ShadowTklr
3rd Level Orange Feather
- Joined
- Dec 12, 2002
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Enduron - The Story Of Ria
By ShadowTklr
This originally started out as an episodic adventure of dungeons and fantasy, but I got so caught up in the writing of the Ria episode, that I never really continued it. I don’t know why. This story is a slight departure from my other stories in the respect that the victim is not a snotty, or overeager character who brings the tickling upon herself. This victim is a true innocent who is brutally taken and tickled by many men. I thought it would be appropriate given the brutal nature of the fantasy genre. I’d be interested in feedback.
Prologue
As I sit here in my cell, writing in my journal for the benefit of whomever may find the remains of my worldly belongings, I have come to peace with myself, if only momentarily. Bathed in the soothing light of the candle's orange flame, my dark image is cast as a silent shadow, flickering gracefully on the cold, stone wall behind me. Outside, past the confining bars of my towering window, sit the twin moons of Enduron, perched high in a starless, crimson sky, like translucent balls of amber. Vaporous clouds sweep by and their wispy forms absorb the light to create the illusion of mystical apparitions.
But, this peacefulness will soon be gone as it yields to the familiar din of so many victims' nightly despair. The sounds of shrill screams and maniacal cackling awaken me in the middle of the night, like a sensory shock that transcends the boundaries of my dreams to wrench me forward into consciousness.
Tonight, however, I will find it harder than any other to keep my mental capacity; for tonight find's my own lovely Ria at the hands of Zoden and Soyona in the stench-fogged corridors of the dungeon's labyrinth. I am desperate to know that soon, Ria's screams will be among those so laden with exquisite suffering. Those unfortunates whose shrieks pierce the gentle night air like a sharply crafted blade, the sound of which, reverberates through the narrow passages and stairways, leaving behind a trail of ghostly whimpers. But, alas, their pleas die a lingering death, wafting lazily with the breeze on which they have been cast, before succumbing to the enveloping silence of the night air.
I make no apology if the tales of my adventures seem askew. My memories do not conform to a storyteller's chronology. They come to me as descriptive remembrances of events - times that I cannot willfully conger, but rather, that visit my mind like secret lovers in times not foretold.
Poor Ria. I know she shall suffer dearly tonight. Her ticklishness is beyond the boundaries of most women I've known. Her long, flowing black hair that bounces about as she runs, will soon lay as frayed and pasty strands stuck wantonly to her sweat and tear-soaked cheeks. And those emerald eyes that sparkle like the pools of Nassus shall clench tightly in anguish, squinting mightily in hopes of canceling out the overwhelming ticklish sensations. Her delicate, 5'3" frame, host to a well-sculpted muscular female body, chiseled from marble and coated with sheer layers of satin, will erupt in seizing spasms against the groping fingers that are sure to probe her most ticklish ribcage and belly. And I imagine her tiny feet, that so many nights had danced for me like clouds beneath the moonlight, struggling desperately to dodge the increasing ministrations of her tickling tormentors. Those full lips, pouting and innocent, that kiss me tenderly will be made to stretch wide to allow for the thrusts of howling laughter dragged from her repeatedly. And how can I bear the thought of that beautiful voice, once soft and wispy like a spring breeze, shrieking with force, the tortured laughter pulled from her throat - smooth vocal tones reduced to hoarse, violent cackles of uncontrolled and unwelcome mirth. That reminds me of the first time I met her...
Episode One - Ria
I was straight out of the academy the first time I saw Ria. I was a cocky young cadet with ideas about becoming a warrior to join the fight of the rebellion against the minions of Zoden, and become a hero in my homeland of Doar. I had trained for three hard seasons in the Sybian Mountains and was returning to Doar to take my rightful place among the rebellion. I had stopped over at a local Inn just inside of Coraxis; a province located between the Sybian Mountains and the Valley of Zoden. Warriors of many different lands for two reasons occupied Coraxis; first, it had the highest occupancy of rebel forces and secondly, it is known for its beautiful women - a much sought-after haven for so many young men putting their lives on the line. As a result, the people of Coraxis would deny occupying soldiers nothing; not because they were ordered to, but because Coraxis enjoyed an iron wall of defense for its strategic location. With the Valley of Zoden so near it, Coraxis became the rebellion's prime military outpost.
Exhausted from my trip, I dismounted my horse and handed him to the stable hand for cleaning and feeding. After preparing my quarters (which was really just a stable around the back of the Inn), for bedding, I returned to the Inn to sup on meat and drink. When I pushed open the door, I found the Inn filled with Hotu soldiers. Many faces turned to note my entry. Their naturally boyish features, complete with long, blond locks and deep-blue, icy eyes betrayed their lethal and sadistic tendencies. They have been known to attack villages of innocents in the Valley of Zoden, torturing hundreds in search of information that would lead them to Zoden himself. The united rebel forces have condemned these practices in the past, but the Hotu soldiers were not part of the occupation in Coraxis. They were a band of rogue rebels, seeking attachments with no one. But, because they protected the interests of Coraxis, and shared a common enemy - Zoden - they were tolerated...barely. Their disloyalty, brutality and sadism yielded them few allies among the rebels, so I knew I would have to be careful, given their short tempers and willingness to kill at the slightest provocation.
