act made her deserving of that.
A year into her new role as a highwayman she had stopped a carriage with a familiar crest. It turned out her faithless fiancé was on his way to the country with his mousy little bride. Waiting until he made a threatening move, the Lupine shot him - castrating him with musket balls. Word had it that the wife was greatly relieved to have a husband who could no longer perform.
Fleur was thinking about giving it up in any case. The thrill was no longer there. She didn’t need the money.
Anyway, she was lonely and there was a man she had felt a bit of attraction to. Strangely enough, he was the keeper of the law in the sleepy village she had settled in.
She had seen him only once, when she pulled a child out of the river. He had been staring at her feet, but she had stared at him - his broad shoulders, his barrel chest, his thick black beard - and felt with him a kinship. As if he knew what it was like to feel trapped between two worlds. Belonging to both yet neither.
She never struck too close to where she lived but she had to be where the carriages were. Tonight one rich one was heading for a village a few miles from hers. She called out in a voice she disguised with a special concoction of herbs and preceded to rob the occupants.
“Halt!” Another voice called out, and the figure of the man she had earlier been thinking about launched himself at her, trying to pull her off her horse.
Fleur, stronger then she looked, managed to use leverage to keep herself on and only lost her boot. She rode swiftly away. Wrongly, she assured herself that she would still remain uncaught. Especially if she retired the Lupine tonight.
.........................................
Joseph had followed his instincts and allowed them to lead him to the Lupine. He was right. When he saw the Lupine, throwing caution to the wind he raced forward, letting his powerful legs propel him. He should’ve been able to yank the smaller man in black off the horse easily. Yet dirty tricks and squirming had been employed and the Lupine got away--- But not before the revelation of one soft as silk, pale white foot.
Now back home, Joseph examined the boot. The sole was almost three inches thicker then it needed to be. More than that, it was stuffed with rags that smelled of English wildflowers and lanolin. The toe of the boot was almost all solid leather as well, to make the foot look bigger then it was.
Lupine - it was a kind of flower - and Joseph only knew one woman with a name that meant flower. Maybe it was time to start courting again.
.......................................
Fleur’s stallion had been trained well. He would run wild in the deepest parts of the woods between villages, coming to her cottage only after sundown by the most hidden routes. So during the day she had nothing to fear other then the gossip about the uncorseted old maid.
She spent the day mixing up potions and lotions. Trained well by her adopted mother and reading much on the flowers and herbs of England, she applied her knowledge to create all sorts of medicines and teas.
What she was most proud of was her scented lotion. It kept her skin so incredibly soft. Even though she assumed she’d remain forever unwed, Fleur still dreamed of having a loving marriage like her adopted parents had. Her feet in her husband’s lap as he stroked and teased them.
She was dreaming of this when a knock fell on her door. When she opened it a massive body filled the frame. A huge bear paw like hand held a bouquet of English roses. Joseph Goldsmith smiled and took off his hat. The courtship had begun.
...........................................................
If anyone else put together that the Lupine’s daring robberies stopped the day Joseph Goldsmith began to court the wild old maid from the Americas they said not a word. Tongues wagged but only about the fact that the old widower was chasing after Fleur like a hound after a fox.
Joseph noticed though. Yet he also noticed how Fleur was with his children. How his daughter, so shy and sad before, seemed to flourish under Fleur’s care. In just a few weeks she had worked miracles with her blunt yet loving nature.
If he got the evidence on her, what would he do? Joseph had no desire to turn her in. He wanted her not as a prisoner. He wanted her in his bed. In his life. When they spoke it was with such ease and gentleness. So natural. It was like they were made for each other.
Fleur was happy too. She had no desire to return to her life as the Lupine. Money she had plenty of. Her stallion seemed happier running wild then with a rider. If Joseph were to ask her to marry him she was sure she’d say yes.
Yet still a little part of her mind wondered - what would he do if he, keeper of the law, found out she was a thief? Though she had only ever killed the pirates, she had nearly killed a not so noble nobleman. She would be hung according to the law.
