The Tickle Sprite, pt. 4: In The Hay (f/f)

[UnderscoreEleven]

Links to previous installments:

• The Tickle Sprite
• The Tickle Sprite, pt. 2: Roomies
• The Tickle Sprite, pt. 3: Talisman

I make no apologies for the length of this one. It is what it is.

But if you want to skip straight to the fun part, click here.

Otherwise, enjoy.

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The Tickle Sprite, pt. 4: In The Hay

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When Bethany awoke, the first thing she did was to look for the talisman – the right talisman, the one Alix had tipped onto the carpet the night before. She remembered exactly where it had landed, but there was no sign of it now. Her clothes had been neatly folded and placed on a chair by the dresser, but the silver talisman was nowhere to be seen.

Keeping her body covered with the duvet, she risked a quick glance under the bed. No talisman. Alix must have found a way to pick it up without touching it. Where had she hidden it? Bethany glanced around warily, half-expecting the sprite to pounce at any moment.

Then she heard movement from the kitchen. Cupboards opening and closing, plates being laid out. And the unmistakeable aroma of a cooked breakfast. What new trick was this?

She dressed quickly and went to investigate. Sure enough, there was Alix standing over the hob, poking a wooden spoon into a saucepan.

"Morning, sleepyhead. You know what time it is?"

Bethany was too taken aback to speak. She had never seen Alix wearing clothes before. The sprite was wrapped up in a grey, rustic-looking woollen dress, loosely tied around the waist with string.

Seeing Bethany's surprise, Alix looked down at herself. "What? I don't have to be naked."

"What... what are you doing?" murmured Bethany, still a little fogged up with sleep.

"Scrambled eggs. And toast. I would have done bacon but you didn't have any."

"But you don't eat."

"I know that. It's for you, moron. You and I have got some things to talk about."

This was all a little strange. Bethany returned to the most pressing question. "Where's the talisman?"

"Oh, that? I put it in your jewelry box. You should keep hold of it, it's pretty. Completely useless, though."

Bethany had been about to go and get it when Alix's last comment held her back. "What do you mean, useless? It worked on you last night."

"Nah, I was just psyching you out. I wanted to see what you'd do if you thought I couldn't touch you." Alix grinned with affectionate mockery. "And girl, you did not disappoint."

"You're lying," said Bethany. "Why wouldn't it work? I paid enough for it. It's specially enchanted for protection against tickle sprites."

"You got ripped off, honey. There's no such thing as tickle sprites."

This remark was met with a bewildered silence. Alix turned her attention to the toast, scraping off a thick layer of charcoal. "I've never actually cooked before," she said apologetically. "They make it look easy on TV."

"What are you then?" Bethany burst out suddenly.

"That's what I want to talk to you about. Come get some scrambled egg and sit down."

Bethany inched closer and peered into the pan. "It looks like mashed potato."

"Isn't it supposed to? Alright, forget the scrambled egg. But sit down anyway. I'm going to tell you a story..."

***

The late-morning sun rose above the hilltops, shining down upon a rough-hewn farmhouse in the centre of an isolated valley. In a dark room within, a few beams of sunlight filtered through the gaps in the shutters to fall upon a sleeping figure wrapped up in a blanket. The rise and fall of the blanket, and the tousled mop of dark hair on the pillow, were the only signs of life. Peace and silence reigned – until a call from below broke the tranquil scene.

"Zandra? Where are you? If you're still in bed..."

The figure groaned and pushed away the covers, revealing a bare arm and a pretty feminine face, disheveled with sleep. Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and a moment later the door was thrown open by an middle-aged woman in a sunhat and thick gloves. Seeing the swaddled figure, she gave a cry of exasperation.

"Zandra, I swear... When are you going to start taking some responsibility around here? You can't expect your father and I to shoulder the burden all alone. It isn't fair."

"I never asked to be brought here," the girl muttered, turning her face away. This was her stock response to such complaints, even though it had been almost twenty years since she and her mother crossed the ocean to join her father on the new continent. She had only been an infant at the time, and had no memories at all of her home country, but that didn't stop her pining for a life she could have had – a life that wasn't work, work, work, day in, day out.

Her mother wasn't interested in rehearsing the argument. She leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms. "Now listen. Your father says there's a storm coming, so I'm busy dragging all the wood into the cellar, and he's gone to check that the cattle are secure. It's just occurred to me that I'm going to need the flatiron tonight, and your Uncle Ged still hasn't returned it. So I need you to go and fetch it before the rain comes on."

The dark-haired girl ground the heel of her hand against her eyes. "Do I have to?"

"Unless you'd prefer me to go, and you can shift the wood."

"Alright, alright. I'll go."

"Good. I expect to see you downstairs in five minutes."

***

"I'm confused," said Bethany.