Several lanterns dimly lighted the Inn. The flames exaggerated the movements in the way of silhouettes cast against the floor and walls. It seemed a victory party was already well under way, celebrating the defense of Coraxis' boarders against the advancing minions of Zoden that very day. As the wine flowed generously, minstrels played mandolins and pan flutes, and sang whimsical songs about ribald adventures of the Hotu. Many other young soldiers danced and drank merrily, putting aside - if only temporarily - the carnage of the day.
Dancing atop the table at which I sat, was a beautiful young Coraxian woman of about my age. She had long, silken black hair and piercing, emerald-green eyes that twinkled as she smiled broadly. I fell instantly in love, and it seemed as though time would stand still for all but her as my peripheral vision dimmed and she became the only focus of my attention. History, and the look on her face, told me that she was not doing this willingly, but out of obligation. To dance and perform merrily was her means of survival in this place.
As the music continued with its enchanting, piccalilli gaiety, I watched her, transfixed by the fluid movements of her small, petite frame. Her long hair whipped either side of her face as she danced, and her arms moved with the dexterity of snakes, slithering through the air at the command of the music. Her lips, full and moist, blew soft, savory kisses into the air, to be claimed by every longing soldier. Her tiny, alabaster feet, clad in butter-soft, but rather shoddy leather sandals, slid over the surface of the table like a feather skidding about by order of a whimsical breeze.
Bringing the container of sprits to my lips, and rapidly succumbing to the increasing libido that accompany the giddiness of too much drink, I imagined my face as the soft, warm leather sole beneath her feet, worn and indented with the impressions of each tiny toe - having my natural, leather odor impregnated with the intoxicating smell of her, to produce an aphrodisiac aroma. Her arches, high and creased, would remain but a prize not acquired, so high that my lips could but graze each fleshy wrinkle with her every step - the gentlest kiss, merely a fraction of time allowed. Moving up like braided Asps, were yet two thinner, long, leather bands that wrapped around her angular ankles before finalizing their ballet of restraint in a loosely tied brown bow.
As the music incited louder celebration, she hopped on the ball of one foot whilst kicking with the other, displaying a show of both agility and sensuality. She held her faded brown, flowing skirt, mid high, in the fingertips of both hands and guided the waving material on either side of her muscular legs as it bounced and furled about her ankles and calves. One pretty, sandaled foot sprang with a jolt to the music, shooting up, waist high, before descending to the table with a leathery slap, in preparation for the second foot to repeat the action.
Those small, shapely feet cavorted before me, only inches from the greedy hands and groping fingers of so many young men vying for a chance to touch her. My eyes wandered up the length of her short, trim shape to behold two melon-sized breasts bouncing and jiggling unrestrained beneath the thin material of her blouse - the continual stroking of the silk-like material against them, causing her nipples to become erect, and visible. Her eyes glittered and her lips parted wide as she threw her head back in an almost decadent laugh. Her small, nimble feet moved brisker now, not so much to the music, as to avoid the clawing fingers of her avid admirers and yet, would-be molesters. The eager fellows jostled me sidelong, to and fro, causing my drink to splash and spill around her delicate toes, moistening them with the sweet, rosy liquid. I dare not protest.
The Hotu were becoming somewhat unruly, and I could see that Ria (I would find out her name later) was becoming concerned, attempting to calm the young men down as they pushed and shoved their way toward her in hopes of, perhaps, being the victor, should they be first to grab hold of her satin legs. Her gestures for civility turned to shrieks as two young men rode their hands up her dress to pinch her thighs. She would let out a shriek before whipping her head around, followed by a sweeping of her hand to whisk away their intruding charms. Their continued squeezing would soon elicit a rapid succession of giggling shrieks and squeals from Ria as she continued unsuccessfully to shoo away the advancing fingers - spinning about in a tight, rapid circle, as their attention to her bare legs increased.
Her struggling arms were seized and, despite her attempts to roll over or curl her arms tightly at her chest, were drawn taught over her head and pinned to the ground at the wrists and elbows by the steely grips of four more enthusiastic soldiers.
Ria struggled and wriggled violently as the amount of hands on her body increased, rising up the length of her frame, from knees to thighs, then waist, shoulders, and up the entire length of both arms. Ria felt the soldiers' rugged fingers clenching her tensed and straining muscles with vice-like grips. With so many strong, male hands holding her, Ria felt herself slowly losing all mobility, save for the few feeble twitches her toes and fingers were afforded. Like a brutal wave of paralysis working its way up her body, Ria felt each new set of strong hands settling in to effectively eliminate every possibility of her escape.
