This story contains: Non-con tickle torture, entirely focused on the feet, bondage, fantasy races (tiefling 'lee, half-elf 'ler)
Foreword: This is one of my earlier stories, and despite it being generally well-liked on DA, I don't consider it my best work. With that being said, I do hope it is enjoyed here!
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Mislia danced and pranced on the cobble streets, strumming her lute. Onlookers watched, impressed by the tall tiefling’s dexterity. Her booted feet seemingly rarely touched the ground, occasionally kicking the odd stone. As her song became more rhythmic, some people clapped along to the beat, and they would cease their clapping when she reached a new chord.
Mislia jumped in place, her solid yellow eyes scanning the growing crowd.
She loved to dance. She loved the smile it brought to people of all age’s faces, and indeed all ages beamed at her performance. Children, adults, and even elders of all races looked at her, whooping and clapping. Their sounds mixed with her own, creating an entirely new melody.
Mislia came back to the stones, strumming all the strings and dramatically bowing. The crowd became raucous, applauding, cheering, and even tossing coins of varying quality to Lilia, who caught one with a thespian gravitas as she rose from her bow. She grinned at the crowd, appreciative of their gifts.
Soon, they dispersed, elders returning to their homes. Children running through the streets, and women grouping off to chat, undoubtedly about Mislia’s remarkable performance. Mislia eyed one in particular, pretending to observe the coins thrown her way in her hand. The woman walked with an almost haughty air, back straight and hand on her wiat. She held a parasol overhead. She was adorned in forest green, from the ends of her long, slightly billowing skirt to the tip of her parasol.
Mislia broke out another grin. She had her target.
Mislia, dressed in raven clothing that hugged her lithe form, quietly clambered up the almost-smooth wall of the semi-rural manor. She was thankful that the surface of the wall was full of indents that she could grasp. Cautiously, she leaped to a second floor balcony’s ledge and hefted herself over the ornate railing of dark, lacquered wood.
Standing up, she picked the lock of the balcony door, opening the double door with great care.
Mislia loved stealing.
No, she wasn’t a kleptomaniac. No, she wasn’t heartless. Not anymore, at least. Indeed, she loved the thrill that came with stealing. That exhilarating rush that came with dodging the gaze of guards, the satisfaction of weaving around traps, and the delight of seeing missing posters for the wares she had stolen.
In all her time of being a thief, Mislia had never been caught, not once. There were close calls, of course, but never had she been caught in the act or after the deed had been done.
And she didn’t intend to.
The manor was large, though it wasn’t the biggest that she had snuck into. Mislia preferred large manors. They usually had plenty of nooks and crannies to duck into should a guard or two (or three) walk the halls.
Mislia listened, focusing on any sounds in the silent manor. Once she was sure there was none to be heard, she snuck into the hall, closing the door behind her. The ornate carpet, colored a surprisingly attractive neutral beige, sunk beneath her boots. She would tip-toe every now and then, sneaking to what she presumed to be the manor’s bak end. There, like all manors of this style, she would likely find the lady’s jewelry stowed away in a storage room. It was as if this style of architecture was composed around the whims of thieves like her.
Rounding the hall, she found a door in the middle of the new hallway. Carefully picking the lock with ease, Mislia cracked the door and peaked in. Just as she suspected, the room contained several chest of drawers both large and small, as well as some dresses of varying colors and patterns hung on mannequins. This, as well as the vanity opposite of the door, was evidently the dressing room.
Mislia popped a compartment on her boot and pulled out a couple of heavy ball bearings and rolled them across the floor of the dressing room, bouncing a few as well. Only one of the floorboards creaked. Mislia smirked. That was one of her favorite strategies that she had picked up over the years.
Mislia tip-toed in, her steps soft on the boards preceding the rather bland rug in the middle of the room. She closed the door behind her, barely making a click. Something occurred to her then;
Where were the guards?
She had been caught up in the thrill of the theft. Now she was concerned. Questions came to her as she wandered to the middle of the room, looking around. Had she walked in on some sort of elaborate murder scene? Had everyone abandoned the maor, with no signs of a struggle or haste? Or-
A hand clasped around her mouth and nose, holding a silky embroidered kerchief doused in a liquid that stenched of sweet perfumes.
Oh, The room grew darker, and Mislia slumped into a lacey, warm cushion. It was a trap…
Mislia stirred awake, fluttering her yellow eyes open and wincing at the candle flame. It burned like the sun in the dark, cavernous room. She attempted to raise a hand to her forehead, only to be met with resistance.
Mislia started, her gasp muffled by what felt like several clean rags stuffed into her mouth and secured with a silken scarf that tied at the back of her head, just under her ponytail. She squirmed as her senses returned, soon realizing the full extent of her predicament. She was tied to havey, cushioned chair, arms behind her back in a snug tie over the back of the chair, and she was further secured with ropes under her chest and waist. These ropes tied around her torso and arms, practically fusing her to the chair. Bizarrely, she thought, her legs had been propped up so that the length of her calves were on the table. Her ankles, the middle of her calves, and the spots under and over her knees had been tied together in the same soft, pale ropes. Even her tail had been bound, tied down to what felt like a bar connecting the two back chair legs, immobilizing the usually prehensile appendage.
Though her pride was shattered–and that alone brought tears to her eyes–more urgent things were at hand. She struggled in her bonds, but they didn’t budge. She considered casting a flame to burn the ropes, and even if she could she realized that something was preventing her from casting the cantrip
She tried shaking the table and chair, hoping that she could at least shimmy her legs out of their bonds. But no, the ties were too firm.
“Well, someone’s awake”. A feminine voice remarked opposite of her, in the darkness beyond her dungeon of wood and thread. Mislia’s heart dropped to her stomach, and she ceased her struggling.
A gorgeous young woman, seemingly a half-elf, sauntered up to Mislia. She was dressed in a comfortable, near-translucent ivory shirt with puffy sleeves. As she approached, the candlelight revealed some kind of warped top that covered the woman’s modest chest. Her auburn hair–secured in a loose high ponytail–complemented her brown eyes as they both caught candlelight. The ruffle of her pale beige skirt, more like the bottom half of a nightgown than a skirt– lightly ruffled with her every sauntering step. She was far different from the haughty-looking woman she had seen in town earlier that day.
“Oh please, continue. No need to stop just because you can see me now”.
Naturally, Mislai stayed still, sweating musket rounds under the hard gaze of the beautiful woman before her. Had her bonds allowed her, she would’ve shrunk away from her chocolate gaze.
“Oh relax, dear, you won’t be harmed or reported to the authorities. That, simply, is not how I operate”.
Despite her situation, Mislia did relax. Just a little.
