mirthgoblin
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Selections from the Mirth Collection
Part 5: From Under the Bridge (F/F, FFFM**/F)
“A troll!”
I almost leap onto my desk in shock as Madira bursts into my workroom, slamming my door. Fell and Garmr look up at me. I can tell they’re grinning at me.
I smooth down the ruffled fur on my arms and turn to Madira. My brain slowly unfreezes from the panic and her words trickle through. I shake my head.
“I trust, from your violent outcry that my Hunters have arrived, successful in their latest mission, and you waylaid one of them and tortured her mission objectives from her. I’m curious, which one?”
Madira blinks at me, my logical conclusions taking the wind from her sails. “Venla.”
“And how did you managed to remove her rather tight armor? I assume you must have removed her clothing. Or did you titillate her ears until she told you?”
Madira shakes her head. “Actually, it was easy. I was walking with Doll when we bumped into Venla. I tickled Doll’s breasts until she agreed to order Venla to unlatch her boots, then I tickled Venla’s feet until she told me what they brought back. I hate it when you don’t tell me things…” Suddenly, she seems to remember her original outburst. She crosses all six of her arms. “And you had them bring a troll here! A filthy, disgusting troll! This whole dungeon will soon reek of rotten meat and puss!”
“That may be. However, as long as she is within these walls and harms none, she is my guest and you will treat her as such.”
“She? Her? It’s a troll! They’re monsters! They devour children and eat people’s organs while they’re still alive. They…”
I hold up my hand. As Madira quiets down, I stare up at her. “How much of that was your own thoughts, and how much of it was what you learned from the slavers and circus folk?”
She glares at me, her blue eyes flashing red in the firestone light. “How dare you!”
“Madira, you spent the majority of your life in captivity, raised by men who believed that anything with more limbs and claws then they were terrible monsters, to be locked up in cages and pranced before an audience. I do not blame you for believing what you heard them say, but I believe you are smarter than that. Please don’t prove me wrong.”
“But they’re…”
“Monsters. So you said. But remember, my dear, that growing up, I was told that the naga were the most vicious and cruel beings in our world and all the civilized races would benefit from their destruction. Had I chosen to believe what I heard, where would you be now?”
Her mouth falls open. She stutters for a moment, and then falls silent. I stand, and pat her on her scaly waist. It’s the highest I can reach.
“I do not ask that you welcome her with open arms. That is my job. As always, I trust my safety to you, my Second. All I ask is that you judge not by what is in your mind, but by what your eyes see. Can you do that for me?”
She sighs, and shrugs. “I guess so. But the moment she lunges for you.”
“We will cross that bridge when we arrive there. However, I do not believe that will be a possibility, assuming that Kasra and her sisters delivered her to Athia.
As I walk down the hall, with Madira slithering beside me, we pass Venla and Doll panting slightly in the hallway. Doll immediately jumps up, her bare breasts bouncing. She picks up her tunic, which is laying on the ground, and slips it on over her head. Venla is trying to latch up her boots. As we pass by, she blushes and stares at her feet, attempting to buckle an already fastened clasp. I look up at Madira, and she winks at me. Smiling, I shake my head as we walk down the hall, leaving Venla behind.
When we arrive at the appropriate cell, we see Kasra leaning up against the door. She flips her hair back idly with her left hand.
“So, Venla told you we captured your next freak?”
I glance over to Madira, who utterly fails to keep a smirk from her face. “I eventually got the message. Is Athia in there?”
“The green lady in the tree suit? Yeah, she was waiting when we arrived. Said the forest had told her when we were going to arrive.”
“Really? Athia is becoming attuned to the forest much faster than I anticipated. Wonderful.”
Kasra stares at Madira, who is pointedly staring at her claws. “So, do you have our next assignment? We’re really eager to hunt down our next prey.”
I smile at her and draw from my pocket a slim parchment. Madira is a wonderful reverse incentive. “Actually, it occurred to me recently that it is inefficient for you to have to check in with me after every successful hunt. Therefore, I have drafted a list of prey for you to find. I want to be absolutely clear that you must bring them here in this order. Do you understand?”
Kasra snatches the list from my hand and storms off. She calls over her shoulder, “Just so long as the rest aren’t as smelly as this one!”
I open the door, allowing Madira, Doll, Fell and Garmr to enter before me. I step in, and behold my newest arrival. She is so utterly covered in grime and muck that I can barely make out her features. Her limbs are bound by massive numbers of long, green vines, descending from the earthen holes in the ceiling and walls. Her hands are imprisoned in a massive seedpod, completely concealing them from view. Thick vines wrap around her long arms, which are extended above her head. Another long tendril has wrapped around her waist and slightly pulled her down, extending her torso. Each of her six legs has been gripped by a single vine, and pulled straight out from her body, giving the impression of a pinwheel. She is suspended about two feet off the ground, so her extended feet are at eye height for me. She has four toes on each of her six feet and each toe has been gripped by its long, black claw and pulled back, keeping her dirty soles taut. From beneath her grisly locks of swamp green hair, three red, hateful eyes stare back at me, one rooted in the middle of her forehead. Her mouth opens, and I see a pair of tusks on her lower jaw, as she growls at me.
Another variety of vine has also worked its way into the chamber, this one with a slightly bluish ting. Every so often along its thick vines appears a large, bulbous pod, obviously straining against the pressure of its insides. Each one is pointed at the wriggling figure.
I turn Athia, who is leaning up against the wall next to a few buckets. She is clad in her light armor, with much of her pale, orange skin visible. I grin and nod at her. She has prepared everything precisely as asked. She gives me a grateful smile and turns back to her bound victim, with a look of distain on her face.
Doll holds her hands against her nose. “Peeww! Stinky bug lady!”
Madira looks down at me, one hand pinching her nose. “So, trolls don’t stick, huh? Smells pretty terrible to me.”
I breathe in, and out through my mouth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of holding my own nostrils closed. “I did not say that all the conceptions of trolls were wrong, just some of them. Though I concur, this stench is abominable. Athia, if you would be so kind as to clean up our new guest.”
Athia turns to me. “It would be my pleasure.” She gestures, and suddenly one of the bulbous pods explodes, showering the bound girl with cold water. She gives a gasp of surprise, and another pops near her face, streaming water at her. Soon the bursts become too numerous to count, and the explosions overlap.
Doll claps at the rising sound. “Ooh, fun, popping sound!”
Finally the ruptures cease, and the air fills with the heavy scent of flowers. The scented water has left our guest is left utterly drenched, but much cleaner. She blinks her three eyes at us. Her face has emerged from the muck with a deep emerald complexion, her cheeks and perky nose dusted with light green freckles. The freckles travel up her arms to her shoulders, and down across the top of her ample breasts, where two pert, pale green nipples can be seen. The soles of her feet are lighter then their tops and the soft skin gleams invitingly in the firestone light. Her hair, while still swamp green, is now free of its moss, and hangs down long and straight. Even with her tiny, ivory tusks, her face remains rather beautiful, in its own exotic way.
Doll smiles at her and says, “Bug lady is pretty!”
I turn and look at Madira. I can see the shock on her face, just before she changes it to an expression of quiet contempt. “Okay, so the beast is a little cute. That doesn’t mean anything.”
The troll watches our conversation, gives a short snarl, and begins making clicking noises at us. Madira turns to me. “What did it say?”
“My Madira, the young girl is a she, not an it. As for what she said, I haven’t the foggiest. Trollish is a ridiculously difficult language to master. The sounds are unlike anything you or I usually make.”
“Wait, can’t you just magic up a spell to translate for us?”
I smile at her. “Unfortunately, no. Language is a very complicated thing, dealing with very abstract concepts and differing diction, syntax, and interpretations. Thus, each spell must be individually designed to translate one single language to another. For instance, I know a handy spell that translates goblin into nagan, and back. However, no one has, to my knowledge, created a spell to translate troll.”
“You mean we can’t understand her?”
“My dear, you underestimate the versatility of magic. While direct translation is beyond my ability, I am able to grant between her and us a much deeper level of understanding. Every time she speaks, my spell will place into our minds an image of what she is thinking at the time, and perform the same service for her. While it can be a little unnerving at first, it is an excellent way to overcome the language barrier.”
Madira seems a little impressed. “You can put thoughts into our minds?” She gives this a moment’s consideration, and grimaces. “I don’t suppose you could exclude me from this? I don’t want… her thoughts anywhere near me.”
“Sadly for you, the spell functions over an area rather than individuals. If you remain in this room, you will be affected by this spell. And as my Second, I need you here to provide support, in case something goes wrong.”
She snorts as I turn away, and begin to cast. I can feel the magic welling up within me. I chant the ancient words, focusing my mind and shaping the magic as it flows from me, seeping into the air. In my mind, I see the air around us getting brighter, as long webs of blue flow between through us, into the girl suspended before us, and back. I open my eyes and clutch my chest, slightly winded.
Madira looks around, her eyes untrained in magic. “What happened? I don’t see any change. How come I don’t see any visions?”
I pause to catch my breath, and smile at her. “Of course not. She hasn’t spoken yet. However, I can assure you, our words are turning into images in her mind even as we speak.”
Indeed, I can see the troll girl’s red eyes widening with surprise. She shakes her head, and growls at us. The noise is not enough to trigger the spell.
I step forward, and address her for the first time. “Greetings, I am Mirth, a goblin mage, and this is my domain. These are my friends and allies, Madira the naga, Doll the golem, and Athia the dryad.” I gesture to each in turn. “And, of course, my guardians, Fell and Garmr, hellhounds. Allow me to welcome you to our home.”