Being so helpless was a great fear for Ria, but this surpassed even her greatest fear, for she knew the Hotu were a sadistic bunch by nature, and they would have no reservations about treating themselves to her supple, vulnerable body. After all, she was just a Coraxian, and, given their drunken condition, she could not predict what fate awaited her.
Panic began to set in as Ria realized her frantic struggling was yielding not so much as an inch worth of movement. Her only hope was to dissuade these young savages from brutalizing her, by showing her disgust and contempt for them. Perhaps then, they would release her, realizing their sadistic intimidation would be wasted. She would not be afraid. She grunted willfully and defiantly, spewing insults at her captors.
As unseen, grabbing fingers nestled gently into the flesh just above her hips, Ria burst forth in short thrusts, attempting to shift her waist out from under the probing touches - which were now working their way to her flat, hard belly and ribs. Ria's panic escalated to raging struggles - desperately trying to lower her arms as yet more hands slid up the sweat-glistened skin of her tightened mid-drift.
Invasive fingers worked up her quivering thighs, riding the hem of her skirt past her knees, advancing threateningly close to her womanhood. Ria's thrashing renewed as she felt them kneading the slippery, strong muscles that join her hips to her upper thighs. The two captors, posted at each foot, stared over their shoulders with wide, menacing grins at the struggling, molested young woman; and, left with no other visible area of attack for themselves, began caressing and stroking the insteps and outsides of Ria's wildly pivoting, sandaled feet with their free hand. Her toes curled and stiffened as her feet drew erratic circles in the air coupled with vicious attempts to escape the over-sensitizing touches. She felt her willpower slipping farther away with every added probe - each one, in some uncanny way, testing and examining her degree of sensitivity. Suddenly, above the din of the young men's ruckus laughter and riotous behavior, Ria screamed in a panicked explosion - the length and pitch of which, surely exhausted her lungs of available air in one, desperate bellow.
All at once, the minstrels abandoned their ribald limericks and the young men's conquering shouts came to a crashing quiet. All at once, as if motion were somehow frozen, the young men knelt still in their respective places - their clenched, meaty fingers still wrapped tightly around Ria's every movable joint.
Ria lay panting and twitching for freedom, her sinewy muscles contracting into tight bands beneath her warm, tacky skin. Her eyes raced about the many sweaty, boyish faces glaring down at her wrestled and captured body. Ria counted no less than a dozen young soldiers, all purposefully employed in her restraint. Like a cornered animal, aware of it's imminent slaughter seeks the one thread of Ria in the eyes of the hunter, Ria looked vulnerably again at a select few of the young men closest to her. She watched the sweat-soaked brows of their lust-filled faces yield tiny droplets of moisture that trickled down, dropping from their noses like ripe fruit from a tree.
As if working at the commands of an unheard voice, the man holding her sides began to gently wiggle his fingers, exerting only enough pressure to feel her skin slip back and forth across each protruding rib. As more fingers from both of his hands were employed in the menacing massage, Ria felt her mind awash with sheer panic and desperation. Her struggling increased ten-fold and her head began thrashing back and forth within the confines allowed by her captors thighs - her eyes desperate to find one friendly face that might help her to stay such an unbearable and undeserved torment.
Ria began screaming in a high-pitched tone that erupted into full-throat laughter - an obvious cue that the efforts of her tormentors were paying off. The musicians, at the command of another Hotu soldier, renewed their instrumentation. They played at a feverish pace - inducing spectator soldiers to dance around the cackling woman - seemingly drawing energy from the growing spectacle before them. As the man continued the gentle rib tickling, more hands slid up her blouse in search of her armpits now slick with the sweat of her torture-inspired exertion. Fingers began gliding effortlessly in the hollows of her armpits, skidding along the surface of her stubble skin, then digging deeper to massage the taught flesh outside the tender concaves - sending her headlong into blind laughter and raging, violent pleas for mercy.
The reality of what he had said, just hit me.
The two men gripping her ankles had resumed their examination of her trapped feet with a gentle and meticulous stroking of her arches and toe-tips. Oh, but now it was much worse, for they were deliberately seeking to tickle her. Her violent struggling regained with such fierceness, that the two men found themselves being rocked forward and back as Ria tugged and pulled to get her feet from the locking grip of their manly arms. Recognizing their effect on the poor woman, the men both stuck their fingers between the soles of her sandals and the underside of her toes, then, wiggled them fiendishly - glancing over their shoulders every so often to take in her pitiful laughing expressions, and increasing the tickling of her most sensitive areas to see if her hysterical pitch changed in strength or intensity. Their foot tickling continued despite her yelps of anguished laughter, as she fanned and clenched her toes spasmodically in futile attempts to escape. Her torment was augmented by the betraying feeling of having on shoes that yielded so much of her most ticklish areas to her heartless torturers. The titillating tickling sensations continued unabated, serving to catapult poor Ria into a mixed state of uncontrolled desperation and helpless laughter.
