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Hunting the Hunter part 4 (m/f)

Kid Indy

TMF Expert
Joined
Oct 12, 2001
Messages
367
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Howdy, all. I decided finally to finish a fourteen-year-old story, one that folks have requested finales to more than any of my other unfinished ones. I hope you enjoy.

Here are the first three parts, which should make this last part more fun but which shouldn't be absolutely necessary:

Part 1: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?6501-Hunting-the-Hunter-part-1&highlight=Hunting+Hunter

Part 2: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?6561-Hunting-the-Hunter-part-2&highlight=Hunting+Hunter

Part 3: http://www.ticklingforum.com/showthread.php?7615-Hunting-the-Hunter-part-3&highlight=Hunting+Hunter

Hunting the Hunter, Part 4 (m/f)

by

Kid Indy

Don Pedro's hand, accustomed to holding the hilt of a sword, now prepared to wield a feather. His Sara, pledged to marry him, was stretched out on a long couch, tied down to prepare her to be tortured, and a room full of English pirates made any plans for rescue the picture of futility. Pedro took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to move the feather into position. A hand suddenly grabbed his bruised arm, making his mouth wince and his eyes burn.
Pedro wheeled about to see Smythe, the captain of the crew, leering at him. "Wait a bit there, Spaniard. I have a different idea."

He turned to his band of criminals. "What think ye, lads? Doesn't the lady look in need of the little death?" The crew began to cheer and hoot. Smythe called out to his officers, "Tie the lad's hands behind his back!"

Pedro was utterly confused, but he knew, as they confiscated the feather and began to lash his wrists together, that he could by no means fight a room full of armed men, so he waited for his moment to arise, for the time when he could escape with Sara. He watched as they picked her up off the couch and began to tie her to a large, cushioned chair, using bedsheets to tie each calf to a cushioned footstool, which they then dragged apart, spreading her knees underneath her dress.

Suddenly the captain was in his face again. In Spanish he spat the order at him. "You'll now put your head between her legs and give her whatever pleasure that Spanish tongue can give down in the holy of holies. If you can make her die the little death, we'll put both of you in a cabin on the far end of the island, and you'll not be bothered again until your king pays your ransom."
"I'll do no such thing, you English dog! I will not spoil the honor of my own bride to be!"

"Look at it this way, lad. Yer own Jesuits say that there's no penetration by the proper parts, so there's no dishonor. There's just a big breath, and a good time, and she's got the good parts of conjugal bliss without any dishonor. We don't tell nobody, and you don't tell nobody, and you can get on with making Spanish brats for posterity!"
"You cannot make me."

"No, but we do have our own... expert on such things. Lizard!"

Pedro watched as a tall, lean officer stepped forward. A grin spread over his face, and he let his tongue stick out of his mouth. Pedro's stomach turned as it extended below the tip of his chin, flicking the air at him. Smythe once again spoke up. "Either you give this lady a proper good time, or Lizard will!" Sara screamed.
Pedro's jaw locked in fury. "Put me down there. But know that, king or no king, I'm coming back for you, pirate."

"Promises, promises, lad. Lower him to his duty!" Once again the room full of pirates cheered as the Spanish captain dropped to his knees. Smythe grabbed his shoulder, though, before he could put his head under Sara's dress. "So here's the terms of the contest, lad. You win if and when the lady here dies the little death. Believe me, we'll all be able to tell when that happens. But we're not going to just wait around. While you're tongue is workin', my officers and I will be tickling her as well as we can to slow you down. Her body won't want to go over the edge as long as we're tickling those feet of hers, but if you do your job right, she'll go over that edge nonetheless." He turned to Sara, whose horror was written across her face. "You, my dear, can end the race at any time, if he's not doing his job right, by letting us know that you surrender. If you do, we'll just have Lizard here finish the job, no tickling involved!" Another cheer went up.
Pedro began to shout. "Stop! Stop! Let me get started, and let's get out of here." Smythe made a mock-courtly gesture indicating that he was welcome to things. An officer lifted Sara's dress, and the Spanish captain's head went under. Within seconds Sara's eyes turned towards the heavens as she began to feel her lover's tongue. Then, with a gesture from Smythe, the heavenly face contorted into a screaming laugh. One officer had grabbed each of her ankles and began to tickle a foot. With one scratching fingernails up her sole, from heel to instep, and the other making waves, one finger after another, across imaginary harp strings running the length of her foot, Sara screamed in ticklish abandon. The forbidden pleasure of her lover's tongue in the place she'd never been touched had opened up the floodgates of sensation for the rest of her body, and her hips bucked on the chair as the flesh of her feet fought the warmth of her loins. When Pedro had started licking, she thought that she'd go over the edge immediately, but now, laughing like she never before knew how to laugh, she could feel the release retreating from her as each finger stroked her foot. When Smythe's fingers dug in from behind, underneath her ribs, her hips bucked foward with such force that she could feel herself slam into Pedro's face. Rocking backwards, his head popped up from underneath her dress, and he tumbled backwards onto his backside. For Sara, now there was nothing but the tickling. She squealed as the competition between sensations ended, and Smythe's grin was that of a man given his every wish, all at once.