She speaks, and suddenly a mental picture leaps into my mind. I see a dark cave, the walls and ceiling, covered with white sticky webbing. I can smell the musk and mold. I see myself, struggling, while completely encased in a cocoon. I see the troll girl, hanging from the ceiling by her many legs, claws embedded into the webs around. She reaches down, and grasps my struggling form. She opens her jaws, and now her tusks are dripping with a green, viscous liquid. She places her tusks, almost gently against the back of my shoulder, and presses just hard enough to pierce my skin. Almost instantly, my body stops struggling, my eyes become completely white, and every muscle goes limp. She shakes my body a bit to make sure I am dead, and tears a large chuck of fur off my neck before drenching herself in my blood. The images slowly fades, it’s meaning obvious.
Fell and Garmr growls across at the troll gal, while Madira bares her claws, ready to lunge. She shrieks out, “How dare you!”
I turn and hold our my hands. “Madira, cease!”
She glances down at me, her murderous instinct fading, though her anger does not. “Didn’t you see what she did to you?”
“Yes. It is quite obvious we all did.” I look over. All the color has flushed from Athia’s face. She grips the wall for support. Doll has shrunk back, holding her hand in front of her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.
“Listen, all of you. What you saw was a vision, an image of her thoughts, nothing more. I told you the spell would be unsettling, and I anticipated this reaction. Be at peace, I am fine.”
The others look a little more calm, though Madira is still fuming. “She wants to bite you, to kill you!”
“Yes, the venomous tusks of the troll. Actually, the death they cause is nearly instant and rather painless. Many believe it is an ultimately painless way to die.”
Madira glares at me, like I am an idiot. “She just told us she wants you dead! How can you be so calm?”
“She is not the first to threaten me out of fear. As I recall, you yourself told me you wished to consume me, when we first met.”
I watch her face loose its tension, as her arms fall to her sides. She stares at me with wide eyes, before turning her gaze to the ground. She rubs her top, right shoulder.
“I didn’t know you then.” Her voice is almost a whisper.
I pat her scaled tail. “I know. And right now, neither does she. She is scared, bound helpless, and surrounded by strangers. Her first reaction is naturally going to be violence. Our task, is to help her see past that.”
I turn back to the troll, who has been watching our every move. “There is no need to be like that. You are welcome here. There is no danger. We simply wish to be your friends.”
She pauses. Then her eyes narrow. She yells at me, and again, I find myself lost in a vision. This time, I can see she is younger. She is running through a swamp, but her legs are made for scuttling on ceilings and walls, not trudging through water. She is panting, her breaths coming to her in ragged sobs. A shout, unintelligible, rings through the air. She turns, in time to see a tall man in leather armor raise his bow, and unleash an arrow. The arrow cuts a wound across her shoulder. She falls, green blood flowing down her arm. Another warrior rushes at her with a long sword. She holds up her arm and…
The image cuts off. As reality fades back in, I notice for the first time, the scar on her left shoulder. It is faint, but by no means gone.
I try to smile disarmingly. “I know you have been hurt by men in the past, but look at us. As you can see, we are not men. We are creatures of a different breed. Not one of us bears arms against you.”
Her three eyes focus on each of us in turn. She pauses on my Second, but Madira seems to be lost in thought, perhaps contemplating the vision she just saw. Her eyes refocuses on me. I see a flicker of hope, before it withers and dies. She speaks, this time in a hushed tone.
I see her crouched under a tree, her shoulder wound crusted over. She is hanging from a limb, over the unmoving body of one of the armored men. His sightless eyes are white. She pulls off his leather coat, and rips open his stomach. She pulls up his intestines, and begins to slowly chew. Although the image is quite disgusting, I can’t help but notice the tears running down the young girl’s cheeks, leaving streaks through the mud coating her face.
Once again, I stare into her red eyes. “That was not your fault, nor was any of the other killings you’ve performed. There was never any malice or hatred in your intentions. You were hunting, seeking food as we all do. You were taught by your parents to kill for your food, to kill those who sought to harm you.” I smile at her. “You are no more an evil monster than we are. If you stay here, with us, I promise you, you will never have to kill again.”
All the anger and fear leave her face. Her eyes close into a wistful expression. She speaks.
I see Izzi climbing up, out of her cave, crawling up the chasm wall along her intricate layers of webbing. She climbs, up to the bridge that spans her gorge. She reaches the bridge, and crawls beneath it, staring up through the cracks in the slates. She sees footsteps and leans in closer, preparing to strike. It is a trio of milkmaids, carrying their load on long poles slung across their shoulders. One turns to the others, and makes a quick remark. Although Izzi cannot understand it, she sees the other two laugh out loud. One stumbles, and almost loses her footing, but of the others drops her milk and grabs her. Izzi watches as the milk tumbles out of sight. The clumsy girl steadies herself, and begins to speak to the girl who saved her. She smiles and hugs her. The three keep walking, again bursting out into laughter. Izzi watches them leave, and then crawls back to her cave.
She stares at me, eyes telling me of the loneliness, the isolation. I look behind me, and see Madira staring at Izzi. I do not need a spell to tell me the images that are flashing through my friend’s mind. Years of being alone, separated from her own kind, alienated, yet desperately seeking a friend, any friend. Her time in captivity has made Madira hard, but has also made her receptive to certain emotions. She stares at Izzi in a new light.
I turn to Izzi. “Yes, that is what we offer you. People to laugh with, to share you life with, to help you when you stumble. We can be your friends.”
She smiles down at me, her short tusks merely enhancing her smile. I point to her. “Now, then, since we are all friends here, why not tell us your name. After all, we have told you ours.”
She speaks, and for once, no images appear. Instead, I hear her name, a sharp surrousous of the tongue. I listen carefully. “Izzi? Your name is Izzi?”
She nods in response. Then, she tilts her head, quizzically. She speaks in a normal tone, and I feel the vision overtake me.
For a second, I am confused. It seems like I am still in reality, staring at Izzi hanging from the ceiling by a collection of vines. She stares at me, questioningly. Her eyes travel up to the vines wrapping around her arms, legs, ankles, and toes claws. She looks back at me.
The vision ends, and I again feel a little disoriented, as what I am seeing hasn’t changed. I scratch my chin for a moment, before catching on. I grin at Izzi.
“We have not bound you so tightly because we fear you. You are now our friend. However, I am afraid your years of living in squalor have left you with more filth on your skin then mere water can remove. You might be fine now, but that is because of the scented water. In a few hours, that will wear off and you will return to smelling rank and foul.”
She wrinkles her nose at me, and shakes her head. I smile at her. “I assure you, you have been living with it so long that you have adjusted to your own aroma. Unfortunately, we have not. We are going to have to give you a through washing, and it may become a little intense. If you want to stay here, you will have to acquiesce.”
She nods, smiling at me. She obviously wants to say badly enough to put up with our nonsensical requests.
I walk over to where Athia is standing, and pick up one of the buckets. I feel the soapy, warm water slosh against the side as I care it over to Madira. I set it down in front of her. I reach in, pull out one of the several hand brushes in it, and hand it up to Madira. She stares at it. I motion to Izzi.
She thrusts her lower arms onto her hips. “Why do I have to be the one to scrub her down?”
“Because, my dear, you are the only one who can reach her. It is not so terrible of a task.” She looks at me, uncomprehendingly. I remind myself that she’s never actually held a brush before. “Madira, think about it. If Izzi was a normal, human girl, and she was in this position, what would your first impulse be?”
Madira rubs her palm over the soft, soapy bristles of the brush, looks over at Izzi’s helpless, stretched out form, and smiles her evil grin. She reaches down into the bucket, her tail bending at an angle, and takes a brush into each hand. She slides around Izzi, and slips in between her hind most legs. Izzi twists and turns her head, trying and failing to look at Madira. With her wicked grin still plastered on her face, Madira raises up her first arms, and begins to vigorously brush Izzi’s bare underarms.
Immediately Izzi bursts into laughter. Her giggles are sweet and clear. Madira’s strokes are short and quick, building up a white lather, which compliments Izzi’s skin tone. Meanwhile, Izzi is giggling up a storm. Tears of mirth fall from her three eyes, as her tusked mouth lets loose an avalanche of laughter. The vines have pulled her so tight, than even though I can see she is straining against them, she cannot move an inch. She is perfectly held in place, utterly helpless against Madira’s ministrations to her tender hollows.
Then Madira begins brushing up, and around Izzi’s arms, running next to her head to get her shoulders. Although Izzi’s arms are still quite ticklish, her laughter slows down to a steady stream of giggles. It seems Madira remembers that Izzi does, in fact, need to be cleaned, and that means she needs to brush her less ticklish areas as well as the sensitive ones.
However, it does not take Madira long to put her second arms into play, this time brushing up and down Izzi’s stretched sides. As the thick bristles rub a path from her underarms down to her flanks, it appears Izzi’s ribs and sides are just as ticklish as her underarms. She squeals with laughter, whipping her head around, as a lock of her hair falls in front of her left eye. She wriggles against the vines holding up her arms. As she keeps brushing along her sides, I notice her third arms beginning to scrub her back. It is impossible to tell if that is actually tickling Izzi or not, as the side brushing is quite enough to drive her into hysterics.
Suddenly she switches arms. Her upper arms finish with Izzi’s arms join the middle ones scrubbing in scrubbing her back, and her third set of arms reaches around and begins to brush Izzi’s belly. The thick brushes slid all around her tummy in round strokes, as Izzi shakes with laughter. One of the brushes passes over her belly button, the long bristles sneaking down into the tender skin. Izzi screams in laughter, drowning out Madira’s cry of success. After that, each brush manages to slip into her belly button as it passes on its ticklish work.
