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Just a few words

Journal Entry: Sat Jan 3, 2015, 6:49 AM
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The new year is upon us, and I would just like to see a big thank you to all my watchers, commenters and commissioners who have been following me over the years. It's indescribably heartwarming to get such wonderfully long comments or birthday wishes or even another (!) premium subscription for a year.

I'm touched indeed, and resolve to work even harder in the coming new year! I thank my commissioners for their infinite patience!I'm back from my vacation, and you know that means more stories coming soon! (say within the coming week). 

Hope you all just a wonderful new year filled with mirth and laughter!

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Opening Commissions Officially.

Journal Entry: Thu Jul 17, 2014, 6:47 PM
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I've been doing commissions for a while now, but I've never made a proper journal about it, so I thought it was high time I got around to making a journal to let potential commissioners know about how I operate.

Usually how it works is we first agree on a price - my going rate is $30 for 4000-5000 words. If you want to commission me for multiple stories, then maybe we can talk about a package deal. In terms of payment, you pay half up front, and half when it is finished. Unfortunately, I don't accept points. 

Then you tell me what features you would like to see in the story - lee(s)/ler(s), tools, the situation/context, techniques, that sort of thing. I'm open to writing both /f or /m. I've done a variety of sadistic stories and light-hearted casual stories (check my gallery) with upper-body/feet focuses, so I'm alright with writing pretty much everything - You just need to be specific and state what you would like to see.

I don't charge more if you want multiple lees/lers or multiple tickle scenes, though I remind you there is only so much you can cram into 4000 words, so too many lees/tickle scenes will invariably lead to brief and watered-down content.

In terms of characters/'verses: 
While it is obviously easier to write characters I know about, I like to think given time to research I can write adequately about characters I am not so familiar with. My latest stories about Percy Jackson and Kingdom Hearts were two stories I was fairly unfamiliar with both (I only read the first Percy Jackson and I've never played Kingdom Hearts). Perhaps you will say it shows, but both commissioners were happy with the result.

So there's no limit when it comes to characters, as long as you give me the basic plotline/context and give me a bit of time to do some online research.

Let me know about the details and features you'd like to see in the story. A sample commission info page might look like this.

Sample Commission Firstly, the general points. All characters will wear nylons since that is my preference. Tickling should focus primarily on the stockinged feet but other area are perfectly acceptable for variety. My favourite tickling implement is the feather, but again other implements are fine, as are fingers or even the tickler using their own feet as a weapon (nyloned of course). The nylons should not be torn off at any point.
Even though some of the scenes will feature interrogation type scenarios, I prefer the tickling to be reasonably playful. I enjoy dialogue and teasing.
Feel free to use as much Star Wars lore, locations, creatures as you see fit. You know far better than I that such things have a huge impact on bringing a story to life. Feathers from Star Wars creatures would make sense. Tickle bots, creatures, plants etc can be used as long as there is still a 'direct' tickling element. For example, the Endor scene could involve a tickling plant but Leia should still be feathered directly

After we've decided on most of the details, I start writing. 

I will send regular snippets (weekly/bi-weekly) to let you know about my progress. And eventually, I'll send you a final draft, you'll send me the second half of the payment, and then I brush it up one last time and upload it. 

Oh, another thing about the payment. I usually ask the commissioner to purchase clips/comics for me that add up to the agreed price.

Send me a note if you're interested or if you have any questions. 

And I don't do requests. Be unfair to my commissioners. Art Trades maybe, though we'd have to discuss. 

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(Contains: nudity and sexual themes)

Battle of Lomond II – Dryad


Over a high mound overlooking the Faen encampment, Raffia of the Dryads, watched with mild amusement. The unnatural artificial purple hue of the Faen ship was being overrun by an encroaching green, which from this distance, almost looked like a mossy blanket that was being strewn across the vessel, but Raffia knew what was really happening – she wove a slender finger through her frizzy green locks as she imagined the ticklish pandemonium that must be occurring inside as her sisters’ vines invaded ship and ticklish orifice alike. Raffia closed her eyes, and for a moment, no longer needed to imagine. She could feel the cold metallic embrace of a coffin-like trap which had ensnared one of her first scouts to breach the perimeter, it was dark and forboding, and filled with slithery feathers that slithered along her body’s ticklish spots like water-snakes. Raffia shuddered and shifted her consciousness to another scout who was roaring with delight as she scaled a wall, perching like a bird and directing vines to sprout from her vantage point to stun Faen defenders with strategic tickles. Raffia could feel as the Dryad directed a vine into an armpit to force a blast way wide, and a vine to lap up an exposed purple sole to make a different Faen fall to the floor.

Raffia opened her eyes and returned to her safe spot overlooking the conflict. The Dryads possessed a hive-mind which allowed them all access to each other raw emotions and sensory outputs. It wasn’t quite the same as a single collective consciousness, in the sense of each individual Dryad just being a part of the same organism – each of the Dryads had their own individual identity and personality quirks, but their hive-mind simply gave them a thousand eyes and ears in addition to their own, which made them the ideal scouts.

The first thing every Dryad learned was the ability to toggle between their own perceptions and the communal consciousness , after all, it was mighty disorienting to try to fight a foe when you were distracted by a ticklegasm happening miles away. It was easy for Raffia to jump from one to the other here, miles away from any conflict.

Privacy could be difficult during romantic excursions, as every Dryad in the vicinity would be able to feel your orgasm, but the Dryad had never been prudish about such desires. They were creatures of nature, after all, and what was more natural than sensual bliss?

Raffia would never be vain enough to consider herself the leader of the Dryad, or some kind of Hive Queen, as she was well aware she was only a de-facto leader at best. She had a flowery eloquence to her words, a keen military mind, and an aesthetically-appealing appearance which aided negotiations, but she simply represented the emotions of her people as a whole, and the pack’s judgment was always wiser than the individual’s.

Despite her people’s dislike of the Faen for their savage attack on the environment and their opportunistic misuse of nature, Raffia felt sorry for them. She twirled a lock of mossy hair around her slender green fingers. They were callous, and foolhardy, and arrogant, but that was nothing a bit of humbling would not fix. If nothing more, the Dryad’s communal consciousness gave them a unique take on the importance of perspective.  

But speaking of perspective… Raffia could sense many of her sisters making her way through deep through the mechanical heart of the Faen stronghold – their hulking great observatory ship.

Time to take a better look inside… Raffia closed her hazel eyes as she shared perspectives with one of her sisters within the metal monstrosity…


Willow’s heart was pounding hard in her chest as she and her sisters poured through the crack in the Faen’s defences like a stream bursting its banks. The way was far from clear, as blasts from automated defenders and ticklish Faen defenders alike stream towards her. It was always the most dangerous for those who were the first to make contact, but those were the moments Willow lived for – her sisters sometimes jokingly said she had a little Boudo in her, but Willow had always agreed with that assessment. The thrill of battle, the joy of victory… this is what made life meaningful. Willow’s brown eyes glittered as she saw a white-coated Faen within striking range. She was cute – thick glasses and a ponytail to give her a studious, geeky look, and she was so preoccupied with dancing her silver nails across a monitor that she seemed barely aware of Willow’s presence. Raffia smiled, miles and miles away. This was looking very promising. A definitive strike here could be an end to this meaningless struggle...

Willow licked her lips in anticipation. She crept like a prowling leopard, her long wiggling nails (which Willow had grown out till they resembled claws or talons) aching to make contact – Willow had already picked out the first three spots she would tickle. The scientist’s taut stomach, just sticking out a bit from her shirt would be a good first target, then her exposed neck and finishing it off with her heaving bosom.  Willow was so preoccupied with her plans than she didn’t even notice a pressure plate till her bare green foot was stepping on it. The glasses-wearing Faen turned to stare at her, and pressed a button. Willow could only gasp, her hands reaching out as the trapdoor under her bare soles opened and she tumbled down into darkness.

Willow tried to land on her feet, and luckily, the surface she landed on seemed to be soft. Not so luckily, they turned out to be a mass of feathers. There was row after row of big, fluffy, duster-like contraptions, as well as longer individual feathers flitting to and fro. Willow desperately dug her hands into the walls, trying to find purchase, but the walls were perfectly smooth and with the feathers brushing against her Dryad soles she had no chance of concentrating. It was just impossible to find the footing as every time Willow’s foot landed, it was engulfed in a swarm of feathers which teased every inch of her soles, even dusting the tops of her ankles and insteps. The feathers felt like quicksand, as the longer Willow found herself buried in them, the less likely she was of escaping, and to think her feet weren’t even her worst spot! She wracked her brain for a solution, and try to conjure vines to help her escape, but the lack of sunlight and her tickled state made it impossible for her to create anything useful. Eventually, as if sensing her fatigue, metal claws suddenly retracted from the walls of the feathery prison and latched onto Willow’s arms and wrists. They pulled her back to the cold wall, spreading her like a fallen eagle, as the merciless feathers continued to assault her soles. Raffia felt her own toes curl as if it was her being tickled, which was exactly how it felt, in a way. Despite being such a great distance away she felt such sympathy for her young sister, and wished she could jump down and help her herself. This could have gone better... Perhaps I should have joined this initial attack...

Raffia's doubts were distracted by a burst of sensations as Willow found fresh energy to splutter with laughter and toss her green hair back as an assortment of individual feathers licked their way along her shins, thighs, knees and buttocks, taking care to constantly tease her womanhood so Willow was fighting against the torturous ticklish sensations and the steady throb of arousal.

This was not Willow’s idea of any battle she wanted to be a part of, though she hoped her shrieks of laughter would bring attention from her sisters above, though from the sounds of things, they still had their hands full.

Through tear-stained eyes, she felt mechanical vibrators began retracting out of the walls and howled even louder as they made a beeline for her underarms and sides. The buzzing sensations were especially frustrating as they buzzed along her hips, right near her womanhood that was already moist with attention. As a flurry of feather strokes whizzed throughout poor Willow’s soles and a squad of brushes popped out to assault her taut tummy, Raffia decided she had enough of her perspective. Your valour has been noted, Sister Willow... perhaps some personal tutelage after the battle may cheer you. I promise I am much more ticklish than any Faen you would have encountered.

Raffia shook her head and hugged herself, shivering – not how you wanted to start the battle… she sent our a mass-message through the Dryad Hive Mind to save Willow when they could, as she prepared to jump to another viewpoint, which would perhaps show the battle going more smoothly. 


Rose had to admit she might still prefer being on the receiving end, but being the one to dole out the tickling definitely had its pros too. Sure, being the ‘ler was a lot more work (it really was a lot more easy not to mention relaxing to sit back to let the tickling wash over you when you were the ‘lee) but having a writhing woman whimper and wiggle in front of you was its own special kind of pleasure too.

The tickle-loving Dryad had been placed in the diabolical Faen device Endurance for what probably was hours but had passed by like a nostalgia afternoon for her. The device would feather the midsection with cruel mechanical precision, and it came equipped with brushes that would come forth and attack captive soles as soon as any laughter was detected. It was a frustrating machine, the way most machines were, but currently the prison guard who had been interrogating Rose was the one being frustrated.  Her name tag read Apple, which had always struck Rose as a rather un-Faen like name, but she knew better than to confuse Races and their bizarre naming conventions.

The guard had been stripped off her skin-tight metal armour that all Faen troops wore, exposing her eggplant-purple skin. Her face which had been so haughty when lecturing Rose about the ‘barbarities of lesser species’ was fixed in a tight, ticklish grin, as feathers licked up and down her bare torso. Rose felt a stab of jealousy as she watched the feathers glide up and down the Faen’s well-endowed chest – they definitely had not been quite so generous while she was in the chair, but maybe she was just imagining things as the Faen’s chest heaved and quaked with repressed laughter. Like most Dryads, Rose did not know how to operate technology any more than pressing buttons randomly, but it seemed to have sufficed in this case, as the machine was happily humming along on auto-pilot it seemed.

“Thanks for the save, sister,” Rose smiled, tearing away from the sight of Apple’s anguished face to give her green-skinned Dryad saviour a hug.

“I hope we didn’t cut your fun short, Rose,” the Dryad, whose name was Maple, said with a mischievous grin.

“Don’t worry, you can make it up to me,” Rose said, as she strode towards a tickle-torture device that had caught her eye from the minute she had been wheeled in.

“Rose, we’re supposed to be joining the assault,” Maple said, crossing her arms.

“One more person won’t make a big difference. We outnumber them by a ton anyway – let me play with one of their toys please!” Rose begged, flashing Maple her big brown eyes.

Maple rolled her eyes as she helped strap Rose into the stockade. It was a big metal device with toe-stocks and other diabolical devices where a captive’s feet would lay. “You’re taking this up with Raffia later.”

