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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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Hi.

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)

Draconians:

I hate those damned Solaris, but they have one thing right. The flames of conflict are a delicious one indeed. They plant their seeds, and we burn their fields to the ground, and the cycle goes on. Every now and then we capture one of those ‘intellectuals’ and show them that their rationality and logic is powerless when you have a claw raking up and down your soles, but I digress – you’re here for tales of valour and battle, yes?

Stories of bloody glory await you.

---

The Timaeus Empire:

Who doesn’t love a plucky underdog? The empire aren’t the strongest, they aren’t the bravest, and they sure as fuck aren’t the smartest. But what they are good for is persistence – you can beat them once, but sure as the sun rises, they will be back to battle again.

How can you not admire that?

Captain Comet watched the battleground from her fortified perch, her arms crossed as she surveyed the situation. Wave after wave of Timaeus troops were throwing themselves against her Paxim defences, and wave after wave of them were being thrown back.

It was like watching a brown trickle of sand being buffeted by the wind, as she watched the Timaeus soldiers crash against their electrical defences again and again. Doubtlessly, they had been ordered by their Empress to take this fort, no matter the cost, Comet though, internally shaking her head. Their Empress had not won any victories during her reign that were worth bragging about, unless one included winning an all-expenses paid trip to Amiens’s royal dungeons for a private session at the hands of the council due to repeated violation of international treaties. The Paxim were at least democratic in their elections of leaders, though Comet would have to admit that her people did not always make the most well-informed choices – their last commander had been elected less on the strength of her sword-arm and more on the sparkle of her nails, though to be fair, they had looked fabulous.

These brutes did not look like they had any appreciation for art and beauty, Comet sneered, as she took a glance at her shimmering orange nails and stared down at the crimson and bronze rabble below. The Timaeus were humanoid in shape, but they lacked the Paxim’s grace and elegance. Their forearms and shins were covered in bronze scales which made them look like they were wearing copper chainmail armour. The scales did not extend to the soles of their feet and under their arms however, and Comet could see from the display below that that Timaeus toes were probably as ticklish as Paxim appendages. Their roughspun crop tops were brown , along with crimson cloaks which bore their Empress’s sigil, though why they would want to be associated with that brainless warmonger was beyond her.

Perhaps Comet was being too hard on them – their territory had tripled since the Empress had taken over with her expansionist policies, but they had initially owned such little territory that even that did not seem like a great accomplishment, especially since their tactics had simply been to spread out over unclaimed land like ants and swarmed over unprotected areas till they took over through sheer numbers.

For the first time, Comet felt a quiver a fear as she glanced back down at the battlements. She wasn’t underestimating her foe, was she? Sandal-clad Timaeus troops were charging headlong into a forcefield with crude tickle-spears, which sent them hurtling back while Paxim snipers gunned them from the high ground, although some of the Timaeus had patchwork shields which absorbed the blasts harmlessly. Several Timaeus women were giggling on the floor, the skin along their stomach and soles flushed red from repeated critical hits to ticklish spots from the shooters.

Comet saw the Timaeus’s resolve breaking, and sensing an opportunity, she called out to her troops on the ground. “Pursue! Let’s finish them here or we’ll fight this battle again every day!” She was taking no chances with the infamous Timaeus persistence.

She saw the remnants of the Timaeus army flee back, with her Paxim gunners hopping off their perches to continue their barrage of tickle-blasts. She hopped down to lead the assult herself, a tickle-pistol in hand.

But what happened next caught her completely off-guard.

A hail of spears greeted her Paxim girls as they left the safety of their defences. Comet barely missed a spear that whizzed over her head like, well, a comet. The Timaeus had a reserve lurking just out of sight! The spears jolted against the Paxim armour, and many of the girls dropped their guns or missed their shots. To make matters worse, the Timaeus which the Captain had decided were neutralized were suddenly picking themselves up the floor and charging at the backs of the Paxim troops, catching them in a textbook pincer manoeuvre. Comet blasted a smirking Timaeus trooper charging towards her in the chest, but a hand grasping her ankle made her next shot go way off.

“For the Empress!” the Timaeus soldier said, and damn, she was a pretty one too, with her honey-coloured eyes and a shock of short, curly, chestnut brown hair. Damn them all, Comet thought darkly, as the soldier wrenched at Comet’s boot, making the Captain tumble to the floor in a mess of limbs. The pistol went spinning away, as Comet landed on her back, the breath knocked out of her. She could see chaos and pandemonium as she lay on her back as her girls were overwhelmed.

Comet’s best shooter, a redhead named Mars, was trying to aim with her sniper rifle as a Timaeus girl hopped on her back and was tickling her feverishly under the arms.

The most fashionable fighter on the Paxim squad, a raven-haired girl named Libra, had a Timaeus seated on each limp, as a squad of their reserve took to tickling every spot on her body. Libra’s high-pitched squeals as they peeled off her armour and began planting raspberries on her toned, pale stomach rung out plangently even over the din of battle.

The Paxim captain twisted left and right to help her comrades, but the Timaeus trooper straddling her had no intention of making it easy for her, as she slipped slender fingers with bronze nails under Comet’s tunic to tease her ribs. Comet squealed and tossed her head from side to side, realizing too late that she was getting dust into her flaming-orange hair to add salt into her wounds.

She heard a familiar shriek as she saw, Virgo, her right-hand was pounding her manicured fists against the hard, unforgiving floor as a pair of Timaeus legionnaires sat on her legs and began pulling off her high boots to get at her nyloned soles. Comet had tickled Virgo’s purple-painted toes enough times to know that she had to save her friend before she went mad from the tickles. Comet twisted even harder, but the fingers questing along her stomach stopped her from making any kind of progress. How could they have lost to the Timaeus Empire? How? It didn’t make any sense…

The Timaeus girl seemed to recognize the frantic confusion in Comet’s orange-eyes, and grinned a smug smile as she leaned in to whisper in the Paxim’s ear.

