This is the last installment of Foreign Aid. It's been a fun one to write, and I hope that, when you're done, you'll leave a comment below!
Here are the first four parts (without which this one doesn't make nearly as much sense):
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Foreign Aid, part 5 (m/f)
by
Kid Indy
Alyana Pulanski heard the loud noise of an old jeep's ignition, and she knew that the Wolf was going away. The danger of a murderer was rolling down away from the river and back out into the wilderness, but her mind was an another man, someone who once she wanted in ways she couldn't even admit to herself, and now she despised as a seducer and betrayer, and for whom she was about to strip naked.
"Should I go ahead and take my clothes off in here?" She knew that Andre Denard waited outside of the bathroom for her.
"No, I want to watch you take them off!" Alyana growled quietly. Looking into the mirror, she saw herself, still flushed from the tickling and from the humiliation. She tugged on her dress to straighten it, a last grasp at dignity, and emerged to meet Denard. He hadn't lost any of the easy charm and good looks that helped to keep her coming back to his boat, but now he was the man who had let a terrorist, a rapist touch her feet, and Alyana now knew that everything she did was for the sake of her patients, nothing less and nothing more.
Denard extended his hand. "May I show you to our dessert suite?"
Alyana kept her hands by her sides. "Just show me where I need to go." Denard smiled and led her to a room marked "Captain's Quarters" and opened the door. Alyana knew right away that she was entering a bedroom, and she reminded herself once more that what she was about to do was for the refugees, not for anything that she had allowed herself to think mere hours before about a future with Andre Denard.
Closing the door behind them, Denard reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of cuffs not unlike those that had restrained Alyana when he had given her the Russian treatment that night. These, though, attached not to a chair but to long ropes. As he began to reach above his own head, Alyana gasped, realizing that there was a hook mounted to the ceiling above the center of his bed and that he was planning on using the padded cuffs to suspend her hands above her head. He set up the pulley with slow, deliberate attention, not even looking her way. Then he attached two more cuffs-with-ropes to the posts at the foot of his bed.
When he finished he turned back towards her. "Now I'd like to see you take your clothes off." Alyana reached to unbutton her dress. "Slowly, please." Alyana, not knowing whether he would withdraw his mercenaries' protection if she did not please him, did indeed begin to disrobe, slowly, and she scolded her own skin as the desire that she had tried to dispel began to resurface as each garment came off. Soon she stood in front of him, naked from her beautiful head to her ticklish toes, and she could feel his eyes drinking in the sight.
"Now come over here, and we'll get you ready for your harem session."
Alyana had no words; without any clothes, she knew that his fingers could find any spot and any nerve on her body, with no obsruction. And with her ankles separated and her hands above her head, he could work on the spots that he had discovered and exploited and tortured before, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Worse still, thinking about that prospect, she started to feel the tingling under her skin that she thought she had dispelled at his betrayal. But there it was, and one arm was now cuffed.
And now two.
And now Denard pulled on a third rope, engaging a pulley that brought Alyana's hands over her head. The room's cool air made itself very familiar with her underarms and sides and breasts, and she began to breathe more quickly. Then, just as deliberately, Denard fastened one ankle cuff, then another, then pulled so that her knees separated, pulling thighs behind them. Open air now moved over parts that Alyana had only exposed in private before, and she shut her eyes, hoping to wake up from this dream.
"Alyana, don't go to sleep on me! This is where things are going to get really fun!"
She looked up to see Denard set a leather satchel on the bed between her ankles. One by one, he removed and held up first a stiff black feather, then a high-end hair stylist's brush, then one of the bamboo tickling sticks that he used when he gave her feet the Russian treatment, then a scarf. This one he did not set on the bed.
"Alyana, do you want me to blindfold you?"
She could not decide whether the greater indignity would be to answer or not to. She remained quiet.
"Very well. Perhaps we can find use for this later." Then a succession of feathers emerged, of different lengths but all showing a light flexibility that terrified Alyana as she imagined their first lighting on her breasts.