“Oh, I’m sure she already knows,” Rose said, slipping her pale green feet into the stocks, a devilish smirk on her face as if she could sense that Raffia was there.  Rose always was a lazy worker… Raffia smiled at the display as she sensed her sister’s glee. It seemed the battle was going smoothly in any case, so it seemed unnecessarily harsh to punish Rose for indulging herself after the efforts she had put into sabotaging Faen defences.  

The stockade intended to have its captive’s hands tied firmly behind her back, and Maple saw no reason not to do that as she knew how much being tied up aroused her kinky sister. The soon-to-be trapped girl clapped her hands with excitement as Maple closed the stocks, tied Rose’s toes back, and helped tie the arms back behind her back.

“Nice and tight,” Rose grinned, as Maple fiddled with the monitor till an impressive array of probes, vibrators, scratchers and massagers popped out from the mechanical compartment of the stockade contraption and begun working on the delicious-ticklish soles that were in front of her.

The Dryads were illiterate, as they lacked a need for written communication with their communal Hive mind, but Maple was still able to understanding the colour-coded screen in front of the controls for the stocks as Rose burbled with giggles as the nefarious instruments probed up and down her soles exploratively. Maple brushed a lock of green hair from her face as she leaned down to peer at the diagram of the soles on the display – it seemed like there were a cluster of hotspots (helpfully highlighted in red) along the balls of the feet near the centre of the sole. Purely out of cat-like curiosity, Maple pressed the monitor with a green finger and was delighted as the ticklish instruments responded to her command and immediate began plumbing that spot for all the ticklish laughter they could extract.

“Whahahahat did you dohohoho!” Rose cried, but she did not sound annoyed although her laughter had doubled. The thrusting of her hips seemed to indicate she was enjoying the abuse of the most responsive spots on her soles. The monitor was filled with all sorts of data being fed into the machine through the various sensors implanted into each and every single tickling tool, though by this point Maple was too enraptured by the sensual moaning laughter that was spilling out of her sister’s lips.   

As the precise scratching tools focused on the small points of supreme sensitivity on Rose’s slender green feet, her toes would quiver as if shocked by such stimuli, which Maple recognized as a sign her sister the ticking was truly intense – just the way Rose liked it. Maple felt obligated to join her sister-in-arms in combat, but she was the opposite of sister Rose. If Rose couldn’t walk past a tickle-device without hopping in, Maple couldn’t walk past a comely, ticklish lass without giving her a good tickle. And surely she had a duty to make sure her sister didn’t get into any trouble! The Faen might stumble upon her!

That was just a pretense – an excuse, and Raffia knew it, as she saw through Maple’s eyes as she climbed onto Rose’s lap and spun a finger around the erect areolas. Rose grinned at her with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, and howled with laughter as Maple suddenly spidered her coconut-like bosoms.

“I know how you prefer to be tickled than anything else…” Maple whispered in Rose’s ear, as she felt the other Dryad rock beneath her like a bucking broncho from the assortment of tools still wreaking havoc on the stocked soles.

“Dahahahahamn strahahaight!” Rose squeaked, a giddy grin plastered on her face as Maple’s roving fingers pillaged into her mid-section, scrapping her sides as she leaned down to plant wet raspberries and kisses on the wiggling stomach. I’m not sure who if I envy more… Raffia felt a nagging fire in her leafy loins as she reluctantly pulled away from the sight and sensations of Rose and Maple’s hijinks. She needed to see how the battle was going, and as pleasing as witnessing these excursions was, she really needed to focus on the matter at hand.

It would be terrible irresponsible of their military commander to pleasure herself into a stupor when she was supposed to be directing her comrades, after all.

There would be time for that later. Raffia closed her eyes as she searched for the next sister who would offer her insight into this wild battle of theirs.


Chaos and pandemonium; and that just how Juniper liked it. The flashing lights and shrill sirens of the Faen vessel were as pure as a bird-song to her. A blast from a Faen guard missed her by an inch, and short-circuited a nearby monitor, exploding in a loud and exciting fashion. She raised a hand and extended vines a foot long and slapped the guard in her helmeted head. All Dryads could conjure vines provided they had sunlight and could concentrate, but Juniper’s skills with her vines had always been prestigious, and it was what distinguished her among her sisters – despite their shared Hive mind all sisters, all people always sought a way to distinguish themselves, and Juniper took a lot of pride in her abilities as she cracked the vine like a whip and knocked the Faen guard on her back. This proficiency was what made her one of the finest warriors in the Dryad sisterhood, and although the Dryads would not be gaudy enough to give her some inane hollow title like Captain within the Dryad egalitarian hierarchy, Juniper knew that Raffia and the other wise sisters all valued her expertise. She loved battle, and battle loved her, as a snap of her wrist send the Faen guard tumbling back again as she raised her wrist-blaster to line up a shot.

Juniper badly wanted to play with the Faen girl she had just disabled, but a pair of her opportunistic had already sisters pounced on the fallen Faen, which was fair play, Juniper supposed sulkily. They pushed her onto her stomach, as the Faen desperately tried to plea and beg – clearly no brave warrior, this one. One sat on the Faen’s shines, plucked off the metal boots and dug into the purple-soles, protected only by a thin layer of nylon. The other Dryad sat on the Faen’s lower back, and contented herself with fingers wriggling in the vulnerable patches of the armour under the arms, where protection was sacrificed for flexibility.

Everywhere she looked, the same scene of ticklish chaos was unfurling with minute variations – if Juniper wasn’t worried of being immobilized by a Faen blaster, and missing out on the fun, she would have happily stayed in this exact spot and just watched the explosion of activity. A Faen scientist with her top ripped off was wrapped to a wall, while a pair of Dryads cooed and giggled over her bouncing breasts, tickling her chest with touches as light as the brush of a petal.

A trio of sisters pooled their powers together to create a great thicket of vines which swallowed a squadron of Faen soldiers, screams of laughter bellowing from the mass of shrubbery as probing tendrils invaded every ticklish orifice. The screechy, shrill Faen laughter filled the air – not that all Faen laughter was homogeneous, but Juniper seemed to notice how many Faen seemed to share the same shriek-y, spluttering, indignant tone of laughter which was such a contrast to the melodic giggles of the Dryads. Harmonious Dryad laughter was more prevalent in the outer walls and corridors of the ship, where the ship’s defences and their defenders had been deadly. The Faen had bust out quite a lot of tricky traps to try and dissuade them… ticklish caltrops which had rendered corridors unpassable due to the Dryad’s lack of footwear and their own innate foot ticklishness. The Jet-pack using Faen soldiers could pass it no problem, of course, the clever buggers. Robotic hands that sprung from walls, ceilings and floors to startle surprised Dryads with their ticklish touch, giving away their position to Faen defenders and distracting them for a moment so immobilizing blasts could come hissing towards them.

The Dryads would never consider themselves a war-like or militaristic race, unlike the boisterous Boudo or fascistic Paxim, but their attacks had been as tireless and insistent as the crashing tide, and they had the numbers to throw wave after wave of Dryads against an underwhelmed Faen defence.  The last bastion of defence was the private chambers of that haughty Head Scientist of theirs.

The former guards of the laboratory were strung up and stripped of weaponry and armour when Juniper arrived, her bare green feet slapping across the cold metal surface of the corridor. One had been hung upside down and plastered, back-first, wall with vines, so a sister could stick her tongue in the purple navel while her hands skittered over the purple thighs, which was as red as the Faen officer’s face as she hung there, tittering. The other guard was eagle-spread with vines teeming around her wrists and ankles, as her stomach pressed against the cool surface of the walls, hiccupping with shrill giggles as a Dryad spidered her buttocks, amused by the way they wiggled and jiggled with each flex of her fingers. She would flick her long sharp nails across the squirming Faen’s behind, lazily dragging the tips of her nails across the bare bottom.

“Ah, you made it. About time,” said the Dryad tickling the Faen buttocks by way of greeting. Juniper recognized as Holly, a sister she would have to confess she did not particularly like. Despite the sense of community shared by most Dryads, there were those who were less selfless, and Holly was one of them.

“Here to save the day, Junebug?” the other Dryad said, retracting her tongue from the Faen belly, which was dripping with saliva. This would have to be Olive, Holly’s partner in crime.

“What’s the situation?” Juniper asked, fists clench as she tried to suppress the desire to truss the other Dryad in vines as Olive called her that childish nickname. Battle was fun, but being captured and tickled silly was not. Juniper disliked being tickled on account of her innate sensitivity not meshing with her battle-girl persona, and Olive and Holly had given her that nickname after a time they had ambushed Juniper bathing in a nearby stream. They had bound her up to a tree, blindfolded her, and made her squeal with random little touches all over body. And then they had coated her body with honey and watched as legions of ants came streaming all over her body. Needless to say, it was not an affectionate nickname.

“See for yourself,” Holly shrugged, as she kicked the door open with a bare green foot.

At a glance, Juniper could immediately see why they had deigned to wait for backup.

“Those mad scientists…” Juniper could only say as a glowing blast flew through the air and caught her in the chest.

Raffia fell to her knees, temporarily overwhelmed by the sensations that roared throughout her body. She had cut herself off from Juniper’s Hive mind connection, as the sensations that had flooded her body had been that overwhelming. Just what was that… Raffia could only shudder at the sensations and realized she had only felt a sensation of what Juniper must have felt, as she closed her eyes and prepared to see through a new set of eyes what had happened to proud and brave Juniper


The ditzy fool, Olive thought, rolling her eyes – so much for the ‘mighty warrior’s fighting capacities. She brushed a lock of green hair out of her eyes as she stared down at Juniper’s twitching, giggling form as light crackled around her body like glowing chains.

“So much for that,” Holly said, as she prodded Juniper’s form with her toe. “I wonder what that feels like…” Olive did not like Holly’s tone; her sister and best friend tended to be a bit reckless at times, probably fuelled by the fact she probably did not really fear ticklish repercussions, while Olive decidedly enjoyed being on the ‘ler end more.

“Feel free to find out yourself if you must,” Olive said, as she returned to the bound Faen she had been playing with before Juniper barged in. She squeezed the pale, purple sides as she talked. “We should wait for our back-up. There’s just two of us. And Gods knows what she’s got in there.”

“I’m pretty sure I saw. It was some kind of rifle blaster thingy,” Holly said, putting a finger on her lip as she pouted. “Are you sure we should wait?”

“Positive,” Olive nodded, feeling relieved at her sister’s submissive nature as she dipped her finger into the squealing Faen’s belly button; it was really one of Holly’s more endearing traits.

Just when Olive was really getting into tickling the snot out of the Faen girl, her micro-managing leader had to come and muck it up. “Storm the room. Avenge your fallen sister!” Olive held her head as voice as harsh as a growl filled her mind as if someone was speaking in her ear. She should have figured that Raffia’s Hive mind presence would be watching the proceedings and object to seeing her favourite warrior disabled in such an embarrassing fashion. The de-facto Dryad leader had always had a soft spot for her. Olive and Holly had been punished to share the same fate as Juniper when the lickspittle decided to tattle on them… being trapped for hours with ants crawling all over their bodies had been far from fun… though Olive was sure her companion Holly enjoyed it more than she let on. Holly had always been happy to be the test subject whenever Olive tested new ‘techniques’ that could be accomplished with vines and other tools of nature the Dryads could create. 

Olive glanced over at her best friend – Holly was shorter, with tangled hair in need of a good wash and pouty lips in need of a good laugh. “Looks like you got your wish. What’s the plan?”

“There’s two of us, and one of her. We should be able to get her. Well, one of us,” Holly shrugged, and it was clear from her expression she was hoping to get a taste of the blast that left Juniper giggling outside the door.

“I’ve got a better idea…” Olive said, as she nodded towards the Faen guard whose stomach she was still spidering her sharp nails over.

The Faen were smaller anatomically (probably why they were so reliant on their machines, Olive theorized) than the Dryads, which made Olive’s diabolical plan of using their two captives as human shields much easier. They used vines to tie the semi-conscious Faen guards to their bodies and sprinted in the room.

The room was a mess – files and vials thrown to the floor as the ship had been rocked by the Dryads’ assaults.  The room was clearly a laboratory, filled with fancy scientific machinery that Olive could not even begin to fathom. A panting, dishevelled Faen scientist was the only living thing in the room, a heavy blaster rifle in her arm like Holly had said. The weapon looked large and unwieldy, but the weapon fired a steady stream of energy that made aiming easy – you just had to wave the blaster around the general area and one of the streams would eventually hit. The spectacled scientist shot from right to left, and the quick blast that flew from the nozzle of the rifle gave them no time to dodge. It would have caught both Dryads in the chest and sent them down laughing if not for their ‘armour’ which took the brunt of the energy, shrieking with ticklish dissatisfaction and renewing their bids for freedom.