“Do you have any idea why I have you here, in my own personal dungeon, instead of the town jail?”
Mislai shook her head, perhaps a little too fast and tensely.
The lady smirked , thin and plush pink-ish lips shaping into a crooked line.
“Simply put, dear lady, you are pretty”. Mislia grew perplexed.
“You’re tall, very lithe, and your horns twist like expensive ribbons in the wind. And those eyes… those citrine eyes, dear. They pull me. They pull me oh so greatly, dear thief:”.
Now Mislai was both perplexed and growing flustered. What was this woman on about? What did she want? Was she going to be kept here, forever? That last thought disturbed Mislai greatly, and she grew nervous again.
“Oh I know that look on your face, dear. Fear, desperation, confusion? I’ve seen them all. You’re not the first one, dear thief. No, I will not keep you here, that would raise suspicion. And again, I will emphasize, I will not harm you. I would never do that unless I myself was harmed or in danger of being harmed. I will, however, have some fun with you”.
The lady sauntered around the table, and Mislia followed her movements by turning her head to the best of ability. The lady, no longer haughty, still walked with her back straight, now with an air of confidence about her. She came to the back of the chair, and Mislia craned her neck to see her. The lady started to untie the silky scarf that held the rags within Mislia’s mouth.
“Now, before I take this off, I want to make a few things clear, my dear thief; No one can hear you down here, not even guards, for I employ none. If you scream, I will give a far worse gag. Secondly, my name is Nera Redom, and I expect you to tell me your name as well, dear thief”. Her voice was stern, but somehow soft like petals. The gag fell away, and Mislia promptly spat the rags out as Nera rounded to the table–directly opposite Mislia–and placed her hands on the table, leaning forward.
“M-my name is… Audrene. I don’t have a last name”. Mislia said, only half lying.
Nera’s neutral expression twisted into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, dear thief, I know that’s not true. I can see through lies like that”.
Mislia squirmed as best she could under Nera’s alluring stare. “Mislia. My name is M-Mislia”.
“Good girl. I think We should let the fun begin, no?”
A part of Mislia actually wanted Nera to start her mysterious “fun”. Nera’s actions so far had been borderline torture, and Mislia felt as if her very mind was being poked and jabbed by the intimidating lady.
Nera pulled a chair, seemingly from the ether, and sat down before Mislia. Nera’s eyes looked into Mislia’s own the entire time.
Once Mislia got comfortable in the cushioned chair–resembling the one Mislia was bound in–she reached forward and, much to Mislia’s utter bewilderment, started to unlace her right boot.
“What are y-”
“Shush, Mislia, else you wish the gag to return”. Mislia clammed up at that.
Mislia’s boots were specially designed by her. She had drawn up the plans for them herself one morning after stealing several expensive brooches and earrings. They only had three lacings at the very top, and they were smooth otherwise. They were designed in such a way that she could effortlessly remove them to slip into a disguise, and each boot hid compartments for ball bearings, coins, and daggers. Nera paused after unlacing the right boot, tracing her left pointer finger around the intricately hidden compartments, seemingly appraising the quality of the black leather boots. She switched to the remaining boot, unlacing the strings that held it in place with calculated precision.
With both of Mislia’s calf-length boots unlaced and loose, Nera pulled on each of them by the midpoint of her calf, slowly but surely removing them. Once they were gingerly removed, Mislia’s large, bare feet were left open to the air, cold compared to the stuffy, velvet-lined boots.
Nera, stealing a glance as if to make sure Mislia was watching, brought the tiefling’s right boot to her face, her face hugged by the unlaced top, and inhaled.
If Mislia wasn’t so scared of this woman, she might’ve yelled at her or scorned her. Instead, she looked on in mildly disgusted shock and awe. She knew more than anyone what her boots smelled like after a long day of dancing and thievery, and she was none too fond of it. She spent much of the nights she wasn’t stealing or entertaining by treating her feet with a variety of perfumed lotions in an attempt to mask her natural smell, but her attempts repeatedly proved fruitless.
“Mmm…” Nera sighed contently after inhaling the scent of the left boot. “It’s not often I find someone with such a… herbal scent. I quite like it, the smell of lavender”.
Nera was proving to be a conundrum in the flesh to Mislia.
“Have you figured it out yet, Mislia? What I plan to do with you on this night, with you completely powerless to stop what I will do?”
Mislia shook her head. She wanted to say something, anything, witty, but with her mind racing a thousand steps a second she couldn’t think of any retort.
Nera tsked. “Perhaps this will help you discern my motivations, dear thief”.
Nera placed the boots down, and before Mislia could comprehend Nera’s movements the lady brought both hands to Mislia’s large soles and rapidly spidered in their arches, a maelstrom of sensations shooting up Mislia’s legs and to her head.
“EEEEEEEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHNONONONONONONOOOOOOOHOHOHOHO” In her typicalyl light, classically feminine voice, Mislia roared into pleading mirth. The usually lone thief wasn’t privy to being touched, especially on her feet. She was aware that her feet were sensitive, of course, but nowhere near this much!
Nera tickled all up and down the slightly damp soles, slick from a day of dancing and a nighting of sneaking. Being intimidated by Nera for a good five minutes probably helped as well. Mislia’s soles were very light purple, almost white, and as she kept ticking in certain spots for a long enough time a shade of pink formed. Nera only tickled the large feet for about a minute, finishing off by wiggling each of the proportional toes, each one smaller in size starting from the big toes, sending the tiefling into a cascade of squeals and giggles.
Nera pulled back and propped her hand on her arm, looking almost fondly at her ticklish prisoner. The resilient Mislia soon caught her breath, and she glared at her smug captor.
“Tickling? You’re going to tickle me?” Mislia was trying to be stern, but she wavered under the gaze of Nera. Why did this woman intimidate her so?
“Astute observation, my dear ticklish tiefling. There’s a reason I rarely employ guards, y’know”. Nera folded her arms on the table. “A lack of guards makes for an attractive target for thieves such as yourself, and you’re far from the first thief to find themself down here”. Nera smirked.
“Indeed, many have come here, and they have fallen into my grasp. I let many go, of course, but occasionally someone like you comes along”
“What do you mean?”
“Hm… I’m not so sure, really. Some people just have something that just makes me want to have them for a night in my dungeon. There have been quite a few before you, all of them different. Elves, orcs, and on one occasion a trio of goblins”. Nera smiled fondly.
“But I believe I’ve stalled enough, my Mislia. The night is young, and I have much planned for you and these large, fragrant feet of yours”.
A blush formed on the cheeks of the violet tiefling.
“But first…”
Nera leaned forward, pressing her face in the middle of Mislia’s feet, and inhaled their scent.