Madira finishes with Izzi’s her back. Suddenly she applies all six brushes to Izzi’s sides, running them simultaneously up and down Izzi’s ticklish skin. Izzi shriek with mad laughter, thrusting her head back to pour her laughter into the ceiling. I see the vines strain against Izzi’s pull, but they remain firm, rooted in place. Madira brushes faster, smiling as she watches Izzi’s face fill with inescapable mirth. Just as it seems Izzi cannot take anymore, Madira stops. Her tickling instincts improve with every session.
She slithers around Izzi’s legs, working her way back over to us. She glances down at me.
“Mirth, do you have a cloth? I need to wipe down her face. These brushes are too stiff.” She drops her brushes into the bucket.
I look at her for a moment, a little surprised. I reach into my pocket, and pull out a large towel. She looks at my pockets for a moment. “How much stuff do you have in there?”
I smile back at her. “As much as I wish.”
She blinks at me, shrugs, and takes it. She dips one end of it into the soapy water, and slithers over to Izzi. Almost tenderly, she scrubs off Izzi’s face. Izzi, meanwhile, is slowly catching her breath. As Madira wipes off the soapy water with the dry end, Izzi looks up at her, and unexpectedly smiles. She opens her mouth.
I see another vision, this time of Madira in the cave. Instead of being tangled up, strings of web pull her arms out at straight angles, much like Izzi’s legs. Again, like before, Izzi comes scuttling over. She lowers her arms, and begins to tickle Madira’s underarms. Madira explodes with laughter, her long tail thrashing back and forth. Izzi smiles maliciously as she switches underarms, now tickling the hollows of Madira’s bottom right, and middle left. Madira’s face is an image of tickled perfection, as her hair hisses and writhes. Izzi switches underarms randomly, never letting Madira know where she’ll strike next. Madira is practically crawling out of her skin, but she cannot take a single action against her tickling tormentor.
The image fades all too soon. I quickly wipe the glazed expression from my face, and watch Madira’s reaction carefully. Madira stares at Izzi in utter disbelief. Izzi winks at her with her right eye.
Suddenly Madira’s face takes on a revengeful look. “Oh, you didn’t just say what I think you said.” She turns around, her tail flexing. “Mirth, I think she figured out this isn’t just about getting her clean. Do I have your permission to be merciless?”
I smile, slightly relieved. “When have you ever asked my permission about anything?”
She smiles back. “Good point.” She slides over, and reaches into the bucket, pulling out her six brushes. She waves the soapy suds at Izzi. “Now you are going to get it.” She slither up, in between Izzi’s front legs and grins at her. Izzi’s display of defiance withers under that wicked grin, and she give a nervous, ingratiating smile. Madira leans in close and whispers into Izzi’s ear. “I want you to understand perfectly what I now say. I’m going to tickle your breasts.”
All three of Izzi’s eyes widen. She shakes her head, her eyes pleading with Madira. But my Second, once challenged, will never back down. Madira slowly, agonizingly slowly lowers her first arms, letting the soapy brushes hang right in front of Izzi’s breasts. The tips of the bristles are just barely teasing Izzi’s nipples. Izzi begins to nervously giggle. Madira then gently pushes the brushes in, and pulls them down. Only Izzi’s nipples feel the brush of the bristles, but it is like she was struck by lightning. She shrieks with laughter, then returns to helpless giggles and Madira pulls the brushes away, and bring them back up, the bottom tips hanging just above the nipples. A single drop of soap falls, and slides down Izzi’s right breast.
Then, Madira pushes the brush closer to Izzi’s breast, and pulls down. This time, the entire breadth of the brush runs along the front of Izzi’s breasts. Izzi shakes with laughter, the bouncing of her breasts only increasing the tickling sensation. As the brush reaches the bottom of her breasts, Madira pulls them back up, truly beginning to brush up and down the ticklish mounds.
As Izzi goes insane with laughter, Madira then focuses her second pair of brushes on the sides of her Izzi’s breasts, running them counterstroke to the front brushes. Izzi’s laughter reaches a new peak of madness, her tears coursing like three rivers down her face. Madira raises her third set of brushes, and applies them to the ticklish undersides of Izzi’s bare, defenseless breasts. Like some diabolical washing device, Madira times her tickling strokes perfectly, her brushes never banging or colliding with each other. Just long, smooth, incredibly ticklish motions. Izzi no longer has the strength to fight it. She just hangs her head in ticklish submission, laughing long and loud. Madira is completely merciless, never slowing or speeding up, drawing Izzi’s beautiful laughter from her smiling, tear streaked face like she’s drawing water from a well.
Again, just as it seems like Izzi’s consciousness is about to break, Madira pulls her brushes away. As Izzi comes down from her second massive tickling overload, she whips her hair around and gives Madira a dazzling smile. Then she sticks out her long, rubbery tongue. Madira grins and runs a single brush right down the middle of Izzi’s breasts, causing her to giggle. Before the whole thing can start again, I call out to Madira.
“My dear, I ask you to pause for a moment. Her upperbody is quite clean by now, I am sure. Now we must focus on her lower extremities.”
Madira glances down at Izzi’s six legs. She turns back to me. “I have to wash them all?”
I smile at her. “Of course not. That would take far too long. That is why I brought everyone down her.” I walk over to the second bucket along the wall, and carry it over. I reach in, and hand a brush to Athia and Doll. I take one brush myself.
“We will each take a leg. After all, it is the least we can do for our new ally.”
“But we’re two brushes short,” says Madira, ignoring the fact that she’s currently holding six brushes herself.
“Ah, but you do not necessarily need brushes to clean something off. Fell, Garmr, it is time for your two to earn your keep.” The two shake themselves off, and pad their way over. I can see, in their own way, they are smiling. After years in my service, the hellhounds have grown to enjoy this work almost as much as I do.
“Alright, everyone take a leg. We will start washing off the thighs on my signal.” I position myself on the left of the two front legs. Athia joins me on the right front leg. Doll skips and leaps over to the side leg next to me. Madira takes the other side, and Fell and Garmr take up spots next to the back thighs.
I raise my empty hand, as if I’m preparing for a race. I glance up, and take note of Izzi’s expression. There is a trace of terror, but it is obviously outweighed by her anticipation. She closes all her eyes and takes a deep breath in preparation.
I drop my hand. “Begin scrubbing.” I immediately begin rubbing my scrub brush along the underside of her thigh, where her skin is most sensitive. Izzi instantly explodes into hysterical laughter, as my brush is only a sixth of her new sensations. To my right, Athia is methodically scrubbing away at the top of her thigh, slowly, but inevitably working her way down the sides of the ticklish skin. Meanwhile Doll is randomly brushing basically everywhere, always running her brush over a new, untickled patch of skin. Madira, evil as always, is scrubbing away will all six of her brushes, running them up and down every inch of Izzi’s ticklish thigh. Fell and Garmr are licking away at their respective thighs, their rasping tongues cleaning and tickling as thoroughly as any brush. Izzi howls with ticklish laughter, her body wracked with the simultaneous sensations.
I finish brushing the undersides of her leg, and quickly finish off the top, making sure not to ignore one single, ticklish spot. I give the top of her knee a quick brushing, but without squeezing it really does not tickle her very much. However, I can feel her leg flex as I run my brush along the underside of her knee, my brush titillating the soft, stretched skin I find there. After I exhaust my interest tickling her there, I move on to her calves. As I finish up brushing there, I realize that everyone is basically at the same point. Apparently, despite our different methods, we all possess the same pace. I call out.
“Hold a moment. Let us allow her to regain her breath before we start on the final, unwashed part. She will need it.” Indeed, as I stare into her face, I realize just what we have put upon her. She is gasping for breath, a light green flush coloring her cheeks. Sweat has drenched her limbs, washing off much of the soapy water. She opens her three eyes, and just stares at the ceiling in wonder.
As she recovers, I position myself in front of her feet, and contemplate them. They are quite unusual. As each foot bears equally positioned weight, it is obviously not a left foot or right foot. Unlike most feet, there is no instep, no slim curve of slightly firmer skin lining the arch. Between the heel and the ball of her foot is just a single arch, curving into her foot. Her feet are fairly short and small. Since she does not actually step anywhere, usually just hanging by her claws, her feet are incredibly tender and soft. Even her heel is completely free of worn skin. It is all as smooth as a satin sheet. Each foot has four tiny toes, pulled back by their claws. They are round and completely adorable, despite the large black claws. This foot is a thing of beauty and I cannot wait to give unto it my own form of worship. I hold my soapy brush at the ready.
Izzi shakes her head, and glances down at all of us, positioned in front of her insanely ticklish feet. I look up at her. “Are you ready for this?”
She gives me a coy smile, and nods. That is all the signal anyone needs. I begin my scrubbing my brush horizontally across her heel, slowly working my way up her foot. As I hit the arch, the soft sound of the brush makes as it slides across her ticklish skin matches perfectly with her wild cries of laughter. As I continue climbing, I glance around at the tickling techniques of my neighbors.
Athia is simply running the brush up and down the bare, helpless sole in front of her. In a single stroke, she runs her brush over all the toes, across the ball, down the ticklish arch, and finishes with the heel. Then she lifts up the brush, starts at the top, and pulls it down again. Simple, but from the way Izzi’s leg is flexing, it’s working just fine.
Doll, after brushing every part of her foot, as discovered that her favorite place is the toes. She runs the brush along them, tilting it up and down slightly. This allows her to tickle down into the spaces under the toes when she tilts the brush down, and when she tilts it up, it tickles the sensitive space on the top. I can hear her singing a little nonsensical ditty as she wonderfully tickle tortures Izzi’s toes.