"Be patient," said Alix. "It's a story. I'm unfolding the narrative." She was perched on the arm of the sofa with her feet up on the cushions, arms wrapped around her knees. Bethany was curled up at the other end, as far out of Alix's reach as she could get. Just in case.

"No, I get that, but... Zandra? What kind of name is that?"

"I know, isn't it awful? It's short for Alexandra. I always told people I'd rather be called Alix but it never seemed to stick."

"Wait." Bethany sat bolt upright. "The girl in the story is you?"

Alix tsked. "You've made me give away the ending now. Yes, that's me. I was once a real girl."

"So you're..."

"I'm not a sprite. I'm a ghost. This story I'm telling you took place right here, where the city is now, two hundred and seven years ago."

Bethany stared, trying to process this information. "Then why do you have such an obsession with... I mean, if you were a sprite I could understand it, but you're telling me you're just a... a really horny ghost?"

"Hungry ghost is the technical expression. A wandering spirit chained to earth by the force of its unfulfilled physical desires. In my case, an insatiable desire to... to..."

"Tickle people?" Bethany suggested.

"Well, if you insist," said Alix with a grin. In one fluid movement she leapt across the sofa and dug her fingers into Bethany's ribs.

"Nonostahahahahaha!" Bethany squirmed to escape, but she was wedged into the corner of the sofa. Taking full advantage, Alix wriggled a hand into her victim's armpit, forcing her laughter to an even higher pitch. After a few moments, she called off the assault, and the two of them collapsed into a giggly cuddle.

When she'd got her breath back, Bethany said: "That is not an unfulfilled desire. You do it all the time."

"How about you let me tell this story my way?"

"Okay." Bethany laid her head on Alix's chest and looked meekly up at her. "Why are you telling me this anyway?"

Alix seemed embarrassed by the question. "There's... something about you. I want to do more than just torment you. I want to get to know you – and I want you to know me too. And more importantly, I want to know you want me here. Now you know that I'm a ghost, you know how to get rid of me."

That was true enough. Sprites were hard to shake once they got hold of you, but ghosts? Ghost were easy. All you needed was some holy water and a bit of incense. Bethany pushed closer, felt Alix's grip tighten around her. "I'll never want to be rid of you," she said.

"Good. Now don't interrupt again or you'll be punished."

CONTINUED BELOW

 

[UnderscoreEleven]

Zandra shaded her eyes and looked up at the clear blue sky. A storm coming? Yeah, right.

She had thrown on her usual ankle-length grey dress, and was en route to Uncle Ged's farmstead. Ged, though she called him her uncle, wasn't actually related to her. He had settled in the valley at the same time as her father, and the two of them had shared the land between them. He and his family were the only other people for miles around, so naturally they spent a lot of time together.

Zandra had always been rather more interested in spending time with Ged's daughter, Cynthia – and as she approached the farmhouse, she was pleased to spot the familiar red ponytail bobbing up and down above an upturned plough in the near distance. Reason enough for a little detour.

At the sound of Zandra's footsteps, Cynthia straightened up. She had evidently been sharpening the blades of the plough; her hands were black with lubricant. She wiped them on her dungarees and glanced up at the sun. "Well, well. Barely noon and you're already up and dressed. What's the big occasion?"

"Trust me, I wish I was in bed – like any decent person should be at this hour. But apparently you've got our flatiron. I don't suppose you know where I can find it?"

The redhead pursed her lips and shook her head. "I thought we gave it back. You'd have to ask my dad."

"Is he around?"

"Last I saw him, he was heading for the barn."

Zandra threw her head back in annoyance. The barn was at least another half a mile off.

"Come on, I'll walk with you," said Cynthia. "It'll be a novelty to see you get some exercise. I don't know how you even made it this far on those skinny legs."

Zandra stuck her tongue out. In honesty, she wasn't too upset about the prospect of a longer walk if Cynthia was coming. Not that she would ever tell her that. "Some people in life get all the brawn – others get the brains."

"Yeah, and you got neither."

"At least I don't have to wear boots and trousers. There's something to be said for womanly dignity, you know."

"Whatever you say, Zandra."

"Don't call me that."

Still jibing at each other, the two friends set out across the fields.

***

"I'm surprised you let her talk to you like that," said Bethany.

Alix shrugged. "I wasn't so eloquent in those days. She always got the best of me in banter, but I had my ways of getting even."

"Like how?" asked Bethany with eager eyes. She was still cuddled up against Alix on the sofa, her legs drawn up beneath her.

"Not what you're thinking. I wasn't into... that... back then. But I played all kinds of other tricks on her." Smiling at the memory, she added: "Like the time I found out she had a phobia of spiders."

"What did you do?"