“Now, let’s begin”.
Mislia’s blush spread across her cheeks.
Nera reached down, and came back up with a feather in each hand. She brought each to Mislia’s feet, bringing one to the left heel and the other to the right toes, and started to flit the feathers around, going up and down each foot.
The feathers weren’t nearly as bad as Nera's rounded nails, but they tickled nonetheless. And the way each feather was incongruent to the other’s position was maddening to the precise thief.
Nera kept up the routine for about ten minutes, and she decided to switch it up. She started circling the very tip of a feather on areas she thought might be especially sensitive, such as the balls of the feet or the middle of the heels. Nera was pleasantly surprised by Mislia’s sensitive heels. Typically, even among the most soft-footed of people, the heels weren’t particularly sensitive due to use or a callus. Nera employed all sorts of techniques with the two slender feathers–sawing between the toes, rapidly flicking them in the arches, and gently brushing them all along the tops of the scrunched toes, causing them to fan out, and running them back when they promptly closed again. When Nera circled the tip of the feather just under the toes, right where he stem met the ball, Mislia would let out a long, mirthful squeal;
“eeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAHAHaahahhahha!”
Nera felt herself pulled to Mislia, leaning closer to catch the gleam of her topaz eyes, watching how they glittered when she reached a particularly ticklish spot like the spot where her toes and ball met. Nera particularly liked the reaction caused by that spot being stimulated, and she would bring both feathers to one foot to attack. This made Mislia’s squeals graduate to giggles.
“eeeeheheheheHAHAHA- nohohohohohohohoyohhohohohhoo- AAHAHA!”
Much to Mislia’s relief, Nera put the feathers down, placing them far away from her sensitive soles. Mislia’s head went back, and she took a few deep breaths. Meanwhile, Nera reached under the table again.
“Plehehease”, Mislia pleaded, letting out a few residual giggles, “Dohohon’t do this. Let me go, and I won’t tell anyone about what you do here”.
“Awwww, but where’s the fun in that? You go free, go to the next town, continue stealing, and I never see you again? It would simply break my heart, dear, never seeing your beautiful self or your pretty feet again”.
Mislia felt any chance of her escaping fall away. She was well and truly stuck here, at the whims of this woman transfixed on her feet and tickling them. No matter how much she squirmed, she could not escape the ropes that firmly caressed her body, and no matter how much she pleaded she wouldn’t be able to convince her captor of releasing her. And why should she? Mislia had snuck into her home, with the intention to steal her fortunes. Dread blossomed within Mislia as all the follies she had performed throughout the day and night, from waking up, scouting out a target–dancing for hours in the street to do so–and clambering up the high walls of the beast whose belly she now resided in flashed before her yellow eyes.
Mislia’s shroud of regret was pulled as she felt the next implement of harsh yet unharmful torture was brought to her feet; Nera’s nails, returning for more. The nails were far more vivifying than the feathers, sending Mislia into a flurry of true laughter.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHANOHOHOHHOHONONNONOHOHOHOTHEREHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPLEHEHEHEHEASEEEEEHEHEHE!”
Nera was immensely satisfied now. Just as she had suspected, the feathers had further sensitized the already delicate soles to a greater degree. The feathers also had the added benefit of allowing Nera to suss out particularly ticklish areas of Mislia’s feet.
Giving the thief just a few seconds to rest, Nera started employing a more tactical approach with her nails. She lightly scratched at Mislia’s heels, using just the tips.
“EHEHEHEHEHEHEHAAHAHAHAHAHANOHAHAHAHA!”
The madness of Nera’s nails did have a method. Nera would hang around a spot for a while, just until she thought Mislia was getting used to it. Then, she would skitter all over the feet, up and down with little regularity, only to focus in on a new spot, such as the outer arches or the spot where the heel met the arches.
Wherever Nera tickled, Mislia would be sent into a bout of forced laughter. Some spots, such as the toes or inner arches, were more sensitive than the others, but the entirety of Mislia’s feet were hyper ticklish. Nera was proud of her judgment with this one. She had developed a skill of detecting ticklish men and women, one that she couldn’t explain.
Nera pulled her nails back, having used them for nearly twenty minutes on poor Mislia’s soles. She leaned back, arms resting on the back of her chair, tilting her head as she looked at the almost-breathless tiefling, head bowed as she caught her breath. Nera found Mislia rather endearing; her begging, her continued struggling–despite how utterly trapped she was in that heavy wooden chair– and even the way her feet twitched or wiggled when Nera offered them some respite.
“I-I-I beg you, please”, Mislia pleaded between gasps, “I-I can’t take this. Let me go, and no one will ever hear about this. I-I’ll skip town”, Mislia swallowed, her mouth somehow not yet dry “I swear, nobody will ever hear of what you do with thieves like me. I can even send thieves your way, so you can have fun with them”. Mislia grinned as she finished that sentence, thinking she finally had a good bargaining chip.
The offer did sound tempting. Thieves being sent her way, just for Nera to hold them and tickle them exactly like this for hours at a time? Nera’s head tilted the other way, pondering it over, her lips twisting in thought.
And yet, that would mean never seeing Mislia again. Plus, who was to say that Mislia would even hold up her end of the deal? And, logically, thieves would probably stop trusting Nera if one too many didn’t return with any stolen prizes.
“Hmm… I don’t think so”.
Mislia’s face fell.
“You’re mine, Mislia”. Nera broke into a sinister grin. “For one night, you’re all mine, and I’m going to make the most of it”.
Quickly, Nera reached under the table again, and this time came back up with an ornate but sturdy-looking hairbrush, its many prongs tipped with smooth orbs of what looked like porcelain. It was oval-shaped, with a handle that Nera held. Promptly, she brought the implement to Mislia’s awaiting soles.
“NOOOOOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” Mislia shrieked, newfound sensations shocking her like electricity. The brush was unlike anything she had felt before. Its smooth ends rubbed against her soles, gliding over what few wrinkles she formed as she desperately scrunched her toes to relieve the relentless tickling.
The brush was one of Nera’s favorite tools. She had found it particularly handy in the time since she started holding thieves and tickling them. She had dismissed it at first, considering the brush too harsh an implement, but she had come to realize its effectiveness. The brush was especially useful on feet with slightly low arches, much like Mislia’s.
Nera scrubbed and scrubbed for a good fifteen minutes before finally pulling back, allowing Mislia to rest for several minutes. By now, Mislia was shedding mirthful tears and her slightly curly raven hair had come loose from its tail, falling over her shoulders and the back of the chair.