Meanwhile, Madira, in her typical fashion, has managed to fit three brushes onto Izzi’s tiny foot, all running horizontally. One tickles the toes, much like Doll is doing, one is tickling the ball of the foot and the upper arch, and the third strokes the lower arch and the heel. The vine holding that leg is flexes and strains, holding as best it can the ticklish foot. Every time I see Madira tickle, she becomes even better. I begin to wonder if there is she has any limits as a tickler.
Fell and Garmr are doing their best to drive Izzi mad with laughter. Their rough, tickly tongues are rasping away. Fell is licking each toe individually, making sure not only to get the tip and beneath, but also the ticklish sides. Garmr is focused on the arch, letting his coarse tongue tickle the softest skin on her foot.
If I ever thought before that Izzi’s laughter was a loud as possible, I was sorely mistaken. I can feel her laughter in my chest, through the stones on the floor. Her wilding howling is probably echoing down the halls even now. Her head is down, chin resting against her chest, pouring her laughter into the space between her breasts. I have seen other faces bare the same expression her lovely, adorable face does not. It is pure tickle ecstasy. Her laughing eyes, the wild smile, all point to ticklish rapture. She is so utterly filled with joy, her body can no longer contain it. It is spilling over into all of us, filling each of us with joy.
I feel a strong sense of companionship among us. Here we are gathered, each in our own special way, drawing pure joy from this lovely, young trollish girl, who for the first time has discovered friendship. The moment last forever.
Surprisingly, Madira is the first to pull back, though I am not far behind. We’ve both noticed that Izzi has reached the ultimate edge of her tickling endurance. The others follow suit. Izzi keeps laughing for several minutes long after the tickling has stopped. She shakes her head, and gives a laugh that has nothing to do, and everything to do with tickling. I nod to Athia, who calls down the vines. As the lower vines pull back, allowing Izzi’s feet to rest against the ground, the pod releases Izzi’s hands.
For the first time, we can view the dark markings on Izzi’s palms. What at first seem like a number of black dots can be seen as tiny holes, like enlarged sweat glands. Madira stares at them. As Izzi rubs her wrists, Madira gestures at her palms.
“What are those?”
Before I can answer, Izzi shows Madira. She holds up her hand, palm down. From the tiny holes shoots a thin, white liquid, which seems to harden as it hit the air. Izzi’s four claws begin to dance, weaving the liquid into a number of smaller strands. She holds up her other hand, just like the first, and creates another set of white ropes. She puts her hands together, and starts weaving the many strands together, like a large, incredibly complicated cats cradle. Suddenly, she moved towards Athia, wrapping the webbing around her wrists and binding them together. Before Athia can react to this onslaught, Izzi spins around, points her palms at the ceiling, and fires out a single thick strand of webbing, which pulls Athia upwards. It sticks to a beam in the ceiling, holding Athia a few feet off the ground. Izzi immediately tickles Athia’s orange sides, as Athia bursts into laughter. Athia tries to kick her away, but dangling as she does, she lacks the leverage to put any force behind her kicks. As Izzi skitters her claws up and down Athia’s ticklish skin, Madira taps me on the shoulder.
“Why doesn’t Athia put up her armor?”
I turn to Madira. “It’s because she is touching neither earth nor tree nor grass. The power of the forest cannot flow through her. Most of Athia’s abilities, including her armor, are actually created by the forest. Right now, the only thing Athia is touching is webbing and Izzi’s claws.” As we watch, Izzi becomes tired of Athia’s kicking, and grabs one of her feet, tickling her bare sole. Athia giggles madly, trying to pull away from Izzi’s grasp. Finally, Izzi tires of the sport, and reaches up, gripping the webbing in her black claws. She cuts it loose, and with many fast strokes, unbinds Athia’s hands. She gives Izzi a look promising revenge, and walks out.
I call Doll over to me. “Doll, could you please take Izzi and show her around the dungeons. From this point on, I want you to be here guide. Make sure to take her to her new quarters when she gets tired. In addition, I want you to begin teaching Izzi our language. The spell I cast is tiring, and I am not fond enough of it to cast it everyday.”
Doll nods, and reaches up, taking Izzi by the hand. “Sure! Doll is great teacher! Okay, pretty bug lady, Doll teach you words! This is a door! Say hi to door! Hi door! This is a hallway! Say hi to the hallway!” I hear her voice trail off as she leads a bemused Izzi behind her. As she leaves, Izzi turns back, and waves at Madira. She looks confused for a moment, but waves back, smiling.
I start walking down the hallway, as Madira slithers beside me. Suddenly she stops, and shifts forms, growing smaller. She glances over at me, and I calmly reach into my pocket and give her the loincloth. She quickly ties it around her waist, and keeps pace with me. With her current size, we feel less like mage and bodyguard, and more like equals. She speaks to me.
“Mirth, I gotta ask you, why do you tickle every new girl that you bring here? I mean, with your magic, you could have easily cast a spell to clean her off.” She smiles. “I know we both really like tickling, but it seems a little cruel just to tickle senseless every girl who comes here, just because we like it.”
I turn to her, and grin. I try to recall what she was like when I first met her. Harsh, violent, crude, with little respect for anyone, including herself. Now, here she is, asking me a pointed, well phrased question. Who knew, back then, that she had such potential?
“My dear, I am a male goblin in my prime. Like all my kind, I have a special love, a passion for tickling. In many ways, it is like an obsession. It wells up within me, filling me until I crave, I need to view a girl being tickled, to run my claws across a ticklish sole. Were I among my own kind, there would be temples to Joy, the goddess of laughter, where I could tickle some willing goblin girl until I was sedated. However, here, among the humans, I am isolated from my own kind. In this solitude, my desires become quite strong. Without the occasional chance to enjoy a tickling romp, I would most likely go mad.”
We arrive at my workshop. I open the door, and sit down at my desk. Madira hops up onto the table, and sits in front of me. “There is another reason. Wherever a goblin goes, ticklgins seems to follow them. I believe that a goblin’s desire for tickling can actually spread to other creatures. You yourself have experienced it. The longer you stay around me, the more obsessed with it you become.”
“Now, there are in the world some females for whom tickling is a true torture. Instead of just being unbearable, it actually causes them pain. I imagine if I invited, by chance, a person like that to stay with me. With everyone around them becoming completely obsessed with tickling, her life would become a living hell. I refuse to inflict that sentence upon anyone. So we test them. Before I have completely integrated them into my plan, We put them through the most exquisite tickling I can imagine. If I had noticed Izzi, or Athia in pain, in true distress, I would have released them immediately and sent out my Hunters to find a new one. Even Kasra, despite her inability to deal with your tickling touch, was not in any true pain. That is why I conduct immediate tickling sessions.” I feel a slight blush coming to my cheeks. “It must also be admitted that I have an exotic taste when it comes to ticklish girls. I would much rather have a wriggling naga at my claw tips than a random peasant girl.”
I feel gratified to notice that Madira also blushes at my comic. I always forget how cute she is when she blushes. Then her face becomes serious. She stares right into my eyes.
“Mirth, you keep mention this plan of yours, but you never tell us anything about it. You never tell me about it. You say I’m your second in command, but you haven’t even told me what my job is. Why not?”
I sigh. I let the smile slip from my face. Madira must know I am serious. “Madria, I know why you’re asking this. You think I do not trust you. Many leaders keep their secrets close at hand, believing that the fewer people they tell, the safer the secret. Perhaps that is true, but that has never been my reason for secrecy.”
“I trust you, perhaps far more than you know. I have seen you grow over these last few months into a mature, intelligent woman, and I would gladly place your life in my hands.”
I pause, as she places a hand to her heart. Her face is flushed and her snakes are gently hissing.
“The truth is, I do not trust myself. You see, I conceived of this plan three years ago, in the safety of my room in the Sky Towers. Then, it seemed perfectly, flawless. It would work. No matter the cost, I would follow my plan to the end. However, the cost has grown. When I envisioned myself surrounded by a harem of beautiful creatures, I did not place upon them personalities. Now that I have reached this point, I have come to know and love all of you. To lose Izzi, Athia, dear Doll… or you… I could not bear the pain.”
“You see, this is the easy part, the safe part. Much later on, it will become dangerous, perhaps deadly so. There is a point right before then, a clear division between when I could easily call of the plan and when I cannot turn back. A point of no return. Until then, I do not know if I can keep going. Every time we gain a new friend, a new ally, another life is put upon my shoulders. I know that if I follow through with the plan, in its entirety, I will put you all at risk. But until that point, I can pull back. Until that point, I can continue with the plan because until then, you are all safe.”
I reach forward, and grasp Madira’s hands. “I cannot make the decision to push forward alone. I am no longer objective, and I cannot balance the rewards verses the risks. That will be your job. I do not want to cement my plan into your mind. I do not want you to accept it now. At the threshold, I will lay out my entire plan, what we stand to lose and what we stand to gain. You must tell me, then and there, if I am to follow through. You must advise me. That is why you are my Second.”
Madira stands, and turns away, letting my hands fall through her grasp.
She takes a deep breath, turns, and embraces me. I can feet the softness of her breasts against my tunic. She feels so warm, so close to me. She lays her head upon my shoulder and brushes the scales on her cheek against the fur on mine.
“Mirth, thank you. Thank you for trusting me.” She stops speaking, overwhelmed with emotion. She hold me at arms length, smiles, and walks out the door. I hear her bare footsteps fade into the distance.
I can feel her warmth linger on my fur. I touch my cheek, where hers touched mine.
I do hope you enjoy this story and comments are always appreciated. The more comments I receive, the more encouraged I am to keep writing.