“Want to know how we came up with this plan? Tell me your worst ticklish spots and maybe I’ll tell you…”


Comet’s howls of laughter joined the other Paxims as she felt a finger delve into her belly-button. She hated to admit it, but it seemed like the Timaeus had already found them.

Oh, you better believe our pawprints are all over this one. We were really quite the matchmaker… we set the Timaeus Empire up with their own Julius Gaius Caesar….

O-O-O

The Hattori:

A lone wolf who stalks the night for prey and plunder is dangerous… but when the wolf joins the pack, they become deadly. And we set this wolf to be the alpha of the largest pack in the galaxy… it is your move, Solaris.

Legate Laetitia bent her knee at the foot of the great throne. Timaeus pride made her resent bowing to anyone but her Empress, but if her knee was the price of the alliance with these strange but capable creatures, then so be it. At least she was not being asked to do more than that…

The Timaeus Empire’s new tactical advisor lounged comfortable in the throne she had requested. It had been built to her own tailored-specifications, and the shape of it made Laetitia queasy. It was large and black, with soft brown leather and intricate symbols carved into the metal, but what caught the eye were the armrests.

On each armrest, there were a set of cushioned ankle holds where a pair of soles could fit snugly, within easy grasp of those seated in the throne. The throne has essentially had a built-in stockade for one’s personal amusement. It was a vile contraption, Laetitia thought, as she bowed her head and glimpsed the two lying on the floor on mats who had been ‘volunteered’ for the stocks. One was a Paxim with pink-hair, whom Laetitia had no sympathy for – such was the spoils of war. But on the other armrest was a Timaeus trooper, who had the unfortunate reputation of astonishing sensitivity along her soles, which made her very popular with other soldiers who enjoyed lees with ticklish feet, and those who wanted to ‘persuade’ her for favours. Both of them were flopping about in plain sight as their toe-tied tootsies were tormented, though both had been gagged so they would no disrupt the proceedings. The Legate watched the pasty-white soles of the Paxim and the bronzed brown soles of her comrade dance their ticklish dance as the seated figure lazily tickled them through gloved hands as she sat up to address Laetitia (finally).

“Rise. What do you have to report, Legate?” the Hattori said in a bored tone, her voice muffled by the queer masks all Hattori did to obscure their faces. Laetitia had often wondered what they were hiding under their painted masks and loose, ornate robes.

“Your strategy worked perfectly. We broke the Paxim formation and are hunting down the stragglers now,” Laetitia said, as she tried to peer through the depths of the black eyes of the mask.

“Of course it did. The Paxim always were more concerned with their clothes than good tactical sense,” the Hattori said, redoubling her attacks on the pedicured Paxim soles on her right. The Pink-haired girl let loose a shriek that was even audible through the gag as her soles were under attack from both feet, striking under and in-between those bright pink-painted toes. “First rule of battle, and perhaps life as well – if something looks too good to be true, chances are, it’s a trap.”

Laetitia nodded benignly, as she resisted the urge to stick a finger in her ear and rummage about for earwax to show how bored she was of this preaching. Her people might not have the best reputation when it came to tactics, she admitted, but she was not about to blindly trust the advice of this Hattori stranger just because she had fluked her way into one victory. But Laetitia had her orders, and she would carry them through. Perhaps the Empress would renege on their agreement, and Laetitia would be the one sitting in the chair as she discovered what Hattori soles looked like and how ticklish they were.

“I can see distrust in your eyes, Legate,” the Hattori said, as she shifted her fingers to torment the Timaeus soles on her left, which was as naked a threat as Laetitia could think of. She had to choose her words carefully… Laetitia might be fierce and strong for a Timaeus, but she had no doubt the Empress viewed her as expendable. She was of average-height, and with her short sandy-brown hair and tanned skin, the only thing that truly distinguished her was her improvisational skills in combat. She had been court-martialed several times for her not following what she perceived as suicidal orders, and being sent to the disciplinary courts had not been fun. Just the thought of being sent there again made her sandal-clad feet twitch. They had sentenced her to a public humiliation penance the first time, and she had been tickled by every citizen of the city, and she could still recall all the forks, brushes and other utensils they had applied to every inch of her bronzed, ticklish body.

“I am only concerned for what is best for the Empress,” Laetitia said diplomatically, her eyes downcast as she watched the ticklish Timaeus girl laugh – her name was Abelia, Laetitia suddenly recalled.

“So in other words, you do not trust me,” the Hattori said, standing up, and for a second, Laetitia thought the mysterious woman was going to attack her, but she simply threw her head back and laughed. “Good to know you Timaeus aren’t all trusting fools. There may be hope for your people yet. Come, walk with me,” she beckoned.

Laetitia followed the hooded, masked woman apprehensively, taking note of how with each step of the Hattori, she was perfectly balanced on the balls of her feet so her soft-soled shoes made nary a sound on the floor. Laetitia remembered the Hattori were as elusive and stealthy as ninjas, and wondered if she was walking to a cell in the dungeons. She put a hand on the hilt of her tickle-dagger as she walked.

 “You seem less spineless than your sisters-in-arms,” the Hattori said, and Laetitia assumed the comment was supposed to be flattery.

If I wasn’t less spineless, I would tackle you to the ground, rip that mask off, and tickle you silly, damn the consequences. Laetitia badly wanted to say that, but she bit down on the retort and gave a non-committal grunt instead.

The Hattori laughed. “I know what you’re thinking,” she said, as she turned around to glance at the Timaeus Legate. “You reek of suspicion and hostility. You want to know why I’m here, and why your Empress trusts me.”

“And your name too,” Laetitia blurted, and Laetitia laughed again.

