yatsabel
TMF Regular
- Joined
- Apr 19, 2001
- Messages
- 289
- Points
- 18
Chapter 2
"The Apprentice"
Herschel Westerland was an Evergold Knight, a newly knighted warrior of a long and storied lineage. His armor, a magnificent suit of gleaming plate passed down through generations, felt as both a great honor and a heavy weight on his shoulders. Intricate engravings depicted scenes of his family's and the kingdom's glory, a testament to the burden he now carried. The armor was renowned for its balance—light enough for swift movement yet offering formidable protection. He rode with his visor up, preferring the open view, but the moment a hint of trouble arose, he could pull it down and feel an unbreachable sense of security.
He rode his trusted warhorse, Aurum, through the heart of the Mirthwood Forest. His mission was urgent: to rescue a noble lady from the clutches of brigands. Normally, he would go around the notorious mystic wood, but a lady was in danger, and a knight's duty was to brave the shorter, more perilous path. With his skill, his armor, and his powerful mount, he felt ready for anything, confident he could muscle through any obstacle the forest might present.
Moving at a short gallop, his keen eyes scanned the trail. Suddenly, he felt light, sticky strands clinging to his face, a mere nuisance at first. But the strands grew thicker and stronger, a web of resistance that began to impede his progress. Aurum, the mighty warhorse, protested with a frustrated snort, his great legs tangled in the growing substance.
Herschel dismounted immediately. He lowered his visor with a definitive click, the world narrowing to a single, focused slit, and drew his sword. The strands now attempted to bind him, pulling at his arms and legs, but he fought back with a fury.
His sword, the Golden Avenger, was not made of gold, but the legendary smith who had forged it for his ancestor had imbued the steel with a brilliant, golden hue—a color much favored in the kingdom of Evergold. He swung the blade left and right, and the sticky threads were sliced instantly by the perfectly sharp edge. The sword was rumored to be magical, and Herschel felt its power was apparent in that very moment.
What a story this would be to tell back at home!
"Who dares deny passage to a Knight of Evergold?" he called out, his voice a muffled roar of defiance behind his visor.
Three small darts shot out from the brush with a soft hiss and struck Aurum on the neck in quick succession. The warhorse took a couple of wobbly steps, his great body swaying, before collapsing to the ground, motionless.
"Cowards!" Herschel shouted, swinging his sword toward the unseen assailants. "Come face me! Leave the tricks aside! Your darts will have no affect on me."
Herchel's shouted challenge was met with a blur of motion. A small figure, clad completely in black from head to toe, launched from the brush. The attack was swift and relentless. Despite his formidable skill, the knight could not land a blow on the fast-moving figure who darted in and out of his guard. The assailant was faster than anything he had ever encountered, and though it seemed capable of striking between his plates, it appeared more interested in using a short blade to pry and loosen parts of his armor.
Herchel’s patience drew thin. "Stay still and fight!" he bellowed. "Fight me!"
He was already breathing hard, having swung his sword dozens of times. The figure, meanwhile, seemed completely unfazed, slicing relentlessly at his armor without tiring.
"Your blowgun won't work on me," he panted, his voice heavy with exertion. "You're good, but unlike you, I only need to connect once."
The figure, in a surprising gesture, nodded and gently raised a single hand. Small spiders, a nightmare in motion, fell from the trees and skittered across the ground at a frightening pace. The knight instinctively stomped on them, squashing them left and right, but he felt the sticky strands again. The web was beginning to limit his movement, distracting him between cutting away the threads, stepping on the spiders, and casting them off his body. They swarmed around his visor, their movements frantic as they tried to enter through the grooves, but the helmet sealed well against his suit.
He could no longer dust the spiders off his face as the web strands tightened. He felt them creep through the chinks his opponent had opened in his armor, their tiny legs searching for exposed flesh. Finally, they found it. Herchel felt a sharp bite on his back, followed by a second and a third.
He staggered, suddenly feeling sleepy and lethargic. Still, he pressed forward, straining against the webs that tightened with every step.
"I'm impressed. Three bites are like three darts, and your horse went down in a moment," a soft woman's voice said from the shadows. "We need to take care. Too many bites, and you might not wake again."
"Who are you?" Herschel asked, his voice slurred as he succumbed to the spider venom.
"You will know soon enough," she replied.
Herschel's eyes rolled back in his head, and his heavily armored body crashed to the ground with a thunderous clang, a sound utterly foreign to the forest floor. The leaves of the Mirthwood Forest rustled with what sounded like subdued laughter.
* * * * * * * * * *
Herschel awoke on a slab of cool, smooth stone. He was naked, his powerful, muscled body stretched out and pulled taut by his wrists and ankles. He was a perfect specimen of an Evergold Knight, with broad shoulders, powerful arms, and a chest that was a sculpture of muscle and sinew. His blond hair, usually neatly trimmed, was matted and disheveled from his journey, and his brilliant blue eyes darted around the chamber in a desperate search for an escape. He grunted and strained, his muscles bunching with every futile attempt to escape the soft cords binding him, cords that refused to chafe or give way no matter how hard he pulled. He felt utterly vulnerable, a feeling more foreign to him than any enemy he had ever faced.
He was in an underground chamber, the space illuminated by a soft, ethereal glow from strange fungi on the walls. The cavern air was chilly, and goosebumps rose across his body, a prickling sensation that came not just from the cold but from the chilling anticipation of what was to follow. If his exceptional strength could not break these bonds, he saw no opportunity for escape. He was entirely at the mercy of his unseen captors.
A small, fragile wood elf approached, dressed in a flowing purple robe that seemed to shimmer in the low light.
