Jockeying For Position

“Why did I agree to this?” Stefana Clan Elkhound asked as Timon Blacktail finished knotting the leather thongs on her wrists.

“Because you amazons can’t resist a wager,” the centaur answered. He stepped around to the front of the stocks, where Stefana’s bare feet were already locked in place.

The stocks were sturdily built to hold two “flatfooters” as the centaurs called humans. The victims sat on a plain wooden bench, polished smooth, with two stout posts at their backs. Stefana’s wrists had just been tied behind one of these posts while her cousin Anilee clan Graybadger had had her own wrists bound behind the other. Both amazons had their legs extended, footgear removed, and ankles secured in the holes formed where the heavy wooden boards met. Timon had already latched and locked them.

Stefana was shorter and blonder than Anilee. For that matter, she was shorter than Juni and Karla, the two amazons sitting in the other set of two-place stocks. Nearby were other wooden devices, currently unoccupied, that the centaurs used to immobilize ‘flatfooters.’ A little ways off, out of the shade of the old oak, stood a sundial where two other centaurs adjusted a gnomen, and the sign that gave the reason for the existence of all these devices. “Alja Kentaros mor kental velator velex bartaros mel Uru, nor Kentaros yonvel morkap i patalos.“ the Prophesy read in the curlicue script that the centaurs used: “If the Kentaros should ever fail to visit merciless torment on foreigners who enter the Land, then will the Kentaros suffer betrayal and ruination.” But that was not the reason behind this tickle session.

It had begun with a wine-fueled discussion of riding skill, venturing into the question of how much a rider’s skill could lighten the burden on her mount. Rodas, who was now by the sundial, had insisted that it didn’t have any effect. Someone - Stefana couldn’t remember who - had pointed out that the only experience Rodas had had was with riders who were purely captives, bound hand-and-foot and slung over his back like a load of grain. And it went on from there.

Two great-skins of wine later, three-and-a-half male centaurs had agreed to help settle the dispute. Under conditions, of course. Most centaurs, or at least most male centaurs, hate to be ridden. So the centaurs insisted that they get to choose their own riders for this race. They also insisted on an extra tickle-session - one that didn’t count toward renewing the monthly pass-tokens - as the method they would use to make their choice. With coins already put down on wagers, the four amazons agreed.

The fourth centaur was Mellos Darkeye. He said he’d join in if he could. “I have another obligation,” he had said. “I won’t make any promises I can’t keep, but if I manage to show up before you finish the choosing, I’ll be happy to join in.”

But Mellos hadn’t shown up. The four amazons now sat helpless and secured, feet scrubbed and toes tied, and Mellos still hadn’t shown up. The three centaurs present would tickle, and make their choices: The three amazons who best pleased the centaurs with their giggles and squirming would ride in the race, and the fourth amazon would be left out. Stefana felt a sudden stab of fear that she would be that fourth.

Beside Stefana, Anilee laughed as Rodas began to work on her helpless feet. Over at the other stocks Juni giggled madly as the third centaur - Vanko - began his own tickling. Then Stefana squealed herself as Timon ran his fingers lightly down Stefana’s vulnerable soles, using both of his hands on both of her feet. She laughed uncontrollably at Timon’s expert touch, as his fingers scritched gently up and down, teasing heels and insteps and the base of the toes. Skritch skritch skritch the centaur’s fingers wiggled back and forth across the balls of Stefana’s feet, slipping irresistible tickle-sensations into them. Stefana squirmed and giggled, unable to keep from struggling, knowing her struggles were useless. Timon’s skilled and merciless tickling fingers wandered up and down, back and forth, and up and down again, repeatedly but not quite forming a pattern. Tickling Stefana’s trapped soles. Impossible to resist.

Timon fingers now moved in little circles, one hand on each foot. Laughter fountained from Stefan. She couldn’t help it. She couldn’t resist. It tickled too much. She felt the centaur’s fingertips seek out the most sensitive patches and then tease them. She felt the finger-tickling alternate between one foot and the other, and then attack both soles at once with gentle vigor. She felt quick strokes that seemed to sink in, making the bones of her feet laugh. Making the rest of her laugh. Then Timon’s fingers dug into the spaces between her toes, and Stefana squirmed madly at the tickle sensations that seemed to run half-way up her legs as a result.

Rodas left for the other set of stocks, and Timon moved aside, turning his attentions to Anilee’s helpless soles. Stefana had a respite. She had just caught her breath when Vanko came over, a nobby woody roller in his hand.