One day as she went out to gather herbs, she also carried what was left of her highwayman costume. She was going to bury it deep in the woods. As far as she was concerned, the Lupine was dead.
She was in for a surprise when she started for the meadow. Suddenly, her own stallion was bearing down on her, and Joseph was astride the black horse’s back.
Joseph reached down with one arm and scooped Fleur up in front of him, then headed for the deep woods. Fleur at first was too shocked to struggle, then did so. Joseph replied by simply wrapping his arm around her, pinning her against him.
“I’ve tried to think this through,” he said as the stallion slowed down to pass through thick foliage. “I think I finally found a solution to my dilemma.”
Fleur didn’t bother to ask. She wasn’t stupid. She knew he knew.
“All I have to do,” he said, “is get ye to confess then promise to never do it again. I know a much better punishment for ye then hanging....”
Deep in the woods there was a clearing. Joseph had already prepared it. Several soft blankets were staked out. Gently holding Fleur in place over his shoulder with one hand, Joseph plucked her shoes off, leaving on her silk stockings for now.
When he laid her down upon the blankets she fought only half-heartedly for she wanted this to happen. She wanted to give herself to Joseph in this way.
She loved him though she barely knew him. They were kindred spirits. Joined souls.
So, when he ripped her dress from her, leaving her only in her special breast bindings and her chemise she said nothing. When he tied her wrists above her head, attaching the end of the rope to the trunk of a tree, she only half struggled. When he took a knife and cut both the bindings and the chemise from her she took a breath as if to scream.
Instead, she smiled and said, “I love you, Joseph.”
He smiled in return then kissed her softly even as he began to play with her ears, tickling them gently. He pulled away only slightly, whispering softly above her mouth, “Are ye the highwayman known as the Lupine?”
“Nohoho,” she giggled out.
For that the ear tickling grew more intense, then when he had her chortling he moved the tickling to her neck and asked her again. And of course she laughed out a “No.”
He started tickling the underside of her forearms with feathers he had tucked between two of the piled up blankets. She burbled and struggled, but still would not confess.
He moved down, tickling that space between her elbows and the tops of her armpits. Still no confession. Fleur’s adoptive mother had taught her a way to remove hair where it wasn’t wanted, leaving the skin silky smooth and soft.
She had done this to her armpits and to her legs. The hairless pits quivered with anticipation. When the feathers arrived she laughed so loud and hard that she coughed a bit. Birds rushed into the sky. She was allowed to breathe for a bit, but still she would not confess.
So, with the feathers Joseph tickled her sides and her breasts. He stroked her nipples into little pebbles as she squirmed against her bonds. Fleur was both trying to get away and striving to present more ticklish spots at the same time.
A war was raging inside her. She was no longer laughing but spurting out line after line of gibberish like “Leleleleieleia” and “Nahahiahalabalaba!”
This seemed to save her more air then just laughing at the soft but ruthless upper body tickling, so Joseph was able to carry on much longer before giving her a rest. By now Fleur was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, making the feathers next to useless. So when she refused yet again to confess he started the upper body tickling again but with his fingers. Stroking her pits, poking her ribs, stroking her breasts, plundering her belly button. And still, she would not confess.
A fire burned in both their loins yet neither was ready to give in. Now Joseph worked on her silk stocking clad legs. From hip to ankle he tickled. The silk made the tickling much worse.
Joseph could smell the scent of Fleur’s desire for him and her stockings were becoming soaked. Both knew she wasn’t ready to confess.
He gave her water instead then started all over again. Tickling her from armpits to ankles. Her head swam. The stream of gibberish seemed to be part of the very earth under her, no longer coming from her but beneath her.
Joseph’s tickling had brought her to the brink, yet she was not over it yet. Her body glowed with the tickling induced lust, but it also glowed with her overwhelming love for the man so sweetly torturing her.
“Are ye ready to confess?”