Holly caught a blast to her ankle, and she curled into a ball, giggling and pounding her fists against the hard floor, but Olive closed the distance and charged into the spectacled scientist. They struggled with the rifle, until as Olive twisted the muzzle of the rifle till it point the floor, there was a blast and a cry. Head Scientist Corel rolled about on the floor clutching her feet.

She had just shot herself in the foot.


When Head Scientist Corel came to, she awoke to find herself still in her familiar laboratory, and she felt a stab of hope till she realized she was tied down. She blinked her eyes, barely able to see as they had taken her glasses away, and realized her lab did not look quite so familiar – it seemed to have become overrun with vegetation as the pristine white walls were caked with mud and moss. It was unsettling to see her room so… green.

She was on one of her examination tables, though it looked like today she would be one being examined. At her ankles and wrists were brown branches that had melded themselves into the table, stretching her body tightly above her head. Her bare feet were spread a foot from each other, and smaller branches had wrapped themselves against the bindings of her feet, creating an almost stocks-like effect. Tiny branches had wrapped around her and between her toes to keep her bare purple feet perfectly immobile and helpless.

There was a gag in her mouth too, and despite her vaunted intellect and sesquipedalian vocabulary, there was naught she could do but moan into her gag (which tasted disgustingly of wood) and struggle impotently to attract the attention of the figure in the room. She was naked, of course, but she still had her pride.

The Dryad turned to look at Corel, her arms clasped behind her back. The Dryad’s eyes mud-brown eyes made contact with Corel’s flinty grey ones as she strode towards the examination table.

“Head Scientist Corel of the Faen,” the Dryad said politely, as she rubbed her hands together. “My name is Raffia, and my sisters have chosen me to speak on their behalf.”

Corel grunted into the gag, hoping the Dryad would let her speak, but Raffia just stood there as she continued to rub her hands together.

“I can see you want to talk, but there will come a time for talking later. We warned you Faen to leave this planet. We warned you that the destruction of this beautiful land would not be tolerated. We warned you.”

Corel whimpered into the gag. She had been under orders! It wasn’t her fault! She desperately tried to enunciate such feelings through her gag.

“But words are a wind that is blown away by the autumn breeze. Words are forgotten, but actions are not. I can see you need to receive a sharp lesson. I really don’t think this will leave an impression if I’m too soft. You need to suffer to see how nature suffers under your reckless touch,” Raffia said matter-of-factly, still rubbing her hands together.

Raffia raised her green hands, and Corel could see that they were coated in a light brown substance. The Faen scientist, helpless in her branchy binds, could only quiver as she felt warm hands trace across her cool, naked body. Corel shivered as the sticky substance trickled across her skin. The strange liquid tingled and began to itch terribly as Raffia continued to rub it into the soft, sensitive skin of Corel’s stomach and along her sides.

Corel was barely able to brace herself as Raffia’s fingers, as sharp as a hawk’s talons, suddenly dug into her sides. The proud scientist yelped and made a move to throw herself off the table. Wait, she had never been quite so sensitive there… Sweat trickled down Corel’s brow as Raffia’s fingernails stroked and flicked across her body like a pair of hairy big spiders. Raffia’s fingers seemed much more bristly than normal fingers, but Corel didn’t know if that was just the sap doing that to her. Raffia bought her fingers to Corel’s face, and the inquisitive scientist could see thin, hair-like fibres began to grow out from the pads of them, and although these bristles were so short that you had to squint to notice them, they could definitely be felt as Raffia spread a fresh batch of sap across her chest and began to spider her fingers along Corel’s chest, circling around her nipples.

As if it had a mind of its own, Corel could feel her body rebel against her, as she sweet smell of sap filled her ears and the mound between her legs began to moisten. She couldn’t be… enjoying this? Corel thought as she howled into the gag as Raffia began to tease under her neck.

“I understand your species crave knowledge, Faen, so I shall indulge you… Dryad sap is sensitizes the body… and it’s a powerful aphrodisiac, as I am sure you can feel… ” Raffia said in a voice as light as summer wind as her bristly fingers snuck into Corel’s taut, hairless underarms.

Before long, the pinnacle of her species, Head Scientist Corel, was screaming begs into her gag as her body turned against her, yearning for the tickling that was driving her mad. She thrust her hips as if that would encourage the Dryad to touch her there, but Raffia’s touch was cruelly instructive as ever – she would teasingly dart down to slather sap along her thighs and hips, and go to town there with her bristly fingers, but never quite touch her along the waterfall of moisture that was dripping down her legs and onto the white table.

“Have you learned your lesson?” Raffia whispered, as her tongue flicked across Corel’s slick purple nipple. Her fingers were playing with Corel’s navel now, the cruel juxtaposition of pleasure of agony wreaking havoc on the Faen’s conflicted body. She couldn’t think straight with all this happening to her… she wanted it to stop as much as she wanted it to continue. Corel nodded then shook her head, then nodded again as if shocked at herself for shaking her head in the first place.

Then as quick as it all began, Raffia pulled back, as Head Scientist Corel laid panting and sweating on her own examination table, beaten. Her skin was still tingling from where the sap had been rubbed into her skin. She dimly wondered what chemical qualities must be present in such sap – she had to figure out a way to reverse-engineer it.

Raffia clutched her head as if she was having a headache, and moments later, five of her Dryad sisters walked into the room, with matching green-skin, green-hair and great grins.  

“My sisters will attend you now,” Raffia said as she turned to leave. Corel begged with her eyes, but Raffia only smiled. “I shall return later. I hope by then the lesson has sunk in.” And then she was gone, as four giggling, barely-clothed Dryad girls walked around to admire their captive like a wolf circling prey.

They were all rubbing their hands, and Corel knew they weren’t just doing that in anticipation of what they would do to her.

She could only squeak into her gag as two of the Dryads knelt in front of her soles and began rubbing the sap into her feet, which had always been her worst spot – great, now they would be ultra-sensitive to boot… And they made sure to coat the sap along the stalks of each toe, rubbing along the spaces between and beneath each of these silver-painted toes.

Two more of them went to Corel’s flanks, and claimed a side each. Their touch was tender as they rubbed sap into her armpits and breasts, giggling at how aroused the Faen leader was. Corel was ashamed of herself, but she found moans escaping her lips as the Dryad girls caressed and massaged her body. This was nice, and she knew the tickling would not be. She might as well try to enjoy this. The fifth Dryad used two slick, cold hands to rub Corel’s womanhood, and Corel closed her eyes as she could feel the sap working its bittersweet magic there.

After a particularly loud moan that was absorbed into the gag, the girls looked at each with wolfish grins, and began tickling in earnest. Her soles had ten fingers scitching haphazardly across their super-ticklish surfaces, and a tongue was constantly lapping across her trapped toes to give the tickling a sensuality that Corel’s sopping womanhood adored.

Her mid-section felt like a swarm of bees were darting across her body, as four hands scampered from spot to spot like an inquisitive raven, brushing and flicking their fingers along stomach, navel, ribs, sides, breasts, armpits and neck. Their tongues would aid in their exploration too, licking along her armpits and her necks, and constantly licking her rock-hard nipples. And the way their arms would fondle her almost felt like a lover’s arms, Corel thoughtly dimly as their sensual tickling whipped her body into a frenzy.

The worst was the Dryad between her legs, whose slimy Dryad tongue was doing unspeakable things to the burst dam between her legs. And her fingers were far from idle too, as they traced and teased along her purple inner thighs, right where Corel hated to be tickled of how much it turned her on there.  

For a species of shrub people, they sure knew damn well how to tickle. Lesson learned.

Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: nudity and sexual themes)

Battle of Lomond I - Faen


The war started over something small. They always started over some sort of minor triviality that ended up growing into some great conflict, as if they were unknown forces that seemed insistent on escalating things till some bloody big mess came out of it. This particularly bloody big mess takes place on the planet of Lomond, a planet that was essentially one giant forest separated by pure blue seas, and littered with precious mineral resources.

An inquisitive race like the Faen saw a planet like this like a bee saw honey, like a Boudo saw a bound pair of soles, or like a Paxim pansy saw make-up. The Faen were known as the vain, though Head Scientist Corel felt such a title failed to describe her people accurately well at all. They liked to learn, and how else do you learn but take things apart, and try to put them back together again? Was it their fault their technology was so advanced because they had put so much effort into advancing it? Hardly.

Frankly, it would be bloody nice if the Faen could just be left alone to their own research, and investigations of the planet’s mineral suppositories, but fate seemed to have other ideas, the same way in this world the invisible hands of fate always seemed to nudge in the direction of tickle-warfare.

Head Scientist Corel paced the floor of her laboratory, her hands tucked behind her back as she murmured to herself. Their planet-side sweeps of Lomond has turned up zero military installations, so they had make the mistake of assuming the planet was unclaimed, and sent a detachment of scientists and soldiers to probe the planet for useful resources. And now they were in this mess, Corel thought, as she brushed her fingers through her neatly-cut short silver hair. She adjusted her thick-rimmed spectacles as they threatened to fall off her nose like they always did.

Corel had been placed in charge of this expedition because of her technical knowledge, and she was much more scientist than military leader, yet she was expected to hold her position till reinforcements could arrive.

Hold her position? She could barely hold her hands steady. Corel lifted up her hands and looked at them – her light-purple hands with their silver nails shook like an old crone’s. Damn them, damn those plants for their meddling. Corel pulled off her white labocoat and slipped into the mecha exo-skeleton that Fae soldiers wore – their wings had long atrophied, so now they sought to augment their bodies with technology. The suit fit like a second skin, metal plates hardening around the body till it fit like a glove yet was as tough as plate armour – especially around the soles of the feet and any other ‘vulnerabilities’. Yet the armour nor the energy cannons equipped in her palms did not reassure her. So Corel did what she always did when she was nervous. She opened up her head scientist’s log at her desk, and prepared to recount all that had happened since their landing at Lemond.  

“It all started a week ago…”


“The planet seemed an untouched paradise then… almost too good to be true, but we should have known when our advance party went missing.”


“I wish you would stop that,” Captain Oracle said, as she glared down at the grinning face of a younger Faen woman who had been whistling.

“Come on, Capt, where’s your sense of excitement? We’re on a new world, full of such godly creatures! Oh, brave new world, look what creatures are here!” Private Byte said, as she launched an energy blast which shook a tree violently and sent a colourful bird toppling from its branches. Byte immediately scurried over and deposited the bird into a sample collector. It had been Corel’s orders to obtain DNA samples from every new species them came across – they had been encouraged to do so without weapons, but alas, soldiers loved to shoot things, regardless of race.

Captain Oracle sighed, of the dozen that walked with her, it seemed only she cared at all about the risks that might await them in this strange, woodland planet. Half of her party were scientists, and although they wore the mecha exoskeletons that made the Faen so dangerous in combat, they still needed constant babysitting just to make sure they didn’t shoot anyone by accident.

They had been walking for half a day in this oppressive heat, and Oracle could feel her short silver-hair sticking to her neck inside her helmet. The reports had said it would be humid, but you really never knew till you were down there in the dirt just what that entailed. She had been nagging them to stay ready and keep their armour at full defensive capacity, but the mecha suits made walking cumbersome, and activating the jump jets here would just be a waste of fuel. Everyone but her had either retracted their helmets, sleeves, or even unzipped their suit along the chest to let some of the heat out.    

“Can we take a break?” one of the scientists, a tall woman named Debian asked. “My feet are killing me – we’ve been walking all day.”

They had only walked for six hours, but Captain Oracle saw the wisdom in the complaint, and they sent up a quick camp by a clear running stream. Oracle watched as Debian unzipped her boots (the suit was designed so it could be detached at any main joint in order to make each individual component easier to replace) and dipped her sweaty and reddened purple feet into the running water, cooing contently as she did so. Oracle wanted to go and slap the scientist for such disregard for battle policy, but she knew scolding the scientist would likely invite a reprisal when night fell, and although she the defacto leader, she knew her comrades considered her a hard-ass and would happily enjoying tickling torturing every inch of this hard-ass till she was mewling like a kitten. Oracle’s toes curled in her boots. Well, she definitely wouldn’t be exposing her bare feet out like that in the open, she decided. But then again, she wouldn’t be walking around with bare arms or an unzipped suit, either, Oracle thought as she looked around the campsite in dismay. Were they trying to tempt fate?

And how right Oracle would be.