Having removed the last of the feathers, Denard looked Alyana directly in the eye. "Alyana, I'm now going to tickle you, all of you, and I'm not going to stop. You can beg me, and you can offer me whatever you think I want, but nothing is going to stop the tickling until I decide that it's time to stop."
Alyana tried to set her jaw in defiance, but his eyes reflected nothing back at her but sheer appetite. Scooping up three of the feathers, Denard walked from the foot of the bed to the side, climbed onto the mattress, and assumed a position behind her, in the space between the headboard and the spot underneath the hook. Not being able to see him, she started to pant in panic.
Then the fingers began.
Denard pinched Alyana's sides just under the spot where her ribs, elevated by the suspension, joined her sides, and she knew in an instant that her skin was already too ticklish to withstand any of it. She wanted to scream at Denard. She wanted to threaten him. To curse him. To defy him.
She laughed.
Squealing like a schoolgirl playing with a rowdy boy, Alyana began to laugh at his every touch, feeling his legs next to hers, sitting behind her and tickling away. She tried to squirm away, to escape his fingers, but she couldn't move nearly fast enough, tied to the ceiling, and his fingers followed wherever her sides would writhe. She twisted hard to one side, and one of Denard's hands did disengage. His other, though, kept pinching and kneading just under her extended ribs, and his range of motion was far greater than hers. Gravity and her own ticklish wriggling got the best of her, and she returned to her spot just in front of his body, feeling his warmth against her back as his hand kept tickling her side.
Then she remembered that his other hand had been out of the game. And that her eyes had been closed. But now she looked as a new sensation began: a feather's tip was now against the skin of her belly, tracing a ticklish ellipse towards her navel. She twisted just a bit, but her own movement accelerated the motion of the feather, making her squeal. As the feather circled inwards, she gave an involuntary shimmy, and she heard her own voice start a long squeal, getting higher in pitch as the circle got closer to its destination. Then she remembered that the other hand had also stopped tickling.
A second feather began a path from below her navel, to the edge of her hip, then up her side and towards her underarm. This kind of tickling didn't even let her release the energy with a full laugh: as long as those feathers' tips were exploring her skin, she didn't feel like she could even exhale. One drew nearer and nearer to her belly button, the other higher and higher, and her squeal, itself ascending in pitch, gave way to her need to take a breath.
And then the feathers touched down. One entered her navel, and Denard began to twist it between his fingers. Its blade fluttered against nerves that Alyana didn't know were there to torment her, and she shrieked in ticklish agony. But that scream only lasted a moment, as the other feather traced a path from her underarm across a breast, sending Alyana's back into an arch and her scream into a moan of sudden, unimaginable pleasure.
"No! Please!"
"Don't worry about trying to fight it, Alyana. This is what your body wants more than anything." She could feel his own desire start to become more solid against her back. "Let yourself want it!" The other feather travelled across her other breast, brushing against her nipple, and she inhaled another massive moan. The left feather left a track of ticklish tension across her breast again, and then the right. And the left. And the right. Alyana moaned as each feather started, and the torture went through the whole stroke of each feather, all the way to its liftoff, which made her giggle as the blade's pressure released her skin. She could feel her lower abdomen start to pulse, and between her legs she knew that her panties would soon show signs of Denard's success. Her inhaling gasps started to pulse in a rhythm, and she knew what was on its way.
Then a feather dropped, from Denar's hand to the bed, and he squeezed her side, under her ribs. She screamed in frustration as the building climax gave way to ticklish writhing. This really did tickle in ways she wasn't ready for, and her eyes clenched shut as she twisted away from the torturing fingers. But as she pivoted away from his claw, the feather kept wending its way across her breast, and the dueling sensations of ecstatic pleasure and ticklish torture were mixing into a brew that she had only sipped before. When all of this was done she would realize that, when he had held her off of her orgasm, he was really delaying the worst torture of the night, but in the moment her head swam as she squealed and gasped.
His hands switched, the squeezing hand picking up the feather again and going to work on her breasts and his other hand dropping its feather and roaming downward. She realized that he was about to start pinching her upper thighs, and even as the feather drew laughing protests, she knew that she had neither the strength to brace for his leg-tickling nor the imagination to anticipate what it would feel like in her harem-ticklish state of body.
