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rullakebu · 1 month

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Island of Peludo (F/M, tickling, fur fetish)

The waves crashed against the dark hull as the tiny sloop ship rocked slightly from side to side, traversing the calm clear blue waters. ‘Midnight Horizon’ read at the rear. At the wheel Arthur, the new captain, corrected the course as he turned it gently. Taking in the sea air, he took a deep breath. It had been a long day of sailing the Caribbean, looking for easy targets to rob and plunder. The blonde haired man dressed in a black trench coat and a white flowing shirt had a clear heading in his mind.

Midnight Horizon was a small ship, a humble one for an ambitious pirate. After serving as a privateer for the Royal Navy and being given the boot, Arthur had sneaked into the harbor and captured the ship in the dark of the night. The ship was dark brown, almost black. Beige sails were hoisted in the masts, along with a menacing black flag. Decked with a few cannons the ship was equipped to defend itself against and attack smaller ships. Against a galleon, however, the ship was almost pathetic in size.

Arthur’s first mate Charles stood at the bow, watching for land. Arthur had recruited Charles after he had witnessed him win a bar fight. Charles fancied the pocket watch of another customer and took it by force. Deeming him as a capable man, Arthur had approached him. Together they had gathered a small crew loyal to the duo. Charles had long brown hair and wore a white shirt with a brown leather vest.

“Peludo, Peludo, Peludo…” Arthur murmured to himself with a breathy voice.

Peludo was a small island between Cuba and Jamaica, approximately the size of Barbados. Initially a Spanish colony, it had recently declared its independence from Spain. It had become a hub for trade. Everyone was welcome on the island. Spain had let the island go, not deeming it worth it to retake. It was a mistake, however, since after gaining independence, the inhabitants of Peludo discovered extensive deposits of gold, silver, and rare gemstones in the island's mountains and riverbeds. The island was led by one Theodora De La Cruz. A former Spanish noble, her father had spearheaded the independence movement and after his death Theodora had taken the reins.

“We’ll be rich soon, lads!” Charles yelled from the bow, promising great wealth and affluence for the crew.

Since gaining independence, Peludo had become a hub for trade and commerce open for everyone. Merely seeing this as an opportunity, Arthur and Charles had conjured up the idea of robbing Theodora and her prosperous town.

Arthur, the more cautious and strategic of the two, turned to Charles. "We need to be smart about this. Theodora De La Cruz isn't just any leader. She's cunning and well-guarded."

Charles nodded, his usual bravado tempered by Arthur's words. "Aye, but we've got the element of surprise on our side. No one would expect us to strike at the heart of Peludo."

“That be true, Charles,” Arthur responded, taking a quick drag from his pipe and blowing dark smoke into the air, the wind blowing it away.

“Land, ho!” Charles yelled, his eyes gleaming with anticipation as he pointed towards the distant silhouette of Peludo emerging on the horizon.

Arthur squinted at the island, his mind racing with the details of their plan. “Remember, we dock as traders. Keep your weapons hidden and your wits sharp.”

Arthur quickly sent the crew to lower the black flag. As they approached the bustling port, they marveled at the diversity of ships anchored there—traders from all corners of the world, lured by the island’s riches. The market was a vibrant tapestry of cultures, with merchants selling everything from spices to silks, and, of course, the precious metals and gems that had made Peludo so prosperous.

Arthur and Charles disembarked, blending seamlessly into the throng of people. They made their way through the crowded streets, their eyes constantly scanning for any sign of Theodora. The island's prosperity was evident in the well-maintained buildings and the general air of affluence.

Arthur and his crew traversed through the bustling markets and streets, hearing all kinds of dialects and tongues: Spanish, English, Creole, and others. The colorful stalls were filled with exotic goods, and the air was thick with the scents of spices and fresh fruit. Laughter and haggling voices added to the lively atmosphere.

“See all this? Think of how rich we’ll be tomorrow,” Charles whispered, cackling evilly to himself as he eyed the bustling market filled with valuable goods.

“Patience, Charles. We’ll be drowning in gold yet, but we must keep our wits about us and be smart,” Arthur responded, his voice steady and calm. He took a quick drag from his pipe, blowing a thin stream of smoke into the air that quickly dispersed in the warm breeze.

Quickly, the crew found themselves in front of the town hall just on the edge of the market, the two-story Spanish colonial style building looming over the vendors’ shacks. The whitewashed walls and red-tiled roof stood in stark contrast to the vibrant, makeshift stalls surrounding it. The building's grandiose presence was a testament to the island’s rich history and current prosperity.

They saw a chariot being pulled by two massive white horses. The chariot's wooden wheels were accented by golden rims. The chariot itself was light blue and the doors were decorated with intricate carvings of sea waves and dolphins, giving it a regal yet nautical appearance. The golden trim glinted in the sunlight, casting dazzling reflections on the cobblestone streets.

Arthur and Charles exchanged a quick glance, recognizing the chariot as Theodora's personal transport. They moved closer, mingling with the crowd to get a better view.

The chariot came to a stop in front of the town hall, and Theodora herself emerged, her presence commanding immediate attention. She wore a dress of light blue, adorned with silver embroidery that caught the light with every step. Her dark brown hair curled down to her shoulders, framing her face elegantly. Ornate silver earrings dangled from her ears, catching the sunlight. Her hat was decorated with an array of blue feathers, their soft tendrils flowing in the wind. Draped over her shoulders was a massive baby blue fox fur stole, its luxurious tails hanging and swaying from each end.

Arthur and Charles watched from a distance, taking in every detail. Theodora's regal appearance and confident demeanor only reinforced her formidable reputation. As she moved through the crowd, she greeted the vendors with a graceful nod, her presence exuding authority and charm.

“She’s quite the figure,” Charles whispered, his eyes following the swaying tails of the stole. “But we need to focus on the plan.”

Arthur nodded, his eyes narrowing as he kept his gaze on Theodora. “Aye. We need to gather as much information as we can.”

They trailed her discreetly through the bustling market, blending in with the crowds of people. Theodora stopped at various stalls, speaking with the merchants and examining their goods. Her interest in the market was clear, but Arthur and Charles were more interested in the snippets of conversation they overheard.

“She’ll be gone tonight,” one of the vendors whispered to another as they passed. “Off to a meeting with the trade delegates. Her manor will be empty.”

Arthur's ears perked up at this. He nudged Charles, who grinned in response. This was the opportunity they had been waiting for.

“We’ll sneak into her manor after sundown.” Arthur declared, the plan slowly unfolding in his head. “We’ll send the others to rob the stalls and warehouses. You and I will take her house together.”

“Sounds like a plan, mate,” Charles giggled, rubbing his hands together in greed.

As the sun began to set, the duo made their way back to the Sea Serpent to prepare their crew for the night's endeavor. They reviewed their plan, ensuring every man knew his role. The ship bustled with activity as the crew readied themselves, each member knowing the importance of their task. The docks would serve as the primary distraction, while Arthur and Charles would strike at the heart of Theodora's wealth.

As night fell, Charles and his men moved through the darkened streets like shadows. They carefully picked locks and moved silently, taking only the most valuable items and avoiding detection. The market, bustling by day, was eerily quiet, and their work went unnoticed by the few guards and townsfolk still around.

Meanwhile, Arthur and Charles approached Theodora’s manor. The guards had thinned out, most of them stationed near the entrance or patrolling the grounds. Arthur led Charles to a side entrance they had scouted earlier, a small door partially hidden by ivy.

Behind the manor, they found a small shack nestled amidst the overgrown foliage. Inside, a ladder leaned against the wall, its wooden rungs weathered by time and neglect. Arthur and Charles exchanged a knowing glance, recognizing the ladder as a potential means of entry into Theodora's private quarters.