“My people do not use names the same way most races do. We all take objects that reflect our duties as our names, and each object can only be used by one. My name is ‘Beacon’ because I shine the light of wisdom and understanding everywhere I go. Just because so many of us are mercenaries does not mean we lack of a poetic side,” she paused. “I can give your answers, but you can never forget what you’ve learned. Do you want to know? You will never see your Empress in the same light again.”

Laetitia chewed her lip, and nodded, knowing that she would kick herself for turning down this opportunity. If this woman was really a threat to the Empress, Laetitia would be in a good position to eliminate her too…

“Follow me,” Beacon said, and Laetitia followed, a palm on the hilt of her tickle-dagger as she walked.               

O-O-O

Laetitia’s mouth hung open as she watched the video monitor; she was too speechless for words. They were in a large viewing chamber with a large video screen which was currently broadcasting the Empress’s private antics in super-high definition, and despite the resolution of the video, Laetitia simply could not believe what she was seeing. This had to be a fake!

“Oh, it’s real. The Empress commissioned us to buy those machines herself – the Timaeus don’t want to be seen buying bots from the Faen. They have their reputation to worry about,” Beacon snickered.

Laetitia could only gap at the video that was playing on the screen, blessedly on mute.

The mighty, regal Empress of the Timaeus Empire, with her curled copper locks, diamond tiara and immaculate make-up looked far from royal and leader-like. She was strapped in some giant white-metallic frame that had her eagle-spread and upside-down. The queer metallic device held her vertically, with her arms and legs engulfed by suction-like holes around her knees and elbows, which held her tightly to the contraption.

A myriad of ghastly electric tickle-devices sprouted from the device, and Laetitia was ambivalent as she half-wanted to tear her eyes from the sight of her beloved Empress being tickled, but at the same time she was captivated by the tears of laughter and roars of mirth coming from that pulchritudinous, royal face. The Empress was wearing nothing but her royal lingerie, and the sight alone was considered treasonous, but Laetitia could not look away as she saw remorseless robotic fingers wiggle into the Empress’s underarms, held firm by the suction-like grip. The fingers retracted after a while, and Laetitia gasped as three little brushes, the size of basting brushes, dusted every inch of those perfect hairless armpits. If the Empress found the brushes more unbearable, she did not show it, as she simply laughed and laughed, a giddy grin plastered on her face.

Laetitia tore her eyes away from the Empress’s red-face, to peer down at the rest of the device. A triplet of tiny wiggling feathers was dancing along the royal collarbones as the Empress tossed her head from side-to-side, sending her bronze curls flying to and fro. A pair of electric massagers was vibbing the Empress’s ribs and sides, and a pair of stiff, varnished feathers rotated in shortly after. The same treatment was mirrored on the Empress’s bronzed thighs, though in reverse, so when massagers vibrated and stimulated ticklish flesh on her ribcage, feathers licked at her inner thighs, and vice-versa. The Empress had a jewel in her pierced navel, an another feather questing around it, and Laetitia found the sight of the Empress’s spasming and jiggling stomach disturbingly alluring. The Empress’s knees were bent back, so her feet were hidden from view, which Laetitia found disappointing, though her inner patriot was yelling at her for being so callous for wanting to see every spot on the Empress tickled. Closer inspection of the device yielded more questions than answers.

The device was clearly intended to provoke gales of ticklish torment, but the whole device just did not add up… Laetitia had spent more than enough time in them to know that, her tummy queasy just from the sight of so many devilish tickle implements. Something about the design of the machine looked off. There were plump cushions and soft padding around the back and shoulders of the device, which made it clear that it was no typical tickle torture device designed for dungeon use, but that just made it even more confusing. There were a pair of monitors in front of the Empress’s visage, but it wasn’t till the camera panned round that it became apparent what was on them.

The Empress’s flawless royal soles were on display on them, a pair of perfect bare bronzed feet with paler soles and long sensitive-looking toes finished with a gorgeous deep crimson and gold varnish, the colours of the Timaeus Empire. Also, on the second toes of both foot, the Empress wore jewelled toe rings.

“They were as sensitive as they looked,” Beacon said, noticing where Laetitia was glancing, and the Legate could not think of anything so say as she watched the royal soles dance.

Tiny metal clamps gripped the big toes and the little toes and spread them out, so each foot was taut and immobile, as a swarm of ticklish pests tormented every inch of those radiant soles. Laetitia watched in horror as a pair of brushes buffed at those reddened royal heels, while a quintuplet of smaller brushes, around the size of toothbrushes buzzed about the Empress’s quivering digits.

The Empress’s eyes were glued to the monitor as she watched her soles getting ravaged by those brushes, yet she never once seemed to mouth the word “stop”. If anything, she seemed to enjoy the tickling the longer it went on, and Laetitia saw the word “more” appear on her perfect, lush lips more than once. The grin that blossomed on the Empress’s face when the brushes were replaced by a pair of combs was the happiest smile in the universe. Something in Laetitia’s mind snapped at the sight of the swoony smile, and Laetitia drew her tickle-dagger and pointed it at Beacon’s throat.

“What the fuck was that?” she said, the dagger at Beacon’s collarbones.

“Language,” Beacon smiled, then answered properly. “Your Empress isn’t perfect – she’s as perverted as the rest of us.”

Laetitia felt such a rush of indignant patriotic fury that she slashed her dagger without even thinking.

Beacon snickered. “I warned you.”

“Explain this! Now!”

“Your Empress enjoys the sense of domination. She is a true submissive at heart. It’s unfortunate that she rules this Empire of yours, because she knows she can never show her true side to anyone – who would dare tickle the Empress? So she commissioned a machine who did the job for her. She presented this video to us as a sign of good faith.”

“Good faith?”

“A sign she would not betray us. Blackmail material, really,” Beacon said, as she watched the screen where robotic fingers were currently scratching the Empress’s regal soles with long, sharp, artificial ceramic fingernails. “She gave us a few other videos too. Want to see them?”