“Let’s try this,” Vanko said as he ran the roller briskly up and down Stefana’s stock-trapped soles. Stefana shrieked with laugher once more. The roller tickled incredibly as it ran up and down her left foot. Then again, as it ran up and down her right. Then back to her left sole. Stefana squeaked each time Vanko switched, as the little knobs bit gently at her nerve endings, first on one foot and then the other. As each knob made contact, it pressed home a tickle-tickle. A wild, maddening tickle-tickle. There were dozens of them, repeating over and over. Over her right sole, then over her left. Then over her right sole again. Back and forth, between one foot and the other, with nothing she could do to avoid the bumpidty-tickle-bump. Nothing she could do but laugh and laugh and laugh.

Stefana felt her feet flush hot. With each pass, her soles seemed to grow more sensitive to that bumptiy-tickle-bump. The tickle sensations imposed by those little wooden knobs grew louder and louder, but Stefana was already laughing as loudly as she could. Bumptiy-tickle-bump, it went on and on and on.

At long last, Vanko set the roller aside and gave Stefana’s soles a quick finger-massage. Not tickling, just blessed relief. Brief blessed relief with a price attached, for Stefana felt as if her feet were now red-hot. With that heat came exquisite sensitivity, as if each of her nerve endings were straining to catch the least little tickle-tease that might be applied to them.

Stefana caught Vanko’s gaze, and saw his evil grin. Saw the vos-hawk feather he held up. Felt it being applied to her wildly sensitive soles. Softly. Gently. She burst into mad squirming and uncontrollable giggling. This was a different sort of tickling. An utterly soft tickle, without any hint of sharpness about it at all. Which made the teasing even more unbearable. Stefana felt the feather’s touch bathe her soles with cloudlike softness, and with that softness came the gentle, implacable tickle-sensations.

Those tickle sensations lingered like a morning fog when the feather moved on, but Stefana could still feel the progress of the feather’s tip. Expert progress, in Vanko’s hand, that kept her from sparing attention to anything else. She was only and deeply aware of the feather’s soft tip as it touched left heel, right instep, the pads of the toes along one foot and then along the other. The ball of her left foot, and then the heel of her right. Here and there, until every place was touched by the tickling feather, then touched twice, and three times. Many many times. Stefana felt the skillfully-wielded vos-hawk feather return again and again to the most ticklish places on the soles of her feet. And then every bit of both her soles had become the most ticklish places, as squirming giggles continued to pour out of her.

Another shift. Vanko moved aside, and Rodas took his place. He rechecked the thongs securing Stefana’s toes, giving her a very brief break before applying a stiff-bristled brush. A small brush, applied just to her right big toe. It teased Stefana enough to make her grimace and squirm, but she could hold in her laughter, barely, if she made an effort to do so.

Stefana did so. She knew that once her giggles began to leak out, she would not be able to stop them.

Rodas continued the brush-brush-brush on the pad of her big toe. “You squirm very prettily,” he said.

“Y-Yes,” Stefana gasped.

“I think I like you better than Juni or Karla. But I haven’t tested Anilee yet. Do you think you can squirm more prettily than her?”

“She can’t,” Anilee put in. She wasn’t being tickled at the moment, and so was free to speak. “You want to choose me, instead.”

“We’ll see,” Rodas told Anilee. “Your turn comes next. But for now...” He exchanged his stiff brush for a larger, softer one, and started to dry-paint Stefana’s soles.

Stefana lost control. She couldn’t stop the laughter as a great tickling struck her feet. It covered the entirety of her soles. On both feet: A huge devouring tickle that pushed great gales of laughter through her. A tickling that licked implacably at her helpless feet, no matter how much she struggled. A monstrous, maddening tickling that she couldn’t possibly hold still for. But she had to hold still. No matter how much she struggled, she couldn’t possibly escape. The stocks held her perfectly in place to receive that tickling for as long as Rodas chose to inflict it.

He chose to inflict it for quite some time. Stefana felt the brush run back and forth, from one side to the other, working its way down from toes to heel and back again. First on one foot and then the other. Back and forth, again and again and again. First with a quick tempo, then a slow one. Then a steady tempo that made Stefana feel as if Rodas would tickle her forever. Back and forth, back and forth. Until Stefana was sure that Rodas would have to stop. And yet the tickling continued. Back and forth, the soft bristles teasing both feet. Trapped feet, held vulnerable, with soles that were required to feel the tickling over and over and over again.

Stefana laughed until she cried. Partly from the tickling and the laughter, but not entirely. She didn’t speak of it much, but she enjoyed being tickled. Otherwise she wouldn’t have stayed in then centaur Land for month after month. But part of what made her cry was the knowledge that neither Timon, nor Vanko, nor Rodas would choose her as their rider. It came to her as certainly as if a goddess or god had whispered it into her ear. And perhaps one had.