They didn’t notice at first, as a soft scene wafted through the area. Oracle didn’t smell anything through her helmet, but she heard the others commenting on a sweet aroma, and assumed they were talking about some flowers or perhaps bees were making honey nearby.

“It smells so nice…” Byte said dreamily, swaying a bit on her feet like she was about to faint, and Oracle suddenly spotted movement coming from the trees. Something flashed by green on green, camouflaged, but there was no mistaking the humanoid shape.

“We have company!” Oracle bellowed, as she primed her blasters, and suddenly there was a flurry of movement. As if they were sprouting from the ground themselves, green, elvin creatures popped out of the soil and grabbed surprised Faen by the wrists or ankles– shapes that Oracle had assumed were part of the landscape but were now distinctly… Dryad.

“What brings you to our little planet?” giggled the nearest green-haired, green-skinned girl as she effortlessly lifted Debian by her bare ankles (the fool should have kept her shoes on!) as she spluttered indignantly as her back was dragged across the grubby forest floor. Tendrils slithered from the Dryad’s lithe body and began sliding across the bare purple soles, teasing the sensitive flesh dexterously. Oracle could only watch in horror as Debian’s plump silver toes (all Faen had silver nails as a symbol of their embrace of technology) were engulfed by a growing mass of vines.

“Not often we get guests,” a voice giggled behind Oracle, and she spun around, as a Dryad nimbly leapt on her back. Oracle spun around, trying to throw the Dryad girl off as she could fell the tendrils sprouting her skin began to push against her armour… the Dryad girl was getting heavier like an overripe tomato, and Oracle knew only had moments before she was trapped. A desperate, blind blast from her palm was what saved her, as the Dryad girl was blown off. All around the campsite, there was ticklish pandemonium. Byte and the others had recovered their senses to start blasting at the Dryad girls, but the Dryads just giggled and more and more seemed to be melting out of the forest or out of the ground by the minute.

There were too many. Scientist Zip’s armour had been well, zipped off, and it looked like she had been absorbed by the tree, there were so many vines covering her. Only her face, breast, stomach and womanhood were visible, and all of those spots had Dryads hovering over them. A Dryad girl was kissing her neck, while two more used feeler-like fingers to tease all over her breasts. More feelers were teasing Zip’s stomach, and Oracle didn’t even want to think about what must be happened down between her legs.

Debian had fallen into the pond, her suit short-circuited by the way, but she was laughing too hard to care, as a pair of Dryads had their first taste of Faen feet, using fingers and tongues all over Debian’s ticklish soles.

Oracle ran to Private Byte, and then stood next to each other back-to-back as they blasted and blasted at the army that advanced as steadily and certainly as nature. Nature won out, as the energy blasters overheated, and the two Faen found themselves unarmed against an army of Dryads.

A lone dryad walked out, seeing that the Faen weaponry were out of ammo. She looked much the same as her sisters – frizzy green hair like a branchy thicket and green skin, with leaves for clothes that covered her private areas, but the way she carried herself gave her an air of authority over her giggling sisters. The dryad wasn't much taller than her sisters, but she still towered over the short Faen women. She was in charge here, Oracle thought, a pit of dread in her stomach.

“My name is Raffia, I lead my people. Why are the Faen here?” the dryad woman said, with an easy air of confidence.

“You attack us and then ask us questions? What the hell do you take us for?” Byte growled. Oracle could have slapped her.

“You trampled across our garden, and you hurt our friends,” Raffia said, spreading her arms wide. “We sought only to inquire as to why you are doing so.”

“Oh? Want to ask Zip?” Oracle asked, gesturing to the giggling form of the scientist who was still being gang tickled by several dryads at once.

“You invaded our territory.”

“We didn’t know.”

“And that justifies things?”

“It’s not our fault!”

“I see this conversation goes nowhere – so be it,” Raffia shook her head, and blew a breath of pollen at Byte. Thinking quickly, or perhaps not thinking at all, Oracle charged at the Dryad leader, forgetting her exoskeleton gave her no assistance with its system overheated and drained. A woozy Byte dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes, and was quickly snapped up by a swarm of giggling Dryad girls as Oracle continued her lunges.

“You have spirit,” Raffia commented casually, as Oracle punched and kicked at her. “Commendable,” she said, ducking underneath a punch. “But misguided”, she whispered, as she summoned a vine unseen on the ground that Oracle promptly tripped over. Oracle felt her armour be stripped away by vines and hands, and found herself strung up on a tree, her arms above her head as her wrists and ankles were bound to the hard bark.

Naked as the day she was born and separated from all her weapons and armour, Captain Oracle had never felt so exposed. It didn’t help when Raffia suddenly leaned in and kissed her on the lips, tasting of sunshine. “For your noble efforts,” she said, blowing at her with breath that smelled like roses. Within moments, Oracle’s head was spinning as if she had been drugged. She found herself giggling softly as Raffia lightly drug her long fingernails across her chest. Another kiss that tasted of honey, before a series of smaller kisses along her purple neck that made Oracle’s stomach churn. She was a Faen soldier… Oracle struggled to remember, what was this Dryad and her pheromones doing to her?

Oracle got another answer after another thick puff of pollen; only this time is wafted along her chest and sides, and tingling the skin. The Faen captain gasped, arching her back as the pollen seemed to intensify every little sensation – even the air seemed to tickle now. Raffia blew some more pollen into her hands, and this time rubbed it into Oracle’s breasts instead, which were already stiff and at attention. Immediately, a moan, and then a laugh, as sharp fingernails lightly flicked across Oracle’s exposed nipples. Her entire body jerked with every little pinch and wiggle as Raffia giggled as she played with the stiff buds of those stimulated nipples. Right when orgasm is an inch away, Raffia leaned down to blow pollen on Oracle’s stomach instead, and then suddenly her finger ploughed straight into those now super-sensitized sides, which needless to say, tore her away from such tantalizingly enjoyable sensations.

“How’s about you tell me everything you know about what the Faen are doing here… and I’ll be understanding on you on your friends. You didn’t even realize what you were doing, did you?” Raffia said, as her fingers continued tracing their lethal path across Oracle’s toned purple torso. She only strayed up to tease the breasts, but only for a few moments till Oracle’s legs dripped with moisture like the leaves of a tree after a storm.


“And then the scouts we sent to find the investigation party went missing too. We were such fools...”

Captain Ether walked slowly through the clearing, a dozen other Faen at her heels. They were all fully armed with all their armour in place – they were taking no chances after the garbled messages they had received at main camp that seemed to indicate the advance party had been hit by some kind of attack. Soft grass crumpled under her metal boots as she could feel her short silver hair clumping together with perspiration. It was tempting to tear her helmet off and let her breath in this humidity, but the hard-nosed Captain was not about to risk it.

There was a cacophony of bird-calls that echoed across that forest that was driving Ether mad – she much preferred the orderly solitude of a laboratory. The birds’ cries even sounded like cackling laughter… wait, it was laughter! The Faen Captain lifted up a mailed hand and the group stopped.

“Eyes open, people. Where’s that laughter coming from?” she said, as she armed her weapons and began walking to and fro, looking for the source of the laughter.

Through the combined effort of the group, they quickly tracked the laughter to a clearing in the forest, where a stripped and bound Faen soldier was laughing helplessly, with thick vines at the ankles and wrists that pulled her body taut. Ether approached cautiously, as she watched the snake-line vines tickle the poor Faen girl as if by their own accord; based on the sheen of sweat that covered the Faen’s purple skin, she had been here a while. A vine had slipped around her eyes to serve as a blindfold, though Captain Ether felt it looked like Private Byte based on the prominent jawline, as the booming laughter definitely sounded familiar. The vines seemed to have sprouted leaves that looked like feathers, and were brushing them all over the Private Byte’s trapped body. The feathers dusted all over Byte like the cleaning droids the Faen used on their ships, and Ether shuddered as her eyes went from Byte’s red face, to her silver wiggling toes, and her sopping wet womanhood. The cruel plant wouldn’t just tickle, of course, they would tease their trapped victim. The green plumes fluttered all over Byte’s body, a wave of constant motion that ensured every spot would be tantalized – feathers danced everywhere from the neck down. Feathers licked up and down her flesh, stroking along her sides and abdominal muscles. They took care not to neglect her bouncing breasts, as the feathers twirled on erect nipples, and the helpless Private moaned and giggled in frustrated ecstasy. She kicked her feet and twisted as best she could, anything to avoid the torturous plumes sliding up and down her sensitive arches and lapping along her inner thighs, but never, never her throbbing womanhood as fluid trickled down her legs and onto the forest floor.

Captain Ether had seen enough. She pushed to the front of the clearing and blasted the vines that bound poor Private Byte to the tree. The vines whipped at her like green snakes, but blasts from the other soldiers put a swift end to it.

Byte spluttered for breath for a moment, then kicked her bare soles at the dirt and a wisp of a vine was trying to worm its way through her toes. “Trap… run!”

Ether’s grey eyes grew wide as she tried to issue a command to her squad, but before she knew what was happening, roots exploded from the ground, and vines wrapped around her body, tying her arms behind her back and twisting around her waist. The Captain grunted and tried to twist herself loose, but the strong vines pulled her to her knees. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see her soldiers in a similar bind as green-skinned Dryads melted out of the forest.

“My name is Raffia, and I assure you that our captives will be treated honourably if you yield,” a dryad with an easy air of confidence said, as she stepped in front of the clearing with all its kneeling soldiers. Byte was grunting as fresh vines appeared to ensnare her again – she was mumbling “no, no, no!” as her purple body was stretched out again and the feathers began to trace their teasing paths once more.

“She refused to cooperate with us,” the dryad named Raffia said, gesturing with her head. “We can at least promise… release, if you share some information with us,” Raffia said, as naughty vines began sensuously stroking across Private Byte’s skin, lightly flicking across skin as if caressing a lover. Byte bit her lip and choked back a giggly moan as a vine lightly brushed across a stiff areola.

“If you choose not to cooperate…” Raffia said, in a voice like a whisper. “You have only yourselves to blame,” the green-skinned Dryad waved her hand as her girls came forward to disrobe Ether and her soldiers.

Ether wondered why they were taking their skin-tight armour away, as the weaponry could only be used by Faen with their implants to control them, but rational thought became difficult as a giggling Dryad girl with long oak-brown hair kissed her on the neck as she pulled off her clothes.


“We thought we were one step ahead when we caught the saboteur…”

“How did this happen? How?” Head Scientist Corel shouted, waving her hands in the area. Her spectacles had fallen to the floor in her gesticulation. “Captain, please explain to me what the bloody hell is going on here?” Corel said, as she slumped into her commander’s chair on the ship, using a pair of dainty finger to massage her temples.

Captain Micro was no stranger to their leader’s outbursts – she had actually covertly recommended to her superiors against giving Corel this position. She had nothing against the woman, well, nothing aside from the fact Corel had once nominated her to test a new tickle-device. Micro’s soft toes curled in her boots at the thought; the device had been a successful one, and the Endurance tickle device Micro had tested was now a mainstay on many vessels, as it was especially powerful on the bold and headstrong (“like our dear Captain Micro”, Corel has said snidely) but that was all besides the point. Corel did not have a cool head under fire. Her ranting and raving was doing little to change the fact that their defences had been compromised. Half a dozen Dryads had slipped in past their sentries using stolen Faen armour - how they had obtained them was a dark and worrying thought. They had done some damage to the computer mainframes and their defences, but thankfully they had been apprehended before long. Corel was a brilliant inventor and scientist, but a poor leader. Then again, they had never expected such resistance on such a backwater planet in the middle of nowhere…

“Initial interrogation is still undergoing. The dryads didn’t figure out how to work our suits, so we were able to neutralize most of them fairly easily,” Micro said stiffly.

“How am I going to report this?” Corel groaned, as she pounded her slender purple hands on the desktop like a petulant child. “We need results. Put the one who looks like the leader in the Endurance. Warm her up for me. I’ll be there in ten minutes… where did I keep my stims…”

Micro saluted, but her Corel has already turned her back and was rooting through her drawers in search for her stash of stimulants. Micro grit her teeth, swept her silver hair from her eyes and departed. She issued the orders on her inter-com and by the time she made her way to the interrogation chambers on the small research vessel, her captive was already there waiting for her.