Mislia’s poor, frazzled mind was racked with tired, panicked thoughts. So much of her would actually prefer to be spending a night in a jail cell rather than this. At least in a cold, damp cell she wouldn’t be under an onslaught of tickling by a crazed noblewoman.
“Oh, my dear thief,” Nera said, in an almost sultry fashion, “You look so, so tired. All of that tickling, all along these gorgeous feet of yours”. Nera wiggled a few toes as she said that.
“And all of this, because you felt so inclined to sneak into my manor and steal from me. Tsk-tsk”. She leaned forward, elbows propped on the table and her hands folded under her chin. “You have nobody to blame but yourself, my dear thief. All of this terrible tickling… you have nobody but yourself to blame”.
Mislia looked at her captor pitifully, citrine eyes wide and glistening with tears of larking and regret.
“I’ll offer you a respite, my dear, but only a brief one”. Mislia couldn’t help but smiled in relief, not even considering what her break from the tickling might entail.
Nera scooted her heavy chair back a few inches, and leaned forward. Despite her slightly tickle-hazed mind, Mislia grew confused. What was this strange woman doing now?
She was now eye-level with Mislia’s soles, not too different from the position she took nearly an hour ago to sniff Mislia’s soles.
With little warning, Nera suddenly licked from the heel of Mislia’s left foot all the way to her toes. Mislia snorted, shocked and stimulated, and let out a few giggles. Of all the things that had happened to her this night and all her life, this was by far the most unexpected. Mislia desperately tried to hold in her laughter, but soon the dam broke.
“EEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEGROHOHOHOS!”
Although her brain was mostly focused on the tickling, Mislia couldn’t help but acknowledge just how strange this new method of tickling was. Mislia couldn’t fathom putting her face to her own or anybody else’s feet, let alone lick them!
Predictably, Nera continued licking up and them Mislia’s feet. Sometimes she would hover in a certain spot, practically lapping at the area. She seemed to favor the arches for this terrible technique, alternating between firm presses and caresses as she explored the length and width of them. If her tongue grew fatigued, she would start sucking either one or more of the toes or the heels. Deviously, Nera would hold Mislia’s two large toes in her mouth and encircle her tongue in and around them, sending Mislia into a cascade of squeals and giggles as she desperately tried to pull them from her tormentor’s warm, wet embrace.
After some twenty minutes of the “break”, Nera pulled back, and Mislia didn’t pause to catch her breath this time.
“You said.” Mislia declared, taking a breath “That you would give me a break!”
“I did, did I not?” Nera responded coyly.
“No, you tramp” Mislia hissed, yellow eyes narrowing in anger at her capturer. “You licked me for an hour! That’s not a brak, and it was disgusting!”
Near faked dismay and indignity at Mislia’s insult, letting her mouth hang slightly open as she brought a slender, manicured hand to it. “Oh, my dear thief, your words burn me so! Surely you realize I can’t allow such behavior to go uncorrected, no?”
Mislia, suddenly realizing her error, practically shrunk in her chair, eyes suddenly becoming pitiful as she shriveled under the feign affrontedness of Nera’s gaze.
“P-please, miss, I-I’m so sorry. I Was just frustrated, please-” Mislia found herself interrupted as Nera spidered her nails all along Mislia’s now-slicked soles, descending into another, stronger bout of laughter.
“I’m so sorry, my dear thief, but I just can’t allow an insult like that to go unpunished”. Nera lightly scratched the flesh between Mislia’s toes. “And to think, I was going to let you go, but now you’ve left me no choice”.
That, of course, was a lie. Nera had planned to keep Mislia for the night. The tiefling’s loose tongue had just given her an excuse.
And so, Nera would repeat the cycle all over again, mixing it up to keep Mislia from becoming used to things. And she tickled the poor thief long, long into the night.
The following morning…
Mislia stirred from her slumber as early morning sunshine leaked into her room, feeling slightly achy in several parts of body, mostly her ribs and back. She attempted to rise and rub the tenderness away, only to be met with velvety resistance.
Mislia loved waking from a long’s night rest wrapped in warm, plush sheets and blankets. But not like this.
With a start, Mislia attempted to sit up, but could barely rise from her lying position on what felt like a soft bed. The preceding night’s event rushed to her like a wave; the break-in, the capture, the tickling, and-
“Ah, you’re awake, my dear thief! How did you sleep?”
Her.
“You!” Mislia snarled, turning her head to the woman who had distressed her for hours on end. Said woman was clad in a gray-tinged bath robe that looked rather soft, and was carrying a tray of ceramic teapots and cups, and walking over to her soft prison.
“Happy to see me, my dear thief?” Nera responded coyly as she sat down, pouring two cups of steaming tea.
“No,” Mislia spat, anger boiling through any barrier of reason she had left. “You knocked me out, bound me, and tickled me for hours! Why would I ever be happy to see you?” Mislia blushed, embarrassed that she had been weakened by tickling, of all things.
Nera brought a ceramic cup to her thin lips, sipping at its steaming contents. She smugly smiled back at Mislia once she was finished, clearly proud of herself.
“Perhaps you should be happy that you aren’t being greeted by a prison guard, my dear”.
Mislia snarled. Seeing a prison guard for a next week or two was far more preferable than seeing this woman for just one morning.
“Now, do you really want to act that way to a potential employer?”
Mislia perked up at this.
“Yes, yes, I have an offer for you, although I suppose it could be called a treaty of sorts”. Nera looked at the blanket-wrapped captive expectantly.
“I’m listening…”
“You see, we both know things about each other. You know I’m a noblewoman obsessed with tickling, and I know you’re a performer with a penchant for stealing. If one of us were to tell the other’s secret, we would both be ruined, no?”
“Yeah?” Where was she going with this?
“So, I have a proposition; I hire you as something of a personal entertainer. You’ll be free to go as you please within my grounds or elsewhere, as long as you entertain me and whatever guests I might host. In exchange your little secret doesn’t get out, and I’ll pay you fifty gold pieces a month”.
Mislia’s eyes practically bulged out at that.
“I’m guessing we have an agreement?”
“I-I guess so”.
“Wonderful!” Nera said entuisatically. She gestured the cylindrical cup to Mislia. “Tea, my dear thief?”
“What if you poisoned it?” Mislia responded suspiciously. “Last I checked, half-elves couldn’t be poisoned”.
“A common misconception, my dear. If it helps, you can drink from my cup”.
Mislia nodded, her throat a little hoarse from the night’s ticklish escapade. Eagerly, she accepted the piping and refreshing tea.
“Now,” Nera said after Mislia had downed the entire cup “Before we make this agreement official…”
Mislia followed the redhead’s gaze to her bare feet, sticking out of the other end of the plush, white blanket. Mislia groaned.
