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Tales from the Golden Feather IV (f/m)

Shem the Penman

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Apr 3, 2001
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TALES FROM THE GOLDEN FEATHER, IV
The Soldier's Tale, or The Mysterious Island
another one of those stories

UNDER 18? WELL, THEN, FOR PETE'S SAKE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING READING THIS? SHOO.

The next morning, I checked on the snow once again, to find it changed not an inch from yesterday. The remainder of the company came down one after another. As our hostess served breakfast, I heard the physician snap at the quiet young lady: "Madam, I don't mind what you do in your own room, but have some consideration for others! Your laughter, charming though it may be, kept me up half the night!" And indeed, the bags under his eyes looked darker than ever this morning.

The young lady blushed a deep crimson and began to stammer something, but the summoner broke in, "Be more careful who you accuse, Doctor -- I can assure you it wasn't this young lady. Her room is across from mine, and I assure you the laughter we heard was not from there."

"Well, whose was it then?" the physician demanded.

"I have my suspicions," the summoner pronounced, "but I shall name no names, for I do not like casting aspersions unless I have solid evidence." And he turned back to his breakfast with the air of one who is profoundly impressed with his own fairness. The physician only grunted and shook his head.

When the breakfast dishes had been cleared away, the soldier rose and, without wasting time on introductory remarks, launched immediately into his story:

Early in my career, I was sent with my company to the war in -------. To reach that place, we had to travel by ship, which turned out to be a poor idea. A winter gale came up, tore our sails to shreds and snapped the mast, and at last drove us onto a rock rising from the midst of the sea. The ship was shattered and the company and crew cast in a hundred directions, and if any of them survived I have never seen them since.

I was more fortunate than most, because I landed in the sea near an empty barrel that floated well. Clinging to it, I was borne away from the wreck on the current, and at last the waves cast me up on a beach of white sand, of a sort I have never seen before or since. I had lost all I owned in the wreck, boots and sword and helmet and such, and all I had to my name was a set of smallclothes that were little better than rags after what I had been through. My strength was likewise much reduced, and my spirits were lowest of all. I fully expected to die there, far from any other human being, and to lie unnoticed and unmourned.

I managed to drag myself to the shelter of the trees above the beach and sat there with my back to one, gazing over the sea and thinking gloomily of the fate that awaited me. I don't know how long I sat like that until I was jarred back to alertness by a stick jabbing me in the side. My head jerked up, and two shadowy figures blocked out the sun. When my eyes adjusted, I saw they were two women, tall and broad of shoulder, dark-haired and dark-skinned, dressed in rough clothes of hide. Each held a sharp-looking spear as if she knew how to use it. One of them said something in a language I had never heard and jabbed me with the butt of her spear again.

We might not have had a language in common, but the spears were eloquent enough to tell me that they wanted me to come with them. Unarmed and exhausted, I had no choice. They marched me along a trail deeper into the forest, toward the face of the single mountain at the island's center. To my surprise, there was a cave opening at the base of the mountain, and in it stood a heavyset older woman who wore many necklaces of gold. Carved into the rock over her head was an image of a woman seated with her legs crossed, six arms waving, and a pendant with the same image dangled from her necklace. The older woman exchanged a few sharp words with my escorts, looking me from head to toe. Then she made a curt gesture, and the escorts directed me onward, into the mountain itself.

Strange glowing golden globes lit the tunnel, which twisted and bent like a sick snake. Eventually, though, we emerged into a large cavern of black stone. Most of the cavern was taken up by a shallow, flat-bottomed depression, almost as big as a farm pond and filled with clear water that steamed slightly. The air was hot and wet, the stone slippery underfoot. The older woman paused and pointed to me, and then down into the water. When I hesitated, one of the escorts gave me a shove, and I skidded down the short slope, splashing into the water. It was warm, almost uncomfortably so. I glared up at the woman who had shoved me, but she and the other two merely turned and walked away down the tunnel.