"Just what any loving friend would do. I spent two days collecting spiders in a bucket, then snuck over to her house in the dead of night and tipped the whole squirming mass into her bedroom window."

Bethany's eyes widened. "I guess that answers one question. You've always been pure evil."

"That's right. Which reminds me... what did I say would happen if you interrupted me again?" She grabbed Bethany's right foot in a pincer grip and squeezed.

"Naha no!" squeaked Bethany, kicking out wildly but unable to dislodge the squeezing fingers. Bubbling up with helpless laughter, she fell forward into Alix's lap, where another hand slipped into her shirt and scampered over her midriff. "Ohohokay stohohohohop!"

"Are you going to listen to the story?"

"Yehehehess I prohohomise!"

"Alright," said Alix, easing up again. "Hush now, we're coming to the good part."

***

It took the combined strength of the two girls to twist the metal handle of the barn door far enough to allow it to creak open. Zandra peered into the gloom. "Uncle Ged?" she called. There was no answer.

"Probably asleep in the hayloft," said Cynthia. "You go and look, I'll hold the door."

"Yeah, you'd better stay out here," Zandra said. "There might be spiders." She curled her hand into a claw and ran it swiftly up Cynthia's arm.

"Stop it," said Cynthia, batting her away. "I know it was you, by the way."

"What was me?"

"Two weeks ago? When someone planted fifty spiders in my room while I was sleeping?"

Zandra snickered. "I think they heard the screams on the next continent. That wasn't anything to do with me, though. Must have been one of those unexplained natural phenomena."

"Sure. Just go find dad so I can get back to work."

It took Zandra's eyes a moment to adjust to the gloom of the barn, but the grimy windows let in enough light to give her a view of the interior. The barn was jointly owned by the two families; they kept no animals in here, but used the storage space for grain, fruit, farm equipment – anything that needed to be kept safe from the elements. An eight-foot ladder led up into the hayloft, where the summer's harvest was still stacked up in bales. "Uncle Ged?" she called.

Suddenly she heard a tremendous crash. The barn door had slammed shut behind her. She whirled around. For a moment she thought Cynthia had shut her in – but Cynthia was inside too, staggering as if recovering from a fall.

"Sorry," she said. "The wind caught it."

"Well done." Zandra strode over to the door and tried to get it open. But the heavy wooden beam had slotted back into its metal brackets, and Zandra wasn't strong enough to lift it on her own. "You going to help me with this?" she asked.

Cynthia made no move to help. She was gazing wistfully up at the hay bales. "Remember hauling all that in?" she said. "Everybody else outside in the sunshine, and you and me stuck in here, hoisting all the bales up into the loft and stacking them?"

"Yeah, so what?" It wasn't a particularly pleasant memory.

"Remember how every time you got a bit of hay inside your shoe, you starting jumping like a jackrabbit and couldn't do a thing until you got it out?"

Zandra turned her face away, resuming her battle with the door. "I don't remember."

"I do. I've been thinking about that lately. I've been thinking about it a lot... And I've been thinking about how I'm going to get you back for that spider thing."

A sudden chill crept up Zandra's spine. "Uncle Ged was never in here, was he?" she said quietly.

"Nope. I brought you here for one reason only. Revenge."

Zandra backed away, quickly analyzing her options. She had a height advantage over Cynthia, but the redhead had a lot more muscle. Ordinarily she might take the risk, but if Cynthia had figured out her weakness...

Without another thought for her lost dignity, Zandra turned and ran. If Cynthia had figured out her weakness, she didn't stand a chance.

***

"No way!" gasped Bethany. "You were ticklish?"

"That's an understatement," said Alix. "I was insanely ticklish. You-level ticklish. But... Well, I had a sheltered upbringing. Only one friend; parents always busy. Up until that moment, I'd never been properly tickled in my life."

"That's sad," said Bethany, with genuine sympathy. She had fetched herself a plate of scrambled egg and toast, and was doing her best to swallow the rubbery chunks. Partly because she was hungry, partly so that Alix's efforts wouldn't go to waste – but mostly because having a plate of food on her lap was the best defence against her friend's tickling fingers.

"So I didn't really know what I was in for."

"You knew you were ticklish, though."

"Yeah, kinda. Sometimes I would... Look, if I tell you something incredibly embarrassing, do you promise not to laugh?"

"Mm-hmm," nodded Bethany, her mouth full.

"Well, we didn't have any fancy bedcovers, just goat-skin blankets. Smooth on one side and super-scratchy on the other. Sometimes, late at night, I'd wrap myself up in the scratchy side. I used to love the way it felt against my skin. I used to lie there wriggling and..."

"Aww, that's so adorable!" interrupted Bethany, bursting into laughter.

Alix glared at her. "You know if you weren't eating, you'd be dead now."

"I know," said Bethany, grinning cheekily up at her. "Go on with the story."

