Ellen Cindy’s-Daughter

Maud looked at the three envelopes in her hand and flicked one of them into the fire. The thin paper burned quickly.

“Mother!” Ellen protested.

“Don’t you call me that,” Maud sniffed. “Ellen Cindy’s-Daughter. You’re no daughter of mine.”

“Father told me to call you that.”

“Your father.” Maud dismissed him with a wave of her hand. “You call me ‘Mistress Maud.’“ She swept from the room, clutching the other two envelopes.

Ellen sat on a stool, looking into the fire, at the ashes of her invitation to the royal Festival of Laughter. She was a young woman of middle height, shorter than her step-sister Stef, but taller than her other step-sister Tina or her step-mother Maud. Unlike the other three women, her hair was black, long, and currently bound up in a bun, and her eyes were pale blue. Like her father’s eyes.

Her father’s eyes saw everything in his business, and nothing in his household. Cindy, Ellen’s mother, had run the household when she was alive, and now his new wife Maud ran it. Father wouldn’t interfere with Mistress Maud’s misrule. He wouldn’t even notice.

The invitation would have been her great chance. She was a merchant’s daughter, wealthy but still a commoner. The Festival would have knights and earls, and the Prince himself, all looking for a rich and pretty wife. Without the invitation, she couldn’t attend and those chances would all pass her by.

Stef and Tina came in, light brown hair in braids like their mother’s, light brown eyes warm instead of cold. Their was an uncomfortable silence before Stef spoke. “Mother said you didn’t get an invitation. What really happened?”

Ellen pointed. “It’s in there. All ashes now.”

“That’s rotten,” Tina said. She paused. “Maybe -”

“Ellen!” Maud called from the kitchen. “Get in here you lazy girl! There’s work to be done!”

“I’m coming, Mistress Maud!” Ellen called. She hurried from the room, blinking back tears.

The next few days were a whirl of activity. Silks and bells had to be purchased and converted into costumes appropriate for a Royal Festival of Laughter. Rings, toe-rings, and other pieces of jewelry had to be found. Sandals, to be worn traveling to the Festival, and shed once there. The transport itself, an open carriage drawn by two fine horses. All for Stef and Tina, of course. The only thing Mistress Maud had to say to Ellen was “Hurry up, you lazy girl. There’s work to be done!” But she made up for it by repeating those two sentences many times over.

If only my mamma were here. Ellen thought, at one point when she had a moment to spare. Or my godmamma. Then she remembered. Going to the chest at the foot of her bed, she pulled out her one personal treasure: A tiny lamp of gold and rubies, a gift from her godmother.

“Ellen!” came the cry from the doorway. Maud stalked forward and took the lamp right from Ellen’s hand. “Go to the parlor. Hurry up, you lazy girl. There’s work to be done!” Blinking back tears, Ellen hurried from the room.

At last the two step-sisters were ready to depart for the Festival. Their brown hair was bound up and held in place with polished combs of tortoise-shell. Brightly-dyed silk, adorned with little bells, wrapped around their chests, leaving their arms and midriffs bare. Matching silken skirts hung down just to their knees. Bangles of twisted copper and silver wire sat loosely on their wrists, ready to be pushed up their arms at need. Feet were set in sandals of finely tooled leather, with silver toe-rings on the toes. The open carriage waited outside, attended by two of the household’s servants.

Ellen watched their departure. As Tina walked past, she whispered “I only just found it,” and slipped something into the pocket of Ellen’s apron. Stef was next, and finally Mistress Maud, dressed in the more somber gown of a matron and chaperone, loaded down with necklaces.

At the door, Maud turned. “You’re wanted in the kitchen, lazy girl. There’s work to be done!” Then she was gone.

In the kitchen there was indeed work to be done; a huge pile of washing-up, left behind by the scullery maids when Maud had given them the day off. Ellen’s fists clenched, and pressed against her apron. She felt the object that Tina had slipped into the pocket. It was the tiny lamp, the gift from Ellen’s godmother. “Oh,” Ellen said when she pulled it out. “I thought you were lost forever. Please,” she said to it. “Please. Please. Please. Help me.”

There was a swirl in the middle of the kitchen floor, and Aysenuramilya floated there, Ellen’s genie godmother. Ellen burst into tears.

“Great storms, child,” the genie said. “Whatever is the matter?”

“Oh, Godmamma Ilya,” Ellen sobbed. “It’s it’s it’s.” And then the words came out in a rush. The Royal Festival of Laughter. The invitation. Mistress Maud. “And now I’ll be stuck here forever!” Ellen ended.