His arm crossed her abdomen, and he latched his fingers onto her upper thigh. The first squeeze made her buck off of the bed, and soon both feathers dropped. His left hand ticked her inner right thigh without mercy, and his right squeezed her ribs, then her side, and she felt his body against hers as she squirmed and squealed and laughed into the night air. None of the sexual tension from the feathers on her breasts went anywhere; she just got hotter and hotter as the energy built up inside of her and as her legs' ticklish nerves shot lightning bolts up between her thighs and into her soul. His hand left her side and crossed over the other, and for an eternity both hands tickled both thighs, his strong arms crossed over her abdomen.
She bucked and thrashed, and as her head went to one side his strong neck intervened, keeping her head to one side as he tortured her thighs. She felt his warm lips, then his tongue kiss the nape of her neck, and as her abdomen tried to moan, she exploded for him as she had done before, only this time her arms could not cover up, and she had nowhere to go to hide.
As if he felt the sudden change, Denard released his grasp and got off the bed. Alyana panted and whimpered, her whole skin one giant nerve as he walked around the bed to face her. "At this point, Alyana, the harem girl would be primed and ready for the emperor to receive her." Standing before her, he grasped the toes on one foot and bent them towards Alyana's body. "But I'm no Sultan, am I?"
The touches on her feet, for what seemed like the next hour, were not only beyond Alyana's experience but more ticklish than most women the world has seen have ever been. Denard found the ticklish path from the Russian session before and began to work them with fingertips, fingernails, tongue, fingertips again. Alyana' soles, electrified by her climax and entirely at Denard's command, betrayed her entirely, and Alyana found new energy coming from places she had never imagined as her exhausted body bounced and twisted and pulled at her bonds. The sheet just in front of where she sat was starting to get visibly wet, and the only sensation that even shared space with the terrible tickling was the excitement that got generated, at second hand, as her twisting body rubbed against that wet bedsheet
When he released that foot, Alyana's head slumped in defeat, and it was only vaguely that he saw Denard pick up the feathers again. Twisting them like tops between his fingers, he brought them once again close in to her nipples, and when one made contact, then the other, Alyana's head rocked backwards again in disbelief: another climax rocked her, and she moaned and squealed and giggled and panted as he kept up the feathering.
But the worst hadn't happened yet: two orgasms in, Denard moved the feathers downward, one spiralling around in her navel and the other beginning to tickle the outside of her labia. Alyana heard herself gurgle as her nerves simply overloaded; she dropped her head to rest on her suspended shoulder and fought for air as the feathers kept doing their work. Naked, exhausted, she felt her torso more than her limbs reach out for Denard.
The French mercenary could tell that his Eastern European prize was fully won, and once again his hands dropped the feathers. He once again walked to her side, sat on the bed, whispered in her ear.
"Would you like to finish now?"
Alyana nodded.
"Do you want me to be naked with you now?"
Another nod.
"And do you want me inside you now?"
A pause. A nod.
Denard unfastened her hand restraints, then her ankles, and the two fell to lovemaking, as the novels say. Alyana, every inch of her skin excited, devoured every touch, every kiss, every moment of their night.
Soon after they both were asleep, and when Denard woke her, the sun was beginning to rise. Alyana scrambled out of the bed and looked frantically for her clothes.
Denard stood, still naked, and laughed. "That was quite an evening, my angel of the refugee camp!"
Alyana simply exhaled at him, and then she kept getting dressed.
When Alyana returned to the medical camp, the sun now fully up, the other medical personnel whistled and pointed, and Alyana just shook her head at them. There was work to be done, and she had no time to worry about their chatter. The civil war was winding down, with the rebel factions falling apart as its leaders turned on each other. The sick and the wounded still needed help, and for the first time in months the medical relief team could dream of an end to the war.
And as Alyana tended to another patient, she entertained her own dreams about what life would bring after they left this place and its rebel predators. She dreamed of another land, another mission, another feather.