“Nay.”
With that he began to tickle her silk clad feet. His massive fingers were totally ravishing her soft soles. The tops of her feet, the sides, the bottoms, all were tormented. She wiggled them but they could not escape. Her back arched but she could not pull free. Shocks from when he tickled her arches traveled upwards and settled in her groin. Building, ever building.
Then he ripped the stockings open, his mouth locking around all the toes of her right foot at once. His beard was tickling the exposed parts, his tongue tickling that which was trapped in his warm mouth. One hand tickled her left foot.
The feeling exploded inside Fleur and between bouts of gibberish and laughter she cried out his name.
“Do ye confess now?” He whispered harshly, his eyes aflame.
“Yes, yes! I confess - and I repent!”
He smiled, kissing and tickling up her legs. He settled his head between her thighs and reached upwards, tickling as much of her upper body as he could reach as he tongue did wicked things to her. He caused her to cry out over and over again.
“Now,” he said, releasing his own member, pausing at the entry of her body, “will ye marry me?”
She smiled and teased, “Nay.”
He was careful slipping inside her, knowing she was a virgin. Though her hard riding of her stallion as the Lupine had long ago broken her barrier, she was still unused to having a man inside her. So she was tight. Ready, wet, but tight. Her body was tense.
Then suddenly from another hiding spot Joseph produced two big bunches of lupine flowers and began to drag them through her armpits, over her breasts. With her laughter, her passage eased the tension and he was able to get inside.
Letting the flower-tickling make her move, Joseph held himself still.
“I guess,” he said as he tickled her from one peak to the next, “I’ll just have to convince ye.”
With the flowers he tickled her upper body until both of them climaxed. Until Fleur was dizzy with satisfaction and love. Yet she still resisted the marriage proposal. So with fresh lupines he began to tickle her feet. Feet too tired to wiggle anymore. It only took a few minutes this time before she said yes.
“Good,” Joseph said as he finally untied her and presented her with clothing he had stashed away to cover herself with. “We can be married by special license as early as tomorrow night.”
Fleur smiled at her fiancé. Knowing that at last on that long highway of sorrow, she had finally found the happiness she sought.
~The End~
It seemed that one of the leaders of her small village had forced himself upon her. Once she found herself pregnant she had ran away into the woods.
Through a young medicine woman in training, Fleur’s mother had explained herself to the Indian elders. Unlike the people in her own village, they didn’t blame Fleur’s mother for what had happened to her.
So Fleur’s mother had been taken in by natives, traveling with them, learning their ways. However, she gave her life in giving birth to Fleur.
The medicine woman adopted Fleur and raised her as her own. Fleur was at that time named Little Flower, for with her golden hair and leaf green eyes she reminded them of a flower straining towards the sun. A French fur trapper fell in love with Fleur’s adopted mother and eventually married her while taking up living with her tribe. He was the one who gave her the name Fleur.
Their marriage, though brief, was happy. Fleur remembered many nights as they sat around, her father rubbing her mother’s feet. The sweet laughter from her mother as her father tickled her before deciding they needed some privacy stayed in Fleur’s mind.
Sadly, disease introduced by the white man took out most of the tribe, including Fleur’s adopted mother and the young warrior Fleur had promised herself to. In his sorrow Fleur’s father took her deep into the wild woods. There she was raised to be as strong and wild as any boy. She hunted, hiked, fished, trapped, even fought like a man.
Her body did not grow like a man’s though. She barely cleared five feet in height. Her hips flared wide and her bust was more then plentiful, she eventually had to tie it with tight animal skins for where she grew up corsets were not available.
Because of this her waist was not small and tight but soft and a bit on the thicker side. No matter how much she ran about the woods her body insisted on having the extra flesh a woman needed should she one day breed.
When Fleur was close to what her father assumed to be twenty, he finally realized he was doing her a great disservice. She needed to marry. So, with much protesting he dragged her to a much larger town. There he hired a woman to teach Fleur how to act like a lady.