“Great storms, how miserable,” Ilya said when Ellen had finished her story. “Now lets see what we can do about it.” She raised her hands, and began to tickle the air, producing a giggle from it as the magic was invoked. An envelope floated into the kitchen, burning in reverse: Half consumed when it entered, entirely whole when it landed in Ellen’s hands. “There’s your invitation, child,” Ilya said. “As for the rest...” she wiggled her fingers once more, and once more the air giggled.

Minutes later, Ellen stepped into the carriage. Her black hair was now bound up with glittering combs, and her work clothes and apron replaced with a sleeveless top and matching skirt of ruffled silk, pale blue with golden stripes. A gold-and-sapphire necklace hung around her neck, and matching gold-and-sapphire toe-rings adorned feet set in a pair of gilded sandals. The carriage itself was purest white; it had once been a porcelain dish from the kitchen. Four horses that had once been wooden spoons drew it, tended by a pair of stiff grooms who minutes before had been fireplace pokers.

“Now remember child,” Ilya said for the third time, “the spells will revert to air and smoke when the Great Bell in the New Clocktower strikes twelve. So you be back home by then.”

“Yes, godmamma,” Ellen said. “And thank you!”

The white coach stopped before the palace entrance, and Ellen stepped barefoot onto the thick carpet, leaving her gilded sandals behind. Handing her invitation to the majordomo, she was bowed inside. She heard shrieks and giggles from the Grand Hall ahead and started to walk toward them. But as she came to a doorway on her left, she heard a familiar voice.

“I’ve got two daughters,” Maud said. “And a new husband who will provide good dowries for them. If he doesn’t waste his fortune on his first wife’s daughter. Lazy girl, and no good. Sits around when there’s work to be done! Gimme more wine.”

Holding her breath , Ellen quickly stepped past the doorway. Behind her, Maud continued, “Won’t be here tonight, though. Won’t catch a husband this time. No husband, no money wasted on her dowry.”

When Ellen entered the Grand Hall itself, a handsome young man immediately captured her with a symbolic red ribbon wrapped around her wrist. “Ha!” he said. “A new victim! I’m Lord Steven, by the way, the son of the Earl of Greenrock.”

“I’m Ellen, Ellen Cindy’s-Daughter.” She looked over Lord Steven as he led her aside. He was tall, dressed in green and brown, and armed with a number of feathers stuck in his belt and baldric.

“And here we are at the comfy cushions,” Lord Steven said. Two prettily hogtied women already lay there, giggling madly as two young gentlemen applied finger-tickles to their bare soles and bare midriffs. In a few moments Lord Steven had Ellen hogtied as well, no longer a captive of a symbolic ribbon, but well-tied with fine but sturdy leather straps. She felt his fingers start to dance across her own bare feet, and felt the laughter start to bubble out.

Tickling fingers ran up and down Ellen’s soles. She giggled. The fingers surveyed her feet from toe-tips to heels, and then surveyed the more sensitive portions, seeking out and finding the sensitive spots on her insteps and the on the balls of her feet. A hand reached down to tease her exposed side, compelling more laughter.

Giggle giggle giggle. The two beauties squirming nearby, and the general laughter in the air, acted to heighten Ellen’s sensitivity. She was lying on her side, now, as Lord Steven held her down with one hand and used his other to plunder her vulnerable belly with gentle ruthlessness. Around and around his fingers went, pausing to tickle her belly-button. They ran up and down her side. Sought out her armpit, then returned to resume the belly-tickling.

On and on it went, then Lord Steven rolled her over. Ellen felt his fingers rake her the helpless soles of her feet, making her squirm. Teaching her that she was truly helpless at his hands, able only to struggle futilely and to laugh and laugh and laugh.

At last Lord Steven untied Ellen and left her sitting there while he sought other prey. She looked around. The great hall was roughly circular, its floor covered with carpets and rugs brought in for this occasion. Servants discretely circulated, serving light wines and fresh-drawn spring water to soothe throats worn by laughter and to provide refreshment after the thirsty work of inflicting the merry torments. Small tables set here and there held feathers, whisks, brushes, fleece-tipped dusters, and other tickle-implements, but many of the gallants present were using fingers on their giggling victims, much as Lord Steven had. Fine leather straps, fleece-lined cuffs, and silken cords were also present, used to render the tickle-victims helpless against any possibility of escape. In addition stocks were present here and there, not rustic devices of crude timber, but carved and polished pieces of furniture, with cushioned seats to keep their feminine prisoners comfortable, even as they held the prisoners’ bare feet secure and exposed for the gallants’ teasing attentions.