“Fine”.
Foreword: This is one of my earlier stories, and despite it being generally well-liked on DA, I don't consider it my best work. With that being said, I do hope it is enjoyed here!
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Mislia danced and pranced on the cobble streets, strumming her lute. Onlookers watched, impressed by the tall tiefling’s dexterity. Her booted feet seemingly rarely touched the ground, occasionally kicking the odd stone. As her song became more rhythmic, some people clapped along to the beat, and they would cease their clapping when she reached a new chord.
Mislia jumped in place, her solid yellow eyes scanning the growing crowd.
She loved to dance. She loved the smile it brought to people of all age’s faces, and indeed all ages beamed at her performance. Children, adults, and even elders of all races looked at her, whooping and clapping. Their sounds mixed with her own, creating an entirely new melody.
Mislia came back to the stones, strumming all the strings and dramatically bowing. The crowd became raucous, applauding, cheering, and even tossing coins of varying quality to Lilia, who caught one with a thespian gravitas as she rose from her bow. She grinned at the crowd, appreciative of their gifts.
Soon, they dispersed, elders returning to their homes. Children running through the streets, and women grouping off to chat, undoubtedly about Mislia’s remarkable performance. Mislia eyed one in particular, pretending to observe the coins thrown her way in her hand. The woman walked with an almost haughty air, back straight and hand on her wiat. She held a parasol overhead. She was adorned in forest green, from the ends of her long, slightly billowing skirt to the tip of her parasol.
Mislia broke out another grin. She had her target.
Mislia, dressed in raven clothing that hugged her lithe form, quietly clambered up the almost-smooth wall of the semi-rural manor. She was thankful that the surface of the wall was full of indents that she could grasp. Cautiously, she leaped to a second floor balcony’s ledge and hefted herself over the ornate railing of dark, lacquered wood.
Standing up, she picked the lock of the balcony door, opening the double door with great care.
Mislia loved stealing.
No, she wasn’t a kleptomaniac. No, she wasn’t heartless. Not anymore, at least. Indeed, she loved the thrill that came with stealing. That exhilarating rush that came with dodging the gaze of guards, the satisfaction of weaving around traps, and the delight of seeing missing posters for the wares she had stolen.
In all her time of being a thief, Mislia had never been caught, not once. There were close calls, of course, but never had she been caught in the act or after the deed had been done.
And she didn’t intend to.
The manor was large, though it wasn’t the biggest that she had snuck into. Mislia preferred large manors. They usually had plenty of nooks and crannies to duck into should a guard or two (or three) walk the halls.
Mislia listened, focusing on any sounds in the silent manor. Once she was sure there was none to be heard, she snuck into the hall, closing the door behind her. The ornate carpet, colored a surprisingly attractive neutral beige, sunk beneath her boots. She would tip-toe every now and then, sneaking to what she presumed to be the manor’s bak end. There, like all manors of this style, she would likely find the lady’s jewelry stowed away in a storage room. It was as if this style of architecture was composed around the whims of thieves like her.
Rounding the hall, she found a door in the middle of the new hallway. Carefully picking the lock with ease, Mislia cracked the door and peaked in. Just as she suspected, the room contained several chest of drawers both large and small, as well as some dresses of varying colors and patterns hung on mannequins. This, as well as the vanity opposite of the door, was evidently the dressing room.
Mislia popped a compartment on her boot and pulled out a couple of heavy ball bearings and rolled them across the floor of the dressing room, bouncing a few as well. Only one of the floorboards creaked. Mislia smirked. That was one of her favorite strategies that she had picked up over the years.
Mislia tip-toed in, her steps soft on the boards preceding the rather bland rug in the middle of the room. She closed the door behind her, barely making a click. Something occurred to her then;
Where were the guards?
She had been caught up in the thrill of the theft. Now she was concerned. Questions came to her as she wandered to the middle of the room, looking around. Had she walked in on some sort of elaborate murder scene? Had everyone abandoned the maor, with no signs of a struggle or haste? Or-
A hand clasped around her mouth and nose, holding a silky embroidered kerchief doused in a liquid that stenched of sweet perfumes.
Oh, The room grew darker, and Mislia slumped into a lacey, warm cushion. It was a trap…
Mislia stirred awake, fluttering her yellow eyes open and wincing at the candle flame. It burned like the sun in the dark, cavernous room. She attempted to raise a hand to her forehead, only to be met with resistance.
Mislia started, her gasp muffled by what felt like several clean rags stuffed into her mouth and secured with a silken scarf that tied at the back of her head, just under her ponytail. She squirmed as her senses returned, soon realizing the full extent of her predicament. She was tied to havey, cushioned chair, arms behind her back in a snug tie over the back of the chair, and she was further secured with ropes under her chest and waist. These ropes tied around her torso and arms, practically fusing her to the chair. Bizarrely, she thought, her legs had been propped up so that the length of her calves were on the table. Her ankles, the middle of her calves, and the spots under and over her knees had been tied together in the same soft, pale ropes. Even her tail had been bound, tied down to what felt like a bar connecting the two back chair legs, immobilizing the usually prehensile appendage.
Though her pride was shattered–and that alone brought tears to her eyes–more urgent things were at hand. She struggled in her bonds, but they didn’t budge. She considered casting a flame to burn the ropes, and even if she could she realized that something was preventing her from casting the cantrip
She tried shaking the table and chair, hoping that she could at least shimmy her legs out of their bonds. But no, the ties were too firm.
“Well, someone’s awake”. A feminine voice remarked opposite of her, in the darkness beyond her dungeon of wood and thread. Mislia’s heart dropped to her stomach, and she ceased her struggling.
A gorgeous young woman, seemingly a half-elf, sauntered up to Mislia. She was dressed in a comfortable, near-translucent ivory shirt with puffy sleeves. As she approached, the candlelight revealed some kind of warped top that covered the woman’s modest chest. Her auburn hair–secured in a loose high ponytail–complemented her brown eyes as they both caught candlelight. The ruffle of her pale beige skirt, more like the bottom half of a nightgown than a skirt– lightly ruffled with her every sauntering step. She was far different from the haughty-looking woman she had seen in town earlier that day.
“Oh please, continue. No need to stop just because you can see me now”.
Naturally, Mislai stayed still, sweating musket rounds under the hard gaze of the beautiful woman before her. Had her bonds allowed her, she would’ve shrunk away from her chocolate gaze.
“Oh relax, dear, you won’t be harmed or reported to the authorities. That, simply, is not how I operate”.
Despite her situation, Mislia did relax. Just a little.
“Do you have any idea why I have you here, in my own personal dungeon, instead of the town jail?”