CONTINUED BELOW

 

[UnderscoreEleven]

Zandra had always been adept at hide-and-seek. She crouched behind a cluster of barrels, watching her friend search the other side of the barn. She was poking around the machinery slowly, playfully, with the leisure of one who knew that her victim had no means of escape.

They had already had their first scuffle. As soon as Zandra had turned to flee, Cynthia had leapt after her, grabbed her by the wrist, and thrust a hand into her underarm. The shock of it made Zandra screech. She twisted desperately, feeling her knees buckle and her legs almost give way.

"Not just your feet, huh?" Cynthia had taunted. "Tickly under here, too?"

There was no hope of denying it, not while uncontrollable laughter burbled from her lips. But after a few moments she had managed to wrench her arm free and had darted away into the gloom. Then, crouching low, she had doubled back behind a screen of piled-up lumber and found a hiding-place among the barrels.

She couldn't stay here forever. Cynthia would find her – and now she'd had a taste of what real tickles felt like, she was not about to let that happen. She couldn't get out of the barn, but at least she could place herself out of her friend's reach. The ladder leading up to the hayloft stood directly in front of her. Waiting till Cynthia's back was turned, she launched herself out of her hiding-place, scrambled up the ladder, and pulled it up behind her.

Panting from the exertion, she sat back to see what Cynthia would do next. Maybe now she could negotiate a truce.

Cynthia came into view below, squinting up at Zandra. "What did you say about having all the brains? You do know there's another ladder, right?"

Fuck. Zandra saw it now, lying on its side against the wall. Cynthia dragged it loose from the surrounding debris, and was about to prop it up when she caught sight of something else just beyond Zandra's line of sight. "Ooh, perfect." She vanished for a second, then reappeared with a coil of rope slung over her shoulder. Then she propped the ladder up against the loft and mounted it with practised agility.

This wasn't good. Zandra's eyes flickered as she mentally assessed the new situation. The hayloft was an abstract landscape of rectangular bales, stretching out across half the length of the barn. The hoist door at the other end was the only possible escape route, but getting the ladder over there would be no easy task.

And now it was too late. Cynthia kicked away the second ladder and stood up straight with a gleam in her eye. "Ready for your punishment?"

"You've got a spider in your hair," said Zandra.

"Nice try," said Cynthia, but she flicked her ponytail and ran her hands quickly over her scalp. Zandra made good use of her split-second head-start, vaulting the nearest bale and making for the other end of the loft. Her first thought was to get the hoist door open; then she could think about getting down.

But she wasn't the most athletic person at the best of times, and her long dress didn't allow her much freedom of movement. She had dressed for a gentle stroll over well-tilled fields, not for clambering about in a hayloft. Worst of all, she wasn't wearing any socks beneath her leather slip-ons – and already a dozen little flecks of straw had slipped into her shoes and were scratching away at her bare feet.

It wasn't exactly laugh-inducing, just extremely annoying. Her step faltered – and then she was tackled from behind and found herself face-down in the hay, with Cynthia's weight pressing down on her thighs.

"Wait, Cynth, let's talk abou- oh no hahahaha nooo!" Cynthia had wasted no time in pressing her advantage. Two wicked hands crawled up and down Zandra's ribs, sending her into paroxysms of laughter. "Nohoho stop stahahahp – hahaha no stop pleheheheese!"

"Well, well, you're ticklish just about everywhere, aren't you?" Zandra could hear the laughter in her friend's voice. "How about here?" She clutched at Zandra's slim waist. "Does this tickle?"

"Yahahaha yessss!" This was the worst situation she had ever been in. Cynthia's hands worked quickly up her ribs, then into her underarms, then back down again. Zandra's own hands worked furiously, pulling up fistfuls of straw that only scratched her palms and added to her torment. "Oh stohohohohp!"

She had barely any control over her flailing limbs, but with a lucky grab she managed to snatch hold of one of her tormentor's wrists. Cynthia pulled herself free in an instant, but then stopped tickling and sat back. "Still got some fight in you, I see," she said. "Looks like you'll have to be restrained."

Zandra felt her arms were pulled behind her back, and then loops of rope coiled tightly around her wrists. "No!" she pleaded. "No! No!" But there was no escape – within seconds her arms were completely tied. Her long sleeves protected her from the rubbing of the rope, but that was the least of her concerns.

"Now then, where were we?" Cynthia's fingers squirmed into her sides again, and now she was truly helpless to defend herself.

"Nohoho Cynth pleheheheese it's – hahahaha it's too much!"

"Too tickly? Poor little Zandra. I wonder where you're most ticklish?" She grabbed her victim's midriff again and squeezed. "Would it be here?"

"Nohoho stop stop!"

"Or maybe up here?"