“There you are,” the green-skinned, green-haired Dryad said with a coy smile. Her hair was a shade darker than her light green skin. “About time you showed up. I was getting rather lonely,” she said, tilting her head to the side as she gave a Cheshire grin. Captain Micro felt unnerved by the mischievous smile – this was not how a captive should act when they were about to receive a heavy dose of tickle torment. The textbooks all Faen soldiers had to read said captives would be begging or swearing, but not this…

And the entirely naked Dryad surely had no reason to be grinning at all, as she was placed into Head Scientist Corel’s own pet project – the Endurance device. Just the sight of it made Micro’s skin crawl. The version that appeared here on this ship was a lot more refined than the prototype that had tickled her so many moons ago, but Micro still recognized the complex bondage apparatus which consisted of a set of mechanical stocks with little claws that held the toes in place (oh, Micro remembered those horrible things well), a collection of electric brushes akin to toothbrushes that hovered over the feet, and metallic manacles that extended from the ceiling. There were little worm-like devices with feathers on the end that hung lifeless along the stockade too. The Dryad was placed in a kneeling position with her green feet (a lighter shade than her body, Micro noticed) in the stocks facing upward, not that the position seemed to be making the cheeky Dryad any less recalcitrant.   

“Listen, you-” Micro began, before to her shock the Dryad interrupted her.

“Rose. My name is Rose. I don’t like all this you-ing,” the young Dryad added, with a smile.

“I’m in charge here, don’t interrupt me!” Micro said, pointing a finger right at Rose’s face, only pulling her finger away when Rose pretended to try to bite it.

“So what’s your name? No need to be rude, I gave you mine,” Rose smiled, as if Micro had just made an uninteresting remark about the weather.

Micro growled and resisted the urge to slap the Dryad across the face, but instead, she went over to the device and began calibrating the feathers. As she activated the machine, the feathers suddenly sprang to life, and with Rose’s arms stretched taut above her head by the manacles, the feathers had free reign all over her slender green body.  

The feathers were at a low setting at first, so there were only four in motion. One feather gently brushes back and forth across her taut stomach, a second feather slowly traced along her thighs. A third lightly dusted a rapidly-stiffening nipple, and the fourth dipped along the Dryad’s little ear.

Rose ground her hips and send a smouldering look Micro’s way. “Now we’re talking… keep it coming, soldier girl…”

Micro crossed her arms. The dryad would change her tone soon enough. “Oh, you’ll have more than enough before long.”

And soon enough, the Endurance began living up to its name.

The first peal of laughter escaped the Dryad’s light green lips as a feather dipped into her belly, and in immediate response to the laughter, the mass of brushes that hovered menacingly above her green feet, which until then had been inactive, suddenly hummed to life and the small buzzing brushes descended upon the trapped upturned soles. At first it was just one or two, but as the brushes made devastating ticklish contact with their new targets, fresh giggles came bursting forth from that mouthy Dryad girl, and so more brushes were activated, and so on. It was a vicious cycle – the more Rose laughed, the more they tickled, and the more it tickled, the more she laughed. She let loose her first proper squeal when the little brushes began teasing under the pads of her green toes all in unison. The Endurance was a cruel device, and more and more feather sprouted to assail Rose’s mid-section to ensure that her upperbody did not feel like she was missing out on the fun. It was a harsh juxtaposition, the brutal brushing of her soles compared to the light feathery touch that tantalized her skin. Micro couldn’t even count how many feathers were teasing all over her uppderbody now, but there were definitely around a dozen just teasing around the Dryad’s dripping womanhood, licking along the slick petals and even along her butt. Of course, the inner thighs and the breasts would not be left out of all this feathery fun too.

As Rose’s tinkling laughter echoed across the room, Micro sat back and enjoyed the show, with her finger on the button to deactivate the machine. The machine’s manual had suggested toying with the captive by placing your finger on the off-switch and then making eye contact with said captive to see the desperation in their eyes, but Rose seemed content to ignore Micro as the machine made her moan and howl with laughter. After a few minutes more, knowing that Corel would arrive soon, Micro turned it off.

“That’s just a small taste of what that machine can do,” Micro said, crossing her arms again. “You ready to cooperate now?”

“You Faen and your machines… woooh!” Rose said with a giggle. “That was great! My feet are still tingly, hehe.”

“Are you even listening to me?” Micro said, as her hand hovered over the on-switch it what was intended to be a fearsome motion. “One wrong word from you and you’re screaming again.”

Rose rolled her hazel eyes. “You still haven’t worked it out, have you?” Rose flashed Micro a predatory-grin. “I welcome more of your ‘torture’. I volunteered for this mission, and that’s because your fancy tickle-torture techniques won’t work on me. You can give me just the brushes, soldier girl, I don’t mind.”

“You…” Captain Micro said, suddenly lost for words. There were those in every army – true tickle gluttons, who could take whatever tickle torment they could get… but was this Dryad really so insatiable? Was it something to do with their Dryad biology? It couldn't be...

“Oh, but I’ll talk – I do have things to say to your commander.”

As if on cue, Head Scientist Corel walked in, sniffing slightly. The scientist had her usually-immaculate purple hair somewhat ruffled and looked to be swaying slightly. “You’re dismissed, Captain. I’ll see to this hippie myself,” she said, her voice a bit shaky. Micro wondered exactly what stims she had taken to ‘steady her nerves’.

“This is all I have to say: Nature is coming for you, and she’s going to give you a good spanking,” Rose grinned, and Micro had never seen a smile from such a sweet-looking female look quite so fearsome.


“Head Scientist Corel!”  

The coarse voice of a Faen soldier shook Corel from her recollections, and Corel tucked her purple hair behind her ear before looking up and replying. She adjusted her thick-rimmed spectacles. Her tidy hairstyle had somehow become matted during her trip down memory lane and all her mistakes.  

“Do you have a, um, status report? Have we driven them back?” Corel croaked, more in hope than in expectation.  

Captain Micro looked up at her disbelievingly. “Haven’t you been reading my status reports?” she asked, and Corel turned away at the pile of reports that had appeared on her desk as if out of nowhere – perhaps she had been more lost in her thoughts than she realized. “Our perimeter has been breached. They’ve made their way to the ship. We’ll be overrun soon. We have to leave,” Micro said, speaking rapidly while she reloaded her wrist blasters.

A part of Head Scientist Corel wanted to play the part of the defiant warrior, the captain who decides to go down with her ship, but she knew she didn’t have the heart for it, and the thought of being captured by these rustic creatures sent a shiver of fear down her spine. A quick skim of the reports with their graphic visual imagery of the tribulations of tickle-war did not change her mind – Purple-skinned Faen overwhelmed by vines and fingers, bound in every angle, stomach, soles, and womanhood all tormented, technology and knowledge worthless…   

“We must flee,” Corel said with a sigh. “The ship’s defences will defend us, right?”

There was a pause as Micro’s eyes would not meet hers, and Corel noticed she was staring at the security monitor. A pair of Dryad girls had burst through an open ventilation port and were wrestling with a pair of Faen scientists. The scientists had a pair of modified cattle-prods which pulsed with ticklish-inducing power, and one of the scientists – a taller, bulkier woman Corel recognized as Ram who was terrific at developing memory-retention software, had thrust the prod into the green-skinned Dryad’s stomach till the smaller green-haired girl was writhing on the floor. Ram’s colleague was having no such luck, as the nimble Dryad fighting her had uprooted and tripped the Faen, whose name Corel did not recall as she had been an unremarkable worker, and was sitting contently on the backs of her legs, while her mossy fingers tickled her buttocks through the thin lab coat where evidently she was very sensitive. Looks like we have another scientist who is more ticklish than smart, Corel thought dimly, as they watched the display monitor for a moment, so enraptured by the sight of their possible impending fates. Corel’s toes curled up within her boots as she watched, daring to imagine what it would be like to have her own ticklish body manipulated like that; like all Faen she harboured many a sensitive spot, though at least she could say her gluteus maximus was not one of them.

“Captain, Faen progress is in your hands,” Corel tried, shaking a frozen Micro by the shoulder. “What do we do?”

Micro looked at her with grey eyes as cold as the chill of outer space. “We fight to live another day. To the escape pods!”

As they ran down the corridors towards their destination, Corel’s naturally inquisitive mind couldn’t help but go towards their mysterious foe in all this – why were the Dryads doing this? Perhaps that had been her biggest mistake in this whole savage affair. She knew nothing really about her opposition. Corel gulped at the realization that if nothing more, soon she might get many a private audience with their leaders if she was captured, tickle-tortured and interrogated. She just hoped they would go easy on her – tickling did the most devilish things to her Faen biology...  

Battle of Lomond I - Faen
A belated happy new year, and hope you enjoy the story! Still working on getting through my commissions!

Just a few words

Journal Entry: Sat Jan 3, 2015, 6:49 AM
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The new year is upon us, and I would just like to see a big thank you to all my watchers, commenters and commissioners who have been following me over the years. It's indescribably heartwarming to get such wonderfully long comments or birthday wishes or even another (!) premium subscription for a year.

I'm touched indeed, and resolve to work even harder in the coming new year! I thank my commissioners for their infinite patience!I'm back from my vacation, and you know that means more stories coming soon! (say within the coming week). 

Hope you all just a wonderful new year filled with mirth and laughter!

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Star Wars TK: Ahsoka VII

(This takes place at an indeterminate time during the Clone Wars.)

Star Wars TK: Ahsoka's Revenge


They said revenge lead to the Dark Side, but Ahsoka had always had difficulty in distinguishing how revenge was different from the far more justified ideas of justice and retribution. She even remembered Anakin saying once that they were “just words” in the end.

Ahsoka wasn’t quite sure what had lead her to pursue the illusive Noush Shadowmane who had tormented her and Senator Chuchi and sabotaged their Republic mission, but she knew what had happened, as had ambushed the mercenary and taught her a lesson - her fingers pressed into Noush’s stocking-clad soles.

Ahsoka’s Force-concealing powers were more potent than the stealth suit Noush used, and so Ahsoka had been able to ambush the eccentric mercenary while she had been relaxing in her ‘secret’ hideout watching rom-com holo-vids. The mercenary had been reclining in a leather-bound armchair with her boots kicked off and discarded on the floor, which had just made things even easier for the Jedi who had ticklish comeuppance on her mind.

A quick Force Push knocked the surprised woman back, as she and her armchair fell to the floor with a loud thump.

“Remember me?” Ahsoka said by way of greeting, as she called through The Force for those wiggling nylon-clad soles and held them with a grip as iron as Jedi discipline.

“What… what did you do to me? Let me go!” Noush squeaked, as she squirmed in her chair, her arms thrashing and slapping at her armchair, but it felt like she had been paralyzed from the waist down. Ahsoka’s Force grip was strong, and she knew it must feel like Noush’s entire lower body had fallen asleep, or gone numb. Well, perhaps not numb, Ahsoka thought with a grin, as she reached over and stroked Noush’s right foot with her index finger, amused in the way Noush yelped from the light touch.

From the reaction she knew that Noush could still feel her legs perfectly, but they would not move, trapped in a vice made by the strength of The Force.

Ahsoka giggled as her nails skated over the surfaces of Noush’s immobile soles, she knew from experience that the sensations would be amplified by the nylons. Noush pounded her fists on the armchair and floor, flailing her arms about impotently, but no matter what she did, she could not move her ticklish feet an inch.

Holding the stocking-clad feet in front of her with the power of her Jedi mind, Ahsoka mentally pulled the toes apart, and began a devastating tickle assault all around the base and undersides of Noush’s toes, which were so ticklish that it was clear they desperately needed the protection of clenched toes.

“Ihihhihihi tihihickles! It tihihickles sohoho much! Why chahahant I mohohove?” Noush squealed, as she tugged at her short black hair in ticklish frustration.

“Never underestimate a determined Jedi,” Ahsoka grinned, as she tickled even harder.


Never underestimate a determined Jedi…

Ahsoka had wanted to get back at Barriss for a while now, after all the ticklish shenanigans the Miraluka Jedi had pulled on her, but with Noush’s black stealth suit, it seemed like she had all the ingredients she needed.

And the crafty Togruta knew exactly what she wanted to do – she would creep around the Jedi Temple, invisible to the naked eye, and with her own force-suppression powers, (and considering the fact that the Temple was full of Force users anyway) it was likely no one would know she was there; no one but Barriss, of course.

Ahsoka clapped her hands in excitement as she realized what a fun-filled day lay ahead of her. She had made a copy of Barriss’s schedule the previous night, so now she just had to follow the schedule and introduce a few ticklish hijinks when the opportunity presented itself. Ahsoka smiled – Barriss’s tickle-inducing shadow was ready.


Barriss was yawning, as she jogged to her morning training session. The lime-skinned Jedi beauty had slept poorly, as she had experienced the strangest dreams. It felt like every time she was drifting off to sleep, a light touch on her sole would make her giggle and keep her up. It had to be the wind… Ahsoka wasn’t back from her trip yet, so Barriss couldn’t imagine what else it could possibly be. When the Mirialan Jedi had finally gotten to sleep, she dreamed of feathers and tongues and all kinds of diabolical devices on her feet, and woke up to find herself tangled in her own bedsheets, her dark hair a wild mess.

