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Just a few words

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

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

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

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Opening Commissions Officially.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Star Wars TK: Ahsoka IX

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

Star Wars TK: Slaver Shenanigans

“Did I mention I have a bad feeling about this?” Ahsoka Tano asked, as she walked down the dusty trails, fetters clinging to her ankles and wrists.

“You sound like Anakin. He always says that whenever there’s some business he wants to get out of. I heard him say that once before entering a lavatory,” blue-skinned Aayla Secura chuckled as she held Ahsoka’s chains with a gloved hand like a leash.

“Well, maybe that was a different kind of bad feeling…” Ahsoka giggled, grateful that the older Jedi was trying to lighten the mood. The Jedi had another tricky mission on their hands – they were going undercover to dismantle a Slave Ring on the Outer Rim, with Ahsoka posing as the slave to be sold and Aayla the slaver. They had both donned appropriate outfits for their little deception, with Ahsoka dressed in a skimpy outfit and Aayla garbed in roguish vestments complete with an eye-patch for the shady smuggler look.  Aayla’s pseudonym for this operation was “Aurora”, and although Ahsoka had initially argued that their roles be reversed (Twileks tended to be slaves instead of slavers, after all) she had to admit the older Jedi looked quite the part in her rusted armour with a blaster at her hip.

Ahsoka stepped gingerly into the junkyard where the slaver ring would be gathering, as pebbles and glass crunched underneath her thin sandals. Ahsoka looked upon the gathered rabble of slavers with trepidation. She spied a few Toydarians, whose natural Jedi-mind trick resistance might make things difficult if they got messy. There were a few big muscular Gamorreans about too, and she saw many of them wearing those Neural Bands which were always a smuggler’s favourite – they were nicknamed ‘Shocky’ as the bands sent mild electric shocks to improve concentration and mental fortitude. The neural band reinforced various synapses throughout the brain and provided alternate conduits for electrical impulses within the mind, making the wearer's thoughts difficult to affect. Ahsoka and Aayla’s lightsabers had been stashed away in Aayla’s belt pouch, but the fact that The Force might not be able to get them out of any trouble was worrying.

And to make matters worse, just like Ahsoka had feared, the slavers were immediately suspicious of Aayla’s race – her gender probably didn’t help in the sea of testosterone either.

“Who are you? This is no place for dancer girls,” A beady-eyed Rodian burbled in Rodese.

“Do I look like a dancer?” Aayla hissed, as she placed her hand on her blaster. “My name is Aurora. I’m here to sell a slave, not take jokes.”

The Rodian wilted under Aayla’s steely glare, but many of the others looked quite bemused by Aayla’s aggressive display. “Twileks make better slaves than slavers,” a green-skinned Gamorrean grunted.

“Maybe we’ll give you a good deal if you dance for us!” A helmeted slaver called out, and many of the assembled scumbags guffawed with laughter.

“Hey, you shut up!” Aayla shouted, but Ahsoka could tell the crowd was not impressed by her blustering. They were in serious danger of being laughed out of here if Aayla didn’t do something quick; they clearly were not buying the eyepatch and the whole costume.

“Girl is no slaver. Girl is soft. All talk,” the first Rodian snorted, and for a moment Ahsoka thought they might be laughed out of here or worse.

“Now now, my friends… let us not be so rude to new patrons,” a cool voice rang out from the crowd, as sharp as a knife. A leggy fox-like humanoid strode through the crowd, a roll of spice in her mouth and flanked by two muscular bodyguards. Ahsoka recognized her as one of the Vix, a rare race of humanoids with bushy tails.

“There’s no reason a woman can’t be a slaver, right?” the woman said, her tone making it clear that her henchman would deal with any who disagreed with the statement. The crowd fell silent, though Ahsoka could still hear grumbles and murmurs from the Rodian.

“Forgive my colleagues, but we do not see new races here very often… you will allow us to… verify you, correct?”

“Of course,” Aayla said, though Ahsoka noticed beads of sweat on her brow.

“Show us you aren’t just some nerf-herder… torture your slave. Prove that you’re really one of us.”