"Little one," Herschel said, his voice a low growl, his eyes fixed on the small figure. He knew he would tower over her if he were free. "Free me, and I will save you from this place."
She smiled, a hint of something mischievous in her expression. "I am not the one who needs saving."
Understanding dawned upon Herschel.
"You are in league with these villains!" he exclaimed, pulling even harder at his bonds.
"They'll tighten more as you pull on them," she observed calmly. Her voice was surprisingly soft. "You'd best cooperate. It will all be over soon, and if you are lucky, you'll be on your way in a month."
"You!" he shouted, his blue eyes widening with recognition. "You are the dark one on the path!"
She simply nodded.
"You can't keep me here," he protested, the thought of his mission spurring him on. "There is a lady to save. Brigands to punish. I can't be here a month."
"You can and you will," she said, her small, cold hands resting on his torso. He flinched at her touch.
"I am Herschel Westerland, Knight of Evergold," he declared, his voice full of pride. "If I must die, make it a quick and honorable death."
"Herschel, you will not die," she promised, her voice laced with a strange kind of sincerity. "You may wish it so, at some point, but I guarantee that you will not die by my hand."
"Knives? Brands? Coals?" he asked, his mind bracing for the worst. "I can take it."
"Let's make it interesting," she proposed. "I will do my worst. You can have me stop anytime if you beg for mercy. If you do, you'll stay here a year and become my pet. You will rub my feet and suck my toes if I so command it. Should you resist my worst and refuse to beg, you will be free to go immediately. Do you agree to our wager?"
"I must," he declared without hesitation. "Honor demands it."
The wood elf nodded, a wicked gleam in her green eyes. "Then let us begin."
She dug her nails into his hard, chiseled torso, and he reacted immediately with a desperate, anxious laugh. He had been tickled before, playfully, but he had always been able to push his attackers away with his powerful arms. No one ever truly suspected he was ticklish because he could always end the game before it began.
Now, there was no pushing away. He was pure vulnerability, entirely at the mercy of his small tormentor. Her hands, with their sharp nails, moved to his wide-open underarms and dug in deep. He howled, the sound a mix of pain and laughter. She focused on that spot, and his screams and laughter became more intense, echoing through the cavern.
She moved on to his feet, his huge, calloused soles an easy target. She played and toyed with his toes, scratching the arches and the softest parts of his feet. The knight had never felt such sensations before and he roared in uncontrollable spasms of laughter.
"We can end this," she said, her voice a cruel whisper. "We can stop and you can lose the wager. Just beg for mercy, and it will end."
"No," he said, the word a strained gasp. "My honor. My family. My duty. I cannot fail. Do your worst," he challenged, his voice hoarse.
She nodded slowly, a deep satisfaction in her eyes. "I break men like you all the time," she said, her voice low and confident. "You act strong and look strong, but under my fingers, you are putty. You are what I allow you to be, and if I want you to be my footstool, you will be my footstool. If I want you to be my tickle toy, you will be my tickle toy."
From a pouch at her waist, she drew a long, slender white feather. With it, she began a new assault, tracing the feather along his knees before moving up his thighs and dusting his balls. He writhed and shouted, twisting his muscular body in a futile attempt to escape the tickling, but he did not give in. She was merciless with the feather, moving it to his torso, tormenting every inch of his hard-won muscles. Herchel's screams and shouts echoed through the cavern, but he held to his honor, his pleas for an end never crossing his lips.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was spent. His body was limp, and his mind was a hazy, exhausted mess.
"Is it over?" he asked desperately, his voice barely a whisper.
"It is," she said solemnly.
"I'll be able to continue with my quest?" he asked, still gasping for air.
"You'll be taken to the surface," the wood elf said, holding up two blowgun darts for him to see. "You can't know the way here. You can pick the black one, and you will not recall what transpired here. You can pick the purple, and you will remember every detail. I offer you a choice."
"Why?" he asked, his mind struggling to understand her strange mercy.
"Because contrary to what is said, ignorance is not bliss. You may choose so if it pleases you."
"Purple," he said without hesitation. "I don't want to forget."
"So be it," she said, drawing near with the purple-tipped dart pointed at his arm.
"Wait," he said, just before she could prick him. "What is your name?"
"Does it matter?" she asked.
"It does not. So why not tell me? You know my name," he said, his tired eyes holding hers.
"Corina," she replied as she pricked his skin with the dart.
"What a beautiful name," he said, as a gentle warmth spread through his body, and he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Corina watched him for a long moment, lost in her own thoughts.
* * * * * * * * * *
A swirling pool of water on the cavern floor showed the Evergold Knight mounting his warhorse, a powerful stride in his walk despite the ordeal. He looked back at the edge of the Mirthwood, a glint of defiance in his blue eyes, before turning to continue his journey.
"I've seen you break men much more resilient than that one," Sarantha observed, her voice a low murmur.
Corina watched him go, a quiet intensity in her vibrant green eyes. "I gave him quite enough reasons to quit, for one as ticklish as he was," she said. "And he did not."
A sly smile played on Sarantha's lips. She moved with her spider-like grace, her long, slender hands stroking Corina's sides and kneading the wood elf's belly. Corina squealed and deftly moved out of her reach.
"Soft sides," Sarantha repeated, but a hint of admiration softened her tone. "Quick, though. I will admit you have become quick."
Corina’s movements were fluid and fast, a testament to the months of rigorous training. "I'll never have a torso like his," she admitted, glancing at the shrinking image of the knight, "or like yours," she continued, observing the sculpted lines of Sarantha's body. "But mine is certainly harder and much faster than it was when I arrived."