Part 5: From Under the Bridge (F/F, FFFM**/F)
“A troll!”
I almost leap onto my desk in shock as Madira bursts into my workroom, slamming my door. Fell and Garmr look up at me. I can tell they’re grinning at me.
I smooth down the ruffled fur on my arms and turn to Madira. My brain slowly unfreezes from the panic and her words trickle through. I shake my head.
“I trust, from your violent outcry that my Hunters have arrived, successful in their latest mission, and you waylaid one of them and tortured her mission objectives from her. I’m curious, which one?”
Madira blinks at me, my logical conclusions taking the wind from her sails. “Venla.”
“And how did you managed to remove her rather tight armor? I assume you must have removed her clothing. Or did you titillate her ears until she told you?”
Madira shakes her head. “Actually, it was easy. I was walking with Doll when we bumped into Venla. I tickled Doll’s breasts until she agreed to order Venla to unlatch her boots, then I tickled Venla’s feet until she told me what they brought back. I hate it when you don’t tell me things…” Suddenly, she seems to remember her original outburst. She crosses all six of her arms. “And you had them bring a troll here! A filthy, disgusting troll! This whole dungeon will soon reek of rotten meat and puss!”
“That may be. However, as long as she is within these walls and harms none, she is my guest and you will treat her as such.”
“She? Her? It’s a troll! They’re monsters! They devour children and eat people’s organs while they’re still alive. They…”
I hold up my hand. As Madira quiets down, I stare up at her. “How much of that was your own thoughts, and how much of it was what you learned from the slavers and circus folk?”
She glares at me, her blue eyes flashing red in the firestone light. “How dare you!”
“Madira, you spent the majority of your life in captivity, raised by men who believed that anything with more limbs and claws then they were terrible monsters, to be locked up in cages and pranced before an audience. I do not blame you for believing what you heard them say, but I believe you are smarter than that. Please don’t prove me wrong.”
“But they’re…”
“Monsters. So you said. But remember, my dear, that growing up, I was told that the naga were the most vicious and cruel beings in our world and all the civilized races would benefit from their destruction. Had I chosen to believe what I heard, where would you be now?”
Her mouth falls open. She stutters for a moment, and then falls silent. I stand, and pat her on her scaly waist. It’s the highest I can reach.
“I do not ask that you welcome her with open arms. That is my job. As always, I trust my safety to you, my Second. All I ask is that you judge not by what is in your mind, but by what your eyes see. Can you do that for me?”
She sighs, and shrugs. “I guess so. But the moment she lunges for you.”
“We will cross that bridge when we arrive there. However, I do not believe that will be a possibility, assuming that Kasra and her sisters delivered her to Athia.
As I walk down the hall, with Madira slithering beside me, we pass Venla and Doll panting slightly in the hallway. Doll immediately jumps up, her bare breasts bouncing. She picks up her tunic, which is laying on the ground, and slips it on over her head. Venla is trying to latch up her boots. As we pass by, she blushes and stares at her feet, attempting to buckle an already fastened clasp. I look up at Madira, and she winks at me. Smiling, I shake my head as we walk down the hall, leaving Venla behind.
When we arrive at the appropriate cell, we see Kasra leaning up against the door. She flips her hair back idly with her left hand.
“So, Venla told you we captured your next freak?”
I glance over to Madira, who utterly fails to keep a smirk from her face. “I eventually got the message. Is Athia in there?”
“The green lady in the tree suit? Yeah, she was waiting when we arrived. Said the forest had told her when we were going to arrive.”
“Really? Athia is becoming attuned to the forest much faster than I anticipated. Wonderful.”
Kasra stares at Madira, who is pointedly staring at her claws. “So, do you have our next assignment? We’re really eager to hunt down our next prey.”
I smile at her and draw from my pocket a slim parchment. Madira is a wonderful reverse incentive. “Actually, it occurred to me recently that it is inefficient for you to have to check in with me after every successful hunt. Therefore, I have drafted a list of prey for you to find. I want to be absolutely clear that you must bring them here in this order. Do you understand?”
Kasra snatches the list from my hand and storms off. She calls over her shoulder, “Just so long as the rest aren’t as smelly as this one!”
I open the door, allowing Madira, Doll, Fell and Garmr to enter before me. I step in, and behold my newest arrival. She is so utterly covered in grime and muck that I can barely make out her features. Her limbs are bound by massive numbers of long, green vines, descending from the earthen holes in the ceiling and walls. Her hands are imprisoned in a massive seedpod, completely concealing them from view. Thick vines wrap around her long arms, which are extended above her head. Another long tendril has wrapped around her waist and slightly pulled her down, extending her torso. Each of her six legs has been gripped by a single vine, and pulled straight out from her body, giving the impression of a pinwheel. She is suspended about two feet off the ground, so her extended feet are at eye height for me. She has four toes on each of her six feet and each toe has been gripped by its long, black claw and pulled back, keeping her dirty soles taut. From beneath her grisly locks of swamp green hair, three red, hateful eyes stare back at me, one rooted in the middle of her forehead. Her mouth opens, and I see a pair of tusks on her lower jaw, as she growls at me.
Another variety of vine has also worked its way into the chamber, this one with a slightly bluish ting. Every so often along its thick vines appears a large, bulbous pod, obviously straining against the pressure of its insides. Each one is pointed at the wriggling figure.
I turn Athia, who is leaning up against the wall next to a few buckets. She is clad in her light armor, with much of her pale, orange skin visible. I grin and nod at her. She has prepared everything precisely as asked. She gives me a grateful smile and turns back to her bound victim, with a look of distain on her face.
Doll holds her hands against her nose. “Peeww! Stinky bug lady!”
Madira looks down at me, one hand pinching her nose. “So, trolls don’t stick, huh? Smells pretty terrible to me.”
I breathe in, and out through my mouth, refusing to give her the satisfaction of holding my own nostrils closed. “I did not say that all the conceptions of trolls were wrong, just some of them. Though I concur, this stench is abominable. Athia, if you would be so kind as to clean up our new guest.”
Athia turns to me. “It would be my pleasure.” She gestures, and suddenly one of the bulbous pods explodes, showering the bound girl with cold water. She gives a gasp of surprise, and another pops near her face, streaming water at her. Soon the bursts become too numerous to count, and the explosions overlap.
Doll claps at the rising sound. “Ooh, fun, popping sound!”
Finally the ruptures cease, and the air fills with the heavy scent of flowers. The scented water has left our guest is left utterly drenched, but much cleaner. She blinks her three eyes at us. Her face has emerged from the muck with a deep emerald complexion, her cheeks and perky nose dusted with light green freckles. The freckles travel up her arms to her shoulders, and down across the top of her ample breasts, where two pert, pale green nipples can be seen. The soles of her feet are lighter then their tops and the soft skin gleams invitingly in the firestone light. Her hair, while still swamp green, is now free of its moss, and hangs down long and straight. Even with her tiny, ivory tusks, her face remains rather beautiful, in its own exotic way.
Doll smiles at her and says, “Bug lady is pretty!”
I turn and look at Madira. I can see the shock on her face, just before she changes it to an expression of quiet contempt. “Okay, so the beast is a little cute. That doesn’t mean anything.”
The troll watches our conversation, gives a short snarl, and begins making clicking noises at us. Madira turns to me. “What did it say?”
“My Madira, the young girl is a she, not an it. As for what she said, I haven’t the foggiest. Trollish is a ridiculously difficult language to master. The sounds are unlike anything you or I usually make.”
“Wait, can’t you just magic up a spell to translate for us?”
I smile at her. “Unfortunately, no. Language is a very complicated thing, dealing with very abstract concepts and differing diction, syntax, and interpretations. Thus, each spell must be individually designed to translate one single language to another. For instance, I know a handy spell that translates goblin into nagan, and back. However, no one has, to my knowledge, created a spell to translate troll.”
“You mean we can’t understand her?”
“My dear, you underestimate the versatility of magic. While direct translation is beyond my ability, I am able to grant between her and us a much deeper level of understanding. Every time she speaks, my spell will place into our minds an image of what she is thinking at the time, and perform the same service for her. While it can be a little unnerving at first, it is an excellent way to overcome the language barrier.”
Madira seems a little impressed. “You can put thoughts into our minds?” She gives this a moment’s consideration, and grimaces. “I don’t suppose you could exclude me from this? I don’t want… her thoughts anywhere near me.”
“Sadly for you, the spell functions over an area rather than individuals. If you remain in this room, you will be affected by this spell. And as my Second, I need you here to provide support, in case something goes wrong.”
She snorts as I turn away, and begin to cast. I can feel the magic welling up within me. I chant the ancient words, focusing my mind and shaping the magic as it flows from me, seeping into the air. In my mind, I see the air around us getting brighter, as long webs of blue flow between through us, into the girl suspended before us, and back. I open my eyes and clutch my chest, slightly winded.
Madira looks around, her eyes untrained in magic. “What happened? I don’t see any change. How come I don’t see any visions?”
I pause to catch my breath, and smile at her. “Of course not. She hasn’t spoken yet. However, I can assure you, our words are turning into images in her mind even as we speak.”
Indeed, I can see the troll girl’s red eyes widening with surprise. She shakes her head, and growls at us. The noise is not enough to trigger the spell.
I step forward, and address her for the first time. “Greetings, I am Mirth, a goblin mage, and this is my domain. These are my friends and allies, Madira the naga, Doll the golem, and Athia the dryad.” I gesture to each in turn. “And, of course, my guardians, Fell and Garmr, hellhounds. Allow me to welcome you to our home.”