Here are the first four parts (without which this one doesn't make nearly as much sense):
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Foreign Aid, part 5 (m/f)
by
Kid Indy
Alyana Pulanski heard the loud noise of an old jeep's ignition, and she knew that the Wolf was going away. The danger of a murderer was rolling down away from the river and back out into the wilderness, but her mind was an another man, someone who once she wanted in ways she couldn't even admit to herself, and now she despised as a seducer and betrayer, and for whom she was about to strip naked.
"Should I go ahead and take my clothes off in here?" She knew that Andre Denard waited outside of the bathroom for her.
"No, I want to watch you take them off!" Alyana growled quietly. Looking into the mirror, she saw herself, still flushed from the tickling and from the humiliation. She tugged on her dress to straighten it, a last grasp at dignity, and emerged to meet Denard. He hadn't lost any of the easy charm and good looks that helped to keep her coming back to his boat, but now he was the man who had let a terrorist, a rapist touch her feet, and Alyana now knew that everything she did was for the sake of her patients, nothing less and nothing more.
Denard extended his hand. "May I show you to our dessert suite?"
Alyana kept her hands by her sides. "Just show me where I need to go." Denard smiled and led her to a room marked "Captain's Quarters" and opened the door. Alyana knew right away that she was entering a bedroom, and she reminded herself once more that what she was about to do was for the refugees, not for anything that she had allowed herself to think mere hours before about a future with Andre Denard.
Closing the door behind them, Denard reached into a drawer and pulled out a pair of cuffs not unlike those that had restrained Alyana when he had given her the Russian treatment that night. These, though, attached not to a chair but to long ropes. As he began to reach above his own head, Alyana gasped, realizing that there was a hook mounted to the ceiling above the center of his bed and that he was planning on using the padded cuffs to suspend her hands above her head. He set up the pulley with slow, deliberate attention, not even looking her way. Then he attached two more cuffs-with-ropes to the posts at the foot of his bed.
When he finished he turned back towards her. "Now I'd like to see you take your clothes off." Alyana reached to unbutton her dress. "Slowly, please." Alyana, not knowing whether he would withdraw his mercenaries' protection if she did not please him, did indeed begin to disrobe, slowly, and she scolded her own skin as the desire that she had tried to dispel began to resurface as each garment came off. Soon she stood in front of him, naked from her beautiful head to her ticklish toes, and she could feel his eyes drinking in the sight.
"Now come over here, and we'll get you ready for your harem session."
Alyana had no words; without any clothes, she knew that his fingers could find any spot and any nerve on her body, with no obsruction. And with her ankles separated and her hands above her head, he could work on the spots that he had discovered and exploited and tortured before, and there was nothing she could do to stop him. Worse still, thinking about that prospect, she started to feel the tingling under her skin that she thought she had dispelled at his betrayal. But there it was, and one arm was now cuffed.
And now two.
And now Denard pulled on a third rope, engaging a pulley that brought Alyana's hands over her head. The room's cool air made itself very familiar with her underarms and sides and breasts, and she began to breathe more quickly. Then, just as deliberately, Denard fastened one ankle cuff, then another, then pulled so that her knees separated, pulling thighs behind them. Open air now moved over parts that Alyana had only exposed in private before, and she shut her eyes, hoping to wake up from this dream.
"Alyana, don't go to sleep on me! This is where things are going to get really fun!"
She looked up to see Denard set a leather satchel on the bed between her ankles. One by one, he removed and held up first a stiff black feather, then a high-end hair stylist's brush, then one of the bamboo tickling sticks that he used when he gave her feet the Russian treatment, then a scarf. This one he did not set on the bed.
"Alyana, do you want me to blindfold you?"
She could not decide whether the greater indignity would be to answer or not to. She remained quiet.
"Very well. Perhaps we can find use for this later." Then a succession of feathers emerged, of different lengths but all showing a light flexibility that terrified Alyana as she imagined their first lighting on her breasts.
