"Long ago, when the moon was young, there lived a Scorpion on the plains. The Scorpion was small and did not need all that land, though it was greedy and defended it from all others. The wandering Fox, with no place to call home for its family, attempted to make the land its home too. The fox and the scorpion fought; it is that fight that determined the future of the southern plans tribes.”
Sarsi, a pixie-faced woman in her mid-twenties with deep auburn hair and intelligent eyes, steeled her nerves as she gazed upon her reflection in the changing tent mirror. Her assistants were finishing applying lotion to her tan nude body making her toned figure glisten in the torchlight. The lotion helped to prevent scarring that could be caused during her upcoming Tarklief scene.
Sarsi lived and breathed Tarklief, a deeply symbolic and combative cultural theatre tradition of her people, where fighters retell fables via a battle for dominance using their cunning and dexterity. She adored that feeling of majesty when she won just as much as she savored the exhilarating powerlessness when she lost. Her only fear was that she would not put up enough of a fight to impress the crowd and do justice to the fable.
Sarsi could hear the crowd in the theatre outside her tent, applauding, appreciating, and admiring the combatants. Her scene, the fable of the Fox and the Scorpion would be soon. Sarsi was to play the Fox, one of her favorite Tarklief characters. As the Fox, she needed to subdue the Scorpion in the first part of the performance, without being stung by the Scorpion's paralyzing flogger. Then in the second part, she needed to extract a promise from the Scorpion to be subservient to the Fox. Sarsi inspected her equipment bag for part two; particularly the gloves with sharp fox claws on the fingertips, sticks of red candle wax, a fluffy fur-tailed tickler, and a leather strap. Yes, she believed she could play that part very well. Finally, the defeated Scorpion would need to try to escape the stage. If it couldn’t, well, it clearly wasn’t strong enough to serve the Fox anyway. Sarsi would need to ensure her work of the first two parts would make the last almost impossible so that only the best Scorpion could prove itself worthy to serve her.
Sarsi brushed at her hair anxiously, keeping the other potential ending to the Fable out of her mind. The one where the Scorpion subdued the Fox. Sarsi tied her red, orange, and gold silk loincloth around her waist, it was her favorite one with motifs of a resting fox. She then buckled the thick leather belt over it and swayed her hips to cause the tiny capsules of sand embroidered in to hiss slightly. The wide back of the belt protected her kidneys from any potential blows. Sarsi also donned the remaining pieces of safety gear; a fitted open-faced hood that protected to the base of her neck, and leather gloves. Her assistants handed Sarsi her tools to play the Fox; three coiled lengths of rope, a long wooden staff with a metal ring at one end, and a sheathed dagger that had a phallic shape rather than a blade. Sarsi stowed the ropes and dagger on her belt with practiced efficiency.
Suddenly, the crowd in the theatre outside erupted into renewed applause and a steward poked her head in to signal it was time. Her assistants equipped the final piece of her costume, a carved wooden fox mask that had no eye holes, rendering Sarsi blind. Sarsi double-checked the fit, snug and comfortable, and motioned that she was ready. With one hand on the shoulder of her assistant in front and the other holding her staff behind her, Sarsi was led out into the open-air theatre.
The theatre smelt of festival grilled meats and honeyed drinks with the warm summer night’s air. Sarsi’s nerves subsided as she felt comfortable in this familiar atmosphere. She directed her assistant closer to the audience of men and women from the gathered tribes, who reached out to tenderly squeeze her breasts or buttocks for good luck as they murmured encouragement into her ear. “She’s a vicious scorpion, take care little fox.” “She breaths deeply, listen for that!” “Do the Crescent Moon Bind, she’ll never escape, I guarantee it!” The attention stirred her arousal, as intended, which Sarsi channeled into her desire for victory.
Sarsi’s assistant led her to the edge of the stage and furtively whispered a final tip. “She’s taller than you, with a longer reach. Best of luck Sarsi we know you’ll do great!” And with that Sarsi stepped onto the stage and her element.