With practiced stealth, they lifted the ladder and carried it to the side of the manor. Arthur positioned it beneath a second-story window, ensuring it was stable and secure. Charles climbed up first, his movements agile yet gentle, making sure not to make too much noise.

Once Charles reached the window, he motioned for Arthur to follow. With a silent nod, Arthur ascended the ladder, his heart pounding with anticipation. He joined Charles on the narrow ledge outside the window, their breaths shallow as they prepared to breach Theodora's inner sanctum.

With a deft hand, Charles tested the window latch, finding it unlocked. He eased the window open, the hinges barely creaking in protest. Arthur followed suit, slipping through the narrow opening and into the dimly lit room beyond.

Inside, they found themselves in a lavish bedroom, its furnishings elegant and refined. A four-poster bed dominated the space, draped with sumptuous fabrics and adorned with intricate carvings. Ornate dressers and cabinets lined the walls, their surfaces gleaming with polished wood and gilded accents.

With a sense of urgency, Arthur commanded, "Start checking the drawers."

Charles nodded, his hands moving swiftly as he began to search through the drawers of the ornate dressers. He rifled through them methodically, his fingers skimming over fine jewelry and objects in search of treasures.

As Arthur opened the doors to the cabinets, revealing the extensive collection of fur clothing, his eyes widened in disbelief. Full-length coats, hats, and stoles of different colors and sizes adorned the shelves, each piece more luxurious than the last. The soft, velvety fur shimmered in the dim light of the bedroom, casting a spell of opulence over the room.

"Sink me," Arthur whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustle of fur. He reached out, running his fingers over the plush material, marveling at its exquisite quality.

Charles, drawn by Arthur's excitement, hurried over to join him. Together, they sifted through the garments, their hands trembling with anticipation. Each piece seemed more valuable than the last, a testament to Theodora's wealth and status.

“Think how much we can sell these for,” Charles whispered, his eyes open in excitement.

"Filthy rich, we'll be," Arthur responded, his fingers caressing the sleeve of a coat, its soft fur yielding under his touch. He couldn't help but marvel at the luxuriousness of the garment, the sensation of the fur tickling his skin ever so slightly.

"Let's start packing them!" Arthur declared, pulling out two bags with a sense of urgency. He wasted no time in stuffing the fur garments into the sacks, his movements swift and determined.

Charles eagerly followed suit, his own bag quickly filling with the precious loot. The weight of their newfound riches hung heavy in the air, fueling their excitement and driving them forward.

"Did you see anything else?" Arthur asked, his gaze sweeping the room as he prepared to make their exit. The bags were filled to the brim with the elegant and opulent furs, their weight a tangible reminder of the riches they had acquired. There were some left on the floor, not fitting into their bags anymore.

“I found some jewelry in the drawer. I already stuffed me pockets,” Charles answered, stuffing his hand into his left pocket and pulling out a ruby necklace. He dangled it for a bit and then put it back.

Creak.

The duo heard a door open in the hallway beyond the crime scene. They looked at each other in shock.

“Theodora,” Charles whispered, his eyes open with terror.

"Aye," Arthur responded, his mind racing as he searched for a way out of their predicament. "Throw the booty out of the window, and then we'll climb down!"

"Good idea!" Charles agreed, his hands trembling as he hastily threw the bags out the window. They plummeted through the air, landing in a heap on the ground below. “I’ll go first!”

“Alright, but make it quick!” Arthur responded, shooing Charles with his hands and looking over at the bedroom door.

Step.

As Charles descended the ladder, Arthur kept a nervous watch on the bedroom door, his heart pounding with fear. Theodora's footsteps grew closer, each one sending a chill down his spine. They were running out of time.

Just as Arthur was about to make his escape, Charles suddenly pulled the ladder away, throwing it to the side with a clatter. Arthur's eyes widened in shock as he realized what his companion had done.

"What are you doing?" Arthur hissed, panic rising in his chest.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, but it’s time I be captain. The Midnight Horizon belongs to me now. Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of it,” Charles said, winking his eye at Arthur. The betrayal, the treachery.

"Mutiny! Traitor! Judas!" Arthur's voice echoed through the room, filled with rage and despair as he watched Charles grab the heavy fur-filled bags and flee into the darkness, leaving Arthur to face Theodora alone.

As Theodora and her guards closed in, Arthur knew that his fate was sealed. He had been outsmarted and outmaneuvered by his own companion, his dreams of wealth and glory shattered by Charles's treachery.

Bang!

As the bedroom door swung open with a resounding bang, Arthur found himself face to face with two of Theodora's guards, their swords gleaming in the dim light of the room. His heart pounded with adrenaline as he braced himself for the confrontation that awaited him.

With swift, practiced movements, the guards advanced into the room, their eyes fixed on Arthur with steely determination. There was no mercy in their gaze, only the cold, unyielding resolve of those sworn to uphold Theodora's will.

Arthur raised his hands, completely out of options. Surrendering was his only chance at making it out of this predicament. “I surrender!” Arthur sighed, looking down and a single tear falling from his eye.

He lifted his gaze and saw Theodora gracefully walking into the room, her baby blue fur stole swaying with each step. She scanned the room, glancing at the open cabinets and drawers. She saw the leftover furs scattered on the floor. Walking over to them, Theodora knelt down and lifted up a silver fox jacket. Theodora looked at it and dropped it to the floor once more. Rising up, she looked over at Arthur, whose heart was ready to beat out of his chest.

"¿Quién eres, hm? Who are you?" Theodora's voice was calm yet commanding, her words cutting through the tense silence like a knife.

Arthur swallowed hard, summoning every ounce of courage he possessed as he met her gaze head-on. "My name is Arthur," he replied, his voice steady despite the fear that gnawed at his insides. "I'm just a humble sailor, caught up in circumstances beyond my control."

He watched as Theodora's expression softened ever so slightly, a hint of curiosity flickering in her eyes. But beneath her facade of composure, Arthur could sense the calculating mind of a ruler who saw through his facade and sought to uncover the truth lurking beneath.

"I... I can explain," Arthur stammered, his mind racing as he searched for words to defend himself. But try as he might, he knew that there was little he could say to absolve himself of the crimes he had committed.

Theodora regarded him with a cool detachment, her eyes narrowing as she assessed his every word and gesture. She was a woman accustomed to power and authority, unyielding in her resolve to maintain control over her domain.

"You may have intended to rob me," she continued, her voice soft yet commanding, "but you have failed. And for that, you will pay the price." She lifted her right hand, placing it on the shoulder of a guard gracefully and squinting her eyes and smirking to herself. “Llévalo al calabozo de las cosquillas.”

Not understanding Spanish, Arthur's heart raced as he was led away by the guards, confusion clouding his mind as he tried to make sense of Theodora's cryptic command. He couldn't understand the words she had spoken, but the look of satisfaction on her face sent a chill down his spine.

They reached their destination: a dimly lit chamber with stone walls and a single barred window. The guards shoved Arthur inside. Falling on his knees, he was lifted up and undressed. The guards peeled away his coat, shirt, slacks and boots, leaving him naked. They lifted his arms and attached them to shackles that hung from the ceiling. In the middle of the room was a padded metallic stool with stocks attached to it. One of the guards took Arthur by the legs and lifted them on it, securing his feet into the stocks.

Arthur was on his knees on the stool, with his wrists shackled to the ceiling and ankles restricted by the stocks. He tried swinging but the stool was too heavy. He wasn’t going anywhere. Arthur heard heels clicking and closing in on the cell. He saw Theodora making her way down the dungeon corridor, dragging behind her one of the bags that was dropped.