Though she had no dowry, wild ways, and spoke the tongue of “the heathens” better then English or French, not to mention being an old maid, Fleur had no lack of suitors. To the surprise of everyone, she rejected them all.
She hated wearing dresses and having to do fancy things with her hair. The men wanted to put her in what she considered a fancy cage. This went on for five years.
Then her father died and Fleur was alone in the world. A man from England, a fine lord, had come to visit his younger brother and when he saw the blond beauty bedecked in black he started paying court to her. He promised Fleur the chance to be as wild as she wanted on his vast country estate as long as she promised to be a lady when in London.
Alone in the world, Fleur accepted his proposal - but of course they would have to wait a year for her mourning period to be over. He returned to England and when the year was nearly up he sent his fiancé the money for the fare. Fleur packed up her few things and began the long crossing.
Fleur’s bad luck struck during the crossing and pirates attacked their ship. The brigands killed the men and captured the women and children - what few there were.
Those like Fleur, who were virgins, were separated from the others. These pirates were also slavers who helped stock the harems of those strange men of the Biblical lands with women and eunuchs.
Despite her name, Fleur was no delicate flower. Even as the weeks passed while the pirates headed for the slave markets, Fleur planned and plotted with the other women.
They improvised weapons or stole them. One day they swarmed the pirates., killing most of them while they slept. Though a few of the women were killed, more of the pirates were and Fleur took over the ship. She kept only enough pirates alive to help them pilot the ship to England.
They had to stop long before England due to storms and lack of supplies. They landed, instead, in Spain. It took months before they were finally able to go on to England. When Fleur arrived in England she was in for yet another rude surprise. Her fine English lord was married.
“You didn’t expect me to honor our promises when you’re damaged goods, did you?” He asked her when she showed up at his London home. “It was scandal enough when I agreed to marry a heathen raised wild old maid. To marry someone who was not a virgin....”
“I am a virgin, you arse!” She shouted at him. “Virgins fetch a higher price on the slave market!”
“It doesn’t matter if you are or not. It only matters what people think.” He paused to look over her figure, her pretty impish face. “However, I could set you up as my mistress.”
Fleur responded by spitting in his face before stomping out. She wandered the London streets, ignoring all, breaking the wrist of a would be thief without a second thought.
Her mind was on her life. On the love she wished she could find. The young warrior whom she had once wanted to marry. They had promised themselves to each other one day when he had taken one of her dainty feet in his hands to help remove a splinter. She had loved him in a heartbeat. Then illness had taken him from her along with so many others.
In a way, her fiance’s betrayal of her was a good thing. Fleur had only agreed to wed him so she would not be alone in the world. There was no love between them. The problem now was that she had no money to return to the colonies.
Fleur had no friends or family to appeal to. Though her defeat of the pirates made her a hero in the eyes of many, more looked upon her as some kind of freak, like they would those pathetic creatures who displayed their disfigurements for money.
She walked the entire night through. By morning she was footsore and no closer to a solution. Sitting down on a broken portion of the Roman wall that once surrounded all of London, Fleur tried to think of a way to earn passage home.
“Yer awrfull pensive lookin’, deary.” The words belonged to an aged streetwalker.
Fleur was no fool. She knew that this woman would just as soon cut her throat as look at her. Yet Fleur also knew this woman was probably the only one who’d listen to her. So after a few minutes of terse conversation, Fleur unloaded her entire story.
The entire time that Fleur spoke, the woman was studying her. The time on the pirate ship as it’s captain had left her with a finally fading tan, her hair as yellow as the petals of a sunflower was coming down from it’s hastily made bun revealing that it fell far past her waist. The prostitute fingered some of these locks now.