Ahsoka saw Aayla’s grimace twist into a grin like she had some kind of epiphany. “Of course. I know just the way to do it too,” she said, wiggling her fingers.

“Oh gosh…”


“Go easy…” Ahsoka whispered as Aayla shackled her to a crude pillory. It wasn’t quite the type of stockade the tickle enthusiasts they had encountered on their travels used, but it would suffice for their purposes. The weakness of the bondage was actually to Ahsoka’s strength, as the slackness of the bonds meant she could shift her feet around to dodge the brunt of the tickling – it was a luxury you didn’t have when you were strapped down in a dozen places with all your individual toes tied back.

There was a murmur of confusion as Aayla bound her ‘slave’ and stripped Ahsoka of her sandals, revealing her soles to the audience. The audience was clearly expecting bastinado or some other kind of gruesome physical trauma, which is why they were dumbfounded when the blue-skinned Twilek ‘master’ was brandishing a feather duster instead of a whip.

“Does dancer girl want to clean her slave before sale?” one of the Rodians who had mocked Aayla quipped, clearly having no idea what sensations a feather duster could invoke in the right hands.

“It is a rather… unconventional method,” the Vix female slaver commented.

“Unconventional but effective. Whips damage the merchandise,” Aayla said, pleased with herself for getting the slaver terminology correct. She adopted the appropriate slaver sneer as she whisked the feather dusted up and down the flailing, kicking soles, as Ahsoka giggled her boyish laugh.

Aayla kept the light motion on the soles, but within moments she could see that this wasn’t quite working as she had hoped. Many of the slaves gaped in confusion initially, but they quickly dismissed her and turned around, several of them shaking their heads. Ahsoka was giggling, but she was clearly not a holonet award-winning actress – you needed to do more than snicker lightly when you were supposed to be undergoing extreme tickle-torture! The Jedi Knight had banked on the fact that Ahsoka’s ticklishness on her appendages would be enough to sell her credentials as a heartless slaver, but Ahsoka didn’t seem to realize that now would be an excellent time to beg and cry and scream even if the tickling itself was comparatively mild.

Aayla knew it was now or never as even the Vix was beginning to glance away, so she aggressively hooked Ahsoka’s toes with the hand that wasn’t holding the feather duster and pulled them apart and back and dusted along the ball of the foot and the toes. If Ahsoka was a method actor, then this should do the trick…

“Ohohohohho, nahahahaht thehehehehere!” Ahsoka squealed, letting loose a high-pitched shriek that caught the attention of every slaver gathered. With her squirming foot in Aayla’s firm grip, Ahsoka’s sensitive, high-arched foot had to take the dusting head-on, as Aayla dusted every spot on those bubble-like toes with flicks and swipes from the innumerable feathers on the feather duster.

“I wouldn’t laugh about things you don’t understand,” Aayla said, glancing back at her enraptured audience. “Most humanoids are ticklish here, especially if you give them stockings and things to wear. It’s just about approaching the situation smartly,” she lectured as she continued dusting her ticklish tool all over the Togruta's soles.

“NO, ANYTHING B-B-B-UT THAT! STOP-P-PP-P-P THAT REALLY TICKLES-S-S-S,” Ahsoka howled, wiggling the toes of her free foot. Aayla smiled as it was clear Ahsoka had finally realized she had to put on a good show for these slavers to establish their slaver credentials, as she yowled and twisted in her bonds in a convincing fashion... or did it really tickle that much? Aayla sure hoped she would not have to find out any time soon, her toes curling in her boots at the thought of all those bristly feathers sliding up and down her arches and around her toes… it was a scary thought.

The Vix shot Aayla a Cheshire cat grin.  “I have to admit, that certainly sounds effective… Maybe I should give your methods a try.”

“If you think that’s bad, you should try your bare hands!” Aayla offered, emboldened by her success. It was clear this Vix was the one to impress here, and it seemed like she was curious about the tickling technique Aayla had exhibited; Ahsoka would understand…

Aayla hooked Ahsoka’s big toes and pulled them back, extending the tendon and heightening her arches till the sole was tantalizingly taut. The Vix extended a clawed finger and lightly dragged it down the heightened arch, licking her lips as she saw the way Ahsoka quivered as the nail lazily grazed along the sole.