Stefana blinked tears from her eyes, slowly becoming aware that the tickling has stopped. Next to her, she sensed Anilee squirming and heard her squeaking, as Rodas applied his small brush to her big toe. Over at the other stocks Timon and Vanko applied tickles to Juni and Karla. Stefana had a chance to recover.

After a time, Rodas left, and Timon and Vanko returned. The two centaurs smiled at Stefana and Anilee, and applied a few, brief, additional tickle-touches to the two pairs of bare feet before them. Then Timon left. Vanko glanced at Stefana, and looked more closely at Anilee. Timon’s voice came in a shout. “It’s time to choose!” Stefana swallowed disappointment. She knew, knew that she would be the one left out. None of the centaurs would choose her as their rider.

But before any choices could be made, there came a sound of galloping hooves and a voice shouting: “Ho! Am I too late?”

“Am I too late?” Mellos Darkeye asked again as he arrived. He looked over the four amazons, still locked in the stocks. The birthmark from which his name came also gave him a wicked appearance.

“We were just about to choose,” Timon said.

Mellos grinned. “Good. Let me get my tickles in, and then we can choose.”

That started an argument. Among the centaurs; Stefana was still too tickle-drunk to participate and suspected that the other amazons were as well. At least they all kept quiet as the centaurs talked. At last Rodas suggested, “We should let Idalia and Zorian decide.”

Timon nodded. “Yes,” Vanko agreed, and asked, “Where are they, anyway?”

“They should be here any time now,” Mellos said. “In fact... there they are.”

They arrived more sedately than Mellos had, the human merchant Zorian walking beside the female centaur Idalia. The two of them had more-or-less appointed themselves as the judges for the race.

“Have you decided yet?” Idalia asked.

“We have a decision for you to make first,” Timon answered. He explained, and the two newcomers conferred briefly. Then Zorian stepped forward to where everyone could hear him.

“This is how it will be,” The human merchant said. “The amazons will be released, and given a chance to drink some water, rest, stretch, and relieve themselves. Then they will decide by vote: Either to let Timon, Vanko, and Rodas choose their riders, with Mellos and one of the amazons left out of the race. Or to hold another tickle session, with Mellos joining in, and then letting all four centaurs choose riders.”

Mellos Darkeye stepped forward. “I propose one addition. If there is another tickle session, I say the amazons should be blindfolded for it, so they can’t see who is doing what.”

Idalia and Zorian exchanged glances, and Zorian nodded. “Agreed!” Idalia called out.

“What if the vote is two and two?” Juni clan Riverhawk asked. Once again Zorian and Idalia exchanged glances. This time Idalia nodded. Zorian grinned, and gestured toward the male centaurs.

“Then we let the centaurs decide,” he said.

The four male centaurs answered in a chorus: “More tickling!”

Stefana, still sprawled out on the sparse grass under the oak tree, felt much better now. But it was time to choose. “Stefana clan Elkhound,” Idalia called. “Do you vote to have the centaurs choose their riders now, or to first have another session?”

Stefana stood up. “Another session!” she called out at once. Anilee, already standing, gave her a dirty look.

“Anilee clan Graybadger, what is your vote?”

“Choose now!”

“Karla clan Riverhawk, what is your vote?”

Karla looked around, and bit her lip. “Um,” she said, and then sighed, “Choose now.”

“Juni clan Riverhawk, what is your vote?”

Everyone was looking at Juni. She opened her mouth to speak, and then shut it. She looked at the oak, at the stocks, at the ground at her feet. Stefana held her breath.

At last, Juni looked up. “Another session.”

Stefana watched Juni turn and walk to the stocks, and saw Karla shrug and follow. Anilee started to say something, then threw up her hands and stalked back to the other set of stocks. Stefana joined her. Now I’m sure to be chosen as a rider! But then the answering thought came. Neither Timon, nor Vanko, nor Rodas will have you as a rider. If Mellos Darkeye doesn’t choose you, then you’re out of the race. It was as if a goddess had whispered into her ear.

Sitting once again with feet locked and helpless, Stefana whispered to Timon as the centaur tied a cloth over her eyes. “You’re right. I can’t resist a wager.” She felt him pat her shoulder in response, and heard him step away. Heard the breeze in the oak leaves, smelled the grass and the wildflowers in the distance. Waited anxiously, unable to see, for the new round of tickling to begin.

Unseen fingers raked Stefana’s soles, running back and forth across them. She burst into laughter, and the pattern changed. Fingertips tapped and made short squiggles. Tickle sensations sank into the balls of her feet, and then into her insteps. She felt the strong and skillful fingers dig into the base of her toes, infusing a squirmy tickle there as well, before moving back down to attack her insteps once more.