"Nahahahaha oh gods stahahahahp!" This was a learning experience for Zandra – and one thing she was learning was that her upper ribs were immensely ticklish, more so even than her underarms or belly. Cynthia seemed to reach the same conclusion.

"Yep, I think we've found the weak spot."

"Hahahaha pleheheheheheese!"

"Let's try a few other spots, just to be sure." The tickling fingers continued exploring Zandra's sides, but now always returning to the one spot that unfailingly made her scream like a banshee.

To top it all off, the bits of straw inside her shoes were still scratching at her soles. She tried to call Cynthia's attention to the problem, in the vain hope that her friend might take pity on her. "Pleheheheese my – shahaha my shoes! I've gahahah – I've got straw in mahahahaha please!"

"Oh, you've got straw in your shoes?" To Zandra's surprise, Cynthia stopped tickling. "I know how much you hate that. Should I take them off for you?"

"Yes," gasped Zandra gratefully – then realised the position this would put her in. "No wait!"

"It's no problem." Cynthia turned herself around, and Zandra felt her feet suddenly exposed to the cool air. "Is that better?"

"Cynth – Cynth, listen." Zandra tried to catch her breath, knowing she might not have another chance to talk her way out of this. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for the spiders. I'll make it up to you."

"Yes, you will." Cynthia wrapped an arm around her ankles, so that both feet were pinned against her chest. "You admit it was you, then?"

"Yes, I'm sorry! What do you want? I'll do anything. Anything you say."

"Anything to get out of the tickles, huh?"

Something grazed her sole – it felt like a long piece of straw held sideways against her foot. She flinched automatically at the touch. "Oh please please! Yes, anything!"

"I've never heard you beg before. This must really be unbearable." The mischievous amusement in Cynthia's voice annihilated all hope of release. The piece of straw poked into the gaps between her toes. Her foot jerked, but she was absolutely trapped.

"I'll – I'll do all your chores for a week!"

"You couldn't handle my chores. Not until you toughen up a little." Cynthia began stroking Zandra's heels with her fingertips. "These delicate little feet are good for only two things. Lazing around all day... or being tickled!"

"Nahaha – nohoho stohopp!" Five dancing fingertips were skating lightly over Zandra's soles. Face-down in the hay, arms tied, and with her upraised ankles gripped in a tight lock, she was powerless to resist. She struggled anyway, all her muscles tensing with the effort to escape, but there was no way of stopping those relentless fingers.

"Such sensitive skin... This is what comes of pampering yourself."

Cynthia began a targeted attack on the arch of Zandra's left foot, stroking all four fingers in a line from her heel to the ball of her foot and back again. "Shehehehe stahahp!" The redhead's nails were short and roughly-cut, so that the smooth touch of a fingertip would suddenly alternate with the sharp catch of a nail. "Hehehehelpp!"

"No-one's coming to save you," taunted Cynthia, giggling almost as much as her helpless friend was. She switched over to Zandra's right foot. "These feet are just about as ticklish as your ribs, huh?"

"Nohohoho – yehehehehess – stahahahahapp!" The compacted surface of the haybale was soft enough for Zandra to slam her forehead into, which was the only outlet she had for the electric sensation coursing through her.

"I bet you're even ticklish here, aren't you?" Cynthia began playing with the tops of Zandra's feet, moving down towards her ankles. This didn't tickle quite as much, but she still couldn't hold back the wild laughter that gave away her sensitivity. "Thought so," said Cynthia. "Let's try further down, shall we?"

"Oh no no!" Zandra's dress had fallen to her knees, leaving her lower legs exposed. With her victim's feet still tightly held against her chest, Cynthia reached down and gently tickled her bare calves.

"Fuck fuck stahah – stahahahahapp!"

"What's the matter, Z? Wishing you'd worn something a little more practical? Boots and trousers don't seem so funny now, I bet." She wriggled two fingers into the hollow of Zandra's right knee.

"Don't don't dohohohaha!"

"Cos if you do insist on wearing this flimsy little thing, you're practically begging for someone to do... this."

Cynthia's weight shifted, and Zandra's ankles were released. But before she could think about pulling herself free, she was plunged into a whole new ticklish nightmare as a hand crept inside her dress and crawled along her thigh.

This elicted the loudest squeal yet. Sensing victory, the wriggling fingers pushed on until they were grazing the curve of her buttocks, then moved inward, while another hand began crawling up the other thigh.

"Oh shit no no nohohoho!"

CONTINUED BELOW

 

[UnderscoreEleven]

Bethany squinted up at Alix. "Are you sure you're telling me the whole story?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're telling it like you absolutely hated being tickled and wanted it to stop."

"I did. Don't you feel that way when you're being tickled?" She gave Bethany a dig in the ribs by way of example.