“Yes… I can see the merit in this method…” she murmured, as she used her index fingers to lightly trace along the immobile soles.

“Try using more fingers, and really dig in those arches – you see there? Right where those wrinkles are?” Aayla pointed out helpfully, though Ahsoka shot her a death-glare which probably was for the best. It would definitely have been in-character anyway!

The Vix nodded and grinned to herself, showing off a mouth of sharp little teeth as her claws scratched at Ahsoka’s sensitive wrinkles along the balls of the foot and the arches, which were still being held still by Aayla’s iron grip.

“Hey, does tickle tickle work on Twileks too?” A broad-chested Gammorean grunted from behind. Aayla couldn’t actually see him, but she deduced from his noxious stench that it had to be one of those pig-like Gammoreans. 

It sounded like a dig at Aayla, being a Twilek herself, but it was too risky to antagonize a ‘fellow slaver’ in case he was not being disingenuous. “Of course,” she said, without turning around. “Try digging in the toes there,” she added, to the Vix.

“You know, I think I’ve seen you before…” The Gammorean oinked, as Aayla forced herself to control her breathing and turn around slowly.

“I’m sure all my people look the same to you. All Gammoreans look the same to me, in any case,” Aayla said, forcing her voice to be calm.

“No, I’m sure I’ve seen you before… didn’t you dance at Hobba the Hutt’s bar last week?” the Gammorean said, and the crowd burst into mocking laughter.

“I’ve had enough of you!” Aayla snarled, her anger only half-feigned as she drew her blaster and pointed it between the Gammorean’s tiny piggy eyes. In a flash, blasters were being drawn left and right, with the majority aimed at Aayla.

“Calm down... Put the blasters down, we’re here to do business…” The Vix said, reassuringly, and Aayla could see blasters lowering. “But now that my associate mentions it… you do look familiar… Jedi.”

Aayla could only snap her head back to stare at the Vix in shock before a hard impact to the back of her head knocked her to the floor.

“You’ll pay for coming here… Aayla Secura…”      


Aayla Secura had just had the worst dream… she had dreamt that she had been captured by a group of savage slavers, but thankfully, she knew she was still at the Jedi Temple, and would set off for her undercover operation in a few hours. She yawned and moved to rub her eyes, only to find that her arms were bound. Her eyes fluttered open, and she grimaced. So it hadn’t been a dream after all. Aayla’s head felt so fuzzy… it felt like she was still dreaming. There was a burning incense in the room that was made her head feel like it was filled with flowers that intoxicated her with their sweet scents.

“Wakey, wakey,” a cool voice said, as Aayla began struggling in her bonds. She was in some kind of tent, and tied down to a chair with some cords, which had been tied with the attention to detail of a professional slaver or consummate kidnapper.

“Who… who are you?” Aayla said, squinting at the figure. The feminine features looked familiar, but the smoke of the room was making her eyes water and her head swim.

“Forgotten already? The spice must be doing its work. We deal with spice as well as slaves, of course,” the fox-like woman smiled. “My crew call me Vixen. I imagine they think they’re being clever.”

“Vixen?” Aayla snorted, giggling uncharacteristically at the lameness of the pun. It was such an unoriginal name for a Vix to be called Vixen! Aayla chuckled despite herself, and her perilous situation.

“I know, pretty funny, right? I think the Giggledust pumping through your veins is helping,” Vixen said, gesturing to a needle on the table. Aayla recognized the name. It was an illegal substance, which invoked giggly euphoria, as implied by its name. It made everything seem humorous to the consumer, as they experienced a euphoric and highly alert state, but what Aayla hadn’t known, was the sense of mirthful ecstasy was preventing her from focusing her force powers. Aayla could dimly sense Ahsoka somewhere nearby, and she could sense Vixen’s playfulness intermingled with a bit of fear, but conjuring the power to bust free from her bonds was a bit beyond her at present.