She stepped into the room, placing the bag just next to Arthur. "So, you thought it was a good idea to rob me, hm?" Theodora's voice was soft yet cutting, her words laced with an undercurrent of menace. Arthur could feel her eyes boring into him, piercing through his defenses with their intensity.

"I-I-I'm sorry," he stuttered, his gaze fixed on the cold stone floor beneath him. He could feel Theodora's eyes on him, their gaze like daggers piercing through his defenses.

Arthur shivered as Theodora's fingers trailed across his chest, her touch both gentle and menacing. Her presence was overwhelming, and the cold air of the dungeon seemed to thicken with tension. "I'm sorry but that will not cut it," she said, her voice a blend of sweetness and threat. She continued to circle him, her hand never losing contact with his skin, sending shivers down his spine.

After finishing the round, Theodora stood before Arthur, taking in the sight of him bound and helpless. She took a hold of a single tail of her stole, brushing the soft fur under his chin. “Do you know what this place is, hm?” She trailed the stole under his chin from ear to ear. The fur teased his skin, sending tingles down his neck.

“N-n-no, madam,” Arthur admitted.

Theodora's smile widened at his response. She released the stole and moved behind him, her hands gently stroking his sides. Arthur could feel her breath on his neck, the proximity of her presence both comforting and terrifying.

“This is my tickle dungeon,” she whispered, her fingers starting to skitter along his sides.

“The Wha-HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Arthur laughed, feeling Theodora’s tickling fingers on his bare sides.The light, rapid flicking of her nails was intense, and Arthur's body jerked involuntarily as he tried to escape the ticklish onslaught.

“That’s right,” Theodora continued, her voice smooth and sultry. “I bring people here to punish the poor criminals of my island. To torture them with teasy, tantalizing, torturous tickling. We do not have a prison but this space under my manor instead, designed to make offenders like you howl with laughter and beg for release.”

Arthur twisted in his binds, laughing and cackling to no end. Theodora’s wiggling fingers descended, targeting his sensitive waist line. “You have no idea how many people I’ve brought here to tickle and torment,” Theodora teased, her voice dripping with a mixture of amusement and menace.

Arthur’s laughter became more frantic as Theodora’s fingers explored his waistline. Each tickling stroke of her fingers sent electric jolts of sensitive torment up his nerves. Theodora had not tickled him for long, yet had him howling like he had been tortured for hours.

“I’ve had pirates, thieves, and all manner of scoundrels in these very stocks,” Theodora continued, her fingers never ceasing their relentless assault. “Some thought they could outsmart me, others thought they could overpower me. But in the end, they all learned the same lesson,” she teased in his ear. “Cross my trust and you get tickle, tickle, tickled.”

“HAHAHAHAHA! LET ME GO! HAHAHAHAHAHA!” He commanded but his pleas fell on deaf ears as Theodora continued abusing his sensitive waist, causing Arthur to twist and turn, but unable to evade the ticklish onslaught.

“I am afraid I am unable to fulfill your request, my ticklish pirate,” Theodora clapped back, her fingers never slowing. “You see, this is your punishment. You wanted to steal from me, and now you must pay the price in laughter.”

Arthur’s cheeks turned, realizing the severity of his ticklish predicament. He wasn’t going to be let go soon. He was Theodora’s to tickle and torture as long as she would like. Nothing would stop her from tickling him to death as punishment.

Theodora’s fiendish fingers traversed upwards, easing up on his waist. They traveled back up his sides, eliciting loud laughter out of Arthur. Taking a pause, Theodora concentrated her tickling at his sides for a moment, driving him wild with desperate ticklish howls, before traveling upwards towards his wide open armpits.

Theodora moved back in front of him, her fingers teasing his armpits. She stepped closer, their bodies nearly touching, the soft fur of her stole brushing against his chest, adding a layer of pleasant sensations to Arthur's already overwhelmed senses.

"You see," she whispered, her breath warm against his ear, "this is what happens to those who try to take what is mine." Her fingers began to explore his armpits with renewed vigor, her nails lightly scratching the sensitive skin. “What is your name, hm?”

“AHAHAHAHAHARTHUHUHUHUHUR!” He answered, his cackling making it hard to form coherent words.

“Arthur?” Theodora repeated, her voice gentle, smooth and sultry. “Such a strong name, such a strong figure yet so sensitive and ticklish,” she teased, biting her lip and sighing gently. “Tan cosquilloso…”

Arthur’s laughter echoed off the tickle chamber’s walls, the sounds of desperation amplifying with each bounce. His laughter and pleas were like music to Theodora's ears, a symphony of his suffering that she conducted with expert precision.

"Yes, that's it," she purred, her fingers never ceasing their relentless dance over his sensitive skin, now focusing on his helpless ribs. "Let it out, Arthur. Let all that resistance melt away. Laugh for me. It tickles. Hace cosquillas, sí. Coochie coochie coo."

Her nails trailed down his ribs, electric jolts of ticklish agony coursing through his body. Arthur's muscles twitched and spasmed involuntarily, his mind a whirlwind of hysteria and exhaustion. Each touch was both a torment and a strange, humiliating pleasure that he couldn't escape.

The fur of her stole continued to brush against his chest and stomach with every turn, the softness a stark contrast to the relentless tickling that had left Arthur's skin tingling and hypersensitive. Even in his state, the sensation was surprisingly intense yet pleasant, a reminder of Theodora's power over him.

Theodora took notice of the stole caressing his chest. She slowly ceased her tickling, stepping back for a moment. As Arthur's laughter subsided, he became acutely aware of the soft fur against his skin, a welcome respite from the overwhelming sensations he had just endured.

"Enjoying the sensation, are we, Arthur?" Theodora's voice was playful, her eyes sparkling with amusement. She reached out and ran her fingers lightly over the fur, tracing the intricate patterns with delicate precision.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "It feels... nice."

Theodora looked over at the bag she had brought with her to the dungeon. “I see you were trying to rob me of my furs, Arthur. You and your friend…”

Arthur grinded his teeth at the mention of Charles, the treacherous scallywag. “Charles… the bastard… How did you get that bag?”

"I see the mention of your friend angers you, Arthur," Theodora remarked, her tone calm yet tinged with a hint of amusement. "We caught your friend at the gate. He couldn't get very far. We also captured your crew. They're here, in the dungeon, and a bit... preoccupied. My maids are... taking care of them."

Arthur's heart sank at the news of his crew's capture, his mind racing with worry for their safety. He knew that Theodora's maids were not to be underestimated – they were skilled in the art of tickle torture, just like their mistress, and Arthur feared what fate awaited his comrades in the dungeon.

"Now, the furs. What were you planning to do? Sell them?" Theodora's voice was calm, but there was a steely edge to it. He knew that she was not to be trifled with, especially when it came to her prized possessions.

"Yes," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "We were planning to sell them. We thought... we thought it would be an easy way to make some money."

"Mm, do you know why I have so many furs, Arthur?" Theodora queried, her voice tinged with a hint of mischief. "It's because they're symbols of indulgence, of lust, of decadence."

Arthur listened intently, curious about Theodora's motivations for collecting such opulent garments. He had always admired the luxuriousness of fur coats and stoles, but he had never considered the deeper meaning behind them.

"They're also symbols of power," Theodora continued, her eyes gleaming with intensity. "A woman in fur commands attention, demands respect. And I must confess," she added, her tone growing more husky, "I have a bit of a fetish for them myself. There's something about the way they feel against my skin, so soft, so luxurious."