“No!” Laetitia said, not knowing if her heart could see her Empress being, being… demeaned like this! Laetitia said no, but her eyes were drawn to the screen as if they were magnetized. Liberal quantities of babyoil were smeared across the pampered royal soles, as the long, sharp hands slide easily across the slick surfaces as if she were wearing nylon stockings of the highest quality.

The fingers weaved across the soles like a pianist coaxing the sweetest symphony from the ivories, as they hit every spot she targeted even with the poor bare feet twisting, writhing, and jerking around in desperation, curling their toes as best they could despite the toe bondage.

And no part of the tortured royal soles were spared – Laetitia could only watch as the fingers varied from figure-8's, to jiggling all over the bottoms of my feet, to running them side-to-side to hard, to spreading them out four wide and raking up and down the slick oily soles, constantly changing intensities of light, hard, fast and slow to stimulate the ticklish nerve sensors in every which way possible.

“I’ve seen enough,” Laetitia repeated, as her fists quaked and she knew what she must do.

O-O-O

O-O-O

The painted grin on Beacon’s mask seem to widen as Laetitia charged at her. The Hattori was nimbler than she looked under those loose robes, and she neatly sidestepped Laetitia’s charge. A growling Laetitia charged again, but this time Beacon stuck out a foot, so the lumbering Timaeus Legate went sprawling across the floor.

Beacon straddled Laetitia quickly from behind, binding the Timaeus’s left arm behind the back, and using her whole body’s weight to push down Laetitia’s left leg till it bent at the knee. Quickly taking advantage of her foe being pinned, the left sandal was whisked away as Beacon’s gloved hands began exploring the expanse of the bronzed Timaeus sole. Laetitia’s right arm was free, and she made swipes at Laetitia from behind, but they were mostly ineffectual with the assault on her bare left sole.

“You’re upset,” Beacon said matter of factly, as Laetitia pounded her fist into the ground as she snorted with laughter. “This should help you get your mind straight.”

Laetitia’s boyish laughter suddenly went up an octave as a long, snake-like tongue suddenly retracted from the Hattori’s mask and lapped against her sole for a moment.

“Oh, you like the tongue, do you?” Laetitia heard Beacon say, and she could hear the mirth in her voice. Laetitia was not an owl, so she could not turn her head 360 degrees to see the tongue, but she could definitely feel it as it slithered through her plump brown toes. After weaving between the gap between her big toe and her second toe for what felt like an hour, the tongue zipped up to trace along Laetitia’s bare neck and along her earlobes, with her short hair giving the Hattori plenty of exposed bronze flesh to explore, all the while the hand at Laetitia’s foot never ceased its movements.

Beacon grinned beneath her mask, then gently tugged the mask down to her neck. The mouth that hid behind the Hattor’s mask moved, and with the tender touch of a lover, began to nuzzle the back of Laetitia’s neck and along her ears, planting kisses all over the sensitive flesh that had already been teased by her tongue.

     

The moan that escaped Laetitia’s throat as Beacon’s cool lips kissed her ear was not missed byt the observant Hattori, and she did not fail to notice how Laetitia’s Timaeus toes would toes curl with pleasure at each moan.

“Don’t you worry… I’ll show you why your Empress enjoyed this so much…”

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

The Solaris:

When you live forever, what more is there to do in life? I am one of the Solaris, and I twist this universe into how I see fit. My people have mastered every language, every skill and seen every inch of the planets. What is left but to see the ingenuity of the sentient mind? The strands of fate and destiny are my tools, and I wield them as skilfully as a puppeteer wields strings. Seeds of discord are planted, nurtured, fertilized with fresh sprinkles of antagonism if needed, and realized. The worlds and their petty conflicts are the only entertainment left that amuse us.

This is our garden, and we hope you enjoy the fruits of our labour. Now this first one is a ripe fruit we are especially proud of…  

---

The Humans:

Oh, how I admire those Humans. Them and their diplomacy, as if they really believe talking could solve anything in a world we’ve rigged to lust for conflict. They run this lovely little planet by the name of Amiens, where every race has their ambassador who endlessly lies and blusters about what they race is really trying to do - oh, intrigue and politics… it is the most delicious of fruits.

The Secretary-General of this little house of deceit and diplomacy is a human by the name of Desiree, who is as pretty as she is intelligent, and she is very pretty, with her sheek brown hair, dark blue eyes and strapping physique. You could easily imagine her conducting business in a back room with luscious pillows and soft silk.

The Ambassadors were a constant mess of back-stabbing, plots, vendettas, and secret alliances – in other words, incredibly fun for us to watch as these races desperately tried to win the Game of Tickles. Little do they know that by choosing to play at all, we have already won.

The lovely Secretary-General was overseeing a meeting between all the key races in the Galaxy. They were discussing the ramifications of an unprovoked attack of the Dryads on a Faen’s exploration vessel on the planet of Lomond.

“It was a cowardly attack! Without any provocation or declaration of intent,” the purple-skinned Faen ambassador, Java, said, her tone calm but stern. She adjusted her spectacles. “We demand recompense for the damage done, and the right to punish the Dryad commander who authorized this assault.”

Desiree wanted to roll her eyes, but that wouldn’t do in a meeting like this. The Faen were sore about losing so thoroughly, and they were kicking up a big fuss right now because they were embarrassed, that was clear as day.

“It was far from unprovoked,” the Dryad ambassador, Ivy, glared, as she tossed her green-hair back over her should ruefully. The Dryad wore a more formal robe of leaves than her people generally chose to adorn themselves with, but it still exposed plenty of her skin as green as a grassy summer’s meadow. “You violated intergalactic policy on the preservation of natural habits.”  

“Is this true, Ambassador?” Desiree asked, stapling her fingers together as she fixed the Faen command with a cool stare.