At the same moment, from another tunnel, four more women entered the room. But they were as different from my escorts as sugar is from salt. They had the same dark coloring, but were all small of stature and strikingly lovely, so much so that I could scarcely credit my eyes. Even more pleasant, each of them was nude from toes to the top of her head, and completely unashamed. They came down the slope much more gracefully than I had, into the water, and waded out to me, surrounding me. They smiled and chattered to each other. Some were carrying pottery jars, which turned out to hold soaps and scented oils. The remainder of my rags were removed and cast aside, and the women went to work cleaning away the grime and weariness of my terrible voyage.

Now, I was a young soldier, with all the normal impulses that go with it. So I do not think you will be surprised to hear that I at last allowed those impulses to overwhelm common sense and grabbed the prettiest of my attendants around the waist, pulling her to me. She struggled pleasantly for a moment, to no avail. Then her dark eyes flashed with mischief and the little hands that had been pushing against my chest slipped farther back, to dig fingertips into my ribs. I yelped and let go of her immediately -- I had always been ticklish there, and now seemed more sensitive than ever. She laughed and wiggled her fingers in those tender spots, and I let out a laugh of my own and twisted reflexively.

Our relation was turned completely around in a second. Now it was I who was trying to get away from her, and she who would not let go. I stumbled back, nearly tripping over my own feet, and she followed me, tickling without a second's relief. I grabbed her wrists just as one of the other women took hold of me from behind and started tickling me lower on the sides, just above the hips. My knees buckled as I whooped with laughter, and I collapsed into the warm water, trying desperately to shield myself with my arms. That seemed to be the signal for all four of the heartless wenches to attack.

My legs were hoisted from the water, and the ankles locked under surprisingly strong arms, as fingernails scratched the balls of my feet and skittered along the arches. I pulled one loose, but it was immediately recaptured when the remaining two women jumped on me, tickling ribs and stomach and sides with darting hands and leaving me helpless with laughter. Fortunately, the "bath" was not deep, or I might well have drowned. As it was, I churned up such a froth with my struggles that it was almost like being lost in the storm again. Wet bare bodies squeaked against mine, and fingers sought fresh spots on me to tickle -- and found them more often than not.

Somehow I managed to worm free and was driven across the pool by hands on my body, grabbing at my arms and legs and other places. I fetched up against one slick obsidian wall, breathless from exertion and laughter, and was pinned there a second later before I could attempt to get away. One girl pressed her weight against each shoulder, holding my arms away from my body, a third sat on my thighs, and the fourth planted herself on my ankles. Thus immobilized, I was the recipient of the most thorough and merciless tickling I had ever experienced in my young life. Little fingers worked unceasingly on my soles, over my ribs and sides, under my arms, across my stomach, and in places I hadn't even imagined myself ticklish. I could no more free myself than I could stop laughing, and I wondered if they would ever stop. They giggled and chattered to each other and made faces at me, obviously enjoying themselves as they tickled endlessly ...

A sharp word from above, and the tickling stopped immediately, the girls rolling off me. Limp and gasping, I managed to roll my head back and saw the matron standing on the rim of the bath, frowning disapprovingly. She spoke curtly again, and the girls climbed out and pattered away in a dripping cluster, throwing glances back at me and giggling among themselves. I rose from the bath, trying to catch my breath. My body tingled all over, and it seemed I could still feel those merciless tickling fingers on my skin. The matron gave me no time to recover my composure, instead waving to me to come on. With her attendants pointing their spears at me, I saw no reason to delay, and hurried into the passage she indicated.

Gentlemen and ladies, we now come to what I know is the least probable part of my tale, and I would not blame you if you doubted me. All I can say is that it did indeed happen as I will tell it. The And at the center of the room, on a massive couch of gold, reclined a goddess.

In form she was exactly as the carvings had shown her, more beautiful than any woman I have seen before or since and possessed of six gracefully rounded arms. But what the carvings had not shown was the warm, metallic gold of her skin ... or her size. She was at least twice my height and seemed infinitely more massive, as if she were indeed just a huge golden statue. But she moved, tilting her head to look at me and beckoning with an outstretched hand. I was so fascinated by the astonishing sight I barely noticed that the matron and the guards had left.