Arthur swallowed hard, feeling a flush creeping up his neck at Theodora's suggestive words. He had never imagined that she might have a fetish for furs, but now, as he watched her caress the soft fabric with evident pleasure, he couldn't deny the undeniable allure of her confession.

Theodora reached into the bag and lifted out a long, brown, finn raccoon stole. She stepped closer to Arthur and brushed the stole against his inner thighs, tickling under his chin with her other hands. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Theodora brushed the soft fur against his thighs, shivers of pleasure spreading all over his lower body. He couldn't help but gasp at the sensation, his body responding instinctively to her touch. The fur brushed him ever so gently, causing his member to twitch a little in pleasure.

"Aye," he managed to stammer, his voice barely above a whisper. "I agree."

Theodora smiled, a knowing glint in her eyes. "Bueno," she purred, her voice low and husky. "Because I intend to share with you how pleasurable, how intoxicating fur can be.” With that, she wrapped the finn raccoon stole around Arthur's shoulders, the soft fur enveloping him in its warmth. His skin tingled with pleasure as Theodora's hands stroked the stole, causing the fur to brush against him as well. She leaned in close to his ear again. “To show you what you were so ready to take away from me.”

She struck her fingers on his stomach, suddenly resuming her ticklish torment. Arthur was caught by surprise as he began to giggle once more. Theodora's touch was like lightning, directing bolts of pleasure racing through Arthur's body as her fingers danced over his skin. He couldn't help but laugh, the sensation both torturous and exhilarating at the same time.

"Yes, I'm not done with you just yet, Arthur. You haven’t been tickled and teased enough. I plan on driving you insane with tickles and arousal. I will tickle you and pleasure you with fur until you go mad," Theodora whispered, her voice dripping with mischief. She continued her ticklish skitters, her fingers carving short sensitive paths of tickle on his stomach.

Arthur’s laughter filled the dimly lit dungeon as Theodora's fingers tickled and teased him without mercy. Each stroke sent waves of pleasure coursing through him, leaving him breathless and wanting more.

“But don’t worry, Charles and the rest will receive just as thorough a tickling as you,” she consoled, her teasing words not helping his case. “But not so much pleasure on their part,” Theodora said, taking a hold of her stole and brushing it along Arthur’s twitching sex for a moment.

Arthur’s laughter mixed with slight moans as the soft stole caressed his exposed manhood, the pleasant brushing bringing about a growth spurt in his erection. Noticing his excitement, Theodora giggled and lifted her hat off her head. Forming a claw with her fingers, she stuck her fingers into the blue sea of ostrich feathers on her hat. She plucked a bouquet of long, soft feathers from her hat, her eyes twinkling with erotic mischief. Theodora brought the feathers closer to Arthur's exposed manhood, wiggling the feathers with each moment as they inched closer and closer slowly, teasing him with their wriggling tendrils.

Arthur bit his lip as he felt the feathers brushing against his groin, producing waves of ticklish feathery pleasure coursing through him. His erection throbbed with anticipation, straining against its confines as Theodora continued to tease him with her feathered touches. With her other hand she carried on with tickling his upper body, contributing to the overwhelming sensation of pleasure. Arthur tried to stifle his moans of tickly delight, his arousal growing with each passing moment.

The fur stole hanging from his shoulders added to Arthur's pleasure, the soft hairs brushing against his skin as the stole swayed with his twitches and ticklish squirming. Each movement sent ripples of sensation through him, intensifying the pleasure of Theodora's touches and the feathers teasing his most sensitive areas.

Theodora giggled playfully as she leaned in close to his ear, her warm breath tickling his skin. "Tickle, tickle, tickle…" she whispered, her voice sultry and filled with erotic charge, as she blew gently into his ear.

She let up with the tickling on his upper body as she gave a fast ticklish flurry with her feathers, like a tickle hurricane, before pulling them away. The feathering had left his cock twitching and begging for attention. Theodora stroked it slightly with one pump before circling back behind him. She kneeled down by his feet as Arthur panicked, trying to see behind him.

Suddenly Arthur felt Theodora’s scribbling fingers on his bare feet. Squealing with laughter, he tried to pull forward, wishing to free his feet from the stocks. His feet were incredibly ticklish, and each touch conveyed waves of ticklish pleasure racing through him, driving him to the brink of madness.

But no matter how hard he struggled, Arthur was unable to escape Theodora's relentless tickling, his laughter filling the dungeon once more as she released a newfound flurry of tickle torture on his sensitive soles. With each scribble, Arthur's laughter grew louder, his body writhing as Theodora expertly exploited his most sensitive spots.

“Qué cosquillas tienes en los pies, Arthur,” she teased, knowing he did not understand Spanish. She knew, however, that he would understand the gist of what she had said. There was no language barrier in tickle talk. It would fluster him either way, reminding him of his ticklish trouble.

Her fingers explored his feet thoroughly. She tickled and teased across his arches, forwarding ticklish pleasure through him. She traced circles around his toes, eliciting squeals of laughter as she expertly exploited his most sensitive spots. She knew exactly how to make him squirm and giggle, her touch driving him to the brink of madness with its tantalizing intensity, knowing that she could reduce him to a helpless, giggling mess with just the touch of her fingers.

Theodora lifted her left hand from Arthur's foot, reaching for the feathers once more. Grasping a handful of soft, downy plumes, she held them aloft, a wicked grin playing on her lips as she prepared to resume her ticklish assault. She reached to tickle him behind his knees and the back of his thighs with the feathers. Surprisingly feather sensitive, Arthur jumped at the intense tingling sensations behind his legs. Theodora traced the feathers up, down and around the backs of his legs as she continued to ravage his feet with her tickling fingers.

“Does it tickle, hm? Do you like the feathers, Arthur? Are they ticklish on your legs? Is the tingling sensation you feel intense? Does it feel good, hm? Do you like being tickled, Arthur?” Theodora asked, her tone teasing yet tinged with a hint of seduction.

Arthur could only respond with laughter, his breath coming in short gasps as Theodora's feathers danced over his skin. Each stroke drove pleasure of tickling coursing through him, his body alive with sensation. His cock twitched from the erotic attention he was getting, dripping droplets of precum onto the stone floor of the tickle dungeon.

Seeing the droplets hitting the floor from under the stool, Theodora giggled. "I think you really like being tickled, Arthur," she teased, her voice dripping with tease and seduction. She continued to stroke him with the feathers as she separated them into two bundles.

Theodora rose up from his feet, feathering his legs and back as she stood up. She wiggled her feathers on Arthur’s sides as she made her way back in front of him, her movements graceful and seductive. With each stroke, she drove him to new heights of ecstasy, his senses overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of the experience.

Theodora looked down at his cock, seeing it throb in need of her touch, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she observed his desperate need for release. With a slow and deliberate movement, she reached out her hand, her fingers trailing lightly over his straining length. “I think I’ll tickle you for a little bit longer. What do you think, Arthur?” Theodora's voice was a seductive whisper.

He squirmed and writhed in his restraints, his body aching for release as Theodora continued to torment him with her playful teasing. “Please,” he begged, his voice shaky from the non-stop laughter. “I can’t take more tickling. Just let me cum…”

“Aww, tan necesitado…” she teased, making a duck face with her lips. “Just a bit more tickling…”

With that she coupled the feathers again into one cluster. Almost looking like a feather sword, it was long and menacing, its soft feathers promising intense, arousing soft tickling for whoever was on the receiving end.

She stared at him, directly into his eyes, as she started to kneel slowly with the tickle sword in hand. Arthur's heart pounded in his chest, his body tingling with anticipation of what was to come. He squirmed in his restraints, his skin already sensitized from her earlier treatments, the thought of her feathered touch scaring him a little bit.