She speaks, and suddenly a mental picture leaps into my mind. I see a dark cave, the walls and ceiling, covered with white sticky webbing. I can smell the musk and mold. I see myself, struggling, while completely encased in a cocoon. I see the troll girl, hanging from the ceiling by her many legs, claws embedded into the webs around. She reaches down, and grasps my struggling form. She opens her jaws, and now her tusks are dripping with a green, viscous liquid. She places her tusks, almost gently against the back of my shoulder, and presses just hard enough to pierce my skin. Almost instantly, my body stops struggling, my eyes become completely white, and every muscle goes limp. She shakes my body a bit to make sure I am dead, and tears a large chuck of fur off my neck before drenching herself in my blood. The images slowly fades, it’s meaning obvious.
Fell and Garmr growls across at the troll gal, while Madira bares her claws, ready to lunge. She shrieks out, “How dare you!”
I turn and hold our my hands. “Madira, cease!”
She glances down at me, her murderous instinct fading, though her anger does not. “Didn’t you see what she did to you?”
“Yes. It is quite obvious we all did.” I look over. All the color has flushed from Athia’s face. She grips the wall for support. Doll has shrunk back, holding her hand in front of her mouth, her eyes wide with fear.
“Listen, all of you. What you saw was a vision, an image of her thoughts, nothing more. I told you the spell would be unsettling, and I anticipated this reaction. Be at peace, I am fine.”
The others look a little more calm, though Madira is still fuming. “She wants to bite you, to kill you!”
“Yes, the venomous tusks of the troll. Actually, the death they cause is nearly instant and rather painless. Many believe it is an ultimately painless way to die.”
Madira glares at me, like I am an idiot. “She just told us she wants you dead! How can you be so calm?”
“She is not the first to threaten me out of fear. As I recall, you yourself told me you wished to consume me, when we first met.”
I watch her face loose its tension, as her arms fall to her sides. She stares at me with wide eyes, before turning her gaze to the ground. She rubs her top, right shoulder.
“I didn’t know you then.” Her voice is almost a whisper.
I pat her scaled tail. “I know. And right now, neither does she. She is scared, bound helpless, and surrounded by strangers. Her first reaction is naturally going to be violence. Our task, is to help her see past that.”
I turn back to the troll, who has been watching our every move. “There is no need to be like that. You are welcome here. There is no danger. We simply wish to be your friends.”
She pauses. Then her eyes narrow. She yells at me, and again, I find myself lost in a vision. This time, I can see she is younger. She is running through a swamp, but her legs are made for scuttling on ceilings and walls, not trudging through water. She is panting, her breaths coming to her in ragged sobs. A shout, unintelligible, rings through the air. She turns, in time to see a tall man in leather armor raise his bow, and unleash an arrow. The arrow cuts a wound across her shoulder. She falls, green blood flowing down her arm. Another warrior rushes at her with a long sword. She holds up her arm and…
The image cuts off. As reality fades back in, I notice for the first time, the scar on her left shoulder. It is faint, but by no means gone.
I try to smile disarmingly. “I know you have been hurt by men in the past, but look at us. As you can see, we are not men. We are creatures of a different breed. Not one of us bears arms against you.”
Her three eyes focus on each of us in turn. She pauses on my Second, but Madira seems to be lost in thought, perhaps contemplating the vision she just saw. Her eyes refocuses on me. I see a flicker of hope, before it withers and dies. She speaks, this time in a hushed tone.
I see her crouched under a tree, her shoulder wound crusted over. She is hanging from a limb, over the unmoving body of one of the armored men. His sightless eyes are white. She pulls off his leather coat, and rips open his stomach. She pulls up his intestines, and begins to slowly chew. Although the image is quite disgusting, I can’t help but notice the tears running down the young girl’s cheeks, leaving streaks through the mud coating her face.
Once again, I stare into her red eyes. “That was not your fault, nor was any of the other killings you’ve performed. There was never any malice or hatred in your intentions. You were hunting, seeking food as we all do. You were taught by your parents to kill for your food, to kill those who sought to harm you.” I smile at her. “You are no more an evil monster than we are. If you stay here, with us, I promise you, you will never have to kill again.”
All the anger and fear leave her face. Her eyes close into a wistful expression. She speaks.
I see Izzi climbing up, out of her cave, crawling up the chasm wall along her intricate layers of webbing. She climbs, up to the bridge that spans her gorge. She reaches the bridge, and crawls beneath it, staring up through the cracks in the slates. She sees footsteps and leans in closer, preparing to strike. It is a trio of milkmaids, carrying their load on long poles slung across their shoulders. One turns to the others, and makes a quick remark. Although Izzi cannot understand it, she sees the other two laugh out loud. One stumbles, and almost loses her footing, but of the others drops her milk and grabs her. Izzi watches as the milk tumbles out of sight. The clumsy girl steadies herself, and begins to speak to the girl who saved her. She smiles and hugs her. The three keep walking, again bursting out into laughter. Izzi watches them leave, and then crawls back to her cave.
She stares at me, eyes telling me of the loneliness, the isolation. I look behind me, and see Madira staring at Izzi. I do not need a spell to tell me the images that are flashing through my friend’s mind. Years of being alone, separated from her own kind, alienated, yet desperately seeking a friend, any friend. Her time in captivity has made Madira hard, but has also made her receptive to certain emotions. She stares at Izzi in a new light.
I turn to Izzi. “Yes, that is what we offer you. People to laugh with, to share you life with, to help you when you stumble. We can be your friends.”
She smiles down at me, her short tusks merely enhancing her smile. I point to her. “Now, then, since we are all friends here, why not tell us your name. After all, we have told you ours.”
She speaks, and for once, no images appear. Instead, I hear her name, a sharp surrousous of the tongue. I listen carefully. “Izzi? Your name is Izzi?”
She nods in response. Then, she tilts her head, quizzically. She speaks in a normal tone, and I feel the vision overtake me.
For a second, I am confused. It seems like I am still in reality, staring at Izzi hanging from the ceiling by a collection of vines. She stares at me, questioningly. Her eyes travel up to the vines wrapping around her arms, legs, ankles, and toes claws. She looks back at me.
The vision ends, and I again feel a little disoriented, as what I am seeing hasn’t changed. I scratch my chin for a moment, before catching on. I grin at Izzi.
“We have not bound you so tightly because we fear you. You are now our friend. However, I am afraid your years of living in squalor have left you with more filth on your skin then mere water can remove. You might be fine now, but that is because of the scented water. In a few hours, that will wear off and you will return to smelling rank and foul.”
She wrinkles her nose at me, and shakes her head. I smile at her. “I assure you, you have been living with it so long that you have adjusted to your own aroma. Unfortunately, we have not. We are going to have to give you a through washing, and it may become a little intense. If you want to stay here, you will have to acquiesce.”
She nods, smiling at me. She obviously wants to say badly enough to put up with our nonsensical requests.
I walk over to where Athia is standing, and pick up one of the buckets. I feel the soapy, warm water slosh against the side as I care it over to Madira. I set it down in front of her. I reach in, pull out one of the several hand brushes in it, and hand it up to Madira. She stares at it. I motion to Izzi.
She thrusts her lower arms onto her hips. “Why do I have to be the one to scrub her down?”
“Because, my dear, you are the only one who can reach her. It is not so terrible of a task.” She looks at me, uncomprehendingly. I remind myself that she’s never actually held a brush before. “Madira, think about it. If Izzi was a normal, human girl, and she was in this position, what would your first impulse be?”
Madira rubs her palm over the soft, soapy bristles of the brush, looks over at Izzi’s helpless, stretched out form, and smiles her evil grin. She reaches down into the bucket, her tail bending at an angle, and takes a brush into each hand. She slides around Izzi, and slips in between her hind most legs. Izzi twists and turns her head, trying and failing to look at Madira. With her wicked grin still plastered on her face, Madira raises up her first arms, and begins to vigorously brush Izzi’s bare underarms.
Immediately Izzi bursts into laughter. Her giggles are sweet and clear. Madira’s strokes are short and quick, building up a white lather, which compliments Izzi’s skin tone. Meanwhile, Izzi is giggling up a storm. Tears of mirth fall from her three eyes, as her tusked mouth lets loose an avalanche of laughter. The vines have pulled her so tight, than even though I can see she is straining against them, she cannot move an inch. She is perfectly held in place, utterly helpless against Madira’s ministrations to her tender hollows.
Then Madira begins brushing up, and around Izzi’s arms, running next to her head to get her shoulders. Although Izzi’s arms are still quite ticklish, her laughter slows down to a steady stream of giggles. It seems Madira remembers that Izzi does, in fact, need to be cleaned, and that means she needs to brush her less ticklish areas as well as the sensitive ones.
However, it does not take Madira long to put her second arms into play, this time brushing up and down Izzi’s stretched sides. As the thick bristles rub a path from her underarms down to her flanks, it appears Izzi’s ribs and sides are just as ticklish as her underarms. She squeals with laughter, whipping her head around, as a lock of her hair falls in front of her left eye. She wriggles against the vines holding up her arms. As she keeps brushing along her sides, I notice her third arms beginning to scrub her back. It is impossible to tell if that is actually tickling Izzi or not, as the side brushing is quite enough to drive her into hysterics.
Suddenly she switches arms. Her upper arms finish with Izzi’s arms join the middle ones scrubbing in scrubbing her back, and her third set of arms reaches around and begins to brush Izzi’s belly. The thick brushes slid all around her tummy in round strokes, as Izzi shakes with laughter. One of the brushes passes over her belly button, the long bristles sneaking down into the tender skin. Izzi screams in laughter, drowning out Madira’s cry of success. After that, each brush manages to slip into her belly button as it passes on its ticklish work.