"Even so, you are soft of personality too," Sarantha accused, her tone turning serious. "You let the female centaur go last week. She claimed she was not ticklish. You should have kept her for a month, broken her in and tamed her wild nature. Yet you let her go after only a few hours of intense torment."
"Agatha was her name," Corina elaborated softly. "I cracked her. No one had ever tickled her in the right place, with the right pressure, for long enough. She was astonished at how ticklish she truly was. She, like the knight, had little magic to give. She was on her way to retrieve her son. I couldn't let her son not know where his mother was."
"Soft," Sarantha accused once more, a hint of frustration in her voice. "You could make that last one love you. He'd be your love toy, he'd kill for you, he'd die for you. I could tie one like him around my finger and he'd obey my every whim. Duty be damned."
"He wouldn't truly love me. It's not truly love if it is coerced. It's not true love if magic must bind it," Corina said, her voice laced with sadness. "And besides, I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't do that to her. They both had a noble cause to follow. I couldn't hold them back from that in good conscience."
"Like I have you?" Sarantha asked, her voice subdued, the amusement gone.
Corina’s silence was answer enough. A moment passed, the only sound the quiet drip of water in the cavern.
"I love you, Corina. I want you with me," Sarantha said, a wistful quality to her tone. "But this is not the life for you. You will never feel truly at home here. You lack the unforgiving hardness that comes with my role. The killer instinct, if you would. You are not a killer."
"I am grateful that I am not," Corina said, looking directly at her mistress.
A faint, sad smile touched Sarantha’s lips. "As am I," she answered. "Your time with me is ending, Corina."
Corina’s eyes grew wide, a jolt of sadness mingling with her surprise. "Has my time with you really come to an end?"
Sarantha nodded, her expression softening. "I have taught you all I can. To keep you here with me would be sheer selfishness. I may be hard, but I am also fair, and I take care of those I consider my own."
Corina nodded, a hint of regret and sadness in her posture. "For what it's worth, I consider you one of my own, Mistress."
They embraced for a long time in silence. Corina felt the familiar warmth of Sarantha's human torso and the intricate, gentle weaving of her spider legs. Their embrace was a silent acknowledgment of their bond, a goodbye that needed no words.
"I have a gift for you," Sarantha said, finally pulling away from their long embrace. "I want you to take something with you after all our months together."
"What is it, Mistress?" Corina asked, her voice hushed.
"My magic," Sarantha replied. "I want you to tickle me. Drink deeply of my magic, and continue on your endeavor with my knowledge and so much more."
Corina’s eyes widened, her mind reeling. "But you are the mistress. You dominate. For a hundred times you have dominated me and tickled me totally senseless. You are never dominated."
"It is true, and I truly feel uncomfortable in this role," Sarantha admitted, a rare vulnerability in her voice. "But I will do it. For you."
Sarantha was a top, a dominatrix of sorts, and this was an unprecedented honor.
Corina nodded solemnly. "When do we do this?"
"I am not one to dally," Sarantha replied, a flicker of her usual power returning. "Let us begin now."
Corina felt a surge of nerves. She had tickled hundreds of victims, but now she would tickle her mistress. She did not want to disappoint. This was not a test of strength, but a demonstration of her mastery over the very art Sarantha had taught her.
Corina began the process, a solemn ritual of power and trust. She first cast webs to bind Sarantha’s powerful spider legs close to her human body, demonstrating her skill. Though the spider body was not ticklish, it was powerful, and in desperation, it would instinctively lash out. By binding her legs, Corina ensured her mistress would be fully immobile. She then pulled and webbed Sarantha's arms above her head, restraining her completely. Finally, she cast a full web all around them, creating a lattice upon which she could navigate her mistress's body with expert precision.
In the end, Sarantha's torso was completely bare, her heavy, dark purple breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her arms were raised, her underarms deliciously exposed.
"Are you comfortable?" Corina asked, the question feeling strange on her lips.
"I feel vulnerable," Sarantha admitted, her voice a near whisper. "It is not something I feel often."
Corina took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come.
"Show me your best, Corina," Sarantha demanded, her voice regaining its usual commanding tone. "Demonstrate that you have learned all I have been teaching you."
Corina was gentle yet firm, her hands moving with the practiced ease of an expert. She began with her mistress's head, tracing her sensitive ears and working her way down the supple skin of her neck. Sarantha's body immediately reacted, a deep, towering laughter erupting from her chest. Immediately, Corina felt the rush of Sarantha's magic. It was concentrated and rich, a deep well of power unlike anything she had ever encountered.
She moved on to Sarantha's large and heavy breasts. Corina tickled her dark purple nipples, causing her mistress's body to buckle and the voluptuous breasts to jiggle. The nipples became instantly erect, and Corina teased them masterfully, leading Sarantha to laugh even deeper as the intensity grew. Corina then reached under where the breasts met the ribcage and teased that subtle line, making sure to travel back and forth along the curves.
Sarantha screamed as her apprentice played off all her most ticklish spots. Before continuing with the ribs, Corina moved to what she considered her mistress's weakest point. Her wide and perfectly smooth underarms. Corina started at the elbows and worked her fingers over the light purple skin, building a crescendo until her mistress's laughter turned into helpless screams.
"Stop!" Sarantha demanded. "I have had enough. I am not meant for this!"
But Corina did not stop. She would not show mercy. This was a final test, and she intended to prove that even though she was soft, she, too, could be ruthless when necessary. She dug her fingers deeper into both underarms, and Sarantha screamed helplessly, pulling violently at the webs holding her still. Corina felt the flow of magic continue, knowing that this was the final, potent draught.