Having removed the last of the feathers, Denard looked Alyana directly in the eye. "Alyana, I'm now going to tickle you, all of you, and I'm not going to stop. You can beg me, and you can offer me whatever you think I want, but nothing is going to stop the tickling until I decide that it's time to stop."
Alyana tried to set her jaw in defiance, but his eyes reflected nothing back at her but sheer appetite. Scooping up three of the feathers, Denard walked from the foot of the bed to the side, climbed onto the mattress, and assumed a position behind her, in the space between the headboard and the spot underneath the hook. Not being able to see him, she started to pant in panic.
Then the fingers began.
Denard pinched Alyana's sides just under the spot where her ribs, elevated by the suspension, joined her sides, and she knew in an instant that her skin was already too ticklish to withstand any of it. She wanted to scream at Denard. She wanted to threaten him. To curse him. To defy him.
She laughed.
Squealing like a schoolgirl playing with a rowdy boy, Alyana began to laugh at his every touch, feeling his legs next to hers, sitting behind her and tickling away. She tried to squirm away, to escape his fingers, but she couldn't move nearly fast enough, tied to the ceiling, and his fingers followed wherever her sides would writhe. She twisted hard to one side, and one of Denard's hands did disengage. His other, though, kept pinching and kneading just under her extended ribs, and his range of motion was far greater than hers. Gravity and her own ticklish wriggling got the best of her, and she returned to her spot just in front of his body, feeling his warmth against her back as his hand kept tickling her side.
Then she remembered that his other hand had been out of the game. And that her eyes had been closed. But now she looked as a new sensation began: a feather's tip was now against the skin of her belly, tracing a ticklish ellipse towards her navel. She twisted just a bit, but her own movement accelerated the motion of the feather, making her squeal. As the feather circled inwards, she gave an involuntary shimmy, and she heard her own voice start a long squeal, getting higher in pitch as the circle got closer to its destination. Then she remembered that the other hand had also stopped tickling.
A second feather began a path from below her navel, to the edge of her hip, then up her side and towards her underarm. This kind of tickling didn't even let her release the energy with a full laugh: as long as those feathers' tips were exploring her skin, she didn't feel like she could even exhale. One drew nearer and nearer to her belly button, the other higher and higher, and her squeal, itself ascending in pitch, gave way to her need to take a breath.
And then the feathers touched down. One entered her navel, and Denard began to twist it between his fingers. Its blade fluttered against nerves that Alyana didn't know were there to torment her, and she shrieked in ticklish agony. But that scream only lasted a moment, as the other feather traced a path from her underarm across a breast, sending Alyana's back into an arch and her scream into a moan of sudden, unimaginable pleasure.
"No! Please!"
"Don't worry about trying to fight it, Alyana. This is what your body wants more than anything." She could feel his own desire start to become more solid against her back. "Let yourself want it!" The other feather travelled across her other breast, brushing against her nipple, and she inhaled another massive moan. The left feather left a track of ticklish tension across her breast again, and then the right. And the left. And the right. Alyana moaned as each feather started, and the torture went through the whole stroke of each feather, all the way to its liftoff, which made her giggle as the blade's pressure released her skin. She could feel her lower abdomen start to pulse, and between her legs she knew that her panties would soon show signs of Denard's success. Her inhaling gasps started to pulse in a rhythm, and she knew what was on its way.
Then a feather dropped, from Denar's hand to the bed, and he squeezed her side, under her ribs. She screamed in frustration as the building climax gave way to ticklish writhing. This really did tickle in ways she wasn't ready for, and her eyes clenched shut as she twisted away from the torturing fingers. But as she pivoted away from his claw, the feather kept wending its way across her breast, and the dueling sensations of ecstatic pleasure and ticklish torture were mixing into a brew that she had only sipped before. When all of this was done she would realize that, when he had held her off of her orgasm, he was really delaying the worst torture of the night, but in the moment her head swam as she squealed and gasped.
His hands switched, the squeezing hand picking up the feather again and going to work on her breasts and his other hand dropping its feather and roaming downward. She realized that he was about to start pinching her upper thighs, and even as the feather drew laughing protests, she knew that she had neither the strength to brace for his leg-tickling nor the imagination to anticipate what it would feel like in her harem-ticklish state of body.