With a flick of her wrist, she brought it down upon Arthur's exposed manhood, the soft feathers teasing and tantalizing him with their ticklish caresses. Arthur could only gasp and moan in response, his body writhing and tingling as Theodora's feathered touch drove him to new heights of ecstasy. He lost himself in the sensation, surrendering completely to the pleasure of her ticklish torment as he verbally announced his arousal to Theodora.

“Kitchy kitchy, Arthur… Surrender to the tickle… Relajate… It tickles… It feels so good… It excites you, Arthur… It tickles…” she teased, getting into his head with her maddening tickle talk.

“It tickles… It tickles… It tickles… It tickles…” That phrase echoed in Arthur’s mind, repeating over and over and reminding him of his ticklish predicament. His whole body was on fire. Every nerve, every vein tingled with ticklish pleasure and arousal. He was so close. He was so damn close. He would give everything he had plundered over the years to Theodora just to climax. He would’ve given the Midnight Horizon to her. He would give anything. “It tickled… It tickled… It tickled…” He was going insane.

As Theodora lifted her tickling feathers from his cock, Arthur let out a sigh of relief, his body relaxing slightly as the intense sensation subsided. He watched with anticipation as she reached up and lifted the stole from his shoulders, exposing his bare skin to the cool air of the dungeon.

With each movement, Theodora's graceful hands sent shivers down Arthur's spine, his skin tingling with excitement at her touch. He felt a thrill of anticipation as she peeled away the soft fur, revealing his naked form beneath in its entirety.

With the stole now removed, Arthur felt more vulnerable than ever, his body exposed and at the mercy of Theodora's desires. But even as he trembled with anticipation, he couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the thought of what was to come.

With the stole in her hand, Theodora glanced down at Arthur's throbbing cock, her eyes lingering on his arousal before returning to meet his gaze. There was a wicked gleam in her eyes, a promise of pleasure yet to come.

She leaned over, spreading the soft, elegant, fuzzy finn raccoon stole slightly. With that, she wrapped it around his charged manhood, its soft fur wrapping it in a warm, intensely pleasurable cocoon.

Arthur moaned, his whole body tingling with pleasure as the luxurious fur caressed his sensitive skin. Theodora's touch was gentle yet firm, her fingers deft as she adjusted the stole to ensure maximum comfort and pleasure for Arthur. He felt a surge of arousal unlike anything he had ever experienced before.

As Theodora began to stroke his cock with the stole back and forth, Arthur sighed a moan softly at the exquisite sensation. The soft fur glided over his sensitive skin, gently tickling and dispatching intense surges of pleasure flooding through his body with each gentle caress.

Lost in the moment, Arthur closed his eyes, allowing himself to be carried away by the sensations washing over him. With Theodora's skilled furjob filling him with fuzzy and slightly ticklish ecstasy, he knew that he was in for unparalleled pleasure and indulgence, all thanks to the exquisite touch of the fur stole in Theodora's hands.

“Let go, Arthur. Sink into the feeling of the stole on your cock. It totally engulfs you. You’re entirely wrapped up in my soft furs. It feels so soft and pleasurable. Its soft caresses are not like anything you’ve felt before,” Theodora whispered, her voice a sultry purr as she continued to stroke him with the stole.

Arthur's mind was filled with nothing but the intoxicating sensation of the fur stole, its softness enveloping him in a cocoon of pleasure. He let go of all thoughts, all worries, all inhibitions, allowing himself to be carried away by the sheer ecstasy of the experience.

As Theodora's strokes grew more intense, more urgent, Arthur felt himself teetering on the edge of release. With one final, electrifying stroke, he tumbled over the edge, his body convulsing with pleasure as he succumbed to the overwhelming ecstasy of his climax.

As Arthur spasmed with pleasure, the stole continued to stroke him with gentle, rhythmic movements, prolonging his climax and intensifying the waves of ecstasy coursing through his tickled and abused body. Each stroke routed streams of intense ticklish lust rippling through his body, drawing out his release and prolonging the exquisite sensation of bliss.

Finally, as the last waves of pleasure washed over him, Arthur let out a contented sigh, his body limp and spent from the intensity of his climax. He hung there, basking in the afterglow, his mind awash with a sense of euphoria and satisfaction.

Theodora looked at him, a knowing smile playing on her lips as she observed the blissful expression on his face. She leaned in close, brushing a soft kiss against his forehead before stroking his cheek.

"Sleep well, Arthur. I’ll go handle the punishments of your mates now. We’ll have so much more ticklish fun tomorrow," she whispered, her voice a gentle murmur as she turned to leave the tickle dungeon, leaving him to drift off into a peaceful slumber, his body still tingling with the lingering echoes of pleasure.

#women in fur #fur stole #fox fur #tickle content #tickling #f/m tickling #tickletorture #tickle tickle #tickle fic #furfetish

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school56df · 1 month

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A Reflection on Freedom, Unity, and Progress independence day 2024 celebration ideas for office

Introduction

Independence day celebration ideas for office is more than only a date at the calendar; it’s a effective image of freedom, cohesion, and the iconic spirit of a state. As India celebrates its 77th Independence Day on August 15, 2024, it's miles an possibility to reflect on the adventure of this tremendous and numerous u . S . A .—from the struggles and sacrifices of the past to the achievements and demanding situations of the present. This day not handiest commemorates the quit of British colonial rule in 1947 however additionally serves as a reminder of the obligations that include freedom.

The Historical Significance of Independence Day

Best Independence Day food recipes marks the end result of a long and onerous battle for freedom. The British East India Company started out its rule over India in 1757, and through the mid-19th century, the British Crown had taken direct manipulate of the usa. For almost 200 years, India endured colonial exploitation, financial complication, and the suppression of its people.

The Indian freedom war became characterised by using various movements and uprisings, from the Sepoy Mutiny of 1857 to the non-cooperation motion, civil disobedience, and the Quit India Movement led via Mahatma Gandhi. These movements galvanized millions of Indians, united them of their demand for independence, and paved the manner for the eventual cease of British rule.

On August 15, 1947, India ultimately gained independence. Jawaharlal Nehru, the primary Prime Minister of India, marked the event together with his well-known speech, “Tryst with Destiny,” wherein he stated India’s awakening to lifestyles and freedom. Since then, Independence Day has been celebrated every 12 months with remarkable fervor and patriotism.

Celebrations Across the Nation

Independence Day activities for families in India is celebrated with a big selection of activities, ceremonies, and cultural activities. The most iconic party takes region at the Red Fort in Delhi, where the Prime Minister hoists the national flag and addresses the country. This event is attended by way of dignitaries, government officers, and hundreds of citizens, while thousands and thousands more watch the lawsuits on tv.

The national flag, a image of India’s sovereignty and delight, is hoisted in schools, schools, government homes, and houses throughout the u . S . A .. Parades, cultural applications, and patriotic songs are necessary components of the celebrations, with groups coming collectively to honor the freedom combatants and the country’s journey to independence.

In addition to the legitimate occasions, Independence Day is also a time for individuals and households to have a good time of their very own methods. People often put on the tricolor, take part in flag-hoisting ceremonies of their neighborhoods, and percentage messages of patriotism on social media. The day serves as a reminder of the sacrifices made through endless people for the u . S .’s freedom and the want to maintain and cherish that hard-won liberty.

Independence Day 2024: A Time for Reflection

As India celebrates its 77th Independence Day in 2024, it is vital to reflect on the development made in view that 1947 and the challenges that lie beforehand. The state has come a long manner in terms of economic growth, technological advancements, and social development. However, the journey of independence is ongoing, as the united states of america continues to try for extra team spirit, equality, and prosperity.