The light “thut” of her footfall resonated through the taught canvas of the stage, a 10-meter diameter drum exquisitely woven from moth silks and grass fibers from the surrounding plains. The scene official boomed out to silence the crowd, “And now the retelling of the fable of Fox and the Scorpion. The role of the Fox will be played by Sarsi Windshadow!” Sarsi gave a little pirouette, twirling her staff. She felt her poise attracted the crowd’s eager eyes and welcoming applause. “… and the role of the Scorpion will be played by Kijora Rain-caller!” Sarsi focused her trained hearing on the menacing hiss of sand in her opponent’s belt as Kijora gyrated her hips confidently for the crowd, then recalled what she knew of Kijora from watching previous scenes.
Kijora was a powerful curvy woman, with a deep-brown complexion, unrelenting when on attack but can be outmaneuvered by an agile opponent. As she was playing the Scorpion, she would be clad in a green, blue, and silver loincloth and be wearing a carved wooden scorpion blinding mask.
“Let the scene begin!” the scene official decreed and the gong rang out.
Sarsi felt the faint vibrations through her feet of Kijora circling to the left, the opposite direction of common practice, no doubt hoping to catch Sarsi off-guard. Sarsi tied a quick snare trap with one of her rope coils, laid it carefully in Kijora’s path, then also began circling to the left. The growing sound of the crowd’s excitement and the timing of Kijora’s gait was her queue, 3… 2… 1 pull!
Success! The rope pulled tight and Kijora quaked as the snare tightened on her ankle and yanked her leg out from under her. Sarsi swept her staff low at Kijora’s supporting leg and bowled her over. “THUM” went the drum-like surface of the stage. Kijora’s reprisal swing did not connect, as Sarsi released the snare and ducked out of arms reach. The crowd applauded the skillful execution. Sarsi moved to press her advantage by concealing her actual position with a complex rope toss technique that mimicked the sounds of footfalls away from her with her left hand while threading a loop of rope through the ring in her staff with her right.
Kijora fell for the mimicked footfalls! As soon as Sarsi heard the whoosh of the flogger in thin air she lassoed Kijora’s hand wielding the flogger and quickly used both hands to tighten the knot to trap it. Feeling the adrenaline, Sarsi repositioned to force Kijora’s arm down behind her own back. Kijora had to drop her flogger, lest the tails drape down her behind and paralyze her. Sarsi pushed Kijora to her knees and for the briefest moments, took one hand off the staff to grab another piece of rope to bind Kijora’s other hand which was desperately struggling at the knot. The briefest moment was all Kijora needed, struggling at the knot was a ploy to hide her shifting her stance. She tore Sarsi’s staff out of her hands, tossing it aside, and took up her flogger. Sarsi stumbled audibly “thun, thun, thun” her feet sounded through the drum. Kijora’s strike was accurate, bringing her flogger across Sarsi’s chest, the shock and sting causing Sarsi to gasp as it drew raw stripes across her breasts.
Sarsi rolled out of reach. She could feel the toxin enveloping her nerve endings and forming an insulating layer between nerve and muscle, rendering her chest muscles limp. A direct hit across her chest was significantly sapping her arm strength and ability to breathe. Her breathing was now loud and labored. Sarsi knew Kijora could hear her and know her position at all times. Panic started to set into Sarsi’s mind. She had lost her staff; how did she have any hope of subduing the Scorpion now? She didn’t have time for contemplation as Kijora sensed weakness, attacking.
Sarsi weaved and danced away from the flogger’s tails elegantly, her belt hissing in pattern with the whoosh of Kijora’s flogger. Sensing an opportunity, Sarsi whipped Kijora around the waist with her rope, but Kijora caught her wrist and with two quick swings, struck Sarsi’s thighs before she could pull away and escape.
Sarsi buckled forward, her legs no longer supporting her. Kijora cemented her victory, delivering a series of punishing strikes on Sarsi’s exposed rear, eliciting cries of agony and causing Sarsi to collapse to a resounding “THUM” as she lands on the canvas of the stage. Sarsi gave one last feeble swing toward Kijora as she felt the numbness replace the stinging... but to no avail.