“I know a way ye can make some fast cash, lassie. Oh nae tha’!” She laughed with her nearly toothless mouth. “Yer too tough and wild for that, lass! The men who come to women of the night want an easy conquest. Nay - I were just thinkin. Git a short ‘aircut, some tight bindin’s ‘ere,” she roughly palmed Fleur’s more then ample bust, “some extra paddin’ ‘ere,” she poked at Fleur’s waist, still uncorseted so Fleur squealed with tickle-induced laughter for a few seconds, “an’ some extry thick soled boots on yer dainty feet....aye. The money ye’d get sellin’ yer ‘air to a wig maker would be more then enough to buy a ‘orse, a gun, and some men’s clothin’..... Lass, ye’ ever think of bein’ a ‘ighwayman?”
Fleur smiled; “Well, it beats going back to the colonies.”
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Joseph Goldsmith had not always been Goldsmith. He had been named Joseph Gilman. Born in the Jewish ghetto of London, he had married at 16 for the first time through a matchmaker. The marriage had been unhappy and, thankfully, childless.
Oh, he had been sad when his wife died, but more for the way she died then missing her self. She had been violated and beaten to death by drunken “Christian” noblemen. No one, not even a harpy of a wife, deserved that.
Because he had been “just a poor Jew” and they rich “Christians” the courts ignored his pleas for justice. A few of the guilty feeling wives of these men had forced what Joseph considered blood money upon him. For several years he didn’t touch it, leaving it in an old jar under his bed.
Then, at the age of 25, he had stopped into one of those horrible exhibitions of “human oddities.” One was a woman billed as “Diabolica” and said to be the offspring of a demon and an angel.
She had the face of an angel, but two growths from her forehead that resembled flesh covered horns. A growth on her back just above her shoulder blade looked like a portion of a half-formed wing if one looked at it right.
Then finally there were her feet. One was cloven like a hoof without the hard covering. The other was perfection itself. Joseph paid extra to touch that soft, lily white foot and Diabolica laughed, a sweet, angelic, crystal laugh.
With the money from the jar, Joseph bought Diabolica - her real name was Sarah - from her cruel owner. They married and his family disowned him.
They sat Shiva as if he was dead. As much because of his demonically disfigured wife as for the fact she was a gentile.
Thankfully, she had a half-brother who was a vicar of a small parish. He was the one who suggested the name Goldsmith and even arranged for his brother-in-law’s current job.
Ever since the murder of his first wife, Joseph had a desire to bring justice and order to the world. So now he was the law in this little village. No one questioned his pretended origins, even with his dark hair and eyes and large nose. (In fact, many of the gentile men here had noses twice the size of his, proving the old stereotypes to be untrue.)
Joseph’s second marriage lasted just under fifteen beautiful years and produced in their second year together two lovely children, twins. One boy and one girl.
Both had their mother’s angelic face and their father’s dark hair and eyes. At first Sarah had worried that their children would be born like her, but then her brother finally revealed the family secret.
Sarah’s mother, his step-mother, worried because her husband was angry that his first born son wanted to be a “weak, vile vicar” rather then a hard drinking and cussing sailor like himself. The woman took gypsy herbs to “ensure the birth of a strong son.” It was these herbs that had led to Sarah’s disfigurements.
It also led to poor health. Four years ago Sarah had succumbed to a lung infection. Joseph had been alone ever since.
Though disowned by his people, he never fully gave up his faith. By claiming stomach aliments he managed to keep a mostly kosher lifestyle. He couldn’t keep the holidays or Sabbath, but by the same token he couldn’t keep the Christian holidays or Sabbath either as crime never took time off.
He couldn’t return to his own people, even when they offered, for he would have to leave his children behind and he just wouldn’t do that. Having not been born of a Jewish mother, they would never be seen as Jews. Yet he could never really belong to the village even though these people cared about him. He was trapped forever between two worlds.
Nowadays, however, Joseph also had hope in his heart again. A few weeks ago a woman had moved to their village.
The woman was young, about thirty, with golden hair. More then that, Joseph sensed a certain kinship with her. He had heard her history. Born in the American colonies, raised by an Indian and a French fur trader, once engaged to an English lord, abducted by pirates, and rescued herself. She was a wild, untamed creature.