Economic Growth and Development

Since gaining independence, India has converted from a in large part agrarian economic system into one of the international’s largest and quickest-growing economies. The u . S . Has made sizeable strides in various sectors, such as era, manufacturing, offerings, and agriculture. The upward thrust of the Indian IT enterprise, the increase of the middle magnificence, and the expansion of infrastructure are only a few examples of the kingdom’s progress.

In 2024, India is poised to hold its financial increase, with a focus on sustainability, innovation, and inclusivity. The government’s efforts to boost the manufacturing sector via projects like “Make in India,” the emphasis on digitalization, and the frenzy for renewable electricity are shaping the future of the kingdom’s economic system. However, challenges consisting of earnings inequality, unemployment, and environmental degradation continue to be and require sustained efforts to deal with.

Social Progress and Challenges

India’s adventure toward social development has been marked with the aid of large achievements, however additionally by way of ongoing demanding situations. The u . S . A . Has made high-quality development in education, healthcare, and poverty discount. Government packages just like the National Rural Employment Guarantee Act (NREGA), the Swachh Bharat Abhiyan (Clean India Mission), and the Pradhan Mantri Awas Yojana (Housing for All) have had a high quality effect on millions of lives.

However, troubles including gender inequality, caste-based discrimination, and communal tensions hold to have an effect on the social material of the united states of america. Independence Day 2024 is a time to reaffirm the dedication to social justice, equality, and human rights. It is a reminder that the genuine essence of independence lies in making sure that every citizen, regardless of their heritage, has the opportunity to live with dignity and recognize.

Unity in Diversity

One of India’s finest strengths is its variety. With over 1.Three billion humans, 29 states, masses of languages, and a multitude of cultures and religions, India is a colourful mosaic of different identities. Independence Day is a party of this diversity and the solidarity that binds the nation together.

In 2024, as India faces worldwide demanding situations consisting of weather trade, geopolitical tensions, and economic uncertainties, the spirit of harmony will become even greater essential. The state have to come collectively to address these demanding situations at the same time as respecting and embracing the variety that defines it.

The Role of Youth in Nation-Building

The teens of India have usually performed a essential position in shaping the nation’s destiny. In 2024, with over 65% of the populace beneath the age of 35, the kids continue to be the driving pressure behind the u . S .’s development. Independence Day is an opportunity to encourage and empower the younger era to absorb the mantle of management and contribute to kingdom-building.

Young Indians are increasingly more involved in social, economic, and political spheres, riding exchange thru innovation, entrepreneurship, and activism. Whether it’s through technological advancements, social tasks, or political participation, the teenagers are at the vanguard of shaping a extra inclusive and progressive India.

Looking Ahead: The Future of India

As India celebrates its 77th Independence Day crafts for kids , it's far critical to appearance beforehand to the future and envision the sort of state we aspire to be. The challenges of the 21st century require progressive answers, collaborative efforts, and a commitment to the values of freedom, democracy, and justice.

India’s destiny lies in its ability to harness its human potential, protect its environment, and ensure that monetary boom benefits all sections of society. It is a destiny where generation is leveraged for social right, where schooling and healthcare are handy to all, and in which each citizen has the opportunity to thrive.

Independence Day 2024 is a moment to resume the pledge to uphold the beliefs of the liberty battle—equality, justice, and fraternity. It is a time to keep in mind that independence isn't always just about political freedom, but additionally approximately the liberty to pursue our dreams, to live without fear, and to make a contribution to the collective progress of the kingdom.

#independence day 2024 celebration ideas for office #Independence Day crafts for kids #Independence Day activities for families #Best Independence Day food recipes

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desifleabag · 1 year

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Tomorrow I am going to his school. He is called as a guest speaker in his school for independence day and flag hoisting. I am so proud to call him as my crush. Tomorrow as always I am gonna look his rumored girlfriend. I have always been his biggest cheerleader. I am proud that he is my best guy friend ever. I love him so much

#tomorrow i am gonna wear white kurta and jhumkas gajra and all 🤌💖😭

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townpostin · 1 month

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Loyola School Jamshedpur Celebrates 78th Independence Day with Patriotism

Lt. Col. Tejpal Singh Bajwa hoists Tricolour; students perform cultural program Loyola School commemorated India’s 78th Independence Day with a vibrant celebration, featuring patriotic performances and an inspiring message from the Chief Guest. JAMSHEDPUR – Loyola School marked the 78th Independence Day with a flag hoisting ceremony and cultural program, featuring Lt. Col. Tejpal Singh Bajwa as…

#78th Independence Day Jamshedpur #शिक्षा #Dandi March school play #education #flag-hoisting ceremony #Fr Vinod Fernandes principal #Fr. K.M. Joseph Loyola #Jallianwala Bagh reenactment #Loyola School Independence Day #LT Col Tejpal Singh Bajwa #patriotic school performances #student patriotic celebrations

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worstjourney · 1 year

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youtube

At midnight on 17 May 1911 (Norway's national day) Tryggve Gran stepped out into a raging Antarctic storm to cheer Norway and sing its national anthem. When he got back in, he hoisted the flag over his bunk, where it was paid honour by his bunkmate T. Griffith Taylor. Gran was proud to have been one of the first people on Earth to celebrate the day – being on New Zealand time, he was half a day ahead of Norway itself.

In case anyone in the hut had missed Gran's midnight aria, he also played 'Ja, vi elsker' on the gramophone that night.

Norway had only become an independent country a few years previously. It was bursting onto the world stage with something to prove. Gran had been recruited onto the British expedition long before anyone knew Amundsen had set his sights on the South Pole; the conflict of allegiance comes up again and again in the patriotic Norwegian's diary. He's loyal to Scott and his comrades, but he wants Norway to win, and doesn't want to compete against his flag. Gran remained loyal to Scott for the rest of his life, despite his countrymen's triumph; I have to wonder if Amundsen putting him in such an awkward position had anything to do with that.

#tryggve gran #polar history #norway #ja vi elsker #roald amundsen #robert falcon scott #terra nova expedition #captain scott

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dailyanarchistposts · 5 months

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The Sorbonne Soviet

On Saturday 11 May, shortly before midnight, Mr Pompidou, Prime Minister of France, overruled his Minister of the Interior, his Minister of Education, and issued orders to his ‘independent’ Judiciary. He announced that the police would be withdrawn from the Latin Quarter, that the faculties would re-open on Monday 13 May, and that the law would ‘reconsider’ the question of the students arrested the previous week. It was the biggest political climb-down of his career: For the students, and for many others, it was the living proof that direct action worked. Concessions had been won through struggle which had been unobtainable by other means. Early on the Monday morning the CRS platoons guarding the entrance to the Sorbonne were discreetly withdrawn. The students moved in, first in small groups, then in hundreds, later in thousands. By midday the occupation was complete. Every ‘tricolore’ was promptly hauled down, every lecture theatre occupied, Red flags were hoisted from the official flagpoles and from improvised ones at many windows, some overlooking the streets, others the big internal courtyard. Hundreds of feet above the milling students, enormous red and black flags fluttered side by side from the Chapel dome, What happened over the next few days will leave a permanent mark on the French educational system, on the structure of French society and — most important of all — on the minds of those who lived and made history during that hectic first fortnight. The Sorbonne was suddenly transformed from the fusty precinct where French capitalism selected and moulded its hierarchs, its technocrats and its administrative bureaucracy into a revolutionary volcano in full eruption whose lava was to spread far and wide, searing the social structure of modern France.