Pedro roared. "Stop this at once!" The room full of pirates laughed in his face. But when Smythe gave a hand signal, the other ticklers did indeed lift their hands.
"You'd better get that tongue back in there, lad, before she starts begging for Lizard!"
"No more of this, pirate! I will not do any further!"
"If you won't, I'll be glad to!" With that he reached his strong hand down and gripped the inside of Sara's thigh with a grip that made her hips lift off the table like a shot. Her squeal rose in pitch as he continued to squeeze, and as her hips twisted back and forth, the hand followed. Neither Pedro nor anyone else in the room had ever heard Sara make a noise like this, and when the squeal gave way to laughter, it was a gasping song, a sound of desperation. "Just say the word, my beauty, and we can get Lizard to turn loose what you're hiding under that dress there! If your lad here won't give you pleasure, Lizard's the only one who can release you!" He worked and worked on her thigh, his fingertips on the same spot but changes in pressure sending her into squeals every time the pressure changed. As she writhed and laughed, the captain licked his lips, and Lizard licked the bottom of his own chin.
Pedro could see Sara looking at that freakish tongue, and he pulled himself to his feet. "Back away, pirate! I'll do what must be done."
Smythe released his grip, and Sara began to pant. "And what's that, my little captain?"
"I'll do as you say!"
"And what do I say?" The pirates began to laugh at the prospect of hearing him name his act.
Pedro glared. "I'll give her pleasure with my tongue until she dies the small death." The pirates hooted in approval, and Smythe stepped backwards, signalling that the young captain had the floor. As Pedro sunk once more to his knees, Smythe took two long steps to get back behind her. Sara suddenly pulled in a lungful of air, gasping as once more Pedro's tongue touched her. And with a nod, the seafaring foot-ticklers were at work again, but this time Pedro held firm as her hips rocked and bucked into him. Now Sara screamed, the tickling sensation and the sexual pleasure like fire and oil, lighting up the room with sounds that she never imagined making. Smythe once again dug hard into her ribs, this time getting her to throw back her head but not to thrust her hips as before. When her laughter became a punctuated moan, the pirates knew that the captain had gotten close, and they kept tickling the delicate girl with abandon. As moment gave way to moment, finally her hips shuddered, her head fell backwards, and she let forth the sound of release and satisfaction that they'd all waited for.
Smythe motioned to his sailors to pull Pedro back so that he could look the humiliated Spaniard in the eye. As they pulled him roughly to his feet, Smythe once again laughed. "What do you say, lads? Is the girl ready to marry?" The pirates raised fists in approval. "And what of you, cap? Are you ready to see now just how ticklish her feet can get?"
"WHAT?"
"Oh, yes, captain. You see, the little death ain't like the big one. Once you're dead, you don't feel a thing. But once a lady has died the little death, she feels every little touch on her skin. Especially those lovely, lovely feet. Lads, give me the feathers of the little funeral."
"You can't do this! You said I win!"

"And your prize, captain, is finding out that your lovely bride-to-be is a ticklish lass the likes of which you've never seen before. That's my present to you!"
"Please, Captain Smythe, just let me go!"
"Oh, no, my lady. I'm going to give you something to remember on your honeymoon." One of his pirates handed him a pair of slim, stiff, feathers, black as night, and he twirled them before him as he prepared to enjoy Sara's feet. The young woman panted, still awash in sensations she'd never dreamed before, as she looked at the new instruments of torture.