"Come and sit by me." The goddess waved a lazy hand at a small golden chaise by her couch. I went and sat, not knowing what to expect. She spoke to me, asking my name and where I was from and such matters. As I attempted to answer her questions, she reached out a long arm and took hold of one ankle. Before I could protest, she had begun to trace the forefinger of one hand over the contours of my foot. Huge though she might be, her touch was as light as a bird's, and it tickled unbearably. I gripped the arms of the chaise, willing myself not to squirm.

"Are you ticklish?" she asked idly, the tortuous motion of her finger not slowing a bit.

It would have been silly to deny it, with my toes curling of their own accord and laughter building in the back of my throat. "Yes," I managed to get out.

"Very ticklish?" Her fingertip charted the sensitive spot at the base of my toes with unerring accuracy, and I gasped and laughed aloud, jerking my foot. But I could not break her grip, for all she seemed to be holding me only lightly.

"I see you are," she said. "I am pleased. In better days, the folk of this island sacrificed beautiful, ticklish young men like yourself to me, and these halls were never without the sound of laughter. But times have changed and there are no more men, only those who come from afar. I am much reduced from what I was, and I have been prisoned in this lonely mountian for centuries, but perhaps with your help I can regain some of what I lost…"

Then she let go of my foot. The golden hands closed on my upper arms, lifting them away from my body with a strength that, while gentle, was beyond my resisting. I was pulled off the chaise and up onto my toes, feeling very small and helpless in that powerful grasp. "Wait!" I gasped, and even to my ears the protest was insignificant, a mouse's squeak when the cat has it trapped under a paw.

A tiny smile touched the goddess's golden lips. "Do you fear what I can do to you?" she whispered as her middle pair of hands traced up my sides, from hips to armpits, and at the same time the lower hands ran down my back, over the buttocks, and down the backs of my legs. The breath caught in my throat at the rush of sensation that filled me, and I twisted helplessly.

"Yes!" I groaned, then giggled despite myself as she delicately teased my wide-open underarms with fingertips softer than any feather.

"Good. That is what I want from you -- your fear and your laughter. And you'll give them to me ... won't you?" she said, circling fingers drawing bull's-eyes on the skin over my ribs even as she continued to torment my armpits gently and without mercy. I could not answer, if any answer were even needed, as she began to tickle my ribs as well, sending me into a delirium of laughter. I hung in her grip, twisting uselessly as I laughed and laughed and she tickled all up and down my sides with a gleeful ferocity. Then she sat back onto her couch, pulling me up onto her.

The golden flesh was warm and smooth as any woman's, but also peculiarly unyielding. In my frenzy I struck and kicked at her, but my blows simply rebounded without effect as she continued to tickle my struggling body. One hand, delicately planted in the small of my back, sufficed to pin me to her as the other five roamed over me, stroking, scratching, probing, poking, and caressing. She sought out the most sensitive places of my body as unerringly as if she had designed it herself. It was less under my control than hers; she could have me flailing and howling as helplessly as any baby with a wiggling finger in my navel or on the sole of my foot. With so many hands attacking me, there was no way I could defend myself, no matter how much I squirmed. While I was trying to fend off the hands creeping up my thighs, another pair of hands would seize me from behind and tickle my sides, making me twist and yell with laughter -- and then my thighs would get tickled anyway until I was dizzy with laughter.

Other times, though, she held my limbs with four of her arms, keeping me stretched out and utterly immobile without apparent effort. It was as if I hung on a torture rack of warm gold, for I could not move her even an inch, no matter how hard I strained. She smiled lazily up at me as her free hands wandered my body, sharp nails gliding over my legs or my back or my stomach or some other place that would make my eyes go wide and my pinioned body jerk convulsively as I made frantic noises in my throat and struggled not to scream. This amused her greatly, and she would do it again and again until I begged her to stop.