The physical occupation of the Sorbonne was followed by an intellectual explosion of unprecedented violence. Everything, literally everything, was suddenly and simultaneously up for discussion, for question, for challenge. There were no taboos. It is easy to criticise the chaotic upsurge of thoughts, ideas and proposals unleashed in such circumstances. ‘Professional revolutionaries’ and petty bourgeois philistines criticised to their heart’s content. But in so doing they only revealed how they themselves were trapped in the ideology of a previous epoch and were incapable of transcending it. They failed to recognise the tremendous significance of the new: of all that could not be apprehended within their own pre-established intellectual categories. The phenomenon was witnessed again and again, as it doubtless has been in every really great upheaval in history.

Day and night, every lecture theatre was packed out, the seat of continuous, passionate debate on every subject that ever preoccupied thinking humanity. No formal lecturer ever enjoyed so massive an audience, was ever listened to with such rapt attention — or given such short shrift if he talked nonsense. A kind of order rapidly prevailed. By the second day a noticeboard had appeared near the front entrance announcing what was being talked about, and where. l noted’. ‘Organisation of the struggle’; ‘Political and trade union rights in the University’; ‘University crisis or social crisis?’. ‘Dossier of police repression’; ‘Self-management’; ‘Non-selection’ (or how to open the doors of the University to everyone); ‘Methods of teaching’; ‘Exams’, etc. Other lecture theatres were given over to the students-workers liaison committees, soon to ‘assume great importance. In yet other hales, discussions were under way on ‘sexual repression’, on ‘the colonial question’, on ‘ideôlogy and mystification’, Any group of people wishing to discuss anything under the sun would just take over one of the lecture theatres or smaller rooms. Fortunately there were dozens of these. The first impression was of a gigantic lid suddenly lifted, of pent-up thoughts and aspirations suddenly exploding, on being released from the realm of dreams into the realm of the real and the possible. In changing their environment people themselves were changed. Those who had never dared say anything suddenly felt their thoughts to be the most important thing in the world and said so. The shy became communicative. The helpless and isolated suddenly discovered that collective power lay in their hands. The traditionally apathetic suddenly realized the intensity of their involvement. A tremendous surge of community and cohesion gripped those who had previously seen themselves as isolated and impotent puppets, dominated by institutions that they could neither control nor understand. People just went up and talked to one another without a trace of self-consciousness. This state of euphoria lasted throughout the whole fortnight I was there, An inscription scrawled on a wall sums it up perfectly’. ‘Déjà dix jours de bonheur’ (ten days of happiness already).

In the yard of the Sorbonne, politics (frowned on for a generation) took over with a vengeance. Literature stalls sprouted up along the whole inner perimeter, Enormous portraits appeared on the internal walls: Marx, Lenin, Trotsky, Mao, Castro, Guevara, a revolutionary resurrection breaking the bounds of time and place. Even Stalin put in a transient appearance (above a Maoist stall) until it was tactfully suggested to the comrades that he wasn’t really at home in such company.

On the stalls themselves every kind of literature suddenly blossomed forth in the summer sunshine: leaflets and pamphlets by anarchists, Stalinists, Maoists, Trotskyists (three varieties), the PSU and the non-committed. The yard of the Sorbonne had become a gigantic revolutionary drug-store, in which the most esoteric products no longer had to be kept beneath the counter but could now be prominently displayed. Old issues of journals, yellowed by the years, were unearthed and often sold as well as more recent material. Everywhere there were groups of 1 0 or 20 people, in heated discussion, people talking about the barricades, about the CRST about their own experiences, but also about the commune of 1871 , about 1905 and 1917, about the Italian left in 1921 and About France in 1936. A fusion was taking place between the consciousness Of the revolutionary minorities and the consciousness of whole new layers Of people, dragged day by day into the maelstrom of political controversy. The students were learning within days what it had taken others a lifetime to learn. Many lichens came to see What it was all about. They too got sucked into the vortex. I remember a boy of 14 explaining to an incredulous man of 60 why students should have the right to depose professors.

Other things also happened. A large piano suddenly appeared In the great central yard and remained there for several days. People would come and play on it, surrounded by enthusiastic supposers. As people talked in the lecture theatres of nee-capitalism and Of its techniques of manipulation, strands of Chopin and bars of jazz, bits of La Carmagnole and atonal compositions wafted through the air. One evening there was a drum recital, then some clarinet players took over. These ‘diversions’ may have infuriated some of the more single-minded revolutionaries, but they were as much part and parcel of the total transformation of the Sorbonne as were the revolutionary doctrines being proclaimed in the lecture hails. An exhibition of huge photographs of the ‘night of the barricades’ (in beautiful half-tones) appeared one morning, mounted on stands. No-tine knew who had put it up. Everyone agreed that it succinctly summarised the horror and glamour, the anger and promise of that fateful night. Even the doors of the Chapel giving on to the yard were soon covered with inscriptions: ‘open this door — Finis, le tabernacles’,‘Religion is the last mystification’. Or more prosaically: ‘We want somewhere to piss, not somewhere to pray’. The massive outer walls of the Sorbonne were likewise soon plastered with posters — posters announcing the first sit-in strikes, posters describing the wage rates of whole sections of Paris workers, posters announcing the next demonstrations, posters describing the solidarity marches in Peking, posters denouncing the police repression and the use of CS gas (as well as of ordinary tear-gas) against the demonstrators. There were posters, dozens of them, warning students against the Communist Party’s band-wagon jumping tactics, telling them how it had attacked their movement and how it was now seeking to assume its leadership. Political posters in plenty. But also others, proclaiming the new ethos. A big one for instance near the main entrance, boldly proclaimed ‘Défense d’interdire’ (Forbidding forbidden). And others, equally to the point: ‘Only the truth is revolutionary’, ‘Our revolution is greater than ourselves’, ‘We refuse the role assigned to us, will not be trained as police dogs’. People’s concerns varied but converged. The posters reflected the deeply libertarian prevailing philosophy: ‘Humanity will only be happy when the last capitalist has been strangled with the guts of the last bureaucrat”, ‘Culture is disintegrating. Create!’,‘I take my wishes for reality for I believe in the reality of my wishes’; or more simply, ‘Creativity, spontaneity, life’. In the street outside, hundreds of passers-by would stop to read these improvised wall-newspapers. Some gaped. Some sniggered Some nodded assent. Some argued, Some, summoning their courage: actually entered the erstwhile sacrosanct premises, as they were being exhorted to by numerous posters proclaiming that the Sorbonne was now open to all, Young workers who ‘wouldn’t have been seen in that place’ a month ago now walked in groups, at first rather self-consciously, later as if they owned the place, which of course they did.

As the days went by, another kind of invasion took place — the invasion by the cynical and the unbelieving, or — more charitably — by those who ‘had only come to see’. It gradually gained momentum. At certain stages it threatened to paralyse the serious work being done, part of which had to be hived off to the Faculty of Letters, at Censing, also occupied by the students. It was felt necessary, however, for the doors to be kept open, 24 hours a day. The message certainly spread. Deputations came first from other universities, then from high schools, later from factories and offices, to look, to question, to argue, to study.