“There you are,” a voice said. Ellen looked up. It was Prince Brian himself, smiling down at her. “Lord Steven lied to me,” the Prince went on. “He told me you were a pretty one, but you are actually and exquisite beauty. My beauty, now,” he added as he wrapped his red ribbon around Ellen’s wrist.

Prince Brian led Ellen to the stocks. Stef and Tina were there, already locked in a set of stocks designed to hold a pair of giggling females. Their eyes widened with recognition when they saw Ellen, but they were both laughing too hard to say anything. Lord Steven brushed Stef’s exposed soles with a small whisk-broom, with an occasional swipe directed against Tina’s bare feet. Behind Tina stood a short and muscular young man that the Prince introduced as Baron Hugo. The Baron was applying a pair of fleece-tipped sticks to Tina’s bare skin, reaching around to lightly touch her belly and sides as she sat with her wrists locked overhead and her feet locked in front of her. Once in a while, he’d direct a fleecy swipe against Stef, making Ellen’s taller stepsister squirm and squeal.

Ellen found herself locked in a comfortable wooden chair, feet propped up - and held inescapably in place by a wooden block locked around her ankles. Her arms, down by her sides, were similarly held in place. Prince Brian checked the latches, then picked up a broad, soft-bristled brush.

Ellen squealed as she felt the brush run over her soles. She giggled uncontrollably as it ran over the entirety of both her soles at once. Great waves of tickle-sensations flowed into her feet, and laughter poured out of her like water from a fountain. That soft-bristled brush made it impossible to hold back the laughter. Made it impossible to sit still. Made it impossible to keep from struggling wildly - and uselessly - against the bonds that held her in place. Bonds that made her vulnerable, giving her no choice but to submit to that incredible tickling.

Now Prince Brian begin to apply that tickling brush to the rest of Ellen’s skin. She felt it run up and down her legs, up and down her arms, and back and forth across her belly. The tickling paused, and Ellen tingled all over in anticipation of further tickling yet to come. She heard her step-sisters laughing under the friendly torments being applied, as Lord Steven stroked and teased Stef, and Baron Hugo tickled Tina. The other barefoot captives in the hall added their own sounds of forced mirth, until the very air seemed filled with tickling.

Ellen felt herself growing ever more sensitive as she breathed in that air. Wondrously sensitive, to match the terrible vulnerability of her captivity. She giggled once more as Prince Brian again applied his tickling touch. This time, however, he used the tip of a stiff feather rather than his soft-bristled brush. It tickled differently, but just as well as it retraced the brush’s path, running up and down her arms and legs, and back and forth across her belly. Again and again Ellen squirmed and laughed, forced to do so by Prince Brian’s delightful torments.

Another pause, and Ellen caught her breath. She drank thirstily from the goblet the Prince offered, and returned his smile. Then she watched as he stepped around to her feet and brought out the feather once more. Once again the uncontrollable giggles came to her as she felt the feather’s kiss on her helpless soles.

The tickling went on and on, stopping only when Prince Brian released her - temporarily, only to restrain her in a new position, for a new bout of tickling. Always, the Prince monopolized her attentions. He put her once again in a leather-strapped hog-tie, and tickled her soles and sides. He carried her out into the gardens, and staked her out, teasing her with the slow twisting of her toe-rings before applying a feather to her armpits with the lightest possible touch.

Ellen whimpered happily as she felt the light touch, here and there, of the feather’s tip. “You are very beautiful,” Prince Brian told her as he continued his attentions. “Very beautiful.”

“Heeheeheeheehee,” Ellen answered. The feather wandered over the exposed skin of her belly and thighs, and there was nothing - nothing - she could do about it.

“Perhaps I should pay more attention to your soles,” the Prince continued. “Beautiful Ellen. Would you like that?”

“Heehee maybe. Heeheehee. Aaah!” Ellen cried out in sudden alarm as the Great Bell began to toll. Her eyes went wide, and her heart pounded as she tried, and failed, to sit up. Five. Six. Seven the Great Bell tolled. Ellen remembered Godmamma’s words: The spells will revert to air and smoke when the Great Bell in the New Clocktower strikes twelve. So you be back home by then. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven.

The tolling stopped. It was still an hour until midnight. Ellen shuddered and gasped.

