A Tickle in Time - Chapter 3 (f>m and m>f)

[Agent 498]

Subj: A Tickle in Time, Chapter III (f>m and m>f)
From: cs...@panix.com

A TICKLE IN TIME, Chapter III

THIS STORY CONTAINS SCENES THAT MAY BE INAPPROPRIATE FOR THOSE UNDER 18.
THAT'S 18 YEARS, NOT 18 INCHES TALL, IN CASE YOU WERE WONDERING.

"Come on, Molly! The governor's already begun!"
Someone had hold of Jessica's hand and was pulling her, hurrying along
a dirt road toward a small town surrounded by a wooden stockade. It was a
bright, sunny, though cool, day.

JAMESTOWN, 35 N, 76 W, 1642 AD

Jess blinked away the CPS's glowing message and followed the other
woman. They were both dressed in colonial garb: long skirts, severe
blouses, hair pinned up under linen caps. Jess herself was in the body of
a young girl, perhaps ten; the woman hauling her along was in her
thirties.
Mother, perhaps? They passed through the stockade gate and headed toward
the town square. Jess was surprised to note that the gate was wide open,
with only one man on watch -- something important must be happening.
And indeed, most of Jamestown's population seemed to be gathered
around the town square, a broad expanse of green save for a single huge
tree. Jess and the older woman arrived on the fringe of the crowd and
paused there. Though Jess, in her small body, couldn't see over the heads
of the crowd, she could hear a man talking:
" ... only one solution, I think. We must, at all costs, avoid a
bloody conflict with the Indians."
"Good going, Central," Jess thought sourly. "Send me to a critical
point -- and then stick me in a body where I can't see what's going on."
She glanced over at the older woman, who was on her tiptoes trying to see
into the square, paying no attention to Jess.
"Well, maybe there's some advantage to being short ... " Jess
squeezed
between the skirts of the two women in front of her, then ducked through a
man's wide-spread legs. In this manner, she worked her way to the front of
the crowd, listening to the talk with one ear.
"Avoid a conflict! They're the ones forcing it on us, stealing our
food and snatching our people for their ungodly games! They took my
Susanna two nights ago! I say we kill them all and have done with it!" a
man shouted.
"Talk sense, Deptford," said another. "You know they've got as many
guns as we do, thanks to the Spanish."
"Precisely," said the original speaker. "There's no way we can be sure
whether we or they will win any fighting that might break out. It's their
land -- they know it better than we."
"So what do we do?" sneered the angry Deptford. "Roll over and let
them have whatever they like?"
"No. We fight them -- but their way. We fight for coups."
Muttering broke out in the crowd as Jess finally emerged in the front
row. She stared at the sight. A small contigent of well-dressed men was
gathered under the tree, in their lead a tall man in a rich, dark blue
coat. Near them, in the light, was a set of stocks. Seated behind them,
wrists and ankles clamped in the stocks, was a male Indian who stared
ahead
of him as if the entire town were nothing more than a vaguely annoying
mirage. He wore a brief leather breechcloth, moccasins, and an elaborate
beaded necklace.
"I know it sounds foolish to you," the man in the blue coat said,
raising his hands for silence, "but to the Indians it's real."
"What makes you think they'll care what we do?" shouted Deptford from
the crowd.
"I'm not the first to think of this," said the man in blue. "The
Dutch use it to keep control of the lands around their New Amsterdam, and
the governors of Plymouth and Charles Town have both reported good results
from the same strategy. Now, Paul Moody found this fellow" -- he indicated
the sullen Indian -- "sneaking around his hen house, and brought him to
me.
We could hang him, or toss him in jail, and while it might satisfy us, it
won't stop the rest of his tribe from taking revenge. But if we deal with
him properly, by their rules, we can get them to leave us alone for a
while. I think it's worth a try. Is anyone going to volunteer?"
A long pause. Many people in the crowd turned and stalked away in
disgust, and others shook their heads. But then a woman stepped forward.
Jess glanced at her: early twenties, pretty and lively despite her severe
clothes, face vaguely familiar. "I'll give it a try, Governor," she said,
walking to the stocks. "Probably won't be any different than keeping my
little brothers in line."
"Shame on you, Christine Lowry!" shouted a woman in the crowd. Jess's
eyes widened, and she moved unobtrusively closer to the stocks. Was the
name merely a coincidence?
Christine stood behind the Indian, who made no acknowledgment of her
presence. "I'm doing this for your good -- all of you," she told the
crowd,
her hands resting on his shoulders, then running down his back until they
slipped into his armpits. Slowly she swirled her fingertips over the
sensitive flesh inside. The Indian remained immobile, but there was a
certain tension in his neck, a tightening in his arms, that hadn't been
there a second before.
"It's not working!" Deptford shouted. "Quit making a spectacle of
yourself, girl."
"He's got to show he's tough," the governor snapped back. "Give her
time."
Christine grinned. "Oh yes. He's just shamming that nothing's wrong.