The most telling sign, however, of the new and heady climate was to be found on the wails of the Sorbonne corridors. Around the main lecture theatres there is a maze of such corridors’, dark, dusty, depressing, and hitherto unnoticed passageways leading from nowhere in particular to nowhere else. Suddenly these corridors sprang to life in a firework of luminous mural wisdom — much of it of Situationist inspiration. Hundreds of people suddenly stopped to read such pearls as: ‘Do not consume Marx. Live it’; ‘The future will only contain what we put into it now’; ‘When examined. we will answer with questions”, ‘Professors, you make us feel old’ ; ‘One doesn’t compose with a society in decomposition”, ‘We must remain the unadapted ones’; ‘Workers of all lands, enjoy yourselves’ : ‘Those who carry out a revolution only half-way through merely dig themselves a tomb (St Just), ‘Please leave the PC (Communist Party) as clean on leaving as you would like to find it on entering ‘; ‘The tears of the philistines are the nectar of the gods’,’ ‘GO and die in Naples. with the Club Mediterranée’; ‘Long live communication, down with telecommunication’ ‘ ‘Masochism today dresses up as reformism ; We will claim nothing. We will ask for nothing. We will take. We will occupy’; ‘The only outrage to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier was the outrage that put him there”, ‘No, we won’t be picked up by the Great Party of the Working Class’, And a big inscription, well displayed’. ‘Since 1936 l have fought for wage increases, My father, before me, also fought for wage increases. Now I have a telly, a fridge, a Volkswagen. Yet all in all, my life has always been a dog’s life. Don’t discuss with the bosses. Eliminate them.’

Day after day the courtyard and corridors are crammed, the scene of an incessant bi-directional flow to every conceivable part of the enormous building. It may look like chaos, but it is the chaos of a beehive or of an anthill. A new structure is gradually being evolved. A canteen has been organised in one big hall, people pay what they can afford for glasses of orange juice, ‘menthe’, or ‘grenadine’ and for ham or sausage rolls. l enquire whether costs are covered and am toad they more or less break even. In another part of the building a children’s creche has been set up, elsewhere a first-aid station, elsewhere a dormitory. Regular sweeping-up rotas are organised. Rooms are allocated to the Occupation Committee, to the Press Committee, to the Propaganda Committee, to the student- worker liaison committees, to the committees dealing with foreign students, to the action committees of Lyceens, to the committees dealing with the allocation of premises, and to the numerous commissions undertaking special projects such as the compiling of a dossier on police atrocities, the study of the implications of autonomy, of the examination system, etc. Anyone seeking work can readily find it. The composition of the committees was very variable. It often changed from day to day, as the committees gradually found their feel. To those who pressed for instant solutions to every problem it would be answered: “patience, comrade give us a chance to evolve an alternative. The bourgeoisie has controlled this university for nearly two centuries. It has solved nothing. We are building from rock bottom, We need a month or two...”

Confronted with this tremendous explosion which it had neither foreseen nor been able to control the Communist Party tried desperately to salvage what it could of its shattered reputation. Between 3 May and 13 May every issue of I’Humanité had carried paragraphs either attacking the students or making slimy innuendoes about them. Now the line suddenly changed, The Party sent dozens of its best agitators into the Sorbonne to ‘explain’ its case. The case was a simple one. The Party ‘supported the students’ — even if there were a few ‘dubious elements’ in their leadership. It ‘always had’. It always would. Amazing scenes followed. Every Stalinist ‘agitator’ would immediately be surrounded by a large group of well-informed young people, denouncing the Party’s counter-revolutionary role. A wall-paper had been put up by the comrades of Volà Ouvrière on which had been posted, day by day, every statement attacking the students to have appeared in I’Humanite- or in any of a dozen Party leaflets. The ‘agitators’ couldn’t get a word in edgeways. They would be jumped on (non-violently). “The evidence was over there, comrade. Would the Party comrades like to come and read just exactly what the Party had been saying not a week ago? Perhaps I’Humanité would like to grant the students space to reply to some of the accusations made against them?” Others in the audience would then bring up the Party’s role during the Algerian War, during the miners’ strike of 1958, during the years of ‘tripartisme’ (1945–1947). Wriggle as they tried, the ‘agitators’ just could not escape this kind of ‘instant education’. It was interesting to note that the Party could not entrust this ‘salvaging’ operation to its younger, student members. Only the ‘older comrades’ could safely venture into this hornets’ nest. So much so that people would say that anyone in the Sorbonne over the age of 40 was either a copper’s nark or a stalinist stooge. The most dramatic periods of the occupation were undoubtedly the ‘Assemblées Générales’, or plenary sessions, held every’ night in the giant amphitheatre. This was the soviet, the ultimate source of all decisions, the fount and origin of direct democracy. The amphitheatre could seat up to 5000 people in its enormous hemicycle, surmounted by three balcony tiers. As often as not every seat was taken and the crowd would flow up the aisles and onto the podium, A black flag and a red one hung over the simple wooden table at which the chairman sat. Having seen meetings of 50 break up in chaos it is an amazing experience to see a meeting of 5000 get down to business. Real events determined the themes and ensured that most of the talk was down to earth.

The topic having been decided, everyone was allowed to speak. Most speeches were made from the podium but some from the body of the hall or from the balconies. The loudspeaker equipment usually worked but sometimes didn’t. Some speakers could command immediate attention, without even raising their voice. Others would instantly provoke a hostile response by the stridency of their tone, their insincerity or their more or less obvious attempts at manoeuvring the assembly. Anyone who waffled, or reminisced, or came to recite a set-piece, or talked in terms of slogans, was given shod shrift by the audience, politically the most sophisticated I have ever seen. Anyone making practical suggestions was listened to attentively. So were those who sought to interpret the movement in terms of its own experience or to point the way ahead.

Most speakers were granted three minutes, Some were allowed much more by popular acclaim. The crowd itself exerted a tremendous control on the platform and on the speakers. A two-way relationship emerged very quickly. The political maturity of the Assembly was shown most strikingly in its rapid realization that booing or cheering during speeches slowed down the Assembly’s own deliberations. Positive speeches were loudly cheered — at the end. Demagogic or useless ones were impatiently swept aside, Conscious revolutionary minorities played an important catalytic role in these deliberations, but never sought — at least the more intelligent ones — to impose their will on the mass body. Although in the early stages the Assembly had its fair share of exhibited nests, provocateurs and nuts, the overhead costs of direct democracy were not as heavy as one might have expected.

There were moments of excitement and moments of exhortation. On the night of 13 May, after the massive march through the streets of Paris, Daniel Cohn-Bandit confronted J M Catala, general secretary of the Union of Communist Students in front of the packed auditorium. The scene remains printed in my mind. “Explain to us”, Cohn-Bandit said, “why the Communist Party and the CGT told their militants to disperse at Denfed Rochereau, why it prevented them joining up with us for a discussion at the Champ de Mars?” “simple, really” sneered Catala. “The agreement concluded between the CGT, the CFDT, the UNEF and the other sponsoring organizations stipulated that dispersal would take place at a predetermined place. The Joint Sponsoring Committee had not sanctioned any further developments...” “A revealing answer”, replied Cohn-Bandit, “the organizations hadn’t foreseen that we would be a million in the streets. But life is bigger than the organizations. With a million people almost anything is possible. You say the Committee hadn’t sanctioned anything further. On the day of the Revolution, comrade, you will doubtless tell us to forego it ‘because it hasn’t been sanctioned by the appropriate sponsoring committee’...”

This brought the house down. The only ones who didn’t rise to cheer were a few dozen Stalinists. Also, revealingly, those Trotskyists who tacitly accepted the Stalinist conceptions — and whose only quarrel with the CP is that it had excluded them from being one of the ‘sponsoring organisations’. That same night the Assembly took three important decisions. From now on the Sorbonne would constitute itself as a revolutionary headquarters (‘Smolny’, someone shouted). Those who worked there would devote their main efforts not to a mere re-organisation of the educational system, but to a total subversion of bourgeois society. From now on the University would be open to all those who subscribed to these aims. The proposals having been accepted the audience rose to a man and sang the loudest, most impassioned ‘Internationale’ I have ever heard. The echoes must have reverberated as far as the Elysee Palace on the other side of the River Seine...

6 notes · View notes