Kijora pinned Sarsi’s staff and hand beneath her calf and thoroughly painted Sarsi’s arms, back, and lower legs with the flogger’s strikes, ensuring that no muscle was left with the strength to fight back. Flipping Sarsi over, Kijora completed the same process on Sarsi’s front.
Sarsi lay there, chest heaving, as Kijora paid extra attention to wring out drops of the toxin onto Sarsi’s nipples. The scene official strikes the gong, signaling the transition to the second part of the fable’s dramatic retelling. Sarsi lamented that that meant the fable retelling will be the version where the Scorpion has subdued the Fox.
She had so much deviousness planned and would have loved to drip hot wax all over Kijora, but now she must play her part as the subdued Fox and win audience approval that way. Such is the way of the Tarklief tradition. Kijora carried the paralyzed Sarsi to the center of the stage, propped her up in a kneeling position, and kneeled behind her for support. Kijora carefully removed Sarsi’s belt, gloves, mask, and hood, discarding them.
Sarsi blinked as the view of the theatre came into focus. Kijora untied Sarsi’s loincloth, revealing her fully to the audience’s gaze. From her helpless state, Sarsi savored the exhibitionist thrill of seeing their hungry eyes devour her body. Sarsi’s brief distraction gave Kijora the opportunity to roll up the loincloth and massage some last remaining toxin drips into Sarsi’s jaw to ease the loincloth in and tie a tight gag.
Sarsi felt her panic rise once more, with her mouth gagged, and her breathing was much restricted. She turned toward Kijora, gazing into the expressionless mandibles of the scorpion mask.
“Not yet, Fox. Not yet,” Kijora cooed as she bound Sarsi’s chest into a rope harness that lifted and squeezed Sarsi’s perky aroused bosom.
Next, Kijora raised Sarsi’s hands and tied them behind her head to the back of the chest harness.
“ANNHEEHHOOO EEEEZ!” Sarsi begged through the gag.
“Well, if you have that much breath to complain you’re clearly doing fine.” Kijora shifted Sarsi’s weight causing her to topple forward, knocking the breath out of her and getting a chuckle from some in the audience. Kijora made quick work on Sarsi’s legs, binding them so each heel sat close to the buttocks, tracing some of the striped welts as an artist would admire their work. Sarsi marveled at the skill of her opponent, to tie someone into this complex bondage was hard, but to do it while blinded was the mark of an accomplished Tarklief fighter.
Kijora pulled Sarsi back up to balance on her knees. Sarsi sucked in air and moaned into the gag that was soaking up her drool. “AANNHEEHOO EEEZ EEEZ, SCORIO! EEEZ!”
“Now, now, I’m not finished with you yet.” Kijora took a piece of Sarsi’s rope and continued the chest harness into a full body harness, carefully laying two lengths between Sarsi’s legs and securing the leg ties to the rest of the rope structure. Sarsi understood the implications and shuddered to think of part three of the fable retelling. She didn’t dare demand the antidote now.
Kijora clapped her hands and her assistant delivered her bag of extra equipment for part two. Kijora’s grinning assistant opened the bag in full view of Sarsi. Sarsi’s eyes widened as she spied some truly cruel implements within. She shook her head around violently, but it was completely ineffectual. Kijora withdrew a large “J” shaped stylized bronze scorpion stinger with a ring at the end and an extra bulbous stinger, smooth and blunted. Sarsi practically squealed in anticipation. Kijora smothered it in lubricating vegetable fats and inserted it slowly between the crotch ropes and into Sarsi’s rectum tying the ring to a rope attached to the chest harness to keep it secure.
Sarsi felt floaty and focused her shallow breathing in time with her anus clenching on the cool hard intrusion and lay her head into Kijora’s shoulder as she gazed up at the stars overhead. Her floaty feeling was rudely interrupted by a painful pinching in her crotch. She looked down, surprised to see her numb nipples turning deep red, each clamped between a bronze scorpion claw, a thin gold chain connecting them to a similar claw tugging her labia.
