ElFewja
2nd Level Red Feather
- Joined
- Dec 21, 2007
- Messages
- 1,296
- Points
- 38
Goddess of ticklishness M/f feet
There is a story, an infinitely long and great one, full of conflicting and otherwise impossibly clashing details that rise and fall as need dictates. Neither darkness nor light existed until the demand for such frivolities came, and yet at the same time they always were. Birth and death repeat endlessly, at least so far as the mortals perceive. But, ah, to lecture on what always and never was is not my purpose here today. Instead, I will speak on a few of the many beings that exist parallel to ours, that fulfill and inspire our world.
As before, it begins with a need, a desire. A demand. The first of the mortal realm looked upon the second, and the second the first, and there was a need to be not two, but one. So came the duties of the goddess of beauty, to inspire life and love. Enthralled by these mortals crafted from clay, she took on the form of the second, the symbol of passion and the key of emotion. She set about to tend her garden, garbed in a dress made of the sunset and on golden sandals crafted uniquely for her out of the dawn.
But then in the mortal world there was another, the third. Alone, abandoned, the third came to understand jealousy, still another form of love. This, however, was outside of the goddesses' reign, and so the trickster appeared. Taking on the shades of night, he hid in the forest and watched the goddess as she worked, envious of her devotion to the soil and plants. As she nurtured life, he took the form opposite of her, molding himself after the first, the king, the conqueror. The three went, their lives unfolding and multiplying, their essence and their missions adopted by those that followed and their will carried on by the goddess and the trickster.
Many more appeared and vanished as time rolled ever on but the goddess and trickster remained, alone and aloof, their duties conflicting. Finally, tired of their infinite games, the trickster addressed the problem directly, appearing before the goddess. Enthralled by her endless beauty, her hair like the flowing night sky beridden by shimmering stars and her skin like fair fields of untouched snow, her eyes the endless oceans and her smile the sun, the trickster fell to her enchantments but fixed a wicked curse upon her in retribution. With a smile she allowed him to bind her with chains blacker than the abyss, her wrists to the sun and her ankles to the moon, his intent to use her wonderful being against her.
The goddess embraced his trap, feeling his need, his passion and his love and so acquiesced, fulfilling his desires. She willed upon herself the sensitivity and awareness of mortals and gasped, feeling her skin tingle with hitherto untapped potential. An agonizing mix of passion swelled within him as he looked upon her caged elegance and he felt the need to free her of the emotions she locked deep within herself. To complete her, to heal her heart and free her of the self-made bondage and to punish her for her beauty and her decisions, he knelt down and took from her the golden sandals cobbled for her, baring her little, snowy feet to his wicked will. Casting those ruthless criminals that dare hide her dainty flesh from him aside, he sent them deep into the cosmos, assuring that she would remain forever barefoot, forever defenseless to his whims and the whims of all others that would seek to reprimand her for her allure.
So he set about, lightly stroking the bottoms of her feet, nuzzling those little windows into her soul. She gasped, then shrieked, experiencing the smoldering flame of life for the first time. That wonderful mix of pain and pleasure filled her, her heart desiring more, demanding further retribution while her body writhed and trembled before his touch. Crying, laughing, she smiled and kissed the chains that held her, allowed her and forced her to endure his will over her.
He felt the raw emotions pouring from her and felt reborn, renewed. Sensing this, knowing this, she laughed harder as his soul entered hers, as they two became one great piece of art. Without him, the brush, she would remain a blank canvas endlessly recreating, never truly birthing beauty. Their needs echoed back and forth, and he moved faster, coming to understand her, to feel the weakness of her powdery soles with his fingers. He painted wonderful rainbows of color up her arches and into the centers of her wiggling feet, their need to escape overpowered by his need to torture.
Then came her toes, those wiggling digits that flickered at every touch. With his breath he formed tiny chains that held them tight and then he spread many hues of love into them. Shrieking, screaming, she felt her laughter pulse around the universe, filling it with hithtero unknown light. This she welcomed, and soon she came to need his touch more than anything, and he her laughter. Tears flowed from her eyes at the joy that he allowed her to experience, the water filling the heavens with her heart while golden starlight flowed from her form becoming the light that illuminates all.
This sacred, gilded light cast the darkness from the universe and from herself as she learned of the unquenchable fires that blazed within. Great heat radiated from her and an intense happiness soaked into her. It rolled in waves, and as she gulped and gasped through the laughter she drank heavily of the raw, primordial emotions that she had only before witnessed. Her heart blushed as his body merged with hers, her feet forever slaves to his desires and her bare soles forever fueling his need to torture them.
The teaching, the interrogation ran on infinitely as the beginning point melted away so that it never existed. There was only The Tickling. And so, the spark of life she felt within her heart blossomed, spreading like weeds through the mortal coils and into the feet of all women so that they might experience the same horrible mirth that she continues to enjoy.