But I guess he's feeling this all right. Aren't you, huh?" Her fingers
swarmed down the Indian's sides, giving him a poke in the ribs in passing,
and stopped just above the leather around his hips, digging into the
coppery skin. "How about this? Do you feel this?" For a fraction of a
second, the Indian shifted his buttocks uncomfortably on the wooden seat,
and a flicker of a grimace crossed his face as Christine's strong fingers
probed and squeezed relentlessly.
Jess watched, bizarrely fascinated. One hand remained at the Indian's
waist while the other moved up and back, rippling over his hard belly. The
man's eyes were practically bulging from their sockets, and he seemed to
be
holding his breath. Abruptly, Christine half-stood, burying the fingers of
both hands in the belly-flesh and working them violently. All the
Indian's
breath left him in a great gasp that was almost a laugh, and despite his
restrained position, he jumped nearly an inch off his seat. "Oh, I'm sorry
-- did I startle you?" Christine teased. The Indian bowed his head, his
shoulders shaking with effort as she tickled her way around his stomach,
pausing at what seemed to be particularly vulnerable spots just under the
ribs.
"That's the way!" the governor shouted. And many in the crowd were
calling their approval too, though there were still some who looked
horrified and disgusted. Jess stared at the governor. She hadn't noticed
it
before -- but there was a weird sparkle in the air around him. A
bodyjumper, probably the one she'd met back in 1376! She'd caught up
with
him, but what could she do -- especially since she now looked like a
little
girl? Frustrated, she looked back at Christine and her victim. Christine
was grinning triumphantly as she ran a fingertip in maddening circles
around the Indian's navel, while her other hand explored deep under one
arm. The Indian alternated between inhuman rigidity and fits of quivering,
and he was breathing heavily, his gasps not quite masking the sound of the
helpless giggles that were being forced out of him.
Christine looked up at the governor, still tickling away without
mercy. "Am I allowed to take anything off him? I remember when the
Indians
stripped poor Mrs. Collins ... "
"Of course."
"Good." Christine released her hold, the Indian slumping for a moment
before struggling to put his dignity back together, and sauntered around
to
the front of the stocks. Casually, she hooked a finger into the back of
one moccasin and pulled it off, flipping it over her shoulder and looking
down at the exposed foot. The Indian slowly raised his head to stare at
her. Despite the cool air, sweat was running off him. For a moment the
tableau held, and then Christine turned and called, "You, Simon -- lend me
that pen, please?"
A skinny, blushing, inkspotted young man stepped forward, taking a
white quill pen from behind his ear and handing it to Christine. She took
it and turned back to the now wide-eyed Indian. "You're wishing we'd just
put you in jail, aren't you?" she cooed, kneeling down and taking firm
hold
of his leg just above the ankle. "Too bad ... " With a swift motion, she
swiped the quill down the length of his foot from toes to heel. Despite
his
best efforts, the Indian couldn't restrain a jump and a gulp. She reversed
the feather, slowly scratching the pen tip back and forth across the sole
as she made her way back up. The foot flipped wildly, and the Indian, his
face a study in agony, broke into choked giggles, which quickly built into
full-bodied, uncontrollable laughter as the tip glided over his arch.
"Heheheheheheh -- aiiihhh -- " he gasped, adding pleas that nobody in the
crowd but Jess and the other bodyjumper understood. But their meaning was
clear from the tone, and Christine shook her head. "You're not getting
loose until I'm good and done with you," she said.
Hearing the Indian plead put Jess in mind of the governor again. She
measured the distance between her and the other 'jumper. No way could she
get to him before some busybody in the crowd grabbed her and hauled her
back to "protect" her -- and even if she got to him, what could she do?
Suddenly, a commotion broke out toward the back of the crowd.
"Susanna!" a woman shouted, and there were angry yells from both men and
women. Over them all rode the voice of the governor: "Let them through!"
Even he, though, was nearly drowned out by the mad laughter of the
Indian;
Christine had removed the other moccasin, and her fingers were flashing
over both soles at the same time, driving him to hysterics. She didn't
even
look up from her work. Jess, glad of the distraction, edged a couple steps
closer to the governor.
The crowd parted, and a small band marched into the middle of the
town
square. Six tall, grim Indians, four carrying rifles. The other two
supported an Englishwoman between them. Her arms were draped around their
necks, and each had hold of one of her wrists. She -- Susanna? -- looked
to
be about nineteen, with loose, tangled chestnut hair and an expression of
deep weariness on her face. She wore only a white nightgown, muddy and
torn
in places, and her bare legs and feet were likewise muddy and scratched.
"Don't anybody move!" the governor roared. "Show them we can beat