His arm crossed her abdomen, and he latched his fingers onto her upper thigh. The first squeeze made her buck off of the bed, and soon both feathers dropped. His left hand ticked her inner right thigh without mercy, and his right squeezed her ribs, then her side, and she felt his body against hers as she squirmed and squealed and laughed into the night air. None of the sexual tension from the feathers on her breasts went anywhere; she just got hotter and hotter as the energy built up inside of her and as her legs' ticklish nerves shot lightning bolts up between her thighs and into her soul. His hand left her side and crossed over the other, and for an eternity both hands tickled both thighs, his strong arms crossed over her abdomen.
She bucked and thrashed, and as her head went to one side his strong neck intervened, keeping her head to one side as he tortured her thighs. She felt his warm lips, then his tongue kiss the nape of her neck, and as her abdomen tried to moan, she exploded for him as she had done before, only this time her arms could not cover up, and she had nowhere to go to hide.
As if he felt the sudden change, Denard released his grasp and got off the bed. Alyana panted and whimpered, her whole skin one giant nerve as he walked around the bed to face her. "At this point, Alyana, the harem girl would be primed and ready for the emperor to receive her." Standing before her, he grasped the toes on one foot and bent them towards Alyana's body. "But I'm no Sultan, am I?"
The touches on her feet, for what seemed like the next hour, were not only beyond Alyana's experience but more ticklish than most women the world has seen have ever been. Denard found the ticklish path from the Russian session before and began to work them with fingertips, fingernails, tongue, fingertips again. Alyana' soles, electrified by her climax and entirely at Denard's command, betrayed her entirely, and Alyana found new energy coming from places she had never imagined as her exhausted body bounced and twisted and pulled at her bonds. The sheet just in front of where she sat was starting to get visibly wet, and the only sensation that even shared space with the terrible tickling was the excitement that got generated, at second hand, as her twisting body rubbed against that wet bedsheet
When he released that foot, Alyana's head slumped in defeat, and it was only vaguely that he saw Denard pick up the feathers again. Twisting them like tops between his fingers, he brought them once again close in to her nipples, and when one made contact, then the other, Alyana's head rocked backwards again in disbelief: another climax rocked her, and she moaned and squealed and giggled and panted as he kept up the feathering.
But the worst hadn't happened yet: two orgasms in, Denard moved the feathers downward, one spiralling around in her navel and the other beginning to tickle the outside of her labia. Alyana heard herself gurgle as her nerves simply overloaded; she dropped her head to rest on her suspended shoulder and fought for air as the feathers kept doing their work. Naked, exhausted, she felt her torso more than her limbs reach out for Denard.
The French mercenary could tell that his Eastern European prize was fully won, and once again his hands dropped the feathers. He once again walked to her side, sat on the bed, whispered in her ear.
"Would you like to finish now?"
Alyana nodded.
"Do you want me to be naked with you now?"
Another nod.
"And do you want me inside you now?"
A pause. A nod.
Denard unfastened her hand restraints, then her ankles, and the two fell to lovemaking, as the novels say. Alyana, every inch of her skin excited, devoured every touch, every kiss, every moment of their night.
Soon after they both were asleep, and when Denard woke her, the sun was beginning to rise. Alyana scrambled out of the bed and looked frantically for her clothes.
Denard stood, still naked, and laughed. "That was quite an evening, my angel of the refugee camp!"
Alyana simply exhaled at him, and then she kept getting dressed.
When Alyana returned to the medical camp, the sun now fully up, the other medical personnel whistled and pointed, and Alyana just shook her head at them. There was work to be done, and she had no time to worry about their chatter. The civil war was winding down, with the rebel factions falling apart as its leaders turned on each other. The sick and the wounded still needed help, and for the first time in months the medical relief team could dream of an end to the war.
And as Alyana tended to another patient, she entertained her own dreams about what life would bring after they left this place and its rebel predators. She dreamed of another land, another mission, another feather.