“Baseless accusations,” the Faen ambassador said calmly. “I hope someone as wise as the Secretary-General will not take such hearsay for fact.”

 “Look at what your people did to Lemond! How did you explain that if not your vile machines?” Ivy growled, slapping her slender green hands on the metal desk, jolting everyone to attention.

"Hmmmm..." Desiree began, and then stopped herself, feigning a moment of introspection, but in reality she was trying to cover for a queer sensation under the table. Oh, those bastards. The human had crossed her shapely legs beneath the table and she suddenly felt her high-heeled sandal drop from a nylon-clad sole. Desiree wore always wore black as it was a neutral colour, but her opaque black stockings definitely applied her ticklishness, and boy, could she feel it. Desiree grit her teeth as she stared up and down the table wondering whose ploy this was. Was it the Faen, trying to distract her so she would rule in their favour? Was it the Dryads, wanting her to think it was the Faen? Was it another race, trying to damage interracial relations?  

“Calm yourself, Ambassador,” Desiree said, though the phrase could also have been for her own benefit as a finger began lightly scratching under the ball of her foot. Her mind worked furiously, as she ruled out the races with claws or tentacles. The nail was sharp, but the touch was lazy, as it zigged and zagged along the sole as if mapping out all the ticklish spots, of which there were many. The silky surfaces of her stockings allowed the fingers to slide in smooth, rounded patterns effortlessly, sometimes drawing large circles and other times quickly wriggling along a spot that seemed especially sensitive.

“I represent the fury of my people,” the Dryad spat. “We taught them a well-deserved lesson, yet you seek to punish us for it? We did the galaxy a favour!”

The Dryad Ambassador then went on a lengthy tirade on the evils of scientific development, a lack of respect for the environment, the preservation of rare species and habitats, and god-knows what else, because Desiree was barely listening. There were two hands spidering over her sole now, and Desiree had to feign a cough when those fingers teased the gaps between her pedicured pink toes. She tried to cover one foot with the other, but the hands were quick to snatch away her other shoe the second the opportunity presented itself, so now she had two ticklish soles exposed instead of one.

“Enough,” Desiree said, bleary-eyed, putting an end to the Dryad’s oratory. She placed her feet flat on the floor. “The Dryads took it into their own hands when they should have consulted Amiens,” Desiree knew was speaking more quickly than she should have, but the nails were stroking over the tops of her feet now, along the insteps as well as scratching the sides, which were almost as ticklish as her soles.

The Dryad began bickering indignantly again, but Desiree closed her eyes, frowned and raised a hand to silence her. The closed eyes weren’t just for effect, as the hands were currently picking insistently between her prettily-painted toes, which wanted to make the human leap off her chair and scream.

“You heard the Secretary-General,” the Faen ambassador said with a sweet smile. “Now let us negotiate the terms. I suggest your leader of Lemond, whose name I believe is Raffia, join our sensitivity program for the duration of one year as a form of community service for all the research she destroyed.”

“One year!”

The Faen and the Dryad began a lengthy series of negotiations as they haggled and threatened, as the Secretary-General desperately wished for the meeting to end so the hands would stop their assault on her nylon-covered soles.

Little does she know the one having so much fun tickling her soles is none other than her second-in-command who covets her place. She seeks to embarrass the Secretary-General so she loses credit. How can you not love Humans and their diplomacy? It is simply the war of tickles by another means.

O-O-O

The Ashini:

Diplomacy is all well and good… but there are some darker species whose idea or diplomacy is interrogation, in which point your choice is between a feather and a hard place…

Neptune had always hated spiders. She was been on a routine mission as a Paxim negotiator between Paxim worlds, where her ship had stumbled into an asteroid field. She had landed her ship as best she could and set off her homing beacon, but her would-be rescuers turned out to have more villainous intentions in mind. Friggin’ bugs.

She was eagle-spread on a giant’s spider-web, all her carefully-chosen fashion negotiator attire stolen by those buggers, with silky webbing around her bare ankles, wrists and mouth. Her baby-blue eyes were wide and teary as she could nothing but wait. She heard the ominous skittering sound that were the footsteps of the Ashini, whose colony she had inadvertently stumbled upon. Well, perhaps footsteps was not quite the appropriate term, as the insectoid Ashini had no feet. They were arachnid-like from the waist down, with six spindle-like legs, although from the torso up they could be mistaken for any humanoid aside from the long set of feelers which sprouted from their head. They were gloves and simple vestments over their midsections, fashioned in the silk all Ashini were capable of creating, and Neptune couldn’t help but notice all the toned stomachs and underarms that were in display as the Ashini filled into the room. The Ashini came in a variety of colours, though Neptune found their dull browns, greys and blacks drab and tacky compared to the Paxim’s own colourful garb.  

Being lifted in on a plump cushioned throne supported by a dozen other Ashini was a woman who could only be their Queen. Her dark hair was curled into fashionable ringlets, and her sleeveless grey top was woven with the Ashini emblems. Her black gloves reached passed her elbows and were embroidered with white spiderwebs.

“Hello, my dear, welcome to our little colony,” the Queen said, with a sly smile. “We hope you have been enjoying Ashini hospitality, but it’s not every day such a juicy fly falls into our webs,” the Queen skittered off her royal litter to where Neptune lay bound and gagged against that giant web. The Paxim envoy grunted and mmphed into the gag, but the Queen simply smirked.

“You want to talk? There’ll be plenty of time for talking later...” the Queen said, as her nimble, velvety fingers caressed Neptune’s armpits, making the Paxim girl giggle and toss her head from side to side, sending her sky-blue hair flapping.

The Queen gestured lazily with a finger, and Neptune closed her eyes and threw her head back into the soft webbing. Damn friggin’ bugs.