Once she allowed me to slip off her. I half-jumped, half-fell over the edge of the couch, dim thoughts of escape flaring in my mind ... but she had grabbed my ankles as I toppled, so I wound up dangling upside down in her grip as she tickled my helpless soles without mercy. The humiliation and indignity of the position I was in were almost as bad as the tickling ... almost. Not until I actually begged her to take me back did she pull me back up onto the couch. I tried much less harder to escape after that.

Worst of all was when she held me down with all six hands and allowed the hair of her head to drift over my struggling body. It had a life of its own, every strand a seeking, tickling finger, and when it crawled over my skin, insinuating itself under my arms, between my toes, up my legs, and into other exquisitely vulnerable places .... then I did scream, and scream loudly.

Whenever it seemed I could no longer breathe for laughing, or if exhaustion threatened to claim me, she would pull me to her and hold me in a parody of tenderness, one pair of hands roaming up and down my body ceaselessly while she whispered to me of what further torments she planned to visit on me next. I had to lie absolutely still no matter what she said, for the moment I began to struggle or show any other sign of life, the tickling would begin again. But no matter how still I lay, she would eventually touch me in a sensitive place, and I would jump and be lost. "Give me more," she purred as her fingers traced my skin and I began to giggle and laugh hopelessly ....

I have no idea at all how long my suffering lasted. No matter how much my struggling and laughing exhausted me, I always seemed to have just enough energy to bear another bout of tickling, and I never seemed to get hungry, thirsty, or tired. But as the tickling went on, I could perceive that the goddess's skin became increasingly hotter -- never hot enough to become painful, though -- and the golden light that surrounded us became brighter. During one period of "rest," I mustered the courage to ask the goddess what was happening.

"Your laughter is my freedom, darling mortal," she replied, wiggling fingertips along my ribs so I squirmed and giggled like a small boy in her grasp. "I am almost free of this prison, but you must be strong and laugh nicely for me ... will you do that?" Her nails rippled over my belly, and I half-doubled over, gasping and squealing. Somehow, for whatever reason, I managed to force out a "Yes!" amidst my mirth; I think I had been tickled and toyed with for so long that I did not dare refuse her a thing.

"Good," she said, and pulled me even closer to her, curling her huge body around mine. I felt her shake her head, and then her hair fell down upon me, engulfing me completely and wriggling in search of sensitive spots .... Powerful arms held me tightly as I was tickled all over my body at once, from the insides of my ears to the tips of the toes and everywhere in between. I tried to squirm in a dozen directions at once, but I could not move at all. Blind, immobile, and in the depths of ticklish hell, all I could do was scream with laughter endlessly ....

Suddenly, the goddess's mighty grasp was released. A wash of golden light filled my vision. I felt a sensation as if my stomach were dropping out of my body. Abruptly I was out in the blue air, rising fast as the wind whistled in my ears. Below, I saw the mountain of the goddess shattering in a burst of red and gold fire, and I thought I heard a faint triumphant cry, but I saw no more, for I was being hurled away from the island. Fortunately, I landed softly in the sand of a beach, which turned out to be the coast not far from where I had taken ship in the first place. The fisher-folk there took me in, and I told them only of the shipwreck. In fact, I have told the tale you just heard to no one until now, for who would believe it?

There was much debate over the strange story the soldier had told us. The physician, for one, called it an absolute impossibility and compared it to the stories of Baron Munchausen. At this, the soldier became so angry he almost stormed out of the room, but the rest of us managed to calm him.

The harper commented that there were many odd tales of the gods and goddesses of her homeland, but she had never heard of them tickling anyone. "Maybe they should," she commented. "It'd have made us a happier folk. Anyroad, I think I'll tell my tale tomorrow, if you all agree?" No one had any objection.

"I wonder where the goddess went afterward," I mused aloud. "Could she be watching us even now ... perhaps with approval as we debate her favorite subject?" The summoner denounced the idea as theologically unsound, but some of the others were charmed by the idea, and spent most of the rest of the day considering how the goddess might best be worshiped. The ideas they came up with further infuriated the summoner, but the rest of us found them quite amusing.

NEXT: The Harper's Tale, or An Unusual Contest.
 
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