Her eyesight became speckled with white-hot colors of sensory explosions. She became ever more aware of her unyielding bondage as each frenzied attempt at freedom was met with the riveting, inflexible grip of these masculine marauders.
Ria found herself spiraling into a hellish seizure of hysteria. As the group-tickling turned into an all out feeding frenzy, several of the men began using their mouths to lightly bite her belly and upper thighs. Ria's screams turned to blood-curdling cries, followed by the most fitful laughter any of them had ever heard. Fingers began sliding in and massaging the gentle folds of her pussy, pausing to flicker willfully, her swollen and engorged clitoris. Her thighs strained and yawned to close, but were unable to protect her now- exposed womanhood from the continued manipulations of their swirling fingers. Her nipples were taken into the mouths of two soldiers like milky teats and suckled roughly. Soon, tongues found their way to the inner, sensitive ridges of her ears, lapping the contours of her succulent lobes.
Ria clenched and trembled violently - her mind unable to discern between the torturous tickling and the growing sexual excitement. She gasped and her eyes clenched tightly closed one minute and sprang open in abject lust, the next. As the tickling and teasing continued, Ria felt her overwhelming sexuality give way to a torrential orgasm - the violence of which would wind her every muscle to the peak of its resistance. Her head shot back, mouth open in the simulated throes of coitus, and in a final spasm of release, Ria screamed out piercingly before slumping, sweaty and exhausted, into the darkness of unconsciousness.
The End
By ShadowTklr
This originally started out as an episodic adventure of dungeons and fantasy, but I got so caught up in the writing of the Ria episode, that I never really continued it. I don’t know why. This story is a slight departure from my other stories in the respect that the victim is not a snotty, or overeager character who brings the tickling upon herself. This victim is a true innocent who is brutally taken and tickled by many men. I thought it would be appropriate given the brutal nature of the fantasy genre. I’d be interested in feedback.
Prologue
As I sit here in my cell, writing in my journal for the benefit of whomever may find the remains of my worldly belongings, I have come to peace with myself, if only momentarily. Bathed in the soothing light of the candle's orange flame, my dark image is cast as a silent shadow, flickering gracefully on the cold, stone wall behind me. Outside, past the confining bars of my towering window, sit the twin moons of Enduron, perched high in a starless, crimson sky, like translucent balls of amber. Vaporous clouds sweep by and their wispy forms absorb the light to create the illusion of mystical apparitions.
But, this peacefulness will soon be gone as it yields to the familiar din of so many victims' nightly despair. The sounds of shrill screams and maniacal cackling awaken me in the middle of the night, like a sensory shock that transcends the boundaries of my dreams to wrench me forward into consciousness.
Tonight, however, I will find it harder than any other to keep my mental capacity; for tonight find's my own lovely Ria at the hands of Zoden and Soyona in the stench-fogged corridors of the dungeon's labyrinth. I am desperate to know that soon, Ria's screams will be among those so laden with exquisite suffering. Those unfortunates whose shrieks pierce the gentle night air like a sharply crafted blade, the sound of which, reverberates through the narrow passages and stairways, leaving behind a trail of ghostly whimpers. But, alas, their pleas die a lingering death, wafting lazily with the breeze on which they have been cast, before succumbing to the enveloping silence of the night air.
I make no apology if the tales of my adventures seem askew. My memories do not conform to a storyteller's chronology. They come to me as descriptive remembrances of events - times that I cannot willfully conger, but rather, that visit my mind like secret lovers in times not foretold.
Poor Ria. I know she shall suffer dearly tonight. Her ticklishness is beyond the boundaries of most women I've known. Her long, flowing black hair that bounces about as she runs, will soon lay as frayed and pasty strands stuck wantonly to her sweat and tear-soaked cheeks. And those emerald eyes that sparkle like the pools of Nassus shall clench tightly in anguish, squinting mightily in hopes of canceling out the overwhelming ticklish sensations. Her delicate, 5'3" frame, host to a well-sculpted muscular female body, chiseled from marble and coated with sheer layers of satin, will erupt in seizing spasms against the groping fingers that are sure to probe her most ticklish ribcage and belly. And I imagine her tiny feet, that so many nights had danced for me like clouds beneath the moonlight, struggling desperately to dodge the increasing ministrations of her tickling tormentors. Those full lips, pouting and innocent, that kiss me tenderly will be made to stretch wide to allow for the thrusts of howling laughter dragged from her repeatedly. And how can I bear the thought of that beautiful voice, once soft and wispy like a spring breeze, shrieking with force, the tortured laughter pulled from her throat - smooth vocal tones reduced to hoarse, violent cackles of uncontrolled and unwelcome mirth. That reminds me of the first time I met her...