them
at their game! Susanna, don't give them anything!"
All the Indians (save Christine's unfortunate victim, who was still
howling) stared at him impassively. Then the two holding Susanna turned
and, as one, seized hold of her ribs with their free hands, not releasing
her wrists. She let out a yelp and danced wildly between them as they
tickled all over her body, hands jumping from ribs to tummy to waist,
sliding into the armholes of the gown to tease her underarms.
Christine threw a glance over her shoulder at the sound of Susanna's
torment. "Two against one? Well, if they can do it, so can we! Sally, you
get over here and help!" A blond girl, a few years younger than Christine,
hurried out of the crowd and, at her directions, took up a position behind
the Indian, her fingers piano-keying along his ribs while Christine sawed
the quill between each pair of toes in turn.
The crowd stood spellbound by the bizarre conflict. Jess edged even
closer to the governor. Another couple of steps, and then the dash ...
The
battle seemed to be going to the English. Susanna, despite her obvious
hyperticklishness, had already been exhausted by much previous torment,
while the Indian in the stocks was relatively fresh, with untapped
reserves
of laughter. His screams of mirth rose even higher than hers as Sally
mercilessly tickle-crawled her hands up and down his sides while
Christine's fingernails circled his soles with exquisitely agonizing
slowness.
The Indians holding Susanna glanced at one another in surprise, then
let go of her arms, dropping her roughly to the ground. Quickly she yanked
down the hem of her nightdress before anything was revealed, but all
thoughts of modesty vanished as each Indian picked up an ankle and began
tickling her feet. Susanna rolled back and forth on the ground, gown
rucking up high around her hips, wild laughter erupting out of her -- "No!
Heeheeheeheehee! Stop! Somebody, plehehehehehehehe -- nooooooo!" But
still,
she was no match for the nearly breathless victim in the stocks. Christine
and Sally, holding his elbows high, were torturing an underarm apiece,
with side trips to the most sensitive parts of his tummy and waist.
Between
bursts of roaring laughter, the Indian pleaded desperately with his
fellows
to come and save him from the hands of these demons in female shape before
they tickled his life away. Their exhortations to him to be strong fell
on
deaf ears.
Another couple of steps and -- now! Jess streaked across the green
grass of the town square toward the governor. A man stepped in her way --
"This is no place for little girls" -- and without slowing, she dropped to
her knees and slid between his legs, leaving long grass stains on her
apron. Bounding back to her feet, she dashed to the governor and seized
hold of the hem of his coat.
"What -- " the governor began, then looked closer. "You!"
"You." Jess was breathing heavily.
The governor waved off a couple of adults who approached. "It's all
right." Then he looked down at Jess and smirked. "So, Miss Time Central
--
you going to slap the cuffs on me and take me in?"
"How the hell did you manage all this?" Jess gestured at the field of
battle behind them. "Well-armed Indians. Europeans 'counting coup.' And
why tickling?"
"Why not?" He grinned broadly. "As for the Indians, well -- seems
that
when the Spanish came to America, they were so ... charmed ... by certain
parts of the Aztec religion, a lot of them wound up converting. Instead of
conquering, they -- and their technology -- were assimilated. And since
the tickling rituals had already spread through the rest of America, there
were plenty of European converts everywhere ...
Neat, huh? I'm rather proud of it."
A yell went up from the crowd, and both Jess and the governor turned
to see that the six Indians had left Susanna sitting on the ground and
were
trudging out of the village, their heads bowed as the screams of their
tormented comrade followed them.
"Does this mean we have to let him go?" Christine called to the
governor.
"Well ... " the governor said slowly. "You can take another five
minutes, until they're clear of the town area -- just to drive the lesson
home."
"Good." She and Sally turned back to their captive, eyes gleaming, as
the crowd broke into laughter and cheers.
"You're insane," Jess said sharply. "What can you possibly hope to
accomplish by perverting history like this?"
"That's for me to know and you to find out." The governor frowned.
"Or
rather, not find out. I warned you once, back in 1376, about interfering
in
my business. Now, since my work here is done, as they say, I'll deal with
you -- "
Jess leaped back, out of his reach, but the governor made no move
toward her. Instead, the entire town square rippled, then tore down the
middle, dropping Jess back into the megaflow. But this time, instead of
the
gentle drift she was used to, she found herself moving at high speed.
Something -- or some_one_ -- had hold of her and was dragging her through
time. "Impossible!" she thought, trying desperately to stop her careening
flight, to make mental contact with Central -- but she couldn't slow her
mad rush through the megaflow, toward an unknown destination ...

NEXT: The Couch Trip, or Vienna Fingers.