There is a story, an infinitely long and great one, full of conflicting and otherwise impossibly clashing details that rise and fall as need dictates. Neither darkness nor light existed until the demand for such frivolities came, and yet at the same time they always were. Birth and death repeat endlessly, at least so far as the mortals perceive. But, ah, to lecture on what always and never was is not my purpose here today. Instead, I will speak on a few of the many beings that exist parallel to ours, that fulfill and inspire our world.
As before, it begins with a need, a desire. A demand. The first of the mortal realm looked upon the second, and the second the first, and there was a need to be not two, but one. So came the duties of the goddess of beauty, to inspire life and love. Enthralled by these mortals crafted from clay, she took on the form of the second, the symbol of passion and the key of emotion. She set about to tend her garden, garbed in a dress made of the sunset and on golden sandals crafted uniquely for her out of the dawn.
But then in the mortal world there was another, the third. Alone, abandoned, the third came to understand jealousy, still another form of love. This, however, was outside of the goddesses' reign, and so the trickster appeared. Taking on the shades of night, he hid in the forest and watched the goddess as she worked, envious of her devotion to the soil and plants. As she nurtured life, he took the form opposite of her, molding himself after the first, the king, the conqueror. The three went, their lives unfolding and multiplying, their essence and their missions adopted by those that followed and their will carried on by the goddess and the trickster.
Many more appeared and vanished as time rolled ever on but the goddess and trickster remained, alone and aloof, their duties conflicting. Finally, tired of their infinite games, the trickster addressed the problem directly, appearing before the goddess. Enthralled by her endless beauty, her hair like the flowing night sky beridden by shimmering stars and her skin like fair fields of untouched snow, her eyes the endless oceans and her smile the sun, the trickster fell to her enchantments but fixed a wicked curse upon her in retribution. With a smile she allowed him to bind her with chains blacker than the abyss, her wrists to the sun and her ankles to the moon, his intent to use her wonderful being against her.
The goddess embraced his trap, feeling his need, his passion and his love and so acquiesced, fulfilling his desires. She willed upon herself the sensitivity and awareness of mortals and gasped, feeling her skin tingle with hitherto untapped potential. An agonizing mix of passion swelled within him as he looked upon her caged elegance and he felt the need to free her of the emotions she locked deep within herself. To complete her, to heal her heart and free her of the self-made bondage and to punish her for her beauty and her decisions, he knelt down and took from her the golden sandals cobbled for her, baring her little, snowy feet to his wicked will. Casting those ruthless criminals that dare hide her dainty flesh from him aside, he sent them deep into the cosmos, assuring that she would remain forever barefoot, forever defenseless to his whims and the whims of all others that would seek to reprimand her for her allure.
So he set about, lightly stroking the bottoms of her feet, nuzzling those little windows into her soul. She gasped, then shrieked, experiencing the smoldering flame of life for the first time. That wonderful mix of pain and pleasure filled her, her heart desiring more, demanding further retribution while her body writhed and trembled before his touch. Crying, laughing, she smiled and kissed the chains that held her, allowed her and forced her to endure his will over her.
He felt the raw emotions pouring from her and felt reborn, renewed. Sensing this, knowing this, she laughed harder as his soul entered hers, as they two became one great piece of art. Without him, the brush, she would remain a blank canvas endlessly recreating, never truly birthing beauty. Their needs echoed back and forth, and he moved faster, coming to understand her, to feel the weakness of her powdery soles with his fingers. He painted wonderful rainbows of color up her arches and into the centers of her wiggling feet, their need to escape overpowered by his need to torture.
Then came her toes, those wiggling digits that flickered at every touch. With his breath he formed tiny chains that held them tight and then he spread many hues of love into them. Shrieking, screaming, she felt her laughter pulse around the universe, filling it with hithtero unknown light. This she welcomed, and soon she came to need his touch more than anything, and he her laughter. Tears flowed from her eyes at the joy that he allowed her to experience, the water filling the heavens with her heart while golden starlight flowed from her form becoming the light that illuminates all.
This sacred, gilded light cast the darkness from the universe and from herself as she learned of the unquenchable fires that blazed within. Great heat radiated from her and an intense happiness soaked into her. It rolled in waves, and as she gulped and gasped through the laughter she drank heavily of the raw, primordial emotions that she had only before witnessed. Her heart blushed as his body merged with hers, her feet forever slaves to his desires and her bare soles forever fueling his need to torture them.
The teaching, the interrogation ran on infinitely as the beginning point melted away so that it never existed. There was only The Tickling. And so, the spark of life she felt within her heart blossomed, spreading like weeds through the mortal coils and into the feet of all women so that they might experience the same horrible mirth that she continues to enjoy.