Smythe pressed the tip one of the feathers to the soft sole-flesh just beyond the heel. The springy shaft bent under the slight pressure, and Sara let out a squeal as she entered a ticklish place she'd never been before. As the feather passed along the length of her sole, lifting up as it neared her toes, she began a frantic plea to the pirate.

"No! I can't take this! Please, no!"

Smythe's grin broadened as he prepared once more for the feather to touch the beautiful foot. "You can take it, lass, and you will." The feather began to swish up and down the sole, and her squeal shifted to a scream before her wonderful laugh started to bubble out. "And you're going to love it!" With her feet more sensitive than they had ever been and her whole body still reeling from her lover's tongue, she had no way to hold back what the feathers were now doing to her. Smythe swiped and stroked and scratched both soles with the stiff feathers, and the young Spanish captain could only watch as the woman he was to marry laughed at this criminal's command.

Smythe's crew cheered as the betrothed begged and the Spanish captain growled. An island girl, bringing rum for the crew at the orders of one of the officers, found herself at the mercy of a cluster of pirates' fingers who poked and pinched her, living out vicariously what they likewise wanted to do to the Spanish lady. The sounds of another laughing voice made Sara's laughter even more intoxicating to the captain, and Sara screamed as the tip of one feather made its way between her toes. The captain's eyes did not leave that foot as it writhed this way and that, and Sara gasped for air, between ticklish squeals, as the tormenting feather refused to leave her.

The cluster of bodies, large pirates surrounding the lean Caribbean servant, crashed to the ground, yet the captain's focus did not waver. The feather continued to saw back and forth against the ticklish skin between her toes as his other hand, which had dropped the feather, began to scratch at her sole. Pedro's eyes could not handle everything they were seeing, his fiance transported by the masterful foot-tickling and the rough tumble of the servant girl as the pirates pulled her arms away from her ticklish body and pawed at her ribs. For her part Sara simply had nothing in reserve to deal with the way that the captain was touching her, and her begging had given way to an ecstatic laughter, pouring out of her with no begging to punctuate it.

The sounds of tickled ladies filled the air that afternoon (though the serving girl did eventually escape the terrible hands that tortured her by rolling away and scurrying out the door), and by the time the captain was done, all the lads were ready to try to find their own girls for the night, or at least a private place to think about girls.

The captain had the two captives placed in private quarters, separate from each other, and messages were sent to the Spanish governor of San Juan to come and retrieve them. A few days later, the hostages having been taken care of well and left otherwise unbothered, the two boarded a small ship and made their way to her home to prepare for their wedding.

* * * * * * *

The rum was flowing and people dancing after the Caribbean colonial wedding. Sara was as breathtaking a bride as any had seen, and she greeted her guests with courtesy as the evening went on. As she approached one cluster of middle-aged officers' wives, she heard something that could not but attract her attention.

"If he doesn't cut off my money, I'm going to try to contract Capitan Smythe soon--I've gone too long without a little funeral!" Sara's face turned into a mask of shock, and the women turned to her, expecting some comment.

When none came, one of the other women spoke to Sara first. "What, dear, have you never heard of Smythe the Foot-Tickler?"

"Do you mean the English pirate?"

The cluster of women shared a laugh together. "Yes, I imagine once he robbed merchant ships for treasure, but that's not the only way he makes his gold!"

Another chimed in. "You're young and pretty now, Sara dear, but once you've had three children and your man doesn't even see you when he stumbles in from drinking, just remember that name. Smythe will make you feel like a woman again!"

"But a man named Smythe kidnapped me just a month ago to lure Pedro into a trap!"

The women exchanged a knowing glance with one another, then looked back at Sara. "And did he introduce you to Lizard?"

Sara gasped. "The man with the hideous tongue?"

Another laugh among the older women. "Hideous? Believe me, Sara, to have Smythe treat you like a ticklish girl, then Lizard send you to the little death, then Smythe to give you the little funeral?" In unison, the women sighed. "Sara, that's something worth whatever money Smythe asks for. If you got the treatment before you were even married..."

The woman next to her chimed in: "You truly are the lucky one!" The women laughed together, and Sara could not overcome her confusion. "Look, darling, you got the first one free, but we have to pay good money to take Smythe's pleasure cruise."

As Sara's eyes turned away from the women in embarrassment, her glance fell on a familiar figure. In an open window Smythe waved to her, blew her a kiss, then disappeared. Sara walked quickly to the window, where she could see nowhere outside but found on the sill a funeral feather.
 
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