She arrived at her group-training session, with an apologetic glance to Master Ki-Adi-Mundi, who was overseeing the session.

“Glad you could join us, Padawan,” he said by way of greeting. The Cerean Jedi Master was not known for patience, and he disliked anyone who did not seem to be taking his training sessions seriously.

It was a routine training session in terms of Force discipline – there was a line of ten Jedi Padawans, all levitating heavy plastisteel containers in the air. It wasn’t an especially difficult activity, and Barriss felt pride in the fact that while some of her fellow Padawans were struggling, as their containers with quivering and shaking, she was having no trouble as hers was perfectly stationary. She would probably be selected for more advanced classes soon! Barriss was so engrossed in fantasies of being tutored personally by renowned Jedi Masters like Master Luminara or Master Shaak Ti and learning mysterious techniques in the Force, that she barely recognized the sensation along her sides. It felt like… fingers! Fingers fluttering up and down her sensitive sides and poking along her ribcages! Barriss gasped, and the container dropped an inch. What was going on?

“Hey, Barriss…” a familiar voice whispered in her ear. “I’m the tickle-ghost…”

“Ahsoka! Whahahat are you dohohoing!” Barriss hissed, as she felt Ahsoka’s questing fingers continue to poke and tease her mid-section. The Jedi levitation pose that Ki-Ad-Mundi had suggested, with the arms stretching out, had left her underarms and torso particularly exposed, which Ahsoka was taking full advantage of.

“There is no need for talking, Padawans… Focus on the task at hand… A Jedi must have focus…” Master Mundi barked, suddenly appearing in front of Barriss.

“Yes, Master…” Barriss could only say meekly as her lip trembled. As the lesson continued, Ahsoka continued to make it very difficult to focus on her levitation and Force manipulation exercises. With her erect posture (continually enforced by the stern glare of Master Mundi), Ahsoka had her choice of spots to torment.

When Master Mundi was preaching the importance of stance and breathing, the minx would dig her fingers into the backs of Barriss's knees and make those sensitive knees quake. "Finding it hard to concentrate? Ahsoka whispered, as she tickled Barriss's legs and knees through her Jedi robes. Barriss was sorely tempted to swing her leg out and kick her mischievous friend as Ahsoka teased the back of her knee, but Master Mundi had his eye on her the whole time, and she already thought he had a bad impression of her due to her tardiness.

Ahsoka didn’t make it any easier for Barriss though, continually harassing her torso throughout the training session, till Master Mundi was tutting and shaking his head as Barriss’s performance worsened. The only consolation for Barriss, as Ahsoka stroked along her underarms, ribs and sides, and Master Mundi sighed and shook his head with disapproval, was that at least her very ticklish stocking-clad feet were comfortably protected in her boots.

At least for know… Barriss suppressed another giggle as she realized what was next on her agenda.


The next thing on Barriss (and Ahsoka’s) itinerary was a series of lectures on various affairs a Jedi was expected to know about; it ranged from philosophy to galactic history, and with the recent conflict in mind, law and military strategy as well. Jedi speakers as well as guest lecturers would be invited into the prestigious Hall of Countenance to speak to these young, eager students.

Jedi discipline was enforced rigidly in these lecture halls, especially when it was a guest speaker, and the activity was very much a test in mental discipline as the lectures were often three hours at a time, with only a brief break at the halfway mark. The hall resembled a classroom with its desks, but the Jedi used posture-correcting stools, which had its occupant kneel in a similar position to a meditative pose.

Barriss felt a dread as she lowered her body into her chair, which required her to kneel and rest her ankles on a slightly-raised bar while she lowered herself onto the chair part which rested just above her ankles. Sometimes you could get away with slipping out of class, but the Masters already were a bit wary of Barriss due to her giggling in the previous activity. She knew she would be punished if she made any noise during the lecture, but at the same time, she knew Ahsoka wasn’t about to make it easy for her. She had to remember her training… keep her emotions under control.

Maybe Ahsoka wasn’t even in the room…


Ahsoka watched with a predatory grin as Barriss finally sat down. She had been waiting for a shot at those stocking-clad soles all day, and was glad she would finally get her opportunity. Barriss was sitting in the back of the room, in her usual seat, which was perfect because this meant that no one would be ruining Ahsoka’s fun. The Togruta glanced at Barriss’s legs, enraptured by the sight of the back of her black tights covered knees, calves and ankles and the soles of her loose boots, and just couldn’t wait to dig in, having neglected them all morning.

Ahsoka giggled as she saw the speaker today was none other than Master Mace Windu himself, a notoriously fastidious Jedi. Oh, you are in for quite the lecture, Ahsoka thought, as she lightly dragged her index finger down to Barriss’s slender ankle. It was intended simply to test her response, and Ahsoka was delighted in the way Barriss jerked from the light movement. Had she really thought she would get off so easily? Ahsoka noticed Barriss try to shift a little in the chair and try to move her other leg to scratch the spot that had just been tapped with her other foot, struggling to do so. It looked like the stools were even more restrictive than Ahsoka had hoped, especially since Barriss couldn’t slip her feet out with Ahsoka right there to keep them penned in.

It was tempting to just hammer Barriss with a savage tickling onslaught right from the onset, but that would be no fun, Ahsoka decided. She heard Mace Windu begin his lecture on some military stratagem.

“Timing is everything in strategy… Take for instance, the Tràkata lightsaber style, which uses the ability of lightsabers to turn on and off, activating and deactivating the blade in the heat of combat. Doing so can allow you to slip past enemy defense manoeuvres, and trick them into over-extending their stances and exposing themselves. A Jedi may have many weapons and skills at their disposal, but the most important thing is understanding when to use them.”

Windu was right, Ahsoka said to herself, as she pulled off Barriss’s right boot, but left the left foot alone… for now.

“My lightsaber has won me battles, but it has always been my diplomacy that has ended conflicts. There is no need to fly into every battle with lightsaber ablaze,” Windu spoke, his loud booming voice echoing across the hall.

Ahsoka used one finger to weave a slow circle around the black stocking on the right foot. Barriss tensed up, and scrunched her toes. The slow circles continued for a few more seconds till the scrunched toes finally relaxed, and then the finger was joined with another, which raked up and down the arches. Barriss tried to use her other foot to defend her besieged sole, but Ahsoka used her other hand to hold Barriss’s left foot straight so it could not aid the ticklish right foot. The two fingers slowly stroked up and down the sole, sliding down the smooth fabric as it zeroed in along the crevices of the arches. Ahsoka could feel the ridges of the sole as the toes scrunched shut again and she felt the wrinkles. Three fingers clawed into those soft-looking wrinkles, and Ahsoka heard Barriss make a gurgling noise that no one else seemed to notice. Four fingers slid from the heel to the bottom of those clenched toes, and both feet were wiggling. Five fingers spidered the tops of Barriss’s feet, and she let out a little squeak which she concealed as a cough, surprised at a sudden jump from the sole to the instep. Ahsoka took her other hand and patted the ticklish sole softly, massaging it lightly with her thumbs as she heard Windu continue his speech.

“Your aim should always be to end battles swiftly in one stroke. Minimize your causalities and catch your enemy off-guard with one powerful attack.”

Both hands suddenly pounced, scribbling all over the right sole. They scrabbled over the sole, sides of the foot and the tops, scampering all over the spasming sole like a pair of rabid red spiders. Barriss’s sole twitched to and fro, but Ahsoka wouldn’t let it escape, as Barriss’s hid her face in her arms, and tried to suppress her giggles. Ahsoka kept up the onslaught for thirty seconds, and heard a sigh of relief from Barriss when she stopped. Just for that, Ahsoka dug into the sole again immediately with all ten fingers, making Barriss let loose a little squeal that drew the ire of Windu.

“Do you have a question, Padawan?”

“No, no, Master Windu…” Barriss said, her voice breaking as Ahsoka’s fingers continued their pillaging of her poor right foot. “Juhuhust a cohohough.”

“Hmph. As I was saying…”

“Please, Ahsoka, no more! I know it’s you…” Ahsoka heard Barriss whisper, though the Togruta’s only response was to being sliding off the left foot too. You really shouldn’t be talking in class, Barriss… Ahsoka giggled to herself, as she saw the left foot wiggle in fear as it was exposed to the cool air of the hall. Now let’s play with leftie…

“A Jedi must always seek balance. Though balancing between aggression and peace is always a difficult line to walk,” Windu orated.

Ahsoka used one hand to hold the twitching toes of the left foot back, and the other to dig and scratch deep into the undersides and ticklish toe-webbing with just one meandering finger. The little finger slipping between her toes must have felt like a wriggling worm, based on the way Barriss’s feet jumped and twitched. Good to know the left foot is as ticklish as the right one, Ahsoka thought to herself with a grin, as the lone finger graduated into a pair of fingers which scratched insistently at the base of the toes, as splutters of laughter begin spilling through Barriss’s trembling mouth. Three fingers began a tri-pronged scratching at the bottom of Barriss’s heels, and four fingers scratched around the circumference of the sole, going from the left side, to grazing the tops of the toes, to the right side, to the heel and then round again. Five fingers spidered the ball of the foot as Ahsoka’s other hand hovered nearby. Eager for a relentless assault on both stockinged soles, Ahsoka didn’t spend as much time teasing the left foot, as her finale was a ten-fingered strike on the wiggling, slender toes of the spluttering Jedi. Barriss tried to reach her hand back to swipe at Ahsoka, but wasn’t quite able to reach with her chair in the way like that. Ahsoka ended her attack after a few minutes of tension, and Barriss tried to conceal her panting in the back of the class, drawing some strange looks from her classmates.

Ahsoka thought Barriss had done a good job concealing her hyperventilating, but it seemed not to have escaped the eyes of Mace Windu. When the imposing Jedi Master spoke in his booming voice, Ahsoka thought for a second she might have been discovered.

“Are you feeling all right back there, Padawan?” Windu said, as the whole class turned to see whom he was addressing. As Barriss opened her mouth to respond, Ahsoka saw this as too good an opportunity to turn down, and started scuttling her nails up and down Barriss’s soles as all eyes turned to her. The black stockinged tootsies slithered about to try to dodge Ahsoka’s fingers, but she couldn’t move as much with the entire class staring at her.

“I’m… fihihine, Master Wihindu. Just a cohohough,” Barriss said, trying to cover her giggles with an exaggerated coughing motion. The Miraluka Jedi’s knees shook and quavered as if they were going under some strenuous physical exertion, but somehow Barriss was able to keep herself composed.

“Report to the medical wing later – that’s an odd sounding cough,” Windu said with a nod, as he turned back to his notes and resumed his lecture.

“Nice cover,” Ahsoka whispered as she stood up and leaned next to Barriss’s ear. “I can’t wait to see how you handle the feathers.”

“Feathers!” Barriss hissed, in as loud a whisper as she dared, but Ahsoka had already darted back to her stocking-clad soles, and pinned them firmly in place. Ahsoka firmly gripped a foot back, pulling the toes so that the tender undersides of the toes would be totally exposed and pulled out a feather from a secret compartment on her suit, where the elusive Noush Shadowmane had been sensible enough to use to store feathers.

Ahsoka was conflicted between going for Barriss’s slender toes or her arch first, but the tendon that appeared in her arch with her foot in such a position was too tempting a target to ignore, Ahsoka decided. The black feather descended on this ticklish crevice slowly, a soft caressing that visibly sent shudders through Barriss’s responsive body. The tip of the feather slowly meandered up and down those high arches, as Barriss sounded like she was having another coughing fit as Ahsoka manoeuvred the feather in a monotonous circle along her arch and up over the ball of the foot. The bristles were soft, but Ahsoka knew from personal experience that the soft fluttery movement was devastating on sensitive feet, as she had been on the receiving end of such shenanigans on multiple occasions now.

Ahsoka was delighted in how the repetitive movement still seemed successful no matter how many circles she did. Barriss’s foot struggled in Ahsoka’s grasp, but no matter how the foot squirmed and the toes wiggled, they could not escape Ahsoka’s iron grip. Ahsoka switched feet, and probed deep into the arches of the other foot, till she started to noticed that the wiggling and jerking of Barriss’s feet were decreasing in power, which seemed to signify that fatigue was setting in, or perhaps she had simply given up as she sat in her desk, slumped down and mmmphing into her hands.