Episode One - Ria
I was straight out of the academy the first time I saw Ria. I was a cocky young cadet with ideas about becoming a warrior to join the fight of the rebellion against the minions of Zoden, and become a hero in my homeland of Doar. I had trained for three hard seasons in the Sybian Mountains and was returning to Doar to take my rightful place among the rebellion. I had stopped over at a local Inn just inside of Coraxis; a province located between the Sybian Mountains and the Valley of Zoden. Warriors of many different lands for two reasons occupied Coraxis; first, it had the highest occupancy of rebel forces and secondly, it is known for its beautiful women - a much sought-after haven for so many young men putting their lives on the line. As a result, the people of Coraxis would deny occupying soldiers nothing; not because they were ordered to, but because Coraxis enjoyed an iron wall of defense for its strategic location. With the Valley of Zoden so near it, Coraxis became the rebellion's prime military outpost.
Exhausted from my trip, I dismounted my horse and handed him to the stable hand for cleaning and feeding. After preparing my quarters (which was really just a stable around the back of the Inn), for bedding, I returned to the Inn to sup on meat and drink. When I pushed open the door, I found the Inn filled with Hotu soldiers. Many faces turned to note my entry. Their naturally boyish features, complete with long, blond locks and deep-blue, icy eyes betrayed their lethal and sadistic tendencies. They have been known to attack villages of innocents in the Valley of Zoden, torturing hundreds in search of information that would lead them to Zoden himself. The united rebel forces have condemned these practices in the past, but the Hotu soldiers were not part of the occupation in Coraxis. They were a band of rogue rebels, seeking attachments with no one. But, because they protected the interests of Coraxis, and shared a common enemy - Zoden - they were tolerated...barely. Their disloyalty, brutality and sadism yielded them few allies among the rebels, so I knew I would have to be careful, given their short tempers and willingness to kill at the slightest provocation.
Several lanterns dimly lighted the Inn. The flames exaggerated the movements in the way of silhouettes cast against the floor and walls. It seemed a victory party was already well under way, celebrating the defense of Coraxis' boarders against the advancing minions of Zoden that very day. As the wine flowed generously, minstrels played mandolins and pan flutes, and sang whimsical songs about ribald adventures of the Hotu. Many other young soldiers danced and drank merrily, putting aside - if only temporarily - the carnage of the day.
Dancing atop the table at which I sat, was a beautiful young Coraxian woman of about my age. She had long, silken black hair and piercing, emerald-green eyes that twinkled as she smiled broadly. I fell instantly in love, and it seemed as though time would stand still for all but her as my peripheral vision dimmed and she became the only focus of my attention. History, and the look on her face, told me that she was not doing this willingly, but out of obligation. To dance and perform merrily was her means of survival in this place.
As the music continued with its enchanting, piccalilli gaiety, I watched her, transfixed by the fluid movements of her small, petite frame. Her long hair whipped either side of her face as she danced, and her arms moved with the dexterity of snakes, slithering through the air at the command of the music. Her lips, full and moist, blew soft, savory kisses into the air, to be claimed by every longing soldier. Her tiny, alabaster feet, clad in butter-soft, but rather shoddy leather sandals, slid over the surface of the table like a feather skidding about by order of a whimsical breeze.
Bringing the container of sprits to my lips, and rapidly succumbing to the increasing libido that accompany the giddiness of too much drink, I imagined my face as the soft, warm leather sole beneath her feet, worn and indented with the impressions of each tiny toe - having my natural, leather odor impregnated with the intoxicating smell of her, to produce an aphrodisiac aroma. Her arches, high and creased, would remain but a prize not acquired, so high that my lips could but graze each fleshy wrinkle with her every step - the gentlest kiss, merely a fraction of time allowed. Moving up like braided Asps, were yet two thinner, long, leather bands that wrapped around her angular ankles before finalizing their ballet of restraint in a loosely tied brown bow.
As the music incited louder celebration, she hopped on the ball of one foot whilst kicking with the other, displaying a show of both agility and sensuality. She held her faded brown, flowing skirt, mid high, in the fingertips of both hands and guided the waving material on either side of her muscular legs as it bounced and furled about her ankles and calves. One pretty, sandaled foot sprang with a jolt to the music, shooting up, waist high, before descending to the table with a leathery slap, in preparation for the second foot to repeat the action.
Those small, shapely feet cavorted before me, only inches from the greedy hands and groping fingers of so many young men vying for a chance to touch her. My eyes wandered up the length of her short, trim shape to behold two melon-sized breasts bouncing and jiggling unrestrained beneath the thin material of her blouse - the continual stroking of the silk-like material against them, causing her nipples to become erect, and visible. Her eyes glittered and her lips parted wide as she threw her head back in an almost decadent laugh. Her small, nimble feet moved brisker now, not so much to the music, as to avoid the clawing fingers of her avid admirers and yet, would-be molesters. The eager fellows jostled me sidelong, to and fro, causing my drink to splash and spill around her delicate toes, moistening them with the sweet, rosy liquid. I dare not protest.