“There were more powerful options on the table,” Vixen said, as she traced a slender finger along the light blue skin of Aayla’s cheek. “But it seemed the more fitting choice considering what you had just shown me. The diabolical art of tickle torture,” she said, bearing a grin that looked more than a little feral. Aayla had never noticed how sharp her teeth were.

“So I offer you a deal… I know the Jedi are a force to be reckoned with. My humble crew would not survive a sustained conflict with your precious Republic. You turn a blind eye to our… activities, and I’ll offer you some of my associates,” Vixen said sweetly, with another wide grin that sent shivers down Aayla’s spine.

“Associates? You mean your competition?” Aayla said slowly, not wanting to aid the rise of the next drug lord.

Vixen’s face darkened. “You sound as if you are declining my offer. Tell me I am mistaken.”

Aayla laughed. “Why would I help you?”

The frown turned into a cruel smile once more. “Why? Let me give you two, big…” Vixen paused, and pulled off Aayla’s boots. Aayla wore dark stockings under her boots, and they felt a bit damp from the perspiration. “Ticklish reasons,” she finished, as she traced a finger down each sole playfully.

Aayla immediately burst into snickers of laughter. She definitely wasn’t this ticklish before! It must have been the blasted Giggledust!       

“You look conflicted. Let me give you some time to think it over. Don’t worry, I’ll entertain myself in the meantime,” Vixen smiled, her sly smile making it crystal clear exactly how she planned to spend her time – with the pair of sensitive Jedi nylon-clad soles in her villainous grasp.

Aayla bit her lip as she knew all too well what Vixen’s words meant. You didn’t have to be a Jedi to know where this was going. She took a deep breath and she realized that the Vix was revelling in the sense of domination she had over the famous Jedi warrior. She knew from her experience with smugglers and her own Jedi mental probing that many criminals lived for the sense of adrenaline-fuelled euphoria that came with a conquest. Even if Aayla agreed to this deal, the Vix would not pass up the opportunity to make the mighty Aayla Secura, famed Jedi Knight and Republic war-hero squeal and giggle under her ticklish ministrations. She would simply make up an excuse and tickle her anyway, so Aayla kept her mouth firmly shut.

“Nothing to say? Then I’ll take that as my cue to start,” Vixen smiled, flexing her fingers and grinning, just as Aayla knew she would.

The Vix’s grin was wide and diabolical, like a predator that had finally ensnared a defiant foe. Vixen rubbed her fur-covered hands lightly over Aayla’s blue soles, making the Jedi shudder and squirm in her bonds as the soft fur brushed against the sensitive skin of her soles. Vixen’s fingers lightly stroked and wiggled Aayla’s bubble like toes, almost as if she was playing some kind of childish nursery rhyme. During the toe-play, Vix’s hungry eyes never left Aayla’s face as she watched the powerful Jedi react to every little fondle and contact of her slithery, fuzzy fingers on Aayla’s slender appendages. Vixen was content to chase Aayla’s scrunching and flapping feet for a few minutes, like a seasoned hunter toying with its prey, but she soon tired of having to constantly seek out Aayla’s wiggling sole to plant her tickling strokes.

Vixen’s fur-covered fingers grabbed at a foot, and pulled the bold blue toes back. She giggled as she watched Aayla’s body squirm to each caress, each flick, and each line she drew down the taut ticklish sole. It was not in Aayla’s character to surrender so easily, so she tirelessly surged against her bondage and tried to wrench her foot free from Vixen’s grasp, but the Force seemed to be busy elsewhere, and Aayla’s limbs were soon sore and tired from the chaffing. The constantly stroking of Vixen’s furry fingers along her helpless, ticklish soles constantly sapped at her stamina.

Aayla achieved a minor moral victory when she managed to twist her feet away and firmly clamp her toes shut, in the hopes that she could deny fuzzy fingers unimpeded access to the undersides of her toes, but Vixen simply stopped for a moment, stroked her chin, and began brushing the tops of her soles. After a few moments of tinkling tickles along the insteps of her feet, Aayla’s body betrayed her as she couldn’t help but open her toes back up reflexively. Then, Vixen pounced like a prowler whose quarry had stumbled foolishly into the open, and grabbed the quivering Jedi toes, pulled them back, and tickled everywhere underneath those ticklish little digits. It was impossible to ignore the disturbing revelation that Vixen had claw-like fingernails that was devilish effective in citing ticklish sensations.