Mislai shook her head, perhaps a little too fast and tensely.
The lady smirked , thin and plush pink-ish lips shaping into a crooked line.
“Simply put, dear lady, you are pretty”. Mislia grew perplexed.
“You’re tall, very lithe, and your horns twist like expensive ribbons in the wind. And those eyes… those citrine eyes, dear. They pull me. They pull me oh so greatly, dear thief:”.
Now Mislai was both perplexed and growing flustered. What was this woman on about? What did she want? Was she going to be kept here, forever? That last thought disturbed Mislai greatly, and she grew nervous again.
“Oh I know that look on your face, dear. Fear, desperation, confusion? I’ve seen them all. You’re not the first one, dear thief. No, I will not keep you here, that would raise suspicion. And again, I will emphasize, I will not harm you. I would never do that unless I myself was harmed or in danger of being harmed. I will, however, have some fun with you”.
The lady sauntered around the table, and Mislia followed her movements by turning her head to the best of ability. The lady, no longer haughty, still walked with her back straight, now with an air of confidence about her. She came to the back of the chair, and Mislia craned her neck to see her. The lady started to untie the silky scarf that held the rags within Mislia’s mouth.
“Now, before I take this off, I want to make a few things clear, my dear thief; No one can hear you down here, not even guards, for I employ none. If you scream, I will give a far worse gag. Secondly, my name is Nera Redom, and I expect you to tell me your name as well, dear thief”. Her voice was stern, but somehow soft like petals. The gag fell away, and Mislia promptly spat the rags out as Nera rounded to the table–directly opposite Mislia–and placed her hands on the table, leaning forward.
“M-my name is… Audrene. I don’t have a last name”. Mislia said, only half lying.
Nera’s neutral expression twisted into a sly, knowing smile. “Oh, dear thief, I know that’s not true. I can see through lies like that”.
Mislia squirmed as best she could under Nera’s alluring stare. “Mislia. My name is M-Mislia”.
“Good girl. I think We should let the fun begin, no?”
A part of Mislia actually wanted Nera to start her mysterious “fun”. Nera’s actions so far had been borderline torture, and Mislia felt as if her very mind was being poked and jabbed by the intimidating lady.
Nera pulled a chair, seemingly from the ether, and sat down before Mislia. Nera’s eyes looked into Mislia’s own the entire time.
Once Mislia got comfortable in the cushioned chair–resembling the one Mislia was bound in–she reached forward and, much to Mislia’s utter bewilderment, started to unlace her right boot.
“What are y-”
“Shush, Mislia, else you wish the gag to return”. Mislia clammed up at that.
Mislia’s boots were specially designed by her. She had drawn up the plans for them herself one morning after stealing several expensive brooches and earrings. They only had three lacings at the very top, and they were smooth otherwise. They were designed in such a way that she could effortlessly remove them to slip into a disguise, and each boot hid compartments for ball bearings, coins, and daggers. Nera paused after unlacing the right boot, tracing her left pointer finger around the intricately hidden compartments, seemingly appraising the quality of the black leather boots. She switched to the remaining boot, unlacing the strings that held it in place with calculated precision.
With both of Mislia’s calf-length boots unlaced and loose, Nera pulled on each of them by the midpoint of her calf, slowly but surely removing them. Once they were gingerly removed, Mislia’s large, bare feet were left open to the air, cold compared to the stuffy, velvet-lined boots.
Nera, stealing a glance as if to make sure Mislia was watching, brought the tiefling’s right boot to her face, her face hugged by the unlaced top, and inhaled.
If Mislia wasn’t so scared of this woman, she might’ve yelled at her or scorned her. Instead, she looked on in mildly disgusted shock and awe. She knew more than anyone what her boots smelled like after a long day of dancing and thievery, and she was none too fond of it. She spent much of the nights she wasn’t stealing or entertaining by treating her feet with a variety of perfumed lotions in an attempt to mask her natural smell, but her attempts repeatedly proved fruitless.
“Mmm…” Nera sighed contently after inhaling the scent of the left boot. “It’s not often I find someone with such a… herbal scent. I quite like it, the smell of lavender”.
Nera was proving to be a conundrum in the flesh to Mislia.
“Have you figured it out yet, Mislia? What I plan to do with you on this night, with you completely powerless to stop what I will do?”
Mislia shook her head. She wanted to say something, anything, witty, but with her mind racing a thousand steps a second she couldn’t think of any retort.
Nera tsked. “Perhaps this will help you discern my motivations, dear thief”.
Nera placed the boots down, and before Mislia could comprehend Nera’s movements the lady brought both hands to Mislia’s large soles and rapidly spidered in their arches, a maelstrom of sensations shooting up Mislia’s legs and to her head.
“EEEEEEEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHNONONONONONONOOOOOOOHOHOHOHO” In her typicalyl light, classically feminine voice, Mislia roared into pleading mirth. The usually lone thief wasn’t privy to being touched, especially on her feet. She was aware that her feet were sensitive, of course, but nowhere near this much!
Nera tickled all up and down the slightly damp soles, slick from a day of dancing and a nighting of sneaking. Being intimidated by Nera for a good five minutes probably helped as well. Mislia’s soles were very light purple, almost white, and as she kept ticking in certain spots for a long enough time a shade of pink formed. Nera only tickled the large feet for about a minute, finishing off by wiggling each of the proportional toes, each one smaller in size starting from the big toes, sending the tiefling into a cascade of squeals and giggles.
Nera pulled back and propped her hand on her arm, looking almost fondly at her ticklish prisoner. The resilient Mislia soon caught her breath, and she glared at her smug captor.
“Tickling? You’re going to tickle me?” Mislia was trying to be stern, but she wavered under the gaze of Nera. Why did this woman intimidate her so?
“Astute observation, my dear ticklish tiefling. There’s a reason I rarely employ guards, y’know”. Nera folded her arms on the table. “A lack of guards makes for an attractive target for thieves such as yourself, and you’re far from the first thief to find themself down here”. Nera smirked.
“Indeed, many have come here, and they have fallen into my grasp. I let many go, of course, but occasionally someone like you comes along”
“What do you mean?”
“Hm… I’m not so sure, really. Some people just have something that just makes me want to have them for a night in my dungeon. There have been quite a few before you, all of them different. Elves, orcs, and on one occasion a trio of goblins”. Nera smiled fondly.
“But I believe I’ve stalled enough, my Mislia. The night is young, and I have much planned for you and these large, fragrant feet of yours”.
A blush formed on the cheeks of the violet tiefling.
“But first…”
Nera leaned forward, pressing her face in the middle of Mislia’s feet, and inhaled their scent.
“Now, let’s begin”.