She moved from the underarms and traced Sarantha's back, creating new sensations and getting different, no less intense reactions. Sarantha snorted and bellowed between fits of laughter. When Corina went for Sarantha's hard and firm ribs and sides, she savored the moment of such power being so vulnerable. Again, Sarantha broke down, screaming and begging like the victims she had criticized so often. She was the victim now, vulnerable and so easily tickled.
For the finale, Corina focused on Sarantha's rock-hard belly. Here, the strong muscles meant nothing. They pulled and resisted, but the ticklish sensations were the same. Sarantha screamed and hollered as Corina continued toying with her deep navel, coaxing the last laughter out of her mistress.
Sarantha was utterly spent, drained of magic and unaccustomed to being tickled as she had been. Yet, she was also filled with pride.
"Well done, my apprentice. You are finally ready to continue upon your journey," she said, her voice weak but beaming. "You will not easily be taken advantage of. You wear the robes of my cult. You use my magic and carry my venom. Let all know that you are a disciple of Sarantha, and you are not one to be toyed with."
Corina's hand went to the rich purple robe she now wore, a symbol of her new identity. "I understand," she said.
"Take the provisions you can carry. Stay to the underground. When you reach the end of my realm, you may continue. It is a land of dwarves. They are smart enough not to venture into my domain, but perhaps not smart enough to make way for one of my disciples. Take care with that sort. They are a stubborn bunch and don't take kindly to strangers. After their realm there are still perils of the Mirthwood, but you should be not far from Mistress Sydra. When you meet her, tell her that you have studied under my tutelage. She will be impressed."
Corina gathered her gear, her old elven dagger now feeling like a cherished relic. She put her rations into her pack and returned for a final embrace.
Now, she was ready to face the Mirthwood, and Sydra, with new knowledge and a deep reservoir of power. She turned and walked away towards the dwarven realm, subtly wiping away a tear that ran down her cheek.
In the same motion she shed the last vestige of her old self.
* * * * * * * * * *
Corina strode confidently to the end of the tunnel, the last boundary of Sarantha's realm. The passage was clogged with thick cobwebs, each strand laced with subtle enchantments. Faded elven words were carved into wooden planks and warned against trespassing. Just a few paces ahead were a series of rough dwarven engravings on the stone walls which Corina suspected delivered the same message.
The rugged rock of the underground tunnel suddenly gave way to a perfectly paved floor and bricked walls, a sure sign of dwarven craftsmanship. The luminous fungi that lit Sarantha’s domain were gone, plunging the corridor into darkness. Corina cast a light spell, and a small orb of light appeared in her palm, allowing her to advance.
She moved with caution, her keen elfish senses alert. The corridor was unnaturally well-kept and clean for an abandoned passage. Were they really unused? she wondered, a prickle of unease crawling up her spine.
The question was answered abruptly when her boot depressed a loose brick. An entire section of the floor fell away, and she was deposited unceremoniously onto a steeply inclined ramp. The surface was polished stone, and try as she might, she could not stop her descent. She was moving too fast to cast a web, the strands unable to anchor against the slick, fast-moving surface.
She eventually fell into a massive, dark chamber. Expecting to splatter against a hard surface, her fall was broken by a huge pile of soft, white feathers. A wave of relief washed over her, and she stood up, brushing the feathers off her robes. As she did, a series of bells and whistles sounded throughout the chamber, a loud, jarring noise that echoed in the silent stone.
A pair heavy boots began to approach, their rhythm a confident, deliberate tread. A magic light in a helmet appeared, revealing a female dwarf. She was stocky and heavily muscled, with broad shoulders and huge arms. She was everything Corina was not: pure, solid muscle. Her short blond hair was pulled back from a wide, confident grin. She wore heavy canvas coveralls and carried a pickaxe on her shoulder like it was a mere twig.
"Aye," the dwarf said, her voice a deep, gravelly rumble. "We have another intruder."
"I am not intruding," Corina replied calmly, her hand held up in a gesture of peace. "I am on my way through the Mirthwood to find Mistress Sydra."
"You are in our space," the dwarf countered, her grin widening. "You're not a dwarf, so you are an intruder. We tickle intruders here and keep them caged away."
"I see that is a common practice here," Corina said, a frown creasing her brow. "Would it help to introduce myself?"
"It doesn't change the fact that you are intruding," the dwarf replied, "but it shows good manners. I'll go first. Thisdraeda Thistleboon is my name. I'm in charge of security. Bringing in the intruders."
"Corina," the elf said. "An apprentice of Mistress Sarantha."
Thisdraeda's grin flickered for a moment, and she shuddered. "She's someone to steer clear of, for certain."
"Tell me," Corina said, weaving a charm spell between her words. "Could we not be friends, Thisdraeda? Good friends? Friends who help each other?"
Thisdraeda chuckled, the sound like rocks grinding together. "Charm spell? We dwarves are so thick-headed, we're resistant to all that silliness."
"Sleep spell?" Corina asked, not expecting a proper answer.
"I'll smack you senseless before you cast another proper spell," she said, her tone suddenly devoid of humor. "Here're my sleep spells," she said, gesturing to each of her huge, solid fists.
Corina considered her options, her mind racing.
"You're coming with me, little one," Thisdraeda Thistleboon vowed, pounding her fist into her hand with a loud thud. "You're going to be here a long, long time, receiving proper dwarven hospitality. It will be loads of laughs."
The dwarf laughed a hearty laugh that echoed through the chamber.