The Prince’s face hovered over her own. “What’s wrong? What’s the matter?” Ellen felt the bonds on her wrists and ankles falling away, and Prince Brian’s strong arms holding her. She clung back in return.

“Oh. Oh.” she sobbed. “It’s the bell. It startled me. It frightened me!”

“Shh. Shh. It’s all right.” The Prince carried her back into the Hall. He didn’t let go as they sat on a couch. “It’s all right,” he repeated. “Rest. Eat and drink a little.”

Ellen ate and drank a little, without letting go of the Prince. Somehow, she knew, she had to break away from the strong arms that held her so comfortably, from the hands that had tickled her with such sweet skill, from the smile beamed at her. Soon, soon. She had less than an hour left. Maybe time for one more tickle-session. But she had to leave before the Great Bell tolled again.

Before the Great Bell tolled again.

Now there was an idea. If it could be done. If it would work. Safer to just leave the Festival early, as soon as she could.

No.

“Your Highness?”

“Yes, my beautiful Ellen?”

“Could you please stop the Great Bell from tolling again tonight?”

“Stop the Great Bell? I suppose I could.” The Prince’s thoughtful frown turned into a grin. “Yes. Anything to keep you happy, my beautiful Ellen.” A royal hand summoned a servant, and a royal voice gave instructions. “Take Sergeant Alvin’s squad, to save on any arguments,” he ended. The servant bowed and withdrew.

“Thank you. Thank you, Your Highness,” Ellen said.

Somehow Ellen found her ankles bound again, with a fine leather strap. Her wrists were bound behind her as well. Prince Brian had left her, promising to return, and she now shared the couch with her two stepsisters, both bound as she was.

“I’m glad you made it here,” Stef said.

“Yes,” Tina agreed. “We need to stick together. Stef’s the clever one, I’m the bold one, and you’re the lucky one, Ellen. Mother’s being stupid, trying to shunt you aside.”

“When you’re Queen,” Stef said, “you can give Mother a suitable position. Great Lady of the Royal Linen-closet, maybe.”

“And what have we here?” asked Prince Brian as he returned, flanked by Lord Steven and Baron Hugo. “A conspiracy?”

Baron Hugo brandished a fleece-tipped stick. “We have the answer for that,” he grinned.

Stef began to laugh. Lord Steven had knelt before and was now raking her soles with his fingers. Occasionally he would reach up to tickle her belly, as well. Tina and Ellen giggled as well as Baron Hugo and Prince Brian joined in the tickling. The young Baron touched Tina here and there with the soft fleece as she squirmed in her bonds. Ellen laughed as the Prince drew a square of silk between her toes, again, and again, and again.

Prince Brian worked slowly up Ellen’s body: Legs, belly, sides, arms, neck. Using fingers, and feather, and that square of the finest silk. Provoking laughter. Making her squirm in her bonds. Then he was holding her again. “It’s time,” he whispered. “But only the little clock, my beautiful Ellen. Not the Great Bell.”

The clock in the Hall struck midnight. Ting ting ting ting ting ting ting ting ting ting ting tinggg. But the Great Bell was silent. Godmamma Ilya’s spells remained in place. Ellen sighed relief.

“And now,” Lord Steven said. “Do you have anything to say for yourself, Stef?”

“No, milord.”

Baron Hugo gave Tina a look.

“No, Lord Barron,” she said.

Ellen just shook her head.

“That’s good, my beautiful Ellen,” Prince Brian said, taking up the fleecy tickle-stick. “Because you will be laughing too hard to say anything.”

The tickle-assault resumed.

The Great Bell did not toll again until noon of the next day. That noon found Mistress Maud and the genie Aysenuramilya glaring at each other.

“What have you done with my daughters?” Maud demanded.

“What have you done with my goddaughter?” came the answer.

“Where are they?”

“Where is she?”

The glares turned into a shouted argument, ending only when a servant arrived from the Palace. A royal servant, of the superior sort, dressed impeccably in the royal livery.

“Mistress Maud,” he bowed. “Excellent Aysenuramilya,” He bowed again and proffered two envelopes. Invitations, sealed with the royal seal.

Maud looked blank, but Ilya raised an eyebrow.

“There is to be a triple handfasting,” the servant explained. “Lady Stef Maud’s-Daughter and Lord Steven son of the Earl of Greenrock. Lady Tina Maud’s-Daughter and Hugo, Baron of Oaktower in his own right. And Lady Ellen Cindy’s-Daughter and Prince Brian, son of His Majesty King Albert.” The servant smiled a slight, superior smile.

“You are both, of course, invited.”