Kijora adjusted the chains and the anal hook to force Sarsi to sit up straight. Bending either way would pull the toys excruciatingly.
“Aaaaaaaa…” Sarsi relaxed into the pinching pain until it subsided into a tolerable dullness. “Anhedo ez Scorio?”
“Who’s asking more nicely now?” Kijora teased and raised the handle end of her flogger for the audience’s endorsement. The audience wholeheartedly agreed, the atmosphere filled with aroused anticipation as they had savored hearing Sarsi’s muffled pleas and appreciated the beauty of the skilled tie. The audience was ready to watch part three of the fable-- the part where the Fox tries to escape the Scorpion and warn other foxes of the dangers that lurk there. All Sarsi needed to do was to leave the stage in the allotted time.
Kijora unsheathed her flogger’s handle, revealing a wooden phallus slathered in a white buttery substance, and embraced Sarsi tenderly. “Here’s your antidote Fox, may it carry you back to safety,” Kijora whispered into Sarsi’s ear and gave her a peck on the cheek while gradually thrusting the wood deeper into Sarsi’s vagina, keeping it there with the crotch ropes.
All her nerves were numb except those in those sensitive regions. Her chemistry was heightened by adrenaline, fear, and arousal.
The first orgasm of an antidote insertion is always memorable.
The scene officials striked the third gong. The antidote to the toxin, transmitted into the bloodstream by melting into Sarsi’s engorged vaginal muscles has two main effects. One, it breaks down the toxin around nerve endings, freeing the muscles to respond to stimuli again. Two, with nerves regaining efficacy, the body shivers, shudders, and spasms in an attempt to assess for damage and test functions.
Sarsi rode the waves of shivers, hungrily drawing the phallus deeper inside herself hoping to melt the antidote as quickly as possible. In her haste, she squeezed some of the antidote out and cursed into the gag.
“Can’t have you wasting any…” Kijora chided as she ungloved a hand and stroked the substance all over Sarsi’s clitoris, triggering a second orgasm that ejected more antidote, and would have toppled her if not for Kijora’s support. “… not a single drop.”
Kijora removed the gag for Sarsi to draw in her first full deep breath in ages. Her nipples protested the pull of the bronze claws. Kijora scooped up the excess antidote and brought it to Sarsi’s mouth. Sarsi gave her a playful look and greedily licked and sucked the mixture of antidote and her own juices off Kijora’s fingers.
Kijora was right-- every drop counted.
Before Sarsi could lap it all up, Kijora firmly replaced the gag, much to Sarsi’s indignant protests. “Time for you to run along Fox.”
Kijora disengaged from their kneeling embrace, leaving Sarsi to balance on her own. Sarsi had predicted this was coming, but the antidote still hadn't taken full effect yet! Sarsi wobbled in her precarious position, leaning forward, jamming the scorpion tail anal hook deeper inside her. Leaning back created agonizing tension between her nipple and labia claw clamps.
All the while, the shivers and shudders interfered with her delicate balance. She made tiny, stilted shuffling movements forward, one knee in front of the other, her muscles not fully operational. The flogger tails dragged behind her like a bushy fox’s tail. Sarsi stared determinedly into the audience to keep from over-balancing. The audience’s friendly faces cheered her on, drew their breath when she wobbled, and empathized with her.
Sarsi squeezed the phallus repeatedly to melt its antidote while expelling gag-muted screams as her normal sensations returned to her; the sting of the flogging welts, the friction of the rope harness in her crotch, the remorseless pinch of the claws.
Kijora, with her mask removed to free her shoulder-length ebony waves of hair and emerald green eyes, sat in an imposing chair outside the stage directly in front of Sarsi's path. Brushing aside her own loincloth, Kijora inserted a phallus covered in antidote for herself. She began pleasuring herself while staring at Sarsi, moaning theatrically in response to Sarsi’s furious vocalizations.