As the Queen contented herself to play with Neptune’s upperbody, some of her lackeys had taken up the slack for Neptune’s legs and feet. Two had latched onto her webbed feet and were licking and nibbling her toes, while massaging and caressing the soles with their fingers. They sucked onto Neptune blue-painted toes like they were sucking on lollipops, and their soft tongues and sensual touches were have a diabolical effect on Neptune who enjoyed a bit of playful worship as much as any overworked Paxim grunt. These damn bugs had the softest tongues… they felt like hot feathers that sneaked between her toes that tickled and much as they turned her on.

Two more were lightly lapping along Neptune’s milky-white thighs with their tongues, while tracing their velvety touch all over her knees and waist. Neptune could already feel her body revolting against her as a fire burned within her stomach and water began seeping out of her womanhood as if to try to put out this fire.

The Queen grinned with an air of regal supremacy as she trailed her fingers across Neptune’s plump, perky breasts and laid them there tauntingly. She paused, looked into Neptune’s fearful blue eyes and leaned close.

“I hope you don’t mind… we haven’t tasted a Paxim in years…”

Neptune could only whimper into her gag as the Queen leaned down to admire the Paxim’s moist, dripping womanhood. She didn’t have much time to even brace herself, as a lazy hand gesture from the Queen sent Ashini scurrying to tend to Neptune’s stiff nipples. Some used their fingers to nudge the stiff buds, some used their fingers, and some even used their feelers, but it all blended into an erotic haze as Neptune tossed her head to and fro as her sensitive breasts were stimulated. The handful of Ashini were a flurry of constant motion, a caress here, a fondle there, and a few scattered kisses meant that Neptune didn’t even know what to think as a stubborn cloud of arousal dulled her thoughts.  

Neptune tore her eyes open and forced herself to watch the Queen, shuddering as she felt feelers lightly flicking the hardened tips of her bosoms. The Queen licked her lips, and lightly flicked her tongue along the Paxim’s sopping-wet womanhood. The Queen would pause to lap up the orgasmic fluids tricking down her legs, occasionally missing a few drops to the delight of the Ashini still teasing Neptune’s knees and thighs. The Queen’s feathery-tongue was too much. Neptune closed her eyes, gnashing her molars together as she willed herself not to scream in ecstasy as the Queen sucked and sucked.

Watching was almost as bad as not watching, Neptune decided as she shook her head wildly as if doing so could deny what was happening. The tongues on her feet had doubled to four, to ensure both her toes as well as her high arches would not the sensual touch of Ashini-feather tongues for a moment. She had given up trying to count what in the world they were doing to her rock-hard nipples and throbbing breasts. She arched her back as the Queen and her royal tongue continued to do cruel things to her womanhood. When the orgasm came, and it came quick and hard, Neptune’s mind was frazzled that she barely heard the Queen’s words as she wiped her lips and returned to her litter.

“Keep her going for a few more hours. And step it up a few notches. See if she wants to tell us all about her mission then…”

Neptune screamed threats and begs for mercy into her gag, but it was no use. The Queen left, and the grinning Ashini continued. A lucky Ashini with short brown hair took the Queen’s place, and whispered in Neptune’s ear.

“I hear an orgasm makes you even more sensitive…” she said, sticking her feathery tongue in Neptune’s ear and making the Paxim squeal from the sudden sensations.

As tongues, feelers and fingers proved the truth of this statement, Neptune could only think one thought.

Friggin’ bugs.

Were we cruel for sabotaging the Paxim's aircraft to ensure such crashes occurred every now and then? Perhaps, but the Ashini were most definitely grateful for Neptune's company...         

O-O-O

The Primos:

Although some of plants flourish underground, that does not mean we do not see them… for we see everything. In the dark undergrowth of the cities, all manners of excitement and pleasure can be found for the right price.

Sabre growled as she pushed her way into the dinghy bar, The Fox’s Fire, the bartender glared at her as she walked in. Sabre strolled up the bartender, who was a purple-skinned Faen with the initials ‘SF’ on her nametag, trying not to recoil at the stench of this place. The whole city, no, the whole planet stank of sin and sewage. This cesspool of a planet only had one good thing about it – it was easy for a Primos to find a fight.

“I’m here for the club,” Sabre said, leaning on the counter and then promptly regretting it as there was now a black smudge on the brown fur of her arms. Like all Primos, she had short, soft light-brown fur over most of her body, with her chest, stomach, and inner thighs all making up a cream-colored underbelly of very fine fur, which she currently had hidden under loose fitting garb. Her shoulder length mane of auburn hair and large green eyes caught the attention of every hot-blooded and semi-inebriated creature in the louche tavern.

“We ain’t got no club here,” the Faen bartender said, polishing a glass with a rag.

“The first rule about the club is you don’t talk about the club. I’m a member. Now where are they? I’m on the clock.”

The Faen fixed Sabre with a piercing stare – it looked lie those flinty grey Faen eyes of hers were sizing her up. “A drink might help your performance.”

Sabre tossed a few credit chips on the counter, which the Bartender promptly scooped up before handing Sabre a fizzing green liquid.

“The basement,” the Bartender said, as the pointed to a stairwell behind the counter, as Sabre knocked the drink back. Sabre was led through into a spacious basement crammed with rowdy people of all species. The crowd parted for her, recognizing her fiery mane of red hair as well as the fact Primos was an uncommon species on a backwater planet like this. She strode towards the centre of the basement where she saw a wrestling ring await her.

“Thought you’d fucking pussied out,” a red-skinned Boudo laughed as she waited inside the ring.

“Wouldn’t miss a chance to beat your sorry ass again,” Sabre replied as she walked into the ring and tugged off her overcoat – protective clothing gave you an advantage, so it was prohibited, and the fact was that half-naked women made a better show.