Mislia’s blush spread across her cheeks.
Nera reached down, and came back up with a feather in each hand. She brought each to Mislia’s feet, bringing one to the left heel and the other to the right toes, and started to flit the feathers around, going up and down each foot.
The feathers weren’t nearly as bad as Nera's rounded nails, but they tickled nonetheless. And the way each feather was incongruent to the other’s position was maddening to the precise thief.
Nera kept up the routine for about ten minutes, and she decided to switch it up. She started circling the very tip of a feather on areas she thought might be especially sensitive, such as the balls of the feet or the middle of the heels. Nera was pleasantly surprised by Mislia’s sensitive heels. Typically, even among the most soft-footed of people, the heels weren’t particularly sensitive due to use or a callus. Nera employed all sorts of techniques with the two slender feathers–sawing between the toes, rapidly flicking them in the arches, and gently brushing them all along the tops of the scrunched toes, causing them to fan out, and running them back when they promptly closed again. When Nera circled the tip of the feather just under the toes, right where he stem met the ball, Mislia would let out a long, mirthful squeal;
“eeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEHAHAHaahahhahha!”
Nera felt herself pulled to Mislia, leaning closer to catch the gleam of her topaz eyes, watching how they glittered when she reached a particularly ticklish spot like the spot where her toes and ball met. Nera particularly liked the reaction caused by that spot being stimulated, and she would bring both feathers to one foot to attack. This made Mislia’s squeals graduate to giggles.
“eeeeheheheheHAHAHA- nohohohohohohohoyohhohohohhoo- AAHAHA!”
Much to Mislia’s relief, Nera put the feathers down, placing them far away from her sensitive soles. Mislia’s head went back, and she took a few deep breaths. Meanwhile, Nera reached under the table again.
“Plehehease”, Mislia pleaded, letting out a few residual giggles, “Dohohon’t do this. Let me go, and I won’t tell anyone about what you do here”.
“Awwww, but where’s the fun in that? You go free, go to the next town, continue stealing, and I never see you again? It would simply break my heart, dear, never seeing your beautiful self or your pretty feet again”.
Mislia felt any chance of her escaping fall away. She was well and truly stuck here, at the whims of this woman transfixed on her feet and tickling them. No matter how much she squirmed, she could not escape the ropes that firmly caressed her body, and no matter how much she pleaded she wouldn’t be able to convince her captor of releasing her. And why should she? Mislia had snuck into her home, with the intention to steal her fortunes. Dread blossomed within Mislia as all the follies she had performed throughout the day and night, from waking up, scouting out a target–dancing for hours in the street to do so–and clambering up the high walls of the beast whose belly she now resided in flashed before her yellow eyes.
Mislia’s shroud of regret was pulled as she felt the next implement of harsh yet unharmful torture was brought to her feet; Nera’s nails, returning for more. The nails were far more vivifying than the feathers, sending Mislia into a flurry of true laughter.
“HAHAHAHAHAHAHANOHOHOHHOHONONNONOHOHOHOTHEREHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAPLEHEHEHEHEASEEEEEHEHEHE!”
Nera was immensely satisfied now. Just as she had suspected, the feathers had further sensitized the already delicate soles to a greater degree. The feathers also had the added benefit of allowing Nera to suss out particularly ticklish areas of Mislia’s feet.
Giving the thief just a few seconds to rest, Nera started employing a more tactical approach with her nails. She lightly scratched at Mislia’s heels, using just the tips.
“EHEHEHEHEHEHEHAAHAHAHAHAHANOHAHAHAHA!”
The madness of Nera’s nails did have a method. Nera would hang around a spot for a while, just until she thought Mislia was getting used to it. Then, she would skitter all over the feet, up and down with little regularity, only to focus in on a new spot, such as the outer arches or the spot where the heel met the arches.
Wherever Nera tickled, Mislia would be sent into a bout of forced laughter. Some spots, such as the toes or inner arches, were more sensitive than the others, but the entirety of Mislia’s feet were hyper ticklish. Nera was proud of her judgment with this one. She had developed a skill of detecting ticklish men and women, one that she couldn’t explain.
Nera pulled her nails back, having used them for nearly twenty minutes on poor Mislia’s soles. She leaned back, arms resting on the back of her chair, tilting her head as she looked at the almost-breathless tiefling, head bowed as she caught her breath. Nera found Mislia rather endearing; her begging, her continued struggling–despite how utterly trapped she was in that heavy wooden chair– and even the way her feet twitched or wiggled when Nera offered them some respite.
“I-I-I beg you, please”, Mislia pleaded between gasps, “I-I can’t take this. Let me go, and no one will ever hear about this. I-I’ll skip town”, Mislia swallowed, her mouth somehow not yet dry “I swear, nobody will ever hear of what you do with thieves like me. I can even send thieves your way, so you can have fun with them”. Mislia grinned as she finished that sentence, thinking she finally had a good bargaining chip.
The offer did sound tempting. Thieves being sent her way, just for Nera to hold them and tickle them exactly like this for hours at a time? Nera’s head tilted the other way, pondering it over, her lips twisting in thought.
And yet, that would mean never seeing Mislia again. Plus, who was to say that Mislia would even hold up her end of the deal? And, logically, thieves would probably stop trusting Nera if one too many didn’t return with any stolen prizes.
“Hmm… I don’t think so”.
Mislia’s face fell.
“You’re mine, Mislia”. Nera broke into a sinister grin. “For one night, you’re all mine, and I’m going to make the most of it”.
Quickly, Nera reached under the table again, and this time came back up with an ornate but sturdy-looking hairbrush, its many prongs tipped with smooth orbs of what looked like porcelain. It was oval-shaped, with a handle that Nera held. Promptly, she brought the implement to Mislia’s awaiting soles.
“NOOOOOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA” Mislia shrieked, newfound sensations shocking her like electricity. The brush was unlike anything she had felt before. Its smooth ends rubbed against her soles, gliding over what few wrinkles she formed as she desperately scrunched her toes to relieve the relentless tickling.
The brush was one of Nera’s favorite tools. She had found it particularly handy in the time since she started holding thieves and tickling them. She had dismissed it at first, considering the brush too harsh an implement, but she had come to realize its effectiveness. The brush was especially useful on feet with slightly low arches, much like Mislia’s.
Nera scrubbed and scrubbed for a good fifteen minutes before finally pulling back, allowing Mislia to rest for several minutes. By now, Mislia was shedding mirthful tears and her slightly curly raven hair had come loose from its tail, falling over her shoulders and the back of the chair.