The Vix continued playing her sadistic little tickle games – another new one she enjoyed was to grab hold of one of Aayla’s feet, and then while the Jedi was bracing for an impending tickle assault on the trapped appendage, she would quickly land a swift tickle on the other, unexpecting foot. The mind games were a devious sort of psychological torment for the Jedi, as she laughed peals of uncontrollable laughter.

A tight, ticklish grin was stretched across the Jedi’s face as Vixen played those ticklish tootsies of hers like she was strumming an instrument of laughter; and play, play, play she did, as a melody of laughter wafted from reluctant Jedi lips. Aayla reached deep into her Jedi discipline to prevent herself from caving, though even she would later have to admit she was close when the Vix discovered secret ticklish spots along the centre of her soles and the sides of her feet she had never even known existed.

“Still haven’t come to a decision, young Jedi?” Vixen said, a smile playing on her lips. “You Jedi are such suckers for punishment.”

“A Jedi cannot be coerced,” Aayla glared, pursing her lips, but the effect was ruined by a casual swipe at her left foot by Vixen’s razor-sharp fingernails.

“Bold words. I see you still need to think it over,” Vixen smirked, as she put two fingers to her lips and whistled. Aayla’s stomach gave a lurch as half a dozen slavers came sauntering into the room, many of whom those that had mocked her in the courtyard.

“We want to try tickly tickly,” one of the lumbering great Gammoreans oinked. 

“Try away,” Vixen smiled. “Excuse me while I visit your ‘slave’, Aayla Secura. Try to keep yourself… amused, while I’m away.”

Aayla tried remind herself that there is no emotion, there is peace, but it was difficult to focus on the Jedi platitudes when an array of fingers and ghastly other tickling implements appeared before your ticklish feet.


“Wakey, wakey, slave…”

Ahsoka’s head was still sore from where she had been knocked out, and as per usual, the Force seemed to be busy elsewhere as she found herself in bondage yet again. She really had to stop getting herself into these situations… Her tormentress this time was the furry Vix woman who seemed to be one of the leaders of the gang of smugglers. She hovered over the bound Ahsoka like a strikeforce waiting to board a trapped ship. Ahsoka’s was tied to a chair, with her arms bound firmly behind her back while her feet were tied to a footstool which also propped them up for easy tickling access. Ahsoka had done this enough to know how things would go.

Ahsoka sighed and took a deep breath. “You know I’m not a slave, I’m a Jedi.”

“Are you now? You look pretty tied up, and I believe you’ve signed a contract offering your body for services.”

“There’s no such contract!” Ahsoka shouted indignantly.

“There’s isn’t?” the Vix said, pausing for a moment as she tapped her chin with a sharp fingernail. “Oh yes!” she said, snapping her fingers. “I was just about to write it now…” she reached into her purse and pulled out a quill. “But I seem to have run out of material to write on… ahh, this will do, won’t it?”

Ahsoka should have known better, as her thin sandals were promptly thrown off, and the scratchy quill slowly traced down the arch of her right foot, making the Jedi squeal. The Vix seemed delighted by this reaction.

“Your soles seem almost as sensitive as Secura’s… ohhh, we will have fun writing this contract, slave,” she giggled to herself as she admired the soles before her. They were small and slender, as befits Ahsoka’s short stature and Jedi dexterity, and they were surprisingly soft and supple considering its owners active lifestyle.

“What contractehehehe?” Ahsoka said, her voice quavering as she felt a single nail slowly being traced down the arch of her right foot. Ahsoka's eyelids fluttered and small giggles escaped before she clamped her lips shut. She began wiggling her feet the most she could, but that one nail seemed to never be pushed away. It travelled down to her heel and circled it once before travelling back up her arch. “Gahahaha, stahahap that!”