He had only seen her once. A child had fallen into the swift flowing river one Sunday. Joseph and the other villagers had raced there, but none knew how to swim. Suddenly a naked nymph plunged into the river, strong arms pulling her along.
Fleur pulled the child out, revealing she hadn’t been naked but simply wearing tan colored breeches and a tan shirt. However she might as well be nude for all they were clinging to her body. Joseph, however, had been taken with her feet.
Though she walked barefoot now he could see they were soft as silk for she winced with every stone. Pale white with fleshy arches and tiny toes. He wanted those feet. Wanted to hold them, stroke them, tickle them.
He toyed with the idea of paying court to the wild beauty. His daughter needed a mother. Someone to tell her about all those things only a woman was comfortable talking about.
He just didn’t have the time. A few villages away the Lupine, a highwayman who had been avoiding justice these past four years, had been striking. They asked for the law in all nearby villages to help. Every night was spent on combing the roads. Perhaps when the Lupine moved on.
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Fleur pulled on her mask and made sure her hair was well pinned up beneath her hat. Though not as long as it once had been, she had been growing it out for she found longer hair to be the perfect disguise.
In a few minutes she could change from her dark highwayman clothing to one of the simple dresses she carried in a bag upon her saddle. Once she let her hair down no one would guess the woman walking alongside the road was the same highwayman who had robbed them earlier.
For four years she had been the Lupine. By saving the money she stole she could’ve easily retired. She might have become a lady farmer or something. The thing was, she rather enjoyed the thrill.
First there were the descriptions she heard of herself. Descriptions of a tall man who demanded kisses from the women instead of jewels - something she had never done. A regular demon.
Even with the thick soled boots Fleur could hardly be called tall. The black stallion she rode helped her height. As for the demon reputation, well, one act made her deserving of that.
A year into her new role as a highwayman she had stopped a carriage with a familiar crest. It turned out her faithless fiancé was on his way to the country with his mousy little bride. Waiting until he made a threatening move, the Lupine shot him - castrating him with musket balls. Word had it that the wife was greatly relieved to have a husband who could no longer perform.
Fleur was thinking about giving it up in any case. The thrill was no longer there. She didn’t need the money.
Anyway, she was lonely and there was a man she had felt a bit of attraction to. Strangely enough, he was the keeper of the law in the sleepy village she had settled in.
She had seen him only once, when she pulled a child out of the river. He had been staring at her feet, but she had stared at him - his broad shoulders, his barrel chest, his thick black beard - and felt with him a kinship. As if he knew what it was like to feel trapped between two worlds. Belonging to both yet neither.
She never struck too close to where she lived but she had to be where the carriages were. Tonight one rich one was heading for a village a few miles from hers. She called out in a voice she disguised with a special concoction of herbs and preceded to rob the occupants.
“Halt!” Another voice called out, and the figure of the man she had earlier been thinking about launched himself at her, trying to pull her off her horse.
Fleur, stronger then she looked, managed to use leverage to keep herself on and only lost her boot. She rode swiftly away. Wrongly, she assured herself that she would still remain uncaught. Especially if she retired the Lupine tonight.
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Joseph had followed his instincts and allowed them to lead him to the Lupine. He was right. When he saw the Lupine, throwing caution to the wind he raced forward, letting his powerful legs propel him. He should’ve been able to yank the smaller man in black off the horse easily. Yet dirty tricks and squirming had been employed and the Lupine got away--- But not before the revelation of one soft as silk, pale white foot.
Now back home, Joseph examined the boot. The sole was almost three inches thicker then it needed to be. More than that, it was stuffed with rags that smelled of English wildflowers and lanolin. The toe of the boot was almost all solid leather as well, to make the foot look bigger then it was.
Lupine - it was a kind of flower - and Joseph only knew one woman with a name that meant flower. Maybe it was time to start courting again.