The finger tickling went on and on, applied to both feet at once. When it ended at last, the respite was brief. Almost at once Stefana felt the kiss of the knobby wooden roller, applied only to her right sole this time. Up and down it ran, the little wooden knobs inflicting maddeningly delightful tickle-sensations upon her right foot. Up and down it ran. Stefana could feel it. She had to feel it; she couldn’t do anything else. It switched to the newly sensitive sole of her left foot. Up and down, up and down, tickle tickle tickle went the little knobs pressing against her bare sole.

A break. Stefana heard the centaur tickling her step aside, under the howling laughter of the other amazons. Another centaur took his place. Fingers held her toes, and a strip of silk ran between them. A long, gentle pull between each pair of toes in turn applied tickle-sensations to the sensitive skin there. Eight long, slow, teasing pulls, as strong fingers kept her toes from clenching to stop it. A silken touch that Stefana could do nothing to prevent. Eight more times the silken pull repeated, and then eight times again.

Now Stefana felt a different, rougher cloth rub against her soles. A wet cloth, with fingers underneath, it stroked her helpless feet with a deliciously different tickle-sensation. Different, yet just as wonderfully unbearable as any of the earlier tickles. Expertly, it sought out sensitive bits here and there, on her insteps, on her heels, on the balls of her feet. Again and again it touched and rubbed, a steady tempo so that Stefana could tell exactly when it would touch next. Only, maddeningly, she could not tell where the next touch would come. It would touch here, and there, and elsewhere. Somewhere. Anywhere on her vulnerable soles.

Another break, longer this time. Stefana heard Anilee whimper next to her, as the wooden roller was applied to her soles. A little further away, Juni and Karla giggled and howled at whatever the centaurs where dong to their feet. Stefana’s own feet tingled, anticipating the next set of tickle torments that awaited them.

That torment came to her left sole first: The soft brush running up and down. Then a vos hawk feather kissed her right sole, its tip making little circles on the instep and then meandering to stroke all the other vulnerable places. Back and forth the tickling went, first on one foot then on the other. Back and forth as Stefana giggled uncontrollably. Her feet seemed to become even more tickle-sensitive with each switch, and soon the laughter was fountaining out of her. Back and forth, left foot and right sole, soft brush and the most effective tickling feather known to human or centaur the tickling went on.

Another switch, and tears of laughter started: The unseen centaur now applied the squirmy-soft brush to her right sole, and the exquisitely tease of the feather to her left. He continued to alternate, first tickling one foot, and then the other. Back and forth, the tickling went. Back and forth and back and forth again, as Stefana squirmed and laughed, struggling and learning over and over that she could do nothing about that tickling other than to endure and enjoy it.

Stefana gasped for breath as the centaurs changed places once more. Anilee struggled madly beside her as her own tickling continued. Juni and Karla were quiet - and then both suddenly howled as the tickle-tease of their feet resumed. The howls soon turned into giggles.

The fourth centaur applied his first touch, and Stefana howled herself. She didn’t know who it was, but she recognized the implement he was applying. She had felt it once before, briefly, at the hands of a grey-bearded centaur master of tickle torments, in the most intense and gleefully horrible tickling she had ever known.

The device wouldn’t look like much, Stefana knew, just an odd contraption of leather. A “bullfeather” they called it. In expert hands, they said, it could produce the most incredible results. From her brief encounter earlier, Stefana knew this to be true. And now, she knew, the fourth centaur was an expert.

Stefana felt as if her feet were now each a yard long, with every finger-breadth of them being as tickle-sensitive as they ever had been. And the bull-feather was tickling each finger-breadth of them all at once. The nerve-endings all screamed with pleasure at the tickle sensations flooding them. Sensations that were firm and scraping and unbearably soft, both at the same time. Stefana craved that tickling, even as she fought wildly at her bonds, unable to keep herself from doing so. Just as she was unable to keep herself from laughing and giggling and laughing some more.

Of course, the stocks kept her perfectly helpless and held her naked feet perfectly vulnerable, unable to avoid the tickling being lavished upon them. The rest of the world receded, until the cosmos consisted of her huge, helpless feet, the bullfeather, and the tickling. The tickling! Oh, the maddening, incredible, horrible, wonderful, honey-sweet tickling!

Stefana found herself gulping water. Her feet, still tingling, were normal-sized now. She tucked them under the bench - the stocks no longer held them in place, helpless and vulnerable. Her wrists were still bound behind the post at her back, however, as Timon held the dipper for her. And then came the fear as the remembered the whispered words. Would - ?

Another centaur set his hand on her shoulder. “Stefana clan Elkhound,” Mellos Darkeye said, “I choose you as my rider.”