The Hotu were becoming somewhat unruly, and I could see that Ria (I would find out her name later) was becoming concerned, attempting to calm the young men down as they pushed and shoved their way toward her in hopes of, perhaps, being the victor, should they be first to grab hold of her satin legs. Her gestures for civility turned to shrieks as two young men rode their hands up her dress to pinch her thighs. She would let out a shriek before whipping her head around, followed by a sweeping of her hand to whisk away their intruding charms. Their continued squeezing would soon elicit a rapid succession of giggling shrieks and squeals from Ria as she continued unsuccessfully to shoo away the advancing fingers - spinning about in a tight, rapid circle, as their attention to her bare legs increased.
"Stop that." Ria chastised, smiling to disguise her growing concern and fear.
She crouched down to slap the tops of the lads' hands. "You're tickling me."
At some point, pre-determined by fate and mob mentality, Ria's ankles were both grabbed by a couple of soldiers and held firmly. With all the ongoing pinching at her legs, causing her to jerk wildly now, Ria lost her balance and fell backward off of the table - a look of lost control and shock-surprise sprang across her smooth, flawless face as both her eyes and mouth opened wide in a descending shriek. She flailed her arms in the air, searching for something to hold on to, but she would claw only air, and with the lads still holding her ankles, she was not even afforded an opportunity to brace herself with a saving step. As Ria fell straight backward, arms still waving aimlessly, at least a dozen waiting hands gently broke her fall, only to seize her tightly at every inch of her extremities, and lower her struggling body, face-up, to the dusty ground. Two anxious soldiers, both giving way to their growing sexual appetites and, seizing an obvious opportunity, spread Ria's legs quite wide apart and pinned her ankles securely in their laps as they sat on the ground, trapping the helpless ankles in a yolk-like grip. They sat with their backs to Ria, resulting in each of them having a foot pointing out in front of them from under their arms. As the two of them squeezed their biceps, pressing their arms firmly against their thighs, Ria's legs were rendered virtually stationary. Her struggling arms were seized and, despite her attempts to roll over or curl her arms tightly at her chest, were drawn taught over her head and pinned to the ground at the wrists and elbows by the steely grips of four more enthusiastic soldiers.
Ria struggled and wriggled violently as the amount of hands on her body increased, rising up the length of her frame, from knees to thighs, then waist, shoulders, and up the entire length of both arms. Ria felt the soldiers' rugged fingers clenching her tensed and straining muscles with vice-like grips. With so many strong, male hands holding her, Ria felt herself slowly losing all mobility, save for the few feeble twitches her toes and fingers were afforded. Like a brutal wave of paralysis working its way up her body, Ria felt each new set of strong hands settling in to effectively eliminate every possibility of her escape.
Being so helpless was a great fear for Ria, but this surpassed even her greatest fear, for she knew the Hotu were a sadistic bunch by nature, and they would have no reservations about treating themselves to her supple, vulnerable body. After all, she was just a Coraxian, and, given their drunken condition, she could not predict what fate awaited her.
Panic began to set in as Ria realized her frantic struggling was yielding not so much as an inch worth of movement. Her only hope was to dissuade these young savages from brutalizing her, by showing her disgust and contempt for them. Perhaps then, they would release her, realizing their sadistic intimidation would be wasted. She would not be afraid. She grunted willfully and defiantly, spewing insults at her captors.
"Release me, you pigs!" She spat through clenched teeth that drew ripples of jaw muscle on either side of her mouth.
Her increased efforts to free herself from their clutches, however, resulted in no more than flailing hair and muscle fatigue. The soldiers were acting almost in unison, and as they reveled in the challenge of subduing this small, but feisty feminine creature, they began sectioning her body into at least a dozen zones, each of which would be secured and restrained by a young, hormone-driven, Hotu soldier. "This one will be a while in the breaking - but well worth it." said an overzealous tormentor, kneeling at Ria's head to vice it between his massive thighs.
He placed his hands down the cleavage of Ria's blouse and began massaging her breasts and nipples, laughing out loud at the fact that they were engorged and stiff. With that, hands began moving everywhere over Ria's body, massaging and groping all available bare flesh. Her blouse was pulled from beneath her skirt-band and pitched up like a tent, allowing access for so many more hands to ravage the sensitive skin underneath. The hands began to squeeze her trembling breasts and torso. Ria struggled mightily to conceal her increasing sensitivity to their awful touching and probing. Her stomach heaved and fell, hard and rapidly, thrusting small, chirping squeals past her lips. As unseen, grabbing fingers nestled gently into the flesh just above her hips, Ria burst forth in short thrusts, attempting to shift her waist out from under the probing touches - which were now working their way to her flat, hard belly and ribs. Ria's panic escalated to raging struggles - desperately trying to lower her arms as yet more hands slid up the sweat-glistened skin of her tightened mid-drift.