To be continued....
"The Apprentice"
Herschel Westerland was an Evergold Knight, a newly knighted warrior of a long and storied lineage. His armor, a magnificent suit of gleaming plate passed down through generations, felt as both a great honor and a heavy weight on his shoulders. Intricate engravings depicted scenes of his family's and the kingdom's glory, a testament to the burden he now carried. The armor was renowned for its balance—light enough for swift movement yet offering formidable protection. He rode with his visor up, preferring the open view, but the moment a hint of trouble arose, he could pull it down and feel an unbreachable sense of security.
He rode his trusted warhorse, Aurum, through the heart of the Mirthwood Forest. His mission was urgent: to rescue a noble lady from the clutches of brigands. Normally, he would go around the notorious mystic wood, but a lady was in danger, and a knight's duty was to brave the shorter, more perilous path. With his skill, his armor, and his powerful mount, he felt ready for anything, confident he could muscle through any obstacle the forest might present.
Moving at a short gallop, his keen eyes scanned the trail. Suddenly, he felt light, sticky strands clinging to his face, a mere nuisance at first. But the strands grew thicker and stronger, a web of resistance that began to impede his progress. Aurum, the mighty warhorse, protested with a frustrated snort, his great legs tangled in the growing substance.
Herschel dismounted immediately. He lowered his visor with a definitive click, the world narrowing to a single, focused slit, and drew his sword. The strands now attempted to bind him, pulling at his arms and legs, but he fought back with a fury.
His sword, the Golden Avenger, was not made of gold, but the legendary smith who had forged it for his ancestor had imbued the steel with a brilliant, golden hue—a color much favored in the kingdom of Evergold. He swung the blade left and right, and the sticky threads were sliced instantly by the perfectly sharp edge. The sword was rumored to be magical, and Herschel felt its power was apparent in that very moment.
What a story this would be to tell back at home!
"Who dares deny passage to a Knight of Evergold?" he called out, his voice a muffled roar of defiance behind his visor.
Three small darts shot out from the brush with a soft hiss and struck Aurum on the neck in quick succession. The warhorse took a couple of wobbly steps, his great body swaying, before collapsing to the ground, motionless.
"Cowards!" Herschel shouted, swinging his sword toward the unseen assailants. "Come face me! Leave the tricks aside! Your darts will have no affect on me."
Herchel's shouted challenge was met with a blur of motion. A small figure, clad completely in black from head to toe, launched from the brush. The attack was swift and relentless. Despite his formidable skill, the knight could not land a blow on the fast-moving figure who darted in and out of his guard. The assailant was faster than anything he had ever encountered, and though it seemed capable of striking between his plates, it appeared more interested in using a short blade to pry and loosen parts of his armor.
Herchel’s patience drew thin. "Stay still and fight!" he bellowed. "Fight me!"
He was already breathing hard, having swung his sword dozens of times. The figure, meanwhile, seemed completely unfazed, slicing relentlessly at his armor without tiring.
"Your blowgun won't work on me," he panted, his voice heavy with exertion. "You're good, but unlike you, I only need to connect once."
The figure, in a surprising gesture, nodded and gently raised a single hand. Small spiders, a nightmare in motion, fell from the trees and skittered across the ground at a frightening pace. The knight instinctively stomped on them, squashing them left and right, but he felt the sticky strands again. The web was beginning to limit his movement, distracting him between cutting away the threads, stepping on the spiders, and casting them off his body. They swarmed around his visor, their movements frantic as they tried to enter through the grooves, but the helmet sealed well against his suit.
He could no longer dust the spiders off his face as the web strands tightened. He felt them creep through the chinks his opponent had opened in his armor, their tiny legs searching for exposed flesh. Finally, they found it. Herchel felt a sharp bite on his back, followed by a second and a third.
He staggered, suddenly feeling sleepy and lethargic. Still, he pressed forward, straining against the webs that tightened with every step.
"I'm impressed. Three bites are like three darts, and your horse went down in a moment," a soft woman's voice said from the shadows. "We need to take care. Too many bites, and you might not wake again."
"Who are you?" Herschel asked, his voice slurred as he succumbed to the spider venom.
"You will know soon enough," she replied.
Herschel's eyes rolled back in his head, and his heavily armored body crashed to the ground with a thunderous clang, a sound utterly foreign to the forest floor. The leaves of the Mirthwood Forest rustled with what sounded like subdued laughter.
* * * * * * * * * *
Herschel awoke on a slab of cool, smooth stone. He was naked, his powerful, muscled body stretched out and pulled taut by his wrists and ankles. He was a perfect specimen of an Evergold Knight, with broad shoulders, powerful arms, and a chest that was a sculpture of muscle and sinew. His blond hair, usually neatly trimmed, was matted and disheveled from his journey, and his brilliant blue eyes darted around the chamber in a desperate search for an escape. He grunted and strained, his muscles bunching with every futile attempt to escape the soft cords binding him, cords that refused to chafe or give way no matter how hard he pulled. He felt utterly vulnerable, a feeling more foreign to him than any enemy he had ever faced.
He was in an underground chamber, the space illuminated by a soft, ethereal glow from strange fungi on the walls. The cavern air was chilly, and goosebumps rose across his body, a prickling sensation that came not just from the cold but from the chilling anticipation of what was to follow. If his exceptional strength could not break these bonds, he saw no opportunity for escape. He was entirely at the mercy of his unseen captors.
A small, fragile wood elf approached, dressed in a flowing purple robe that seemed to shimmer in the low light.