“Oh yes, mmm mmmm...”
Sarsi was livid. If she as the Fox continued to move toward the Scorpion rather than to safety, it would signify a complete victory by the Scorpion and be an unpopular ending for the Fox in the fable’s retelling. She had just made it three meters from the center, only two more to the edge and the end to this torment. Kijora chose this point to set up her chair because of it!
Sarsi, as gracefully as she could manage, turned around to head in the opposite direction. But as she did so, she tripped on the dragging flogger’s tails. It took all her core strength not to fall flat. She landed awkwardly, presenting her high-up rump toward Kijora, her upper chest on the canvas.
Sarsi had a brainwave. Using the temporary stability and strong grip of the slippery phallus, she mooned Kijora, sweeping the flogger back and forth in a motion that she hoped would be interpreted as defiance and Fox ingenuity. Then she raised herself back into an upright position, oddly thankful for the anal hook providing such a firm anchor point, and strode purposefully away from the miffed Kijora.
Sarsi’s limbs had returned to being functional, returning her agility. She knew she could make it to the edge of the stage.
Sarsi had crossed halfway across the stage again, much to the audience’s amazement. Behind her, she heard wood scrapes and a "hisssss" as Kijora tried to move her chair to block Sarsi on the other side. But the crowd did not approve. Sarsi had won that exchange and Kijora should respect that as part of this retelling.
Sarsi almost grinned, hidden by her gag and sweat-stained face. However, her grin plummeted as a dreaded drumroll sounded, the sound of nearing the end of her allotted time to exit the stage! Sarsi gripped her thighs together and sprung toward the edge, her breasts and buttocks jigging. Each landing felt like a shockwave crashing into her filled anus and vagina. Each jump rubbed the rope harness on her skin.
3… 2… 1... she counts and dives for the soft safety mats.
Landing hard on her tortured nipples, Sarsi jettisoned the phallus in one final powerful shuddering orgasm. The gong sounded signaling the end of the scene.
The audience roared into a thunderous ovation. Sarsi rolled over, exhausted to see her awestruck assistants lift her, ready to carry her away.
Fifteen minutes later, Sarsi was recovering; stretched out, at ease, and lounging on a lavishly cushioned raised mattress on display amongst the festival’s feast. She smiled dreamily at admirers who placed gifts, flowers, and messages around her. Her assistants had untied her and were applying more lotion to her body, making sure to massage any last remnants of toxin out of every muscle. They chatted to her excitedly. “When you landed the first strike, I was so excited….” “You managed so well with so much toxin! You were basically a doll you couldn’t move anything!” “Were you really running out of breath while being tied or was it a theatrical ploy? Oh, sorry that’s a secret, right?” “Such a good move to turn your back on your opponent sitting there! It truly won you the crowd’s adoration. Look at all these gifts!”
They stopped abruptly as Kijora, dressed in a light summer’s robe, walked over from her seat with the other victorious fighters. “Is all well Sarsi?” she enquired, genuine concern on her face. Sarsi shifted over and guided Kijora’s hands to delicately trace some of the lines that the ropes and the flogger left behind, but not her nipples which were way too tender to be touched.
“All is well Kijora, thank you for such an exhilarating experience.”
“No thank you for your wonderful athleticism and grit! When I have tied other opponents in that harness they tended to fall down quickly and slither off in tears. You accepted it as the challenge it was and the crowd loved you for it.”
Sarsi smiled appreciatively, lost for words. She simply gave Kijora’s hand an appreciative kiss and then laid back to rest.
Kijora admired her handiwork on Sarsi’s body for a moment longer and rejoined the victors, talking merrily about how they enacted each of the different fables performed in the Tarklief tradition.
Sarsi and Kijora will no doubt fight again, in another scene, retelling another fable, and the buzzing gossiping crowd at the festival could barely wait for that to happen.
|Story by Stringy|
|Artwork by Mad Max Duarte|
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