Ahsoka dimly wondered if Barriss would flunk an exam due to not making notes today. Wouldn’t that be nice, Ahsoka thought, as she began pushing the sharp end of the feather under and in between Barriss’s toes. I’ll help her write an essay, Ahsoka thought, as she held the feather like a pen and scribbled all over Barriss’s soft soles and toes. Every time she would finish a ‘page’, she would quickly leap over to the other foot, which would always make Barriss jump.

Barriss had held up well. Too well. Time to make her embarrassed and end this charade. Ahsoka began a deceptively soothing massage on the reddened and abused soles which had taken so much tickle assault, and she could feel the muscles in Barriss’s feet and legs began to relax. Ahsoka wondered if the other girl really thought she was out of the woods, or if she was just relieved to finally have someone touch her feet in a way that wasn’t pure tickle torture.

Ahsoka started with slowly sliding just the tips of her nails across the skin in a spidering motion, and Ahsoka heard a sharp gasp from Barriss at the sensations – then a flurry of movement, digging deep into the arches. Barriss shook at her desk, and giggles spluttered loose from her lips as she had been lulled into a false sense of security. The wicked fingernails continued their devilish work.

“What is so funny back there?” Master Windu called. It was Ahsoka’s cue to leave.

But the day was still young. The fun wasn’t over yet…


The last lesson of the day had been the one that talented, young Barriss had been dreading most. It was simply a free period, where one was expected to remain in the Jedi Archives reading materials and conducting self-study. Barriss had been hoping to get a seat in the front of the library where at least Ahsoka might restrain from more ticklish hijinks due to the fears of being caught, but Barriss had suffered a ‘mishap’ while she had been in the washroom, as what appeared to be a tickle-phantom had decided to follow her into the cubicle and tickle her ribs and sides silly before Barriss could even sit down – it was lucky she hadn’t wet herself! In any case, the bathroom break had taken longer than needed as a result, so most of the seats in the front of the library were taken when Barriss composed herself and came out.

A pit of dread bubbling in the pit of her stomach, Barriss sat down at the back of the library. She was desperately hoping that maybe Ahsoka had gotten tired of the whole charade and decided to go away and bother someone else for once – why not tickle someone else for a change! There were plenty of ticklish Padawans in this room, Barriss could testify.

But while Barriss was plotting a tickle session on the Feet-sensitive Padawans in this room, she felt a tap on the ankle. Barriss frowned, and stared outwards at the blonde girl in front of her and imagined tickling her silly with her long nails. She was panicked at what was going to happen to her, but determined to keep silent as best she could and not give Ahsoka the satisfaction of going to pieces at a single touch. Barriss crunched her toes as best she could, but she couldn’t stop the boot from sliding off her feet and exposing her nylon-clad soles. Barriss could feel Ahsoka smirking as one strong hand held her right ankle while its a sharp but smooth thumbnail slowly stroked up and down the sole of Barriss’s slender foot.

Barriss had been tickled all day, and especially right when she had been planning a ticklish ploy of her own, as the blonde jedi in front had just slipped her feet out of her boots, showing her nylon-clad soles distractingly – all her nerves were on edge. If Ahsoka had straight out tickled the bottoms of Barriss’s feet in full force, she held no illusions and knew she would have shrieked and screamed immediately and embarrassed herself in the silent library. But like before, Barriss’s tormentor was not so eager to end her game quite yet.

Ahsoka’s grip was iron, and there was nothing that could be done as she started playing this game again, the same game they had been playing ever since they were both young Padawans. Ahsoka, knowing she had all the time in the world, tickled with slow, light, maddening strokes, teasing Barriss along the toes right where she knew the Miraluka couldn’t stand it, and tracing the cute wrinkles that lined the soles whenever Barriss curled her toes in responses to the tinkling tickling touches. Barriss felt the sensations bubbling within her quickly, and eager to burst out – she clenched her fists, gritted her teeth and scrunched her eyes shut but it all didn’t seem to help as she shook with silent giggles. The best she could do was suppress the jumps and twitches the teasing tickles caused.

Ahsoka continued to play her game, as Barriss desperately tried to keep her composure. Somehow it was even more frustrating knowing that Ahsoka was just toying with her – an insistent tickle could bring her to howling mirth, but the Togruta was content to tease. A single finger slowly traced over the length of her sole, paying particular attention to the high arches. She slipped slick fingers between Barriss’s flexing, squirming toes and simply held them there, their uncomfortable presence enough to make Barriss tickle herself with every quivering movement – and Ahsoka would facilitate this by lightly wiggling her fingers too, every now and then. She would scratch a tiny spot on her heel so insistently for so long that Barriss wanted to scream at her and tell her to move on and tickle her somewhere else, anywhere else.

“Ahsoka… please… no more!” Barriss whispered desperately, as Ahsoka continued to tease, but to her surprise, the mischievous Togruta seemed to relent for once.

“Do me one favour,” Barriss heard a whisper from her ankles which had to be Ahsoka.


Barriss could hear the grin in Ahsoka’s voice. “Anything? Well, I want you to laugh, Barriss,” she said, as her short fingernails tore into Barriss’s soles, flying over the heels, the balls of the feet, the pads of her slender long toes, and, especially, and most terribly of all, the high hollows of those sensitive arches. Barriss obeyed Ahsoka’s request, but make no mistake, revenge was on her mind. She would get the blonde jedi first, but Ahsoka would be next, right when she thought she was safe…




(This takes place at an indeterminate time during the Clone Wars before Barriss's betrayal.)

Star Wars TK: Hysterical Hijack


“Flying is for droids.”

Ahsoka Tano had heard Master Obi-Wan Kenobi say that to Anakin once, and she had never understood quite what he meant until her current mission. The red-skinned Togruta was on the Republic vessel The Eagle’s Ascent, though Ahsoka would have thought a name like The Chicken’s Coop would have been more fitting. The ship was crammed full of republic soldiers and citizens from an evacuation mission, and Ahsoka had been delegated to small, claustrophobic quarters in the cargo hold. She wasn’t there often, which was a consolation, but sleep was hard to come by with the constant sound of noise and movement all around her. Several of the citizens were having less-than-pure thoughts too, which was making her perceptions of the Force murky on this overpopulated vessel.

Ahsoka’s official capacity on this ship was bodyguard – she was escorting esteemed Senator Chuchi back to Coruscant after a senatorial mission. Senator Riyo Chuchi was a female, Pantoran politician who hailed from the Pantoran homeworld of Pantora, who had done a great deed for the Republic in successfully convincing the Outer Rim planet Iridu, a planet rich in precious metals, to join the Republic. The planet’s governors had also sent a bountiful gift of precious metals to be presented to the Senate as part of the initiation ceremony. Ahsoka’s mission was to ensure the precious metals and the Senator remained secure, and as missions went, this had been one of her cushier assignments. The biggest challenge she had endured was a particularly persistent Twi’lek who seemed to think he had a chance with the comely, purple-haired, blue-skinned senator. She had been on the ship for about a month now, with all the various stops the Republic cruiser was making. She stared up at the ceiling, yawning as she tried to sleep in heruncomfortable bed. Soon the mission would be over and she could go back to the Jedi Temple – she thought of Barriss and all the misadventures she had had since their last tickle-filled meeting. Ahsoka closed her eyes and went to sleep in her cramped quarters with a smile on her lips.


Noush Shadowmane chuckled to herself as she made her way across the halls of The Eagle’s Ascent – so much for vaunted Republic security! It had been pure Pazaak, pure child’s play to make her way on-board the vessel, tagging along with all the refugees that had been herded onto the ship like sheep, though her custom stealth-suit which rendered her invisible to the naked eye had helped. Noush had been in the business way too long to be in the habit of underestimating her foes, but she marvelled at the credits the Separatists were paying her for this mission. She had been commissioned to steal this cargo of precious metals, shiny jewels and the like, as it would make the Republic look bad and force Iridu to reconsider its position. The only catch was the on-board vault where the goods were stored had an access code, half of which is known by Senator Chuchi and half by Ahsoka for security purposes. It was an annoyingly-clever suggestion, but Noush had confidence in her own abilities. You didn’t succeed in this line of work without a healthy dose of confidence – after all, how hard could it be to make some prissy Senator and Jedi brat squeal?

The only question was who would be first.


Senator Riyo Chuchi reclined at her desk, her blue fingers stapled together. Being a senator, her quarters were considerably larger than the other rooms on the large vessel. She had a desk, a cushy bed and the room didn’t have the same dry metallic smell that seemed rampant around the rest of the ship. She had gotten used to the noise of the ship, with all its regular comings and goings, so she didn’t give a second thought to thumps along the door of her room after she casually gave a cursory glance and didn’t see anyone. Her eyes returned to her notes, and seconds later, her head slumped onto her desk as a sleep dart jabbed her in the neck and she fell unconscious.


Chuchi’s pale golden eyes fluttered open, and she found herself on her bed. She woke up groggily and wondered if she had just experienced a bad dream, but the bondage around her body quickly dissuaded her of such a notion. She had been crudely wrapped around in her own blankets, snugly.

She looked around and failed to see anyone in the room, and grunting to herself she called out loudly, wondering if she was being pranked. To her shock, a grinning dark-haired figure suddenly coalesced out of nowhere, like some kind of ghostly apparition, but the calm and collected Senator was too rational to accept such an explanation.

“Impressive stealth suit technology,” Chuchi said coldly, by way of greeting. “Who are you?”

“Oh, you know,” the black-suited woman said with a mischievous smile. “Just someone who would like to score an exclusive interview with Senator Chuchi.”

“Interview? What are you talking about?” Chuchi said, her bright eyes full of confusion.

“That was a joke. Not my best one. I’m Noush Shadowmane, and I guess that’s why I’m a mercenary instead of a comedian,” the woman said, flicking her shoulder-length brown hair. “But enough small talk. Your vault code. Gimme.”

“You’ve come to the wrong person if you think I can be coerced,” Chuchi said, shaking her head. “Haven’t you heard about me? I have risked my life so much for my people. To die for one's people is a great sacrifice. To live for one's people, an even greater sacrifice. I choose to live for my people. There is nothing you can do to me."

“Oh blah blah blah. Big fancy words, Senator,” Noush said, rolling her eyes. “I personally can’t stand smooth-talkers like you – Fancy-pants politicians who think they can fix anything with some honeyed words, but we’re going to have one of your ‘negotiations’ right now.”

“The Pantora government does not negotiate with terrorists, which is what you are, whoever you claim to be,” Chuchi said, narrowing her large golden-yellow eyes.

“Too good to talk to me, eh? So be it. You stubborn fools always make me laugh, or would you prefer to laugh instead?”

Senator Chuchi’s mind was trying compute what had just been said when the brown-haired woman suddenly reached out with a pair of gloved hands and flicked her fingers across the senator’s soles. The senator was wearing her senatorial garb, including tan nylons, which provided little protection as fingers skated across soles.

“Whahahahat are you dohohohing!” Chuchi said, unable to keep the laughter out of her voice.

“What does it look like? Tickling you! No evidence left behind – it makes the perfect interrogation method! And oh so effective against pampered politicians,” Noush chuckled, as she dug in even more fiercely with her scraping fingers.

As Senator Chuchi gritted her teeth, she had to admit the ticklishness was surprisingly annoying – the constant guffawing was making her stomach hurt, and she hadn’t been tickled since she was a girl, so she had no idea her feet would be quite so sensitive.

And there was nothing she could do now but twist her mummified body from side to side as this sneering terrorist had free reign of her ticklish feet.

Chuchi didn’t want to acknowledge it, but the fact was her body felt incredibly exposed and vulnerable right now, with her wiggling feet propped up and free for this woman to torment in any way she pleased.The tight bonds wound around her body intensified the sense of helplessness. The worst part was the mercenary’s conceited smile as she played with Chuchi’s feet, pulling the blue toes back, and watching Chuchi squirm to each scratch, each flick, each line she drew down the ticklish sole. The fiend had started out slow and sent Chuchi into girlish giggles, but as Noush discovered more and more of Chuchi’s ticklish spots, like the base of her arch or the bottoms of the heels, Chuchi was laughing at the top of her lungs as devilish fingers fingers tickled at full speed.

The tickling didn’t let up for ten minutes, by which time Chuchi was shouting for a chance at dialogue – her own ticklishness was too much for her.

“I’m reheheheheady to negotiate! Lehehehehts tahahahalk abohohohout thihihihis!”

“Glad to hear it,” Noush chuckled, though her fingers never broke contact with Chuchi’s blue soles for a second. “Now here’s the trade. I have a pair of ticklish nyloned feet in front of me. I’ll give you them in return for your half of the access code to the on-board vault.”

“Thahahahahat’s nahahahat a fair trahahahade!”