"How can I stop when I’m having so much fun?” Vixen giggled, letting her nail lightly tease the base of Ahsoka’s orange toes. She brandished the quill in her hand again, turning it around until she held the pointed end, as though she were planning on writing a letter. "Now, let’s get down to business… writing the terms and conditions of your slavery…”

Ahsoka’s indignant cries were shushed as Vixen began gently scraping the quill up and down her left sole from her toes down to her heel. At that point Ahsoka was too busy tossing her head back and screeching to voice any further complaints as Vixen continued to inscribe the contract into her ticklish soles.

“How do you spell Ticklish Jedi?” Vixen asked, as the quill tip scribbled furiously at the base of the arch. “I should really get that part in writing, shouldn’t I?” she asked rhetorically, as Ahsoka screamed in a hysterical, garbled mess as Vixen wrote "Ticklish" in Galactic Basic across the balls of her foot, taking extra care in every loop and flourish of her writing.

All Ahsoka could think was what was going on? Where was Aayla? Why wasn’t she here for a dramatic rescue?


“Is this your idea of a dramatic rescue, Jedi?” Vixen said, as she walked back into the room where the captive Jedi was housed, her high-heeled boots clacking off the floor. One of Vixen’s cronies had fetched Vixen from her ticklish ministrations with Ahsoka, as Aayla Secura had offered to make a deal. “If you’re just here to waste my time…” Vixen's voice trailed off ominously as she glared down at Aayla’s pale blue soles, which curled up protectively when the Jedi saw where she was looking.

“I… have considered your terms,” the Jedi said, looking disgusted with herself. “And I wish to put an end to Padawan Ahsoka’s suffering. You can have your deal.”

“The mighty Jedi master caving…” Vixen snorted, as she drew out a clawed hand and began stroking it up and down the Twilek soles that still laid there bound and helpless. “What is the world coming to?”

“Boys, come on in,” Vixen shouted, as a gaggle of her slavers came in, bearing cameras and other recording equipment. “Just a bit of insurance to ensure that the mighty Aayla Secura won’t go back on her mind. You Jedi can do nasty tricks to memory, but what is on the nets stays there forever,” she said, smiling a predatory smile. “Smile for the camera, Jedi!” Just about the last thing Aayla wanted to do was smile, but the fingers that fluttered up and down her soles took her autonomy out of the decision. They traced a devastating ticklish path along her pale blue feet, right along all the spots Vixen knew would be the most unbearable for the headstrong Jedi. Aayla desperately wanted to avoid embarrassing herself on camera, but not laughing was a lot easier said than done at this point.

“Put on a good show, Jedi… it wouldn’t do if we had to retake all this,” the Vix woman grinned as she slowly raked across those tender Twilek arches, tracing the lines of Aayla’s wrinkled soles. “Don’t worry, it’ll be your padawan’s turn next…”


“So how did your mission with the slavers go?” Anakin asked, as she ran into Ahsoka and Aayla outside the Jedi Temple.

“Don’t even ask!” Ahsoka and Aayla said in unison, as they marched past him, averting his gaze.

“Women,” Anakin laughed, shaking his head.



Star Wars TK: Mandalorian Mindgames

(This takes place at an indeterminate time during the Clone Wars, but after my stories ‘Mandalorian Mirth’ and ‘Ahsoka’s Revenge’).


Well, that went well, Ahsoka thought, as she walked the decks of the Republic vessel The Interceptor. She and Barriss might not always get along, but they definitely made a terrific team. Barriss had not been especially enthused to work together after Ahsoka’s pranks, but they had spent the better part of an evening voicing out their grievances (and spending a good deal of time ‘sparring’ in one way or another) and by the time it finished, Ahsoka’s feet were tingly, her throat was sore from laughter, and they were all friends again.

After Barriss had gotten her ticklish retribution, she had been keen to assist Ahsoka in getting hers – she had a debt to pay, and the Jedi always paid their debts. Ahsoka and Master Luminara had been bested by Bo Katan and Sooka, of the infamous Death Watch Mandalorian extremist group, through guile and cunning, but this time the heroes had proved themselves victorious. Barriss and Ahsoka, with their youthful vigour and ingenuity, had defeated Death Watch in a thrilling and tense battle. It would doubtless be made into a book if not a holo-net movie one day, Ahsoka was sure, but the key thing was that The Interceptor’s Cargo Bay had a pair of volatile Mandalorians begging for a little attitude adjustment, ticklish Jedi-style.