Invasive fingers worked up her quivering thighs, riding the hem of her skirt past her knees, advancing threateningly close to her womanhood. Ria's thrashing renewed as she felt them kneading the slippery, strong muscles that join her hips to her upper thighs. The two captors, posted at each foot, stared over their shoulders with wide, menacing grins at the struggling, molested young woman; and, left with no other visible area of attack for themselves, began caressing and stroking the insteps and outsides of Ria's wildly pivoting, sandaled feet with their free hand. Her toes curled and stiffened as her feet drew erratic circles in the air coupled with vicious attempts to escape the over-sensitizing touches. She felt her willpower slipping farther away with every added probe - each one, in some uncanny way, testing and examining her degree of sensitivity. Suddenly, above the din of the young men's ruckus laughter and riotous behavior, Ria screamed in a panicked explosion - the length and pitch of which, surely exhausted her lungs of available air in one, desperate bellow.
"SSSTOOOOPPPP! I'M TICKLISH! I'M TICKLISH!" The final word hitting a cackling crescendo of unbridled angst.
All at once, the minstrels abandoned their ribald limericks and the young men's conquering shouts came to a crashing quiet. All at once, as if motion were somehow frozen, the young men knelt still in their respective places - their clenched, meaty fingers still wrapped tightly around Ria's every movable joint.
Ria lay panting and twitching for freedom, her sinewy muscles contracting into tight bands beneath her warm, tacky skin. Her eyes raced about the many sweaty, boyish faces glaring down at her wrestled and captured body. Ria counted no less than a dozen young soldiers, all purposefully employed in her restraint. Like a cornered animal, aware of it's imminent slaughter seeks the one thread of Ria in the eyes of the hunter, Ria looked vulnerably again at a select few of the young men closest to her. She watched the sweat-soaked brows of their lust-filled faces yield tiny droplets of moisture that trickled down, dropping from their noses like ripe fruit from a tree.
"I'm so ticklish!" She gasped, still recovering from the lost battle of her composure. "Anything, but that."
Ria knew from the first sign - a smirk, starting at the corner of his mouth, and curling into an evil grin - that the man holding her waist, his fingers still gently poised like eagle's talons that gripped around her slender ribcage, would be none satisfied until he exploited that statement for his sadistic amusement. Like an infectious, invisible cloud of cruelty, the man's evil sneer had spread, one by one, to every man holding her down. Their faces, glazed over in a reddish tint - part lust and part sadistic curiosity - lit up from the knowledge that Ria had so regretfully allowed to escape her terrified mind. They had discovered a very real weakness. It was at that point that Ria realized the extent to which she had erred - revealing the very device by which she could be driven insane.As if working at the commands of an unheard voice, the man holding her sides began to gently wiggle his fingers, exerting only enough pressure to feel her skin slip back and forth across each protruding rib. As more fingers from both of his hands were employed in the menacing massage, Ria felt her mind awash with sheer panic and desperation. Her struggling increased ten-fold and her head began thrashing back and forth within the confines allowed by her captors thighs - her eyes desperate to find one friendly face that might help her to stay such an unbearable and undeserved torment.
Ria began screaming in a high-pitched tone that erupted into full-throat laughter - an obvious cue that the efforts of her tormentors were paying off. The musicians, at the command of another Hotu soldier, renewed their instrumentation. They played at a feverish pace - inducing spectator soldiers to dance around the cackling woman - seemingly drawing energy from the growing spectacle before them. As the man continued the gentle rib tickling, more hands slid up her blouse in search of her armpits now slick with the sweat of her torture-inspired exertion. Fingers began gliding effortlessly in the hollows of her armpits, skidding along the surface of her stubble skin, then digging deeper to massage the taught flesh outside the tender concaves - sending her headlong into blind laughter and raging, violent pleas for mercy.
"OH OH HAAA HA HA HA HA HAAAAA!!! NO NOOO NOO NO! AAAAIIIIEEEE! PLEASE PLEASE! ANYTHING! ANYTHING! AAAIIIEEE HA HA HA HA HA HA HA =
HA HA HAAAAAH!!"
My mind raced with both fury and excitement, and these conflicting emotions were beginning to have an effect on me. It was obvious she couldn't stand to be tickled - and yet, so many of them preyed on this one poor creature. I had to act. I leapt from my seat, grabbing a wine bottle upside down by the neck with the intention of shattering it on the first Hotu head nearest me, when I was abruptly stopped by the Inn-keeper - his massive hands planting firmly on my shoulders and pushing me face-first, away from sight. I swung around quickly, to find the large, beefy man confronting me. HA HA HAAAAAH!!"
"Are you mad, boy?" He said as he looked at me with genuine concern and anger, then looked all around him as he continued to back me away from the helpless woman.
"They're drunk and liable to kill you if you pull something like that."
I knew from his face and obvious pandemonium that he well could be right. But what was I to do? I couldn't just stand there and watch her tortured in such an evil and maddening way - and I couldn't just leave. The large man backed me into a corner. I didn't fight to move around him; I just listened as he spoke."They're drunk and liable to kill you if you pull something like that."