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Fleur’s stallion had been trained well. He would run wild in the deepest parts of the woods between villages, coming to her cottage only after sundown by the most hidden routes. So during the day she had nothing to fear other then the gossip about the uncorseted old maid.
She spent the day mixing up potions and lotions. Trained well by her adopted mother and reading much on the flowers and herbs of England, she applied her knowledge to create all sorts of medicines and teas.
What she was most proud of was her scented lotion. It kept her skin so incredibly soft. Even though she assumed she’d remain forever unwed, Fleur still dreamed of having a loving marriage like her adopted parents had. Her feet in her husband’s lap as he stroked and teased them.
She was dreaming of this when a knock fell on her door. When she opened it a massive body filled the frame. A huge bear paw like hand held a bouquet of English roses. Joseph Goldsmith smiled and took off his hat. The courtship had begun.
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If anyone else put together that the Lupine’s daring robberies stopped the day Joseph Goldsmith began to court the wild old maid from the Americas they said not a word. Tongues wagged but only about the fact that the old widower was chasing after Fleur like a hound after a fox.
Joseph noticed though. Yet he also noticed how Fleur was with his children. How his daughter, so shy and sad before, seemed to flourish under Fleur’s care. In just a few weeks she had worked miracles with her blunt yet loving nature.
If he got the evidence on her, what would he do? Joseph had no desire to turn her in. He wanted her not as a prisoner. He wanted her in his bed. In his life. When they spoke it was with such ease and gentleness. So natural. It was like they were made for each other.
Fleur was happy too. She had no desire to return to her life as the Lupine. Money she had plenty of. Her stallion seemed happier running wild then with a rider. If Joseph were to ask her to marry him she was sure she’d say yes.
Yet still a little part of her mind wondered - what would he do if he, keeper of the law, found out she was a thief? Though she had only ever killed the pirates, she had nearly killed a not so noble nobleman. She would be hung according to the law.
One day as she went out to gather herbs, she also carried what was left of her highwayman costume. She was going to bury it deep in the woods. As far as she was concerned, the Lupine was dead.
She was in for a surprise when she started for the meadow. Suddenly, her own stallion was bearing down on her, and Joseph was astride the black horse’s back.
Joseph reached down with one arm and scooped Fleur up in front of him, then headed for the deep woods. Fleur at first was too shocked to struggle, then did so. Joseph replied by simply wrapping his arm around her, pinning her against him.
“I’ve tried to think this through,” he said as the stallion slowed down to pass through thick foliage. “I think I finally found a solution to my dilemma.”
Fleur didn’t bother to ask. She wasn’t stupid. She knew he knew.
“All I have to do,” he said, “is get ye to confess then promise to never do it again. I know a much better punishment for ye then hanging....”
Deep in the woods there was a clearing. Joseph had already prepared it. Several soft blankets were staked out. Gently holding Fleur in place over his shoulder with one hand, Joseph plucked her shoes off, leaving on her silk stockings for now.
When he laid her down upon the blankets she fought only half-heartedly for she wanted this to happen. She wanted to give herself to Joseph in this way.
She loved him though she barely knew him. They were kindred spirits. Joined souls.
So, when he ripped her dress from her, leaving her only in her special breast bindings and her chemise she said nothing. When he tied her wrists above her head, attaching the end of the rope to the trunk of a tree, she only half struggled. When he took a knife and cut both the bindings and the chemise from her she took a breath as if to scream.
Instead, she smiled and said, “I love you, Joseph.”
He smiled in return then kissed her softly even as he began to play with her ears, tickling them gently. He pulled away only slightly, whispering softly above her mouth, “Are ye the highwayman known as the Lupine?”
“Nohoho,” she giggled out.
For that the ear tickling grew more intense, then when he had her chortling he moved the tickling to her neck and asked her again. And of course she laughed out a “No.”
He started tickling the underside of her forearms with feathers he had tucked between two of the piled up blankets. She burbled and struggled, but still would not confess.