"Little one," Herschel said, his voice a low growl, his eyes fixed on the small figure. He knew he would tower over her if he were free. "Free me, and I will save you from this place."
She smiled, a hint of something mischievous in her expression. "I am not the one who needs saving."
Understanding dawned upon Herschel.
"You are in league with these villains!" he exclaimed, pulling even harder at his bonds.
"They'll tighten more as you pull on them," she observed calmly. Her voice was surprisingly soft. "You'd best cooperate. It will all be over soon, and if you are lucky, you'll be on your way in a month."
"You!" he shouted, his blue eyes widening with recognition. "You are the dark one on the path!"
She simply nodded.
"You can't keep me here," he protested, the thought of his mission spurring him on. "There is a lady to save. Brigands to punish. I can't be here a month."
"You can and you will," she said, her small, cold hands resting on his torso. He flinched at her touch.
"I am Herschel Westerland, Knight of Evergold," he declared, his voice full of pride. "If I must die, make it a quick and honorable death."
"Herschel, you will not die," she promised, her voice laced with a strange kind of sincerity. "You may wish it so, at some point, but I guarantee that you will not die by my hand."
"Knives? Brands? Coals?" he asked, his mind bracing for the worst. "I can take it."
"Let's make it interesting," she proposed. "I will do my worst. You can have me stop anytime if you beg for mercy. If you do, you'll stay here a year and become my pet. You will rub my feet and suck my toes if I so command it. Should you resist my worst and refuse to beg, you will be free to go immediately. Do you agree to our wager?"
"I must," he declared without hesitation. "Honor demands it."
The wood elf nodded, a wicked gleam in her green eyes. "Then let us begin."
She dug her nails into his hard, chiseled torso, and he reacted immediately with a desperate, anxious laugh. He had been tickled before, playfully, but he had always been able to push his attackers away with his powerful arms. No one ever truly suspected he was ticklish because he could always end the game before it began.
Now, there was no pushing away. He was pure vulnerability, entirely at the mercy of his small tormentor. Her hands, with their sharp nails, moved to his wide-open underarms and dug in deep. He howled, the sound a mix of pain and laughter. She focused on that spot, and his screams and laughter became more intense, echoing through the cavern.
She moved on to his feet, his huge, calloused soles an easy target. She played and toyed with his toes, scratching the arches and the softest parts of his feet. The knight had never felt such sensations before and he roared in uncontrollable spasms of laughter.
"We can end this," she said, her voice a cruel whisper. "We can stop and you can lose the wager. Just beg for mercy, and it will end."
"No," he said, the word a strained gasp. "My honor. My family. My duty. I cannot fail. Do your worst," he challenged, his voice hoarse.
She nodded slowly, a deep satisfaction in her eyes. "I break men like you all the time," she said, her voice low and confident. "You act strong and look strong, but under my fingers, you are putty. You are what I allow you to be, and if I want you to be my footstool, you will be my footstool. If I want you to be my tickle toy, you will be my tickle toy."
From a pouch at her waist, she drew a long, slender white feather. With it, she began a new assault, tracing the feather along his knees before moving up his thighs and dusting his balls. He writhed and shouted, twisting his muscular body in a futile attempt to escape the tickling, but he did not give in. She was merciless with the feather, moving it to his torso, tormenting every inch of his hard-won muscles. Herchel's screams and shouts echoed through the cavern, but he held to his honor, his pleas for an end never crossing his lips.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was spent. His body was limp, and his mind was a hazy, exhausted mess.
"Is it over?" he asked desperately, his voice barely a whisper.
"It is," she said solemnly.
"I'll be able to continue with my quest?" he asked, still gasping for air.
"You'll be taken to the surface," the wood elf said, holding up two blowgun darts for him to see. "You can't know the way here. You can pick the black one, and you will not recall what transpired here. You can pick the purple, and you will remember every detail. I offer you a choice."
"Why?" he asked, his mind struggling to understand her strange mercy.
"Because contrary to what is said, ignorance is not bliss. You may choose so if it pleases you."
"Purple," he said without hesitation. "I don't want to forget."
"So be it," she said, drawing near with the purple-tipped dart pointed at his arm.
"Wait," he said, just before she could prick him. "What is your name?"
"Does it matter?" she asked.
"It does not. So why not tell me? You know my name," he said, his tired eyes holding hers.
"Corina," she replied as she pricked his skin with the dart.
"What a beautiful name," he said, as a gentle warmth spread through his body, and he drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
Corina watched him for a long moment, lost in her own thoughts.
* * * * * * * * * *
A swirling pool of water on the cavern floor showed the Evergold Knight mounting his warhorse, a powerful stride in his walk despite the ordeal. He looked back at the edge of the Mirthwood, a glint of defiance in his blue eyes, before turning to continue his journey.
"I've seen you break men much more resilient than that one," Sarantha observed, her voice a low murmur.
Corina watched him go, a quiet intensity in her vibrant green eyes. "I gave him quite enough reasons to quit, for one as ticklish as he was," she said. "And he did not."
A sly smile played on Sarantha's lips. She moved with her spider-like grace, her long, slender hands stroking Corina's sides and kneading the wood elf's belly. Corina squealed and deftly moved out of her reach.
"Soft sides," Sarantha repeated, but a hint of admiration softened her tone. "Quick, though. I will admit you have become quick."
Corina’s movements were fluid and fast, a testament to the months of rigorous training. "I'll never have a torso like his," she admitted, glancing at the shrinking image of the knight, "or like yours," she continued, observing the sculpted lines of Sarantha's body. "But mine is certainly harder and much faster than it was when I arrived."