"Yehess, but... I feel other things too. You know what I'm saying."

"The art of storytelling," said Alix, "is knowing what to leave to the imagination."

"Come on," begged Bethany, "tell me. Weren't you just a little bit turned on?"

Alix rolled her eyes. "You really need me to spell it out for you? My best friend, my lifelong crush – my sexy redhead, my gorgeous girl-next-door – was sat on top of me, mercilessly tickling my inner thigh... and you want to know if I was turned on?"

"Well, if you put it that way... never mind. Continue."

"I don't know why I'm giving you the play-by-play, anyway. You've got the gist of the story. Let's skip ahead to a couple of hours later."

"Nuh-uh. No way." Bethany pushed herself upright and fixed her friend with an almost stern expression. "You're going to tell me the whole story. Every... single... detail."

"I think you're enjoying this a little too much." Alix tried to stare Bethany down, but then caved in with a smile. The truth was, reliving this experience was making her feel a lot more... submissive than usual. "Alright, alright. I'll tell you."

***

Cynthia's eagerness to find all of her friend's weak spots had made her careless. She was only half-sitting on Zandra's legs now – and with both hands engaged, her balance was precarious. Her left hand was squeezing at the sweet spot on the captive's inner thigh, while her right hand was searching for the same spot on the other side – but as soon as it found it, Zandra gave a violent jerk which sent Cynthia sprawling in the hay.

Weak with laughter as she was, Zandra couldn't allow herself to lose this opportunity. She summoned all her strength and staggered to her feet – not easy with her hands still tied behind her back. Then she ran.

It was the world's most futile escape attempt. Cynthia let her get up, watched her run a few steps, then reached out for the trailing rope. She had only used one end of the rope to tie Zandra's wrists, and most of its length still lay loose among the haybales. Zandra was oblivious of this – until the moment when her arms were pulled back and she toppled forward, colliding with a waiting bale.

Cynthia was behind her immediately, hands clutching at her ribs. Bent at the waist over the haybale, Zandra could do nothing but scream and stamp her feet – which only loosened the hay beneath her, making it all the more tickly against her bare soles.

"Oh gods Cynthia pleheheese!" The brief moment of hope had only intensified her renewed suffering. Twisting sideways, she managed to get herself free once more, only to trip over the rope and fall onto her back.

Cynthia stood over her, shaking her head with amused exasperation. "You really think you can get away from me? Maybe this will help convince you that there's no escape." Kneeling down, she began wrapping the rope around Zandra's ankles.

"Cynth! Come on! That's enough now." It was a struggle to talk, a struggle even to think clearly, but she had to make one last effort at reasoning with her tormentor. Her words came in short bursts, punctuated by deep breaths and residual giggles. "My parents – my parents are expecting me. I'll get in trouble."

"You're already in trouble." Cynthia was taking her time, giving her friend a chance to recover. She had bunched the hem of Zandra's dress around her ankles to keep the rope from chafing her bare skin. "And what about all the times you got me in trouble, huh? Like when you spiked my drink at the solstice festival? Or when you hid those drawings in my closet where you knew my mom would find them?" She tightened the final knot and shot Zandra an evil grin. "You've had this coming for a long time, girly."

Stretched out full-length on her back, totally immobilised, Zandra was ready to repent of everything she'd ever done. "That was... I was only... Are you really mad at me?"

Cynthia's smile became affectionate. "Nah, don't worry. We're still besties." She settled herself down on Zandra's shins, and added over her shoulder. "If I didn't like you so much, I wouldn't care so much about getting even." Then she took each of Zandra's feet in a pincer grip and squeezed. "Cootchie cootchie cootchie."

"Nohohoo nahahaha not agaihehehenn!" How much longer could this go on for? How much could she take? And how long could she hold back the rising tide of pleasure, which dimmed for a moment with each pause in the tickling only to surge back with ever greater force?

Her heels ground into the hay as Cynthia's fingers played freely over her soles. That was the worst of it – her own struggles were adding to her torment. Her feet were digging themselves a hole, and the prickling of the hay grew more unendurable by the second. "The hay!" she screeched, trying to make her friend understand the full agony of her situation. "The heheheeey!"

"Aww, is it too rough against your feet? I'm sorry. I'd hate to be responsible for damaging your delicate skin." She pulled a small black bottle from the pocket of her dungarees. "I don't have any moisturizer on me, I'm afraid, but I do have this."

Zandra couldn't see what was happening, but she recognized the smell as Cynthia unscrewed the bottle. It was lubricating oil – the same that she'd been using on the plough. "Wh- What are you doing?" she asked uncertainly.

"This ought to protect your feet from that nasty hay. Oh, but I should warn you – this might tickle."

Two wet hands began kneading Zandra's feet, massaging the oil into her soles. "Noohahaha stooop!" she wailed.