He moved down, tickling that space between her elbows and the tops of her armpits. Still no confession. Fleur’s adoptive mother had taught her a way to remove hair where it wasn’t wanted, leaving the skin silky smooth and soft.
She had done this to her armpits and to her legs. The hairless pits quivered with anticipation. When the feathers arrived she laughed so loud and hard that she coughed a bit. Birds rushed into the sky. She was allowed to breathe for a bit, but still she would not confess.
So, with the feathers Joseph tickled her sides and her breasts. He stroked her nipples into little pebbles as she squirmed against her bonds. Fleur was both trying to get away and striving to present more ticklish spots at the same time.
A war was raging inside her. She was no longer laughing but spurting out line after line of gibberish like “Leleleleieleia” and “Nahahiahalabalaba!”
This seemed to save her more air then just laughing at the soft but ruthless upper body tickling, so Joseph was able to carry on much longer before giving her a rest. By now Fleur was covered in a thin sheen of sweat, making the feathers next to useless. So when she refused yet again to confess he started the upper body tickling again but with his fingers. Stroking her pits, poking her ribs, stroking her breasts, plundering her belly button. And still, she would not confess.
A fire burned in both their loins yet neither was ready to give in. Now Joseph worked on her silk stocking clad legs. From hip to ankle he tickled. The silk made the tickling much worse.
Joseph could smell the scent of Fleur’s desire for him and her stockings were becoming soaked. Both knew she wasn’t ready to confess.
He gave her water instead then started all over again. Tickling her from armpits to ankles. Her head swam. The stream of gibberish seemed to be part of the very earth under her, no longer coming from her but beneath her.
Joseph’s tickling had brought her to the brink, yet she was not over it yet. Her body glowed with the tickling induced lust, but it also glowed with her overwhelming love for the man so sweetly torturing her.
“Are ye ready to confess?”
“Nay.”
With that he began to tickle her silk clad feet. His massive fingers were totally ravishing her soft soles. The tops of her feet, the sides, the bottoms, all were tormented. She wiggled them but they could not escape. Her back arched but she could not pull free. Shocks from when he tickled her arches traveled upwards and settled in her groin. Building, ever building.
Then he ripped the stockings open, his mouth locking around all the toes of her right foot at once. His beard was tickling the exposed parts, his tongue tickling that which was trapped in his warm mouth. One hand tickled her left foot.
The feeling exploded inside Fleur and between bouts of gibberish and laughter she cried out his name.
“Do ye confess now?” He whispered harshly, his eyes aflame.
“Yes, yes! I confess - and I repent!”
He smiled, kissing and tickling up her legs. He settled his head between her thighs and reached upwards, tickling as much of her upper body as he could reach as he tongue did wicked things to her. He caused her to cry out over and over again.
“Now,” he said, releasing his own member, pausing at the entry of her body, “will ye marry me?”
She smiled and teased, “Nay.”
He was careful slipping inside her, knowing she was a virgin. Though her hard riding of her stallion as the Lupine had long ago broken her barrier, she was still unused to having a man inside her. So she was tight. Ready, wet, but tight. Her body was tense.
Then suddenly from another hiding spot Joseph produced two big bunches of lupine flowers and began to drag them through her armpits, over her breasts. With her laughter, her passage eased the tension and he was able to get inside.
Letting the flower-tickling make her move, Joseph held himself still.
“I guess,” he said as he tickled her from one peak to the next, “I’ll just have to convince ye.”
With the flowers he tickled her upper body until both of them climaxed. Until Fleur was dizzy with satisfaction and love. Yet she still resisted the marriage proposal. So with fresh lupines he began to tickle her feet. Feet too tired to wiggle anymore. It only took a few minutes this time before she said yes.
“Good,” Joseph said as he finally untied her and presented her with clothing he had stashed away to cover herself with. “We can be married by special license as early as tomorrow night.”
Fleur smiled at her fiancé. Knowing that at last on that long highway of sorrow, she had finally found the happiness she sought.
~The End~