"Even so, you are soft of personality too," Sarantha accused, her tone turning serious. "You let the female centaur go last week. She claimed she was not ticklish. You should have kept her for a month, broken her in and tamed her wild nature. Yet you let her go after only a few hours of intense torment."
"Agatha was her name," Corina elaborated softly. "I cracked her. No one had ever tickled her in the right place, with the right pressure, for long enough. She was astonished at how ticklish she truly was. She, like the knight, had little magic to give. She was on her way to retrieve her son. I couldn't let her son not know where his mother was."
"Soft," Sarantha accused once more, a hint of frustration in her voice. "You could make that last one love you. He'd be your love toy, he'd kill for you, he'd die for you. I could tie one like him around my finger and he'd obey my every whim. Duty be damned."
"He wouldn't truly love me. It's not truly love if it is coerced. It's not true love if magic must bind it," Corina said, her voice laced with sadness. "And besides, I couldn't do that to him. I couldn't do that to her. They both had a noble cause to follow. I couldn't hold them back from that in good conscience."
"Like I have you?" Sarantha asked, her voice subdued, the amusement gone.
Corina’s silence was answer enough. A moment passed, the only sound the quiet drip of water in the cavern.
"I love you, Corina. I want you with me," Sarantha said, a wistful quality to her tone. "But this is not the life for you. You will never feel truly at home here. You lack the unforgiving hardness that comes with my role. The killer instinct, if you would. You are not a killer."
"I am grateful that I am not," Corina said, looking directly at her mistress.
A faint, sad smile touched Sarantha’s lips. "As am I," she answered. "Your time with me is ending, Corina."
Corina’s eyes grew wide, a jolt of sadness mingling with her surprise. "Has my time with you really come to an end?"
Sarantha nodded, her expression softening. "I have taught you all I can. To keep you here with me would be sheer selfishness. I may be hard, but I am also fair, and I take care of those I consider my own."
Corina nodded, a hint of regret and sadness in her posture. "For what it's worth, I consider you one of my own, Mistress."
They embraced for a long time in silence. Corina felt the familiar warmth of Sarantha's human torso and the intricate, gentle weaving of her spider legs. Their embrace was a silent acknowledgment of their bond, a goodbye that needed no words.
"I have a gift for you," Sarantha said, finally pulling away from their long embrace. "I want you to take something with you after all our months together."
"What is it, Mistress?" Corina asked, her voice hushed.
"My magic," Sarantha replied. "I want you to tickle me. Drink deeply of my magic, and continue on your endeavor with my knowledge and so much more."
Corina’s eyes widened, her mind reeling. "But you are the mistress. You dominate. For a hundred times you have dominated me and tickled me totally senseless. You are never dominated."
"It is true, and I truly feel uncomfortable in this role," Sarantha admitted, a rare vulnerability in her voice. "But I will do it. For you."
Sarantha was a top, a dominatrix of sorts, and this was an unprecedented honor.
Corina nodded solemnly. "When do we do this?"
"I am not one to dally," Sarantha replied, a flicker of her usual power returning. "Let us begin now."
Corina felt a surge of nerves. She had tickled hundreds of victims, but now she would tickle her mistress. She did not want to disappoint. This was not a test of strength, but a demonstration of her mastery over the very art Sarantha had taught her.
Corina began the process, a solemn ritual of power and trust. She first cast webs to bind Sarantha’s powerful spider legs close to her human body, demonstrating her skill. Though the spider body was not ticklish, it was powerful, and in desperation, it would instinctively lash out. By binding her legs, Corina ensured her mistress would be fully immobile. She then pulled and webbed Sarantha's arms above her head, restraining her completely. Finally, she cast a full web all around them, creating a lattice upon which she could navigate her mistress's body with expert precision.
In the end, Sarantha's torso was completely bare, her heavy, dark purple breasts rising and falling with each breath. Her arms were raised, her underarms deliciously exposed.
"Are you comfortable?" Corina asked, the question feeling strange on her lips.
"I feel vulnerable," Sarantha admitted, her voice a near whisper. "It is not something I feel often."
Corina took a deep breath, steeling herself for what was to come.
"Show me your best, Corina," Sarantha demanded, her voice regaining its usual commanding tone. "Demonstrate that you have learned all I have been teaching you."
Corina was gentle yet firm, her hands moving with the practiced ease of an expert. She began with her mistress's head, tracing her sensitive ears and working her way down the supple skin of her neck. Sarantha's body immediately reacted, a deep, towering laughter erupting from her chest. Immediately, Corina felt the rush of Sarantha's magic. It was concentrated and rich, a deep well of power unlike anything she had ever encountered.
She moved on to Sarantha's large and heavy breasts. Corina tickled her dark purple nipples, causing her mistress's body to buckle and the voluptuous breasts to jiggle. The nipples became instantly erect, and Corina teased them masterfully, leading Sarantha to laugh even deeper as the intensity grew. Corina then reached under where the breasts met the ribcage and teased that subtle line, making sure to travel back and forth along the curves.
Sarantha screamed as her apprentice played off all her most ticklish spots. Before continuing with the ribs, Corina moved to what she considered her mistress's weakest point. Her wide and perfectly smooth underarms. Corina started at the elbows and worked her fingers over the light purple skin, building a crescendo until her mistress's laughter turned into helpless screams.
"Stop!" Sarantha demanded. "I have had enough. I am not meant for this!"
But Corina did not stop. She would not show mercy. This was a final test, and she intended to prove that even though she was soft, she, too, could be ruthless when necessary. She dug her fingers deeper into both underarms, and Sarantha screamed helplessly, pulling violently at the webs holding her still. Corina felt the flow of magic continue, knowing that this was the final, potent draught.