“It isn’t. Would it help if I mentioned they were very ticklish?” Noush laughed to herself, as she spidered her fingers even more quickly up and down Noush’s soft and supple soles. “You need time to think. A long time to think. We have seven hours before the crew serves your next meal, let’s make them count, shall we?”


Ahsoka Tano stirred in her quarters, suddenly sitting upright in bed. She swore she had felt a disturbance in the Force. She got up, clipped her lightsaber to her belt and went outside the cargo hold, to see a pair of snogging Twileks who were thumping their tangle of limbs against the wall next to her room, which must have been what had woken her up.

“Get a room!” she yelled, and went back to bed.


Meanwhile, Senator Chuchi was not looking very senatorial as tears of ticklish laughter streamed down her face. The stealth-suit wearing tormentress had pulled out a rotating brush of some kind, akin to an electric toothbrush and was applying it with devastating effect on Chuchi’s nylon-clad soles. She would gleefully pull back the toes on one foot, as Chuchi desperately waggled and jerked about, trying to shake the foreboding fingers aways as they pressed into the sensitive digits, but the resistance would be destroyed as Noush enthusiastically scrubbed away at the base of the toes. Chuchi was thrashing and writhing on the bed as best she could in her tied-up state as Noush cleaned along and in between the toes meticulously with the toothbrush, carefully teasing in every little sensitive fold and niche.

“Shall we resume our negotiations, dear Senator?” Noush said, with mock sweetness. “You know, it occurs to me, I have associates on Pandora. How do you feel about the idea of us paying a visit to your family and friends? Plenty of laughter to spread around…”

The idea of spreading around such suffering was unthinkable, and Chuchi despised this mercenary for making such a shameless threat. There was definitely no honour among thieves.

“Fine, she spat. Have the code. Leave my people alone!” As a resigned Senator Chuchi recited the code for the smirking vixen.

“It a pleasure negotiating with you, Senator. Now forgive me while I pay a visit to your Jedi friend. Here’s a little thing to keep you entertained,” Noush pulled out a cord and tied the tickling tool to Chuchi’s reddened soles. She turned it on, and took one last look at the Senator’s contorted, mirthful expression before leaving.

“Now for the Jedi brat…”


Ahsoka was snoring loudly in her bed, determined to ignore any sounds the clanking tin hut they called her quarters might throw at her. She was solemn in her vow that she would not let gallivanting couples interrupt her sleep again. She closed her eyes and tried to ignore it all, even as the Force niggled in the back of her mind, but as she found herself drifting between sleep and consciousness, she felt a nagging sensation in her brain trying to wake her up. The sensation became more and more insistent, sending shivers down her spine, till it became clear that Ahsoka was not imagining things. There was unmistakably a presence.

Ahsoka sprang from her sleeping bag – at least she tried to. She only got up an inch before slamming back down onto the floor. Her sleeping bag seemed to have metamorphosed into a cocoon overnight, with cords tied around her ankles, knees, sides and arms. The sensation that had awoken her up was a pair of fingernails lightly pinching and wiggling her toes.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” a dark-haired woman with a Cheshire cat grin said. “I do hope you forgive the interruption – these toes of yours are just too cute…” Ahsoka shuddered as the strange woman pinched and teased Ahsoka’s littlest toe. She tried to conjure the Force, but suddenly she noticed the furry creature in a cage next to her bed – a Ysalamiri!

The woman followed Ahsoka’s gaze, and giggled, all the while continuing to stroke Ahsoka’s toes. “I brought a friend with me – couldn’t have your annoying Jedi powers get in the way of our conversation.” Ahsoka gulped as she stared at the notorious Force-blocking creature – the presence of such an animal lead to even more questions: just who was this woman, what did she want?

“Whahahat do you want?” Ahsoka shouted, trying to keep the trembles out of her voice (somewhat unsuccessfully) as the mysterious woman continued to stroke and stroke.

“I’ll be right with you in a minute,” the woman said, as if she was dismissing a fan asking for an autograph. “Let me play with these tootsies just a little more…” Ahsoka was not about to be docile and wait as her feet were being tickled, but she had to wait as the woman in the dark cat-suit continued her playing. She cupped the smooth tops of each shapely foot with her palms and moved each foot around – the bottom of the sleeping bag seemed to have been cut away with a laser which was why the soles were exposed, but Ahsoka was too busy trying to hold in her giggles to be bothered about her sleeping bag being destroyed.

The woman made Ahsoka’s feet flex back, to show off the deep arches without wrinkles. She tittered, and dragged a slow fingernail down the center of her sole, digging deep and sliding the fingernail up her arch; Ahsoka yelped. The fingers went back up to provoke the toes, but Ahsoka’s toes quickly scrunched defiantly. “Little Miss Jedi doesn’t like having her feet played with, does she?” the woman teased. “Don’t be a killjoy…”

The queer woman applied just the right amount of gentle pressure against the round bottom of Ahskoa’s supple heels to force them to spread and hooked a finger into all the little spaces between each one, tormenting the sensitive gaps between each toe. Giggling to herself, the woman switched feet after a few moments and did the same to the other foot.

“These feet of yours are just too cute,” the woman laughed, as she pulled her fingers away and gave Ahsoka’s soles a needed respite. “Couldn’t help myself – never tickled Togruta feet before!” she nodded her head, poking Ahsoka’s orange soles again. “But down to business. My name is Noush Shadowmane, and I will be your tickler for the evening.”

“Wait, what?” Ahsoka was so dumbfounded she honestly did not know how to respond, which in hindsight, probably had been why Noush had said that.

“I’m going to be tickling you, silly! Everyone knows how tough Ahsoka Tano is… glad I could finally get my shot at you,” Noush giggled as she reached out a single fingernail and dragged it along Ahsoka’s heel, marvelling at the way the Togruta Jedi jumped at even this slightest touch.

Ahsoka had no idea how the tales of her ticklishness had somehow become so widespread even this random nerf-herder knew about it, but she had much more pressing issues to deal with, as Noush dug into her soles with all ten fingers. Noush’s fingernails meandered all over Ahsoka’s orange soles, which were reddening by the minute; she would always make sure to give Ahsoka a little extra special stroking every time she stroked along the arches and the toes.

“I thought Chuchi was ticklish, but you’re so much more ticklish it’s not even funny! Well, maybe it is a little funny,” Noush grinned toothily, as she flicked her nails right on the extremely sensitive spot just below Ahsoka’s big toe. “You sure are laughing a lot!”

Ahsoka couldn’t deny the torrents of laughter that were billowing from her lips as her tormentor tickled her responsive soles effortlessly – yet why had no one come to save her yet? Surely they could hear her laughter! To her dismay, Noush seemed to read her mind and leaned in to whisper: “Don’t worry, I sound-proofed the room. We won’t be interrupted.”

The Yslamari sniffed the air, and walked around in its cage, the only witness to Ahsoka’s tickle torture as Noush’s nails scribbled faster and faster.

“Now, frankly, I could tickle you till the cows come home,” Noush stated, as she wormed a finger through Ahsoka’s toes and wiggled frantically. “Yet I’m afraid to say I am on the clock here. I hope that doesn’t disappoint you,” she said sarcastically, as she raked her fingernails around the smooth ball of Ahsoka’s left foot.

“Juhuhuhust whahahaht dohohoh youhihihi wahahant!” Ahsoka bellowed in ticklish frustration. A bit of tickling she could handle, but she had just been tickled far too much these past few days.

“Nothing major,” Noush said, pausing to tickle Ahsoka’s ankles and the tops of the feet. She kept Ahsoka in more agonizing tickle-fuelled anticipation as the distraught Jedi waited to hear what these demands were. “Just your half of your code for the on-ship vault. I like me some pretty rocks. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

Ahsoka wanted to say “I won’t let you sabotage the Republic’s negotiations with Iridu!” but Noush was currently scratching her fingernails right into Ahsoka’s tender arches, so it all came out as “Ihihihihihi wahahahahant lehehehehehe ohohohohohoho gahahahahsh!”

“You need to mull it over. I understand,” Noush said, with a mischievous smirk as she pulled away from Ahsoka’s soles for a second and reached into her pocket. “Besides, I brought a toy I’m just dying to play with…”

Noush pulled out a varnished feather, black as her catsuit. She used one gloved hand to push back Ahsoka’s soles, rending the squirming sole taut and whisked the feather across the soft, ticklish flesh. The feather danced over the trembling sole, stroking gently on Ahsoka’s sensitive digits and sending the exhausted Jedi into an incomprehensible hysteria as tears stung her eyes. As the feather began to draw around her arches and soles, her heels and toes, and in-between her toes, Ahsoka bucked, and screamed as loud as she could for help, but the infiltrator had done as good a job as she claimed and no one was coming to her rescue.

There was nothing Ahsoka could do but writhe within the confines of her sleeping bed as Noush kept flicking the feather at her feet, and soon she was screaming at her to stop. Noush kept an iron grip on Ahsoka’s toes, so that she could trace up and down the soles with ease and keep the foot pinned in place. Noush pulled back the toes on Ahsoka’s right foot, and quick as a flash, the feather's tips found its way between Ahsoka's slender, long toes, and her protests turned into squeals and then giggles. She kept sawing back and forth, putting the soft skin between her toes through explosive agony. Her giggles kept coming, and soon she was shrieking as her entire body lit up with the tickling sensations coming from her toes – she was called Tickle Toes Tano for a reason, after all.

Once Ahsoka seemingly found a way to get her laughter under control, Noush released the tired toes from her grasp, while she scratched at the deliciously soft and sensitive soles with her other hand; all the while, the feather continued its toe teasing. The fingers crept from the ball of her foot to the heel and then from one side of the sole to another; the marauding fingers multiplying the sensations that the feather was causing.

Ahsoka somehow conjured the energy to curl her toes again, but the incredibly soft feather combined with the fingers sliding up and down her soles were sapping her will and her sanity at an alarmingly rapid rate. The scrunching of her toes also made the wrinkles in her soles become more pronounced, which made Noush giggle at Ahsoka’s display.

"Be a good girl and uncurl those toes...", Noush cooed. “Let me play with those toes again…”

Ahsoka shook her head defiantly.

"Oh, playing hard to get? I like that… now uncurl those toes for mister feather..." Nousk giggled, as she began tracing the wrinkles in Ahsoka’s scrunched up soles with the feather.

Ahsoka’s endurance quickly ran out as one strategic stroke of that diabolical feather under the toes made the Togruta’s laughter rise up to frantic levels, and she unwittingly uncurled her toes.

"Good girl..." Noush said, grin growing from ear to ear, as she immediately ploughed straight into the gaps between the toes with finger and feather, and Ahsoka’s found herself roaring with even more frantic laughter. By the time you realize you've done what she wished, it's too late....

“Ready to talk to me yet?” Nousk crooned softly, as she worked her feather in between Ahsoka’s toes, hitting all the worst ticklish spots. “I’ve already got Chuchi’s half of the code, and if you need more time to think it over, I can go back and play with her for a while longer…”

Ahsoka shook her head, and she couldn’t bear the thought of the Senator having to go through such unimaginable torment.

“I could make it even worse for her. I could make her really suffer. Could you live with that, Jedi? Letting innocents suffer on your behalf?” Noush said, in a whisper. And Ahsoka realized she could not. She never could. No Jedi could.

Her head drooped as she reluctantly gave Noush the information she required.

“Don’t be down, little Jedi!” Noush said, standing over Ahsoka and grinning. “There’s still a few more hours before my ship arrives to take me off this crate, so how’s about we enjoy our last few hours together. Smile!”

Noush spun the feather around, and took the pointy end of the feather and pretended to write something on the arch of Ahsoka’s foot.

“I’ll write an apology to the Republic here! Sorry for stealing your goods…” Noush recited slowly, as she scrawled her ‘apology’ into Ahsoka’s soles. Needless to say, when the mercenary finally left Ahsoka alone, revenge was very much on her mind. The loquacious woman had accidentally let slip she was on her way to the Smuggler’s Moon for her next mission and Ahsoka wasn’t about to let such a scoundrel get off scot-free…




Do you prefer upperbody or lowerbody (feet) tickling? 

70 deviants said Lowerbody
31 deviants said Upperbody


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Sunking88 Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2014
Happy Birthday
oneortheother Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2015
MtkMichele Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2014
Happy birthday! ;)
oneortheother Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2015
MtkMichele Featured By Owner Jan 5, 2015
You're welcome!
stod7 Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2014
Happy Birthday! :D
oneortheother Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2015
Technaboom Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2014
Happy Birthday!
oneortheother Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2015
Orion1000 Featured By Owner Nov 23, 2014
Is there any chance of story where Ahsoka or Chichi lose one of their boots being written? Are you into shoe loss?
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