The Boudo leering at her was Akiko, whom Sabre had sparred with several times at other underground fight clubs like this one. Akiko was one of the few regulars who reliably gave Sabre trouble, as she was cat-quick and agile, while Sabre tended to overwhelm her opposition with her muscular frame. You could call them rivals. Sabre didn’t like all the tricks Akiko would use during their fights, but she was a nice, tough, matchup. Sabre remembered how easy flattening the Dryad she had fought last time was – her tricks with her vines weren’t any good as soon as Sabre’s using her tongue on those Dryad soles of hers.

Now that Sabre had arrived, there was a flurry of activity as gamblers made their bets. Sabre stretched as she stared at her foe, who wore the same cocksure Cheshire grin as she always did. What new tricks did she have up her sleeve this time? Further incentive to win was that if you lost, you were the establishment’s entertainment for the night, and Sabre had no intention of being strapped in a pair of stocks or whatever nefarious bondage device a dinky bar like this surely had.

A tatty-looking referee signalled to the crowd that the match was about to begin, and the roar of the crowd begun to echo across the walls of the basement – there was a lot of money riding on this match, Sabre could tell, but she wasn’t doing this for the money, though it was nice. She loved to fight, and she fought for honour of her people. Every battle she won proved the truth about her race – that they were the true fighters of the galaxy, second to none, definitely not the reckless and undisciplined Boudo.

Sabre fell into a fighting stance, her light-brown fur skin matching well with the white vest and shorts she wore. She wore no shoes or socks, of course. The Primos had quadruped paws instead of feet, but they were no less sensitive there than other species, and Sabre’s claws had served her very well in her battles.

Akiko wore dark undergarments which clashed nicely with her red skin and short dark hair, a mocking smile on her face. Sabre’s favourite tactic was to tackle her foe to the ground, and use her big muscular hands to hold both her foe’s wrists with one hand so her other hand could tickle with impunity – it was a simple technique, but often effective, and she went for it right away as the referee hopped out of the ring.

She charged at Akiko who pirouetted away, landing a glancing poke on Sabre’s left side as she darted back. Sensing that Sabre’s was off-balance from the prod, Akiko tried to sweep Sabre’s legs away and send the larger girl tumbling top the floor, but Sabre saw the blow coming and managed to reach down and snatch’s Akiko’s slender red ankle . Akiko’s eyes grew wide, and sensing an impending foot tickle session by Sabre’s clawed hands, threw her body into the Primos and sent them both tumbling to the floor.

Akiko wrestled her way on-top, as she dug her fingers furiously under Sabre’s arms tll growling giggles came spilling out. Akiko pinned her beneath her legs, and continued tickling as the referee hovered close, signalling the beginning of the ten-second count Sabre had to struggle free or be declared the loser.

“I got you this time, you big bitchy furball!” Akiko cackled as her hands continued plunging into Sabre’s armpits. Sabre grit her sharp teeth and despite the vertiginous sensations the tickling was having on her mind, found the strength to squeeze the Boudo’s red-thighs, with electrical effect. Akiko quivered as if she were being electrocuted as Primos claws dug into her ticklish flesh, and her grip weakened enough that Sabre was able to twist free before the count was completed.

Sabre could see her smaller foe was running out of gas, as she launches a flustered blow at the Primos’s head which was easily sidestepped, with Sabre slipping her fingers into her opponent’s exposed hollows for good measure. As Akiko was giggling, Sabre took advantage of the shift in momentum to barrel into her, and right when Sabre thought she might have her foe pined, Akiko wiggled like some red snake and slipped her way loose. Sabre did managed to get hold of a red foot, however, which was a good enough consolation prize as her clawed fingers began teasing across the flesh, reddening it even further with her sharp tickly touch.

Sabre was thinking that she had this in the bag, until she realize Akiko had somehow clung to her own calves like a limpet, and had caught her own feet in a iron-like grasp. Akiko held Sabre’s ankles in the crook of her toned, muscular arm and was letting her hand go wild over the trapped, wiggling soles. The Primos had paws, but they were no less sensitive there than other species, which was a fact Akiko was taking keen advantage of.

All Sabre could do was tickle back with the slender, anklet-wearing and toe-ring adorned sole she had in her own grasp, at a major disadvantage because she only had one of Akiko’s feet while Akiko had both of hers. All she could do was grit her teeth as raspy, growly splutters of laughter came spilling loose as the soft fur of her soles was petted and stroked by unkind Boudo fingers.

Sabre redoubled her efforts on the sole in front of her face, going right at the long, unpainted bare toes and the slightly-callused high arches,  as both muscle-bound women frenzied, hysterical laughter filled the room, the battle coming down to a fierce foot tickling battle.

The audience waited with bated breath at each squirm and smirk and squeal, with one eye on the clock. Akiko and Sabre were too preoccupied with their ticklish soles to take much notice of this, but there was a timer signifying the end of the match, and if the match was not decided by then, both competitors would find themselves in the tickle stocks by the end of the game.

And isn’t that the perfect ending? No winner, no losers… simply laughter all around.

O-O-O

O-O-O

For every creature that craves the light, we find many who prefer darkness. And who are we to dissuade them? In the dark is where the fun occurs…

The Varanids:

It was nightfall in the city, which was just how Venom liked it. She slipped along the roof, peering down at the balcony of the mansion. The guards had been easy enough to evade, and the skin tone of the Varanids made it child’s play to blend with the shadows and escape notice. Her sandals crunched softly as Venom landed on the balcony, and her mouth curled into a little smile, with her tiny fangs poking out, as she realized the balcony gate had been carelessly left open.

The fact she was disrupting the Ashini ambassador on Amiens just made it even better. The Varanids and the Ashini shared a common ancestor, but their philosophies varied wildly. The Ashini were content to work themselves into an early grave, but the Varanids were willing to make something of their lives instead of being mindless cattle who obeyed a Queen. Venom was sick of the communistic nonsense she heard the Ashini spout, and had taken this contract quite happily. Not enough that she didn’t haggle for a raise, but still. Venom gave the door a cautious push as she slipped inside, quiet as a shadow. 