She moved from the underarms and traced Sarantha's back, creating new sensations and getting different, no less intense reactions. Sarantha snorted and bellowed between fits of laughter. When Corina went for Sarantha's hard and firm ribs and sides, she savored the moment of such power being so vulnerable. Again, Sarantha broke down, screaming and begging like the victims she had criticized so often. She was the victim now, vulnerable and so easily tickled.
For the finale, Corina focused on Sarantha's rock-hard belly. Here, the strong muscles meant nothing. They pulled and resisted, but the ticklish sensations were the same. Sarantha screamed and hollered as Corina continued toying with her deep navel, coaxing the last laughter out of her mistress.
Sarantha was utterly spent, drained of magic and unaccustomed to being tickled as she had been. Yet, she was also filled with pride.
"Well done, my apprentice. You are finally ready to continue upon your journey," she said, her voice weak but beaming. "You will not easily be taken advantage of. You wear the robes of my cult. You use my magic and carry my venom. Let all know that you are a disciple of Sarantha, and you are not one to be toyed with."
Corina's hand went to the rich purple robe she now wore, a symbol of her new identity. "I understand," she said.
"Take the provisions you can carry. Stay to the underground. When you reach the end of my realm, you may continue. It is a land of dwarves. They are smart enough not to venture into my domain, but perhaps not smart enough to make way for one of my disciples. Take care with that sort. They are a stubborn bunch and don't take kindly to strangers. After their realm there are still perils of the Mirthwood, but you should be not far from Mistress Sydra. When you meet her, tell her that you have studied under my tutelage. She will be impressed."
Corina gathered her gear, her old elven dagger now feeling like a cherished relic. She put her rations into her pack and returned for a final embrace.
Now, she was ready to face the Mirthwood, and Sydra, with new knowledge and a deep reservoir of power. She turned and walked away towards the dwarven realm, subtly wiping away a tear that ran down her cheek.
In the same motion she shed the last vestige of her old self.
* * * * * * * * * *
Corina strode confidently to the end of the tunnel, the last boundary of Sarantha's realm. The passage was clogged with thick cobwebs, each strand laced with subtle enchantments. Faded elven words were carved into wooden planks and warned against trespassing. Just a few paces ahead were a series of rough dwarven engravings on the stone walls which Corina suspected delivered the same message.
The rugged rock of the underground tunnel suddenly gave way to a perfectly paved floor and bricked walls, a sure sign of dwarven craftsmanship. The luminous fungi that lit Sarantha’s domain were gone, plunging the corridor into darkness. Corina cast a light spell, and a small orb of light appeared in her palm, allowing her to advance.
She moved with caution, her keen elfish senses alert. The corridor was unnaturally well-kept and clean for an abandoned passage. Were they really unused? she wondered, a prickle of unease crawling up her spine.
The question was answered abruptly when her boot depressed a loose brick. An entire section of the floor fell away, and she was deposited unceremoniously onto a steeply inclined ramp. The surface was polished stone, and try as she might, she could not stop her descent. She was moving too fast to cast a web, the strands unable to anchor against the slick, fast-moving surface.
She eventually fell into a massive, dark chamber. Expecting to splatter against a hard surface, her fall was broken by a huge pile of soft, white feathers. A wave of relief washed over her, and she stood up, brushing the feathers off her robes. As she did, a series of bells and whistles sounded throughout the chamber, a loud, jarring noise that echoed in the silent stone.
A pair heavy boots began to approach, their rhythm a confident, deliberate tread. A magic light in a helmet appeared, revealing a female dwarf. She was stocky and heavily muscled, with broad shoulders and huge arms. She was everything Corina was not: pure, solid muscle. Her short blond hair was pulled back from a wide, confident grin. She wore heavy canvas coveralls and carried a pickaxe on her shoulder like it was a mere twig.
"Aye," the dwarf said, her voice a deep, gravelly rumble. "We have another intruder."
"I am not intruding," Corina replied calmly, her hand held up in a gesture of peace. "I am on my way through the Mirthwood to find Mistress Sydra."
"You are in our space," the dwarf countered, her grin widening. "You're not a dwarf, so you are an intruder. We tickle intruders here and keep them caged away."
"I see that is a common practice here," Corina said, a frown creasing her brow. "Would it help to introduce myself?"
"It doesn't change the fact that you are intruding," the dwarf replied, "but it shows good manners. I'll go first. Thisdraeda Thistleboon is my name. I'm in charge of security. Bringing in the intruders."
"Corina," the elf said. "An apprentice of Mistress Sarantha."
Thisdraeda's grin flickered for a moment, and she shuddered. "She's someone to steer clear of, for certain."
"Tell me," Corina said, weaving a charm spell between her words. "Could we not be friends, Thisdraeda? Good friends? Friends who help each other?"
Thisdraeda chuckled, the sound like rocks grinding together. "Charm spell? We dwarves are so thick-headed, we're resistant to all that silliness."
"Sleep spell?" Corina asked, not expecting a proper answer.
"I'll smack you senseless before you cast another proper spell," she said, her tone suddenly devoid of humor. "Here're my sleep spells," she said, gesturing to each of her huge, solid fists.
Corina considered her options, her mind racing.
"You're coming with me, little one," Thisdraeda Thistleboon vowed, pounding her fist into her hand with a loud thud. "You're going to be here a long, long time, receiving proper dwarven hospitality. It will be loads of laughs."
The dwarf laughed a hearty laugh that echoed through the chamber.
To be continued....