Mislia’s poor, frazzled mind was racked with tired, panicked thoughts. So much of her would actually prefer to be spending a night in a jail cell rather than this. At least in a cold, damp cell she wouldn’t be under an onslaught of tickling by a crazed noblewoman.
“Oh, my dear thief,” Nera said, in an almost sultry fashion, “You look so, so tired. All of that tickling, all along these gorgeous feet of yours”. Nera wiggled a few toes as she said that.
“And all of this, because you felt so inclined to sneak into my manor and steal from me. Tsk-tsk”. She leaned forward, elbows propped on the table and her hands folded under her chin. “You have nobody to blame but yourself, my dear thief. All of this terrible tickling… you have nobody but yourself to blame”.
Mislia looked at her captor pitifully, citrine eyes wide and glistening with tears of larking and regret.
“I’ll offer you a respite, my dear, but only a brief one”. Mislia couldn’t help but smiled in relief, not even considering what her break from the tickling might entail.
Nera scooted her heavy chair back a few inches, and leaned forward. Despite her slightly tickle-hazed mind, Mislia grew confused. What was this strange woman doing now?
She was now eye-level with Mislia’s soles, not too different from the position she took nearly an hour ago to sniff Mislia’s soles.
With little warning, Nera suddenly licked from the heel of Mislia’s left foot all the way to her toes. Mislia snorted, shocked and stimulated, and let out a few giggles. Of all the things that had happened to her this night and all her life, this was by far the most unexpected. Mislia desperately tried to hold in her laughter, but soon the dam broke.
“EEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEGROHOHOHOS!”
Although her brain was mostly focused on the tickling, Mislia couldn’t help but acknowledge just how strange this new method of tickling was. Mislia couldn’t fathom putting her face to her own or anybody else’s feet, let alone lick them!
Predictably, Nera continued licking up and them Mislia’s feet. Sometimes she would hover in a certain spot, practically lapping at the area. She seemed to favor the arches for this terrible technique, alternating between firm presses and caresses as she explored the length and width of them. If her tongue grew fatigued, she would start sucking either one or more of the toes or the heels. Deviously, Nera would hold Mislia’s two large toes in her mouth and encircle her tongue in and around them, sending Mislia into a cascade of squeals and giggles as she desperately tried to pull them from her tormentor’s warm, wet embrace.
After some twenty minutes of the “break”, Nera pulled back, and Mislia didn’t pause to catch her breath this time.
“You said.” Mislia declared, taking a breath “That you would give me a break!”
“I did, did I not?” Nera responded coyly.
“No, you tramp” Mislia hissed, yellow eyes narrowing in anger at her capturer. “You licked me for an hour! That’s not a brak, and it was disgusting!”
Near faked dismay and indignity at Mislia’s insult, letting her mouth hang slightly open as she brought a slender, manicured hand to it. “Oh, my dear thief, your words burn me so! Surely you realize I can’t allow such behavior to go uncorrected, no?”
Mislia, suddenly realizing her error, practically shrunk in her chair, eyes suddenly becoming pitiful as she shriveled under the feign affrontedness of Nera’s gaze.
“P-please, miss, I-I’m so sorry. I Was just frustrated, please-” Mislia found herself interrupted as Nera spidered her nails all along Mislia’s now-slicked soles, descending into another, stronger bout of laughter.
“I’m so sorry, my dear thief, but I just can’t allow an insult like that to go unpunished”. Nera lightly scratched the flesh between Mislia’s toes. “And to think, I was going to let you go, but now you’ve left me no choice”.
That, of course, was a lie. Nera had planned to keep Mislia for the night. The tiefling’s loose tongue had just given her an excuse.
And so, Nera would repeat the cycle all over again, mixing it up to keep Mislia from becoming used to things. And she tickled the poor thief long, long into the night.
The following morning…
Mislia stirred from her slumber as early morning sunshine leaked into her room, feeling slightly achy in several parts of body, mostly her ribs and back. She attempted to rise and rub the tenderness away, only to be met with velvety resistance.
Mislia loved waking from a long’s night rest wrapped in warm, plush sheets and blankets. But not like this.
With a start, Mislia attempted to sit up, but could barely rise from her lying position on what felt like a soft bed. The preceding night’s event rushed to her like a wave; the break-in, the capture, the tickling, and-
“Ah, you’re awake, my dear thief! How did you sleep?”
Her.
“You!” Mislia snarled, turning her head to the woman who had distressed her for hours on end. Said woman was clad in a gray-tinged bath robe that looked rather soft, and was carrying a tray of ceramic teapots and cups, and walking over to her soft prison.
“Happy to see me, my dear thief?” Nera responded coyly as she sat down, pouring two cups of steaming tea.
“No,” Mislia spat, anger boiling through any barrier of reason she had left. “You knocked me out, bound me, and tickled me for hours! Why would I ever be happy to see you?” Mislia blushed, embarrassed that she had been weakened by tickling, of all things.
Nera brought a ceramic cup to her thin lips, sipping at its steaming contents. She smugly smiled back at Mislia once she was finished, clearly proud of herself.
“Perhaps you should be happy that you aren’t being greeted by a prison guard, my dear”.
Mislia snarled. Seeing a prison guard for a next week or two was far more preferable than seeing this woman for just one morning.
“Now, do you really want to act that way to a potential employer?”
Mislia perked up at this.
“Yes, yes, I have an offer for you, although I suppose it could be called a treaty of sorts”. Nera looked at the blanket-wrapped captive expectantly.
“I’m listening…”
“You see, we both know things about each other. You know I’m a noblewoman obsessed with tickling, and I know you’re a performer with a penchant for stealing. If one of us were to tell the other’s secret, we would both be ruined, no?”
“Yeah?” Where was she going with this?
“So, I have a proposition; I hire you as something of a personal entertainer. You’ll be free to go as you please within my grounds or elsewhere, as long as you entertain me and whatever guests I might host. In exchange your little secret doesn’t get out, and I’ll pay you fifty gold pieces a month”.
Mislia’s eyes practically bulged out at that.
“I’m guessing we have an agreement?”
“I-I guess so”.
“Wonderful!” Nera said entuisatically. She gestured the cylindrical cup to Mislia. “Tea, my dear thief?”
“What if you poisoned it?” Mislia responded suspiciously. “Last I checked, half-elves couldn’t be poisoned”.
“A common misconception, my dear. If it helps, you can drink from my cup”.
Mislia nodded, her throat a little hoarse from the night’s ticklish escapade. Eagerly, she accepted the piping and refreshing tea.
“Now,” Nera said after Mislia had downed the entire cup “Before we make this agreement official…”
Mislia followed the redhead’s gaze to her bare feet, sticking out of the other end of the plush, white blanket. Mislia groaned.
“Fine”.