"Listen here lad." He said in a low, brusque voice.
"These Hotu are not a bunch you want to take on by yourself. They're not going to hurt her; they're just having a little fun. My daughter, Ria, is tougher than you think."
"These Hotu are not a bunch you want to take on by yourself. They're not going to hurt her; they're just having a little fun. My daughter, Ria, is tougher than you think."
The reality of what he had said, just hit me.
"Your daughter!!??" I cried - still frantically dancing in place in growing anxiety of what they were doing to her.
"How could you?" "They're torturing her!" "She can't stand it!"
By this time, Ria's screams were gripping me. I cursed myself for having such a weak constitution, as I became increasingly aware of my own growing manhood. Her helpless laughter brought out some hidden, dark sexual desire. I had not grasped with any real clarity in the past, my susceptibility for this type of...cruelty. I attributed this newly discovered weakness to the evils of Zoden. Who else could manage to breach the boundaries of decency to afflict one's mind with such things. My attentions left the Innkeeper and focused more on poor, tortured Ria."How could you?" "They're torturing her!" "She can't stand it!"
The two men gripping her ankles had resumed their examination of her trapped feet with a gentle and meticulous stroking of her arches and toe-tips. Oh, but now it was much worse, for they were deliberately seeking to tickle her. Her violent struggling regained with such fierceness, that the two men found themselves being rocked forward and back as Ria tugged and pulled to get her feet from the locking grip of their manly arms. Recognizing their effect on the poor woman, the men both stuck their fingers between the soles of her sandals and the underside of her toes, then, wiggled them fiendishly - glancing over their shoulders every so often to take in her pitiful laughing expressions, and increasing the tickling of her most sensitive areas to see if her hysterical pitch changed in strength or intensity. Their foot tickling continued despite her yelps of anguished laughter, as she fanned and clenched her toes spasmodically in futile attempts to escape. Her torment was augmented by the betraying feeling of having on shoes that yielded so much of her most ticklish areas to her heartless torturers. The titillating tickling sensations continued unabated, serving to catapult poor Ria into a mixed state of uncontrolled desperation and helpless laughter.
Her eyesight became speckled with white-hot colors of sensory explosions. She became ever more aware of her unyielding bondage as each frenzied attempt at freedom was met with the riveting, inflexible grip of these masculine marauders.
"I'LL I-I- AAAIIIIEEEE HA HA HA HA HAI-I-I-I'LL DO DOHHOO DOOHOOO DO DO ANYTHING! ANYTHING! AHA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HAH HA HA=
HA HA NO! NO! NO! AAAHHAHAHAHAHAH HA HA HAAAH! STOP IT STOP IT! STOP IT! AAAAAIIIIEEEE H HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!"
I looked on; gawking like some depraved voyeur - half wanting it to continue and half wanting it to end. My fascination was compelling me; arresting my humanity and absorbing it with longings unlike anything I had ever experienced. For the first time in my young life, I had come face to face with my own dark, sexual tendencies. Watching those soft, pretty feet struggle for freedom while being inundated with strategic, unrelenting tickling fingers made me feel almost too rigid for my trousers. My stomach fell hard at the sound of each violent screech; my mouth went dry imagining her suffering - her inability to move while her most vulnerable and ticklish areas were gently manipulated and stroked without the slightest shred of mercy or pity; and chills ran through my loins as I heard the maddened woman plead earnestly for the tickling to stop. I was ashamed. HA HA NO! NO! NO! AAAHHAHAHAHAHAH HA HA HAAAH! STOP IT STOP IT! STOP IT! AAAAAIIIIEEEE H HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!!"
Ria found herself spiraling into a hellish seizure of hysteria. As the group-tickling turned into an all out feeding frenzy, several of the men began using their mouths to lightly bite her belly and upper thighs. Ria's screams turned to blood-curdling cries, followed by the most fitful laughter any of them had ever heard. Fingers began sliding in and massaging the gentle folds of her pussy, pausing to flicker willfully, her swollen and engorged clitoris. Her thighs strained and yawned to close, but were unable to protect her now- exposed womanhood from the continued manipulations of their swirling fingers. Her nipples were taken into the mouths of two soldiers like milky teats and suckled roughly. Soon, tongues found their way to the inner, sensitive ridges of her ears, lapping the contours of her succulent lobes.
Ria clenched and trembled violently - her mind unable to discern between the torturous tickling and the growing sexual excitement. She gasped and her eyes clenched tightly closed one minute and sprang open in abject lust, the next. As the tickling and teasing continued, Ria felt her overwhelming sexuality give way to a torrential orgasm - the violence of which would wind her every muscle to the peak of its resistance. Her head shot back, mouth open in the simulated throes of coitus, and in a final spasm of release, Ria screamed out piercingly before slumping, sweaty and exhausted, into the darkness of unconsciousness.
The End