"Relax, I've got plenty to spare. Enough for a couple of coatings, at least. Gotta make sure we don't leave a single inch of skin unprotected." Her hands swept over Zandra's heels, her ankles, and the tops of her feet, smearing the oil with her palms and then rubbing it in with her fingertips.

"Oh please stohohohohp!" Strangely enough, the oil did reduce the prickling sensation of the hay, but this was small relief – because at the same time, it made her feet exponentially more sensitive to the firmer touch of Cynthia's remorseless fingertips. The hands withdrew for a moment, only to return with a fresh dose of oil, which was thoroughly applied to the sides of Zandra's arches and the balls of her feet, to the accompaniment of howling laughter.

"And let's not forget about these toes."

Cynthia tweaked each toe in turn with her lubricated fingers, then slid her fingers into the gaps with quick sawing motions. Zandra concertinaed like a caterpillar, too overwhelmed by the tickles to do anything but laugh and laugh, too exhausted even to plead for mercy.

But mercy came – temporarily, at least. After tickling her feet a few minutes longer, Cynthia climbed off her and lay down by her side. "You okay?" she asked, gently brushing the hair out of her friend's face.

"Fuhahaha," gasped Zandra, her body still shaking with laughter. "Fuckahaha – fucking hate you."

"No you don't." For one eternal moment, the two girls shared a look that communicated more than words could say – then Cynthia added: "You've had that dress a while, huh?"

"What?" The inconsequence of the remark caught Zandra off guard.

"You've almost worn a hole in it with all that wriggling. See that patch on your left side? That could come apart at any moment. Look." She pushed a thumb and forefinger in between the threads and forced them apart, tearing a hole in the fabric and exposing several inches of pale pink flesh.

"Wait," said Zandra urgently, struggling once more against her bonds. "Wait."

"Oh, Zandra," sighed Cynthia in mock remonstrance. "Too lazy even to put a shift on before you came out? Are you completely naked under there? You really are making this too easy." Still lying on her side, propped up on one elbow, she wriggled her fingers into Zandra's ribs.

"Nahah-ho!" With one convulsive movement, Zandra yanked herself away, rolling over onto her stomach. Before she could make another move, Cynthia leapt onto her thighs and pinned her down once more.

"Well, well," she said, giggling at the renewal of her friend's panicked squeals, "this is a familiar situation. Where was that weak spot again?" Her hands latched onto Zandra's sides and squeezed.

"Nohoho hahahahahahaha!" Zandra was thrown instantly back into hysterics, unable to spare a single breath to plead or fight. The tormenting of her ribs had been bad enough before, but now Cynthia's left hand was inside her dress, tickling her bare skin. She made a silent resolution never again to leave the house without undergarments – but resolutions couldn't save her now.

"I still can't decide where you're more ticklish. Is it your ribs or your feet?" Granting her victim another brief reprieve, Cynthia bent low over her, speaking softly into her ear. "Answer the question, Zandra. What's the most ticklish spot on your body?"

"I don't – hahahaha – I don't know!" She really didn't know. All this tickling and teasing had turned her into one great ball of hypersensitivity, and her insane arousal wasn't helping.

"Hard to say, isn't it? Shame I can't tickle you everywhere at once... Or can I?"

Cynthia got off her and began doing something with the rope. Zandra had no power to resist – she only kept her face pressed to the straw, wondering what was about to happen next. She felt her feet lifted up into the air, and then she understood. Her wrists and ankles were being bound together. A moment later, the operation was concluded. She was hogtied.

"No no no no! No, let me go!"

"You're not going anywhere, missy. Not now I've got you exactly where I want you." A single finger traced delicately up and down the sole of her right foot. "You see, I don't have to choose any more. I can tickle you here... and here... at the same time." Another finger played along the exposed flesh on Zandra's left side.

"Ohoho shit Cyhehehenth no!"

"Something tells me this is going to be sheer torture." The tone of gleeful satisfaction in her voice somehow took the edge off Cynthia's taunts, but only made it all the more certain that she wasn't about to let her friend off easy. "You ready?" She took Zandra's foot in a loose grip, stroking the top side with her fingers while pressing her thumb into the centre of the arch. With her other hand, she began walking her fingers along each of Zandra's ribs in turn.

"Nohoho Cynth we're eehehehven! That's enohohohough! We're even!"

"Yeah, I know. We've been even for a while now. This is just for fun." Splaying out her fingers, she scrabbled them randomly over Zandra's lubricated soles, while her other hand found the weak spot on her upper ribs and wriggled all four fingers into it. "Tickle tickle tickle."