Venom flexed her hands, making sure her prongs were out. Every Varanid had poison running through their veins, but not the lethal kind – it was part aphrondisiac and part tranquilizer, though not in that order, and it was a major reason why so many Varanids made their mark as thieves, pirates and bounty hunters. Ships cruising near the Varanid homeworld had to expect to be raided, boarded, and tickled silly by the Varanid Homeguard, though they were at least generous enough to merely demonstrate their superiority before departing.    

She crept around the room, avoiding the piles of precariously balanced papers that looked like they would fall at the slightest touch. She could hear sounds of merriment and laughter from the floor below, but that was no surprise – she had timed her breaking-in to coincide with some dinner party the Ambassador was throwing downstairs, as it gave her the perfect window of opportunity. She had been given a map of the building when she accepted the mission, so she made a beeline for the master bedroom where her prey would await. The Ashini Queen’s own daughter was the ambassador here, and Venom was salivating at the chance of tickling royal blood. It had been years since she had gotten a chance to tickle such a high-ranked official – she had accepted a mission a while back to abduct a prominent Dryad on behalf of the Boudos to send a message that those shrubs and their pollen would not be welcome in their side of the city. Venom could have clawed her nails up and down those pale-green Dryad soles for weeks…

Venom was so caught in her vivid daydream that she almost walked right into the door, which would have been very unprofessional indeed. A quick twist of the doorknob showed the door was locked, but that was no problem. She bent down, reached into her cloak and began fiddling with a lockpick. She had just about cracked the code when a spray of gas suddenly came shooting from the door! Venom breathed in the foul, acrid air in shock, and before she could even register what was happening, she had slumped down onto the carpet, unconscious.

---

Venom woke up to the sight of the smug Ashini princess staring at her.

“My, my, isn’t this a surprise,” she said, stroking her embroidered gown. Venom growled as she realized she was topless and placed in some kind of stockade. She remembered the map of the building and realized the ‘winery’ was probably the architect’s way of saying ‘custom dungeon’. A quick glance around showed that the dungeon got more than regular use. A purring and yowling Primos girl in a rack in the far corner of the dungeon, as a pair of well-dressed Faen teased her chest and pawed feet respectively.

“My two friends over there helped designed the security that caught you,” the Princess said, with a feral grin. “You’ll have a chance to thank them personally later, I promise,” she said, her proclamation sending shivers down Venom’s spine.

Another glance around the room showed more guests, as well as other Ashini scuttling about with serving trays. There was a well-dressed Boudo woman pouring wine into the deep navel of a pale-skinned human girl, and slurping and lapping it off with her tongue. A Dryad lady was putting on a show with her tentacles and a eagle-spread Paxim girl with hair like sunlight, and even a trio of Ashini with their wrists bound to manacles along the wall were being tormented, just to show that the Princess was happy to pimp out ever her own kind.   

Was the ambassador entertaining guests at some kind of perverse dinner party? Those goodie-two-shoes humans definitely would not approve of what was going on down here… maybe Venom could leverage that information somehow…

The princess seemed to be reading Venom’s mind. “If you thinking of blackmailing me, then you clearly don’t know me or my mother very well. We Ashini have our own way of dealing with unwanted guests… There are a lot of powerful people in this room, and it would not be hard to make you disappear.”

Venom grit her fanged teeth and said nothing.

“Don’t want to talk? No problem – much more fun that way,” the Princess smirked, with a smile that was as pretty as it was an infuriating. She gave an appraising eye down Venom’s body. Like all Ashini, her long, smooth body was greyish-black and covered with smooth scales dark black scales, though needless to say, the scales did not cover the delicate hollows under her arms nor the paler grey skin on the soles of her feet. 

“Every Varanid seems to do hers black,” the Princess commented, as she stroked under the toenail of Venom’s big toe, which had been painted a jet black. “You all seem to be slaves to fashion just like the Paxim…” she whispered mockingly, as her sharp fingers began a dance across her soles.

Venom flinched from the touch, but refused to give her captor the satisfaction. Her lip was pursed in a tight, thin line. She tried to keep her face still as stone, and never reveal how sensitive her soles were to every casual flick or pinch from the Princess’s royal fingers. Her smile blossomed into a silly, helpless grin as the Princess discovered the gaps between her slender talon-like toes, but it seemed her lack of a reaction had bored the Princess.

“You’re not as fun as I thought you would be,” she sulked, standing up. “I’ll come back when you’re warmed up a bit more… the night is still young…”

Venom wasn’t sure what to make of such words, till the two Faen scientists seated themselves in front of her, and pulled out a pair of contraptions from their pockets – an electric toothbrush and some kind of massager by the look of them, which did not bode well at all.

As the brush scrubbed under her toes while the massager gave her ribs and hips a thorough ‘massage’, Venom was too wet and too winded to think, and she saw more party guests stepping up to take the place the Faen aristocrats had just vacated.

“Prihihihihincess! I wahahahahant to tahahahalk!”   

                     

O-O-O

The Galaxy's Guide to Ticklishness
A compendium of sorts for my two 'Battle' stories. 

Really struggled with a title for this one, so if anyone was expecting a Hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy story I apologize for misleading you!
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(Contains: nudity and sexual themes)

Battle of Lomond II – Dryad

O-O-O

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…

O-O-O

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. 

O-O-O

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.

O-O-O 

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

O-O-O

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.

O-O-O

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.

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(Contains: nudity and sexual themes)

Battle of Lomond I - Faen

O-O-O

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…”

O-O-O

“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.

O-O-O

“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.

O-O-O

“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.

O-O-O

“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!
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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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Do you prefer upperbody or lowerbody (feet) tickling? 

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Happy Birthday
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Happy birthday! ;)
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Happy Birthday! :D
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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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