Madira finishes with Izzi’s her back. Suddenly she applies all six brushes to Izzi’s sides, running them simultaneously up and down Izzi’s ticklish skin. Izzi shriek with mad laughter, thrusting her head back to pour her laughter into the ceiling. I see the vines strain against Izzi’s pull, but they remain firm, rooted in place. Madira brushes faster, smiling as she watches Izzi’s face fill with inescapable mirth. Just as it seems Izzi cannot take anymore, Madira stops. Her tickling instincts improve with every session.
She slithers around Izzi’s legs, working her way back over to us. She glances down at me.
“Mirth, do you have a cloth? I need to wipe down her face. These brushes are too stiff.” She drops her brushes into the bucket.
I look at her for a moment, a little surprised. I reach into my pocket, and pull out a large towel. She looks at my pockets for a moment. “How much stuff do you have in there?”
I smile back at her. “As much as I wish.”
She blinks at me, shrugs, and takes it. She dips one end of it into the soapy water, and slithers over to Izzi. Almost tenderly, she scrubs off Izzi’s face. Izzi, meanwhile, is slowly catching her breath. As Madira wipes off the soapy water with the dry end, Izzi looks up at her, and unexpectedly smiles. She opens her mouth.
I see another vision, this time of Madira in the cave. Instead of being tangled up, strings of web pull her arms out at straight angles, much like Izzi’s legs. Again, like before, Izzi comes scuttling over. She lowers her arms, and begins to tickle Madira’s underarms. Madira explodes with laughter, her long tail thrashing back and forth. Izzi smiles maliciously as she switches underarms, now tickling the hollows of Madira’s bottom right, and middle left. Madira’s face is an image of tickled perfection, as her hair hisses and writhes. Izzi switches underarms randomly, never letting Madira know where she’ll strike next. Madira is practically crawling out of her skin, but she cannot take a single action against her tickling tormentor.
The image fades all too soon. I quickly wipe the glazed expression from my face, and watch Madira’s reaction carefully. Madira stares at Izzi in utter disbelief. Izzi winks at her with her right eye.
Suddenly Madira’s face takes on a revengeful look. “Oh, you didn’t just say what I think you said.” She turns around, her tail flexing. “Mirth, I think she figured out this isn’t just about getting her clean. Do I have your permission to be merciless?”
I smile, slightly relieved. “When have you ever asked my permission about anything?”
She smiles back. “Good point.” She slides over, and reaches into the bucket, pulling out her six brushes. She waves the soapy suds at Izzi. “Now you are going to get it.” She slither up, in between Izzi’s front legs and grins at her. Izzi’s display of defiance withers under that wicked grin, and she give a nervous, ingratiating smile. Madira leans in close and whispers into Izzi’s ear. “I want you to understand perfectly what I now say. I’m going to tickle your breasts.”
All three of Izzi’s eyes widen. She shakes her head, her eyes pleading with Madira. But my Second, once challenged, will never back down. Madira slowly, agonizingly slowly lowers her first arms, letting the soapy brushes hang right in front of Izzi’s breasts. The tips of the bristles are just barely teasing Izzi’s nipples. Izzi begins to nervously giggle. Madira then gently pushes the brushes in, and pulls them down. Only Izzi’s nipples feel the brush of the bristles, but it is like she was struck by lightning. She shrieks with laughter, then returns to helpless giggles and Madira pulls the brushes away, and bring them back up, the bottom tips hanging just above the nipples. A single drop of soap falls, and slides down Izzi’s right breast.
Then, Madira pushes the brush closer to Izzi’s breast, and pulls down. This time, the entire breadth of the brush runs along the front of Izzi’s breasts. Izzi shakes with laughter, the bouncing of her breasts only increasing the tickling sensation. As the brush reaches the bottom of her breasts, Madira pulls them back up, truly beginning to brush up and down the ticklish mounds.
As Izzi goes insane with laughter, Madira then focuses her second pair of brushes on the sides of her Izzi’s breasts, running them counterstroke to the front brushes. Izzi’s laughter reaches a new peak of madness, her tears coursing like three rivers down her face. Madira raises her third set of brushes, and applies them to the ticklish undersides of Izzi’s bare, defenseless breasts. Like some diabolical washing device, Madira times her tickling strokes perfectly, her brushes never banging or colliding with each other. Just long, smooth, incredibly ticklish motions. Izzi no longer has the strength to fight it. She just hangs her head in ticklish submission, laughing long and loud. Madira is completely merciless, never slowing or speeding up, drawing Izzi’s beautiful laughter from her smiling, tear streaked face like she’s drawing water from a well.
Again, just as it seems like Izzi’s consciousness is about to break, Madira pulls her brushes away. As Izzi comes down from her second massive tickling overload, she whips her hair around and gives Madira a dazzling smile. Then she sticks out her long, rubbery tongue. Madira grins and runs a single brush right down the middle of Izzi’s breasts, causing her to giggle. Before the whole thing can start again, I call out to Madira.
“My dear, I ask you to pause for a moment. Her upperbody is quite clean by now, I am sure. Now we must focus on her lower extremities.”
Madira glances down at Izzi’s six legs. She turns back to me. “I have to wash them all?”
I smile at her. “Of course not. That would take far too long. That is why I brought everyone down her.” I walk over to the second bucket along the wall, and carry it over. I reach in, and hand a brush to Athia and Doll. I take one brush myself.
“We will each take a leg. After all, it is the least we can do for our new ally.”
“But we’re two brushes short,” says Madira, ignoring the fact that she’s currently holding six brushes herself.
“Ah, but you do not necessarily need brushes to clean something off. Fell, Garmr, it is time for your two to earn your keep.” The two shake themselves off, and pad their way over. I can see, in their own way, they are smiling. After years in my service, the hellhounds have grown to enjoy this work almost as much as I do.
“Alright, everyone take a leg. We will start washing off the thighs on my signal.” I position myself on the left of the two front legs. Athia joins me on the right front leg. Doll skips and leaps over to the side leg next to me. Madira takes the other side, and Fell and Garmr take up spots next to the back thighs.
I raise my empty hand, as if I’m preparing for a race. I glance up, and take note of Izzi’s expression. There is a trace of terror, but it is obviously outweighed by her anticipation. She closes all her eyes and takes a deep breath in preparation.
I drop my hand. “Begin scrubbing.” I immediately begin rubbing my scrub brush along the underside of her thigh, where her skin is most sensitive. Izzi instantly explodes into hysterical laughter, as my brush is only a sixth of her new sensations. To my right, Athia is methodically scrubbing away at the top of her thigh, slowly, but inevitably working her way down the sides of the ticklish skin. Meanwhile Doll is randomly brushing basically everywhere, always running her brush over a new, untickled patch of skin. Madira, evil as always, is scrubbing away will all six of her brushes, running them up and down every inch of Izzi’s ticklish thigh. Fell and Garmr are licking away at their respective thighs, their rasping tongues cleaning and tickling as thoroughly as any brush. Izzi howls with ticklish laughter, her body wracked with the simultaneous sensations.
I finish brushing the undersides of her leg, and quickly finish off the top, making sure not to ignore one single, ticklish spot. I give the top of her knee a quick brushing, but without squeezing it really does not tickle her very much. However, I can feel her leg flex as I run my brush along the underside of her knee, my brush titillating the soft, stretched skin I find there. After I exhaust my interest tickling her there, I move on to her calves. As I finish up brushing there, I realize that everyone is basically at the same point. Apparently, despite our different methods, we all possess the same pace. I call out.
“Hold a moment. Let us allow her to regain her breath before we start on the final, unwashed part. She will need it.” Indeed, as I stare into her face, I realize just what we have put upon her. She is gasping for breath, a light green flush coloring her cheeks. Sweat has drenched her limbs, washing off much of the soapy water. She opens her three eyes, and just stares at the ceiling in wonder.
As she recovers, I position myself in front of her feet, and contemplate them. They are quite unusual. As each foot bears equally positioned weight, it is obviously not a left foot or right foot. Unlike most feet, there is no instep, no slim curve of slightly firmer skin lining the arch. Between the heel and the ball of her foot is just a single arch, curving into her foot. Her feet are fairly short and small. Since she does not actually step anywhere, usually just hanging by her claws, her feet are incredibly tender and soft. Even her heel is completely free of worn skin. It is all as smooth as a satin sheet. Each foot has four tiny toes, pulled back by their claws. They are round and completely adorable, despite the large black claws. This foot is a thing of beauty and I cannot wait to give unto it my own form of worship. I hold my soapy brush at the ready.
Izzi shakes her head, and glances down at all of us, positioned in front of her insanely ticklish feet. I look up at her. “Are you ready for this?”
She gives me a coy smile, and nods. That is all the signal anyone needs. I begin my scrubbing my brush horizontally across her heel, slowly working my way up her foot. As I hit the arch, the soft sound of the brush makes as it slides across her ticklish skin matches perfectly with her wild cries of laughter. As I continue climbing, I glance around at the tickling techniques of my neighbors.
Athia is simply running the brush up and down the bare, helpless sole in front of her. In a single stroke, she runs her brush over all the toes, across the ball, down the ticklish arch, and finishes with the heel. Then she lifts up the brush, starts at the top, and pulls it down again. Simple, but from the way Izzi’s leg is flexing, it’s working just fine.
Doll, after brushing every part of her foot, as discovered that her favorite place is the toes. She runs the brush along them, tilting it up and down slightly. This allows her to tickle down into the spaces under the toes when she tilts the brush down, and when she tilts it up, it tickles the sensitive space on the top. I can hear her singing a little nonsensical ditty as she wonderfully tickle tortures Izzi’s toes.