"Guhahahahahahaha nohohohahaha!" Once more dissolving into helpless laughter, Zandra twisted desperately from side to side, wriggling and scrunching her feet in an automatic but completely useless effort to ward off the tickly sensation. Knowing that this was no longer a question of revenge, that her friend was pure and simply playing with her, left her even more turned on than before – and offered her a glimmer of hope that maybe, if the redhead was so into this, maybe she'd go all the way...

"Need a break?" asked Cynthia. Relinquishing her grip on Zandra's ribs, she pushed her hand further into her dress and tickled her bare shoulder-blades, running the fingers of her other hand up and down her shins. If this was what Cynthia called a break, it wasn't particularly relaxing, but it gave Zandra space to catch her breath a little.

"One more round and then I'll let you up, okay? So let's make it a good one." Suddenly resuming the attack on Zandra's ribs and feet, she forced another high-pitched screech out of her captive victim.

"Nahahahaha stahahahahahahapp!"

But Cynthia was merciless. Singing 'tickle-tickle-tickle' like a mantra, she kept her fingers dancing over every inch of bare skin she could reach. By this time, she had quite a lot to work with – the rent in Zandra's dress was growing wider by the second. Every time the helpless girl twisted to the right, the fingers at her left side would sweep over her chest or plunge down to tweak her navel. For one blissful moment, the fingers skimmed her hipbone and almost caused the dam to break – but the moment passed too quickly, leaving Zandra wracked as much with frustration as with laughter.

"Alright, I think you've had enough." Cynthia eased off gradually, slowing the movement of her fingers until the tickles were merely gentle strokes.

"Nuh-huh-nohoho!" Zandra moaned. She hadn't had enough, not by half. She needed Cynthia to finish it – but her friend was already loosening the ropes. She obviously had no idea what she'd been doing to her, and Zandra knew she couldn't tell her, not even if she had the breath to speak. It was just too mortifying.

"I think I got a little bit caught up in the moment there," laughed Cynthia. "Sorry. We cool?"

Zandra lay still, her entire body burning with desire. This had almost – almost – been the best day of her life.

CONTINUED BELOW

 

[UnderscoreEleven]

Alix's voice faded out, and the two friends sat for a while in silence, curled up together in the corner of the sofa. Bethany was lost in imagination, Alix in remembrance. A wistful smile played over her face – she had even been twitching a little as she told the story, the two-hundred-year-old memory clearly still vivid in her mind.

"Don't get me wrong," said Bethany eventually, "that was an amazing story... but it doesn't really explain how you became a hungry ghost."

"Oh, right. Yes." Alix seemed to snap out of a trance. "I did say we should skip ahead. Basically, the storm broke as I was walking home. The rain came down in sheets. I got completely drenched. I came down with a fever the same night, lingered for a week or so. And then I died."

"Alix... I'm so sorry."

"These things happen. The point is, the whole time I was ill, I was yearning to be touched again the way Cynthia had touched me. I wished she hadn't ended it before... you know. I made up my mind that as soon as I recovered, I'd beg her to tie me up again. I lay awake at night obsessing over what it would be like to be tickled all the way to orgasm. And I died with that single thought burning in my brain."

"So that's the desire that keeps you bound to earth?"

"Exactly. If I could experience that ultimate release just once, I think my soul could rest in peace. But I'm a ghost. I can't be touched. I can still touch other people – or at least exert pressure in a way that feels like touching – but I can't feel anything myself. No nerve endings."

"So you tickle other people to work off your frustration?"

"Something like that. It's the closest I can get to what I really crave. And, I suppose, it's a kind of revenge against the world. I generally don't let my victims climax. I like to make them share in my frustration." She looked down at Bethany and added with a smile, "You ought to consider yourself very lucky."

"Lucky that I get tickled worse than anyone?"

"That's right." A stray finger began circling Bethany's belly button.

"No wait, you haven't... You haven't finished the story. What about Cynthia? Didn't you ever see her again?"

"Of course," said Alix, letting Bethany push her hand away. "I went to visit her the day after the funeral."

"And?"

"And... we talked. We talked for hours. It was very emotional." Laughing at Bethany's evident disappointment, she added: "And then I punished her."

"Yes!" Bethany grinned excitedly. "Tell me."

"You want to know exactly what I did to her?"

"Uh-huh."

"Alright then. First, I did this..." Five creeping fingers stole into Bethany's shirt.

"No no not on me! Not on me!"

"And then I tickled her here."

"Haha wait stop waait!"

"And then I found her weak spot – same as yours, actually – right here."

"Nononono stahahahahahahahp!"

THE END

 

[ticklee_F/F]

This is a great story, all parts of it. I mostly like the interaction between the chatacters. That playfulness is just lovely. But one thing comes to mind: if it happened over 200 years ago, then Cynthia must have been on the after world for over a century. Maybe it's an idea worth checking 😉.

Anyway, thanks for this wonderful piece of work.