Meanwhile, Madira, in her typical fashion, has managed to fit three brushes onto Izzi’s tiny foot, all running horizontally. One tickles the toes, much like Doll is doing, one is tickling the ball of the foot and the upper arch, and the third strokes the lower arch and the heel. The vine holding that leg is flexes and strains, holding as best it can the ticklish foot. Every time I see Madira tickle, she becomes even better. I begin to wonder if there is she has any limits as a tickler.
Fell and Garmr are doing their best to drive Izzi mad with laughter. Their rough, tickly tongues are rasping away. Fell is licking each toe individually, making sure not only to get the tip and beneath, but also the ticklish sides. Garmr is focused on the arch, letting his coarse tongue tickle the softest skin on her foot.
If I ever thought before that Izzi’s laughter was a loud as possible, I was sorely mistaken. I can feel her laughter in my chest, through the stones on the floor. Her wilding howling is probably echoing down the halls even now. Her head is down, chin resting against her chest, pouring her laughter into the space between her breasts. I have seen other faces bare the same expression her lovely, adorable face does not. It is pure tickle ecstasy. Her laughing eyes, the wild smile, all point to ticklish rapture. She is so utterly filled with joy, her body can no longer contain it. It is spilling over into all of us, filling each of us with joy.
I feel a strong sense of companionship among us. Here we are gathered, each in our own special way, drawing pure joy from this lovely, young trollish girl, who for the first time has discovered friendship. The moment last forever.
Surprisingly, Madira is the first to pull back, though I am not far behind. We’ve both noticed that Izzi has reached the ultimate edge of her tickling endurance. The others follow suit. Izzi keeps laughing for several minutes long after the tickling has stopped. She shakes her head, and gives a laugh that has nothing to do, and everything to do with tickling. I nod to Athia, who calls down the vines. As the lower vines pull back, allowing Izzi’s feet to rest against the ground, the pod releases Izzi’s hands.
For the first time, we can view the dark markings on Izzi’s palms. What at first seem like a number of black dots can be seen as tiny holes, like enlarged sweat glands. Madira stares at them. As Izzi rubs her wrists, Madira gestures at her palms.
“What are those?”
Before I can answer, Izzi shows Madira. She holds up her hand, palm down. From the tiny holes shoots a thin, white liquid, which seems to harden as it hit the air. Izzi’s four claws begin to dance, weaving the liquid into a number of smaller strands. She holds up her other hand, just like the first, and creates another set of white ropes. She puts her hands together, and starts weaving the many strands together, like a large, incredibly complicated cats cradle. Suddenly, she moved towards Athia, wrapping the webbing around her wrists and binding them together. Before Athia can react to this onslaught, Izzi spins around, points her palms at the ceiling, and fires out a single thick strand of webbing, which pulls Athia upwards. It sticks to a beam in the ceiling, holding Athia a few feet off the ground. Izzi immediately tickles Athia’s orange sides, as Athia bursts into laughter. Athia tries to kick her away, but dangling as she does, she lacks the leverage to put any force behind her kicks. As Izzi skitters her claws up and down Athia’s ticklish skin, Madira taps me on the shoulder.
“Why doesn’t Athia put up her armor?”
I turn to Madira. “It’s because she is touching neither earth nor tree nor grass. The power of the forest cannot flow through her. Most of Athia’s abilities, including her armor, are actually created by the forest. Right now, the only thing Athia is touching is webbing and Izzi’s claws.” As we watch, Izzi becomes tired of Athia’s kicking, and grabs one of her feet, tickling her bare sole. Athia giggles madly, trying to pull away from Izzi’s grasp. Finally, Izzi tires of the sport, and reaches up, gripping the webbing in her black claws. She cuts it loose, and with many fast strokes, unbinds Athia’s hands. She gives Izzi a look promising revenge, and walks out.
I call Doll over to me. “Doll, could you please take Izzi and show her around the dungeons. From this point on, I want you to be here guide. Make sure to take her to her new quarters when she gets tired. In addition, I want you to begin teaching Izzi our language. The spell I cast is tiring, and I am not fond enough of it to cast it everyday.”
Doll nods, and reaches up, taking Izzi by the hand. “Sure! Doll is great teacher! Okay, pretty bug lady, Doll teach you words! This is a door! Say hi to door! Hi door! This is a hallway! Say hi to the hallway!” I hear her voice trail off as she leads a bemused Izzi behind her. As she leaves, Izzi turns back, and waves at Madira. She looks confused for a moment, but waves back, smiling.
I start walking down the hallway, as Madira slithers beside me. Suddenly she stops, and shifts forms, growing smaller. She glances over at me, and I calmly reach into my pocket and give her the loincloth. She quickly ties it around her waist, and keeps pace with me. With her current size, we feel less like mage and bodyguard, and more like equals. She speaks to me.
“Mirth, I gotta ask you, why do you tickle every new girl that you bring here? I mean, with your magic, you could have easily cast a spell to clean her off.” She smiles. “I know we both really like tickling, but it seems a little cruel just to tickle senseless every girl who comes here, just because we like it.”
I turn to her, and grin. I try to recall what she was like when I first met her. Harsh, violent, crude, with little respect for anyone, including herself. Now, here she is, asking me a pointed, well phrased question. Who knew, back then, that she had such potential?
“My dear, I am a male goblin in my prime. Like all my kind, I have a special love, a passion for tickling. In many ways, it is like an obsession. It wells up within me, filling me until I crave, I need to view a girl being tickled, to run my claws across a ticklish sole. Were I among my own kind, there would be temples to Joy, the goddess of laughter, where I could tickle some willing goblin girl until I was sedated. However, here, among the humans, I am isolated from my own kind. In this solitude, my desires become quite strong. Without the occasional chance to enjoy a tickling romp, I would most likely go mad.”
We arrive at my workshop. I open the door, and sit down at my desk. Madira hops up onto the table, and sits in front of me. “There is another reason. Wherever a goblin goes, ticklgins seems to follow them. I believe that a goblin’s desire for tickling can actually spread to other creatures. You yourself have experienced it. The longer you stay around me, the more obsessed with it you become.”
“Now, there are in the world some females for whom tickling is a true torture. Instead of just being unbearable, it actually causes them pain. I imagine if I invited, by chance, a person like that to stay with me. With everyone around them becoming completely obsessed with tickling, her life would become a living hell. I refuse to inflict that sentence upon anyone. So we test them. Before I have completely integrated them into my plan, We put them through the most exquisite tickling I can imagine. If I had noticed Izzi, or Athia in pain, in true distress, I would have released them immediately and sent out my Hunters to find a new one. Even Kasra, despite her inability to deal with your tickling touch, was not in any true pain. That is why I conduct immediate tickling sessions.” I feel a slight blush coming to my cheeks. “It must also be admitted that I have an exotic taste when it comes to ticklish girls. I would much rather have a wriggling naga at my claw tips than a random peasant girl.”
I feel gratified to notice that Madira also blushes at my comic. I always forget how cute she is when she blushes. Then her face becomes serious. She stares right into my eyes.
“Mirth, you keep mention this plan of yours, but you never tell us anything about it. You never tell me about it. You say I’m your second in command, but you haven’t even told me what my job is. Why not?”
I sigh. I let the smile slip from my face. Madira must know I am serious. “Madria, I know why you’re asking this. You think I do not trust you. Many leaders keep their secrets close at hand, believing that the fewer people they tell, the safer the secret. Perhaps that is true, but that has never been my reason for secrecy.”
“I trust you, perhaps far more than you know. I have seen you grow over these last few months into a mature, intelligent woman, and I would gladly place your life in my hands.”
I pause, as she places a hand to her heart. Her face is flushed and her snakes are gently hissing.
“The truth is, I do not trust myself. You see, I conceived of this plan three years ago, in the safety of my room in the Sky Towers. Then, it seemed perfectly, flawless. It would work. No matter the cost, I would follow my plan to the end. However, the cost has grown. When I envisioned myself surrounded by a harem of beautiful creatures, I did not place upon them personalities. Now that I have reached this point, I have come to know and love all of you. To lose Izzi, Athia, dear Doll… or you… I could not bear the pain.”
“You see, this is the easy part, the safe part. Much later on, it will become dangerous, perhaps deadly so. There is a point right before then, a clear division between when I could easily call of the plan and when I cannot turn back. A point of no return. Until then, I do not know if I can keep going. Every time we gain a new friend, a new ally, another life is put upon my shoulders. I know that if I follow through with the plan, in its entirety, I will put you all at risk. But until that point, I can pull back. Until that point, I can continue with the plan because until then, you are all safe.”
I reach forward, and grasp Madira’s hands. “I cannot make the decision to push forward alone. I am no longer objective, and I cannot balance the rewards verses the risks. That will be your job. I do not want to cement my plan into your mind. I do not want you to accept it now. At the threshold, I will lay out my entire plan, what we stand to lose and what we stand to gain. You must tell me, then and there, if I am to follow through. You must advise me. That is why you are my Second.”
Madira stands, and turns away, letting my hands fall through her grasp.
She takes a deep breath, turns, and embraces me. I can feet the softness of her breasts against my tunic. She feels so warm, so close to me. She lays her head upon my shoulder and brushes the scales on her cheek against the fur on mine.
“Mirth, thank you. Thank you for trusting me.” She stops speaking, overwhelmed with emotion. She hold me at arms length, smiles, and walks out the door. I hear her bare footsteps fade into the distance.
I can feel her warmth linger on my fur. I touch my cheek, where hers touched mine.
I do hope you enjoy this story and comments are always appreciated. The more comments I receive, the more encouraged I am to keep writing.