With Barriss at her heels, Ahsoka made her way to her two guests, her mind going back to her first encounter with them. Bo Katan was the Death Watch Lieutenant, and as tough-as-nails, and she was devoted to the idea of an ordeal through tickling. She definitely seemed a devout tickler, but Ahsoka was wondering if the redhead’s steely resolve would crack after a few strategically placed feathers. The brown-haired Sooka was an entirely different matter – mischievous, insubordinate, and as insolent as they came, and the Death Watch head interrogator and stim expert seemed like the type who would betray her comrade in a heartbeat, but Ahsoka could be wrong. She lived for the tickle torture, and it would be interesting to see if she could deal with what was doled out.

“Don’t you love it when a plan comes together?” Ahsoka asked rhetorically, as they nodded to Clone Troopers while walking towards the chambers where their two captives awaited.

“You know it,” Barriss nodded. “So what’s our plan now? Tickle them silly just for fun?” she asked, wiggling her fingers for emphasis. It seemed the young Miraluka had definitely caught the tickle-bug too, but Ahsoka had something more… intricate in mind.

“Fun is good, but I have something else in mind. I want to test their resolve and their loyalty to each other… the idea of an ordeal, and all. It seems fitting, don’t you think?”

Barriss raised an eyebrow. “Run that by me one more time?”

“Oh, you’ll see,” Ahsoka smiled, lightly poking her friend in the side. “Trust me, it’ll be good… very good…”


Bo Katan tested her bonds, grunting in frustration as the bindings refused to give way. The red-headed Mandalorian warrior wanted to blow her hair out of her eyes, but the gag made it impossible. She had been tied to a plastisteel chair, with her ankles tied to the legs of the chair and her arms bound behind her back. The Republic dogs had stripped off her armour and left her in their thin Republic prisoner rags, which protected little more than her modesty. Not that Bo Katan was feeling vulnerable or anything… her stocking-clad feet curled, feeling cold on the metallic floor. She took a deep breath. The remnants of Death Watch or her allies would be back to help her soon enough. She was sure of it. Across the room was Sooza, similarly bound. The other Mandalorian’s brown eyes were unreadable, as always. What was she thinking?

Sooza felt adrenaline coursing through her veins as she eagerly awaited her tickle torment to start. One glance at her nylons that had somehow been part of Republic prisoners uniform told her volumes about what was soon to occur – they would be tickled, without a doubt, and Sooza could not wait for it to start. The idea of being pushed to her limits… it thrilled her, and the fact she would likely get to enjoy the sight of their fastidious and overbearing Lieutenant receive a heavy dose of tickling thrilled her to the bone. She had long wished to see the Lieutenant tickled in person, and she couldn’t wait to see her tough and brutal visage crack. She had been very close to spiking the Lieutenant’s meal on more than one occasion. Sooza held no illusion about being saved by mysterious forces – who had much love for the Mandalorians? But perhaps she could offer herself as an interrogator for the Republic. Maybe she would do that after she’d had as much being on the receiving end as she could handle – no sense in cutting the fun short, after all.

Two slender Jedi walked into the room, with matching grins, and both Mandalorians knew their ordeal was at hand.


The two Jedi sauntered over to their captives, and swiftly plucked the gags from their mouths which could only mean one thing – they wanted them to talk, or more likely, they wanted them to laugh. Bo Katan was resolved to delay giving them that satisfaction for as long as she could, but Sooza was happy to just get things over with – she knew that delaying the laughter that so desperately wanted to erupt from you would just make things worse. Watching the stubborn Bo Katan pointlessly try to resist would at least be enjoyable.

“Jedi,” Bo Katan spat, as if the word were was poison in her mouth she had to get out. Fury flashed out of her pretty eyes and she struggled in her bonds again, despite the fact they were as strong as they had ever been.

“Jedi,” Sooza said in a resigned tone. She made no effort to struggle – she’d rather not give herself blisters in some foolish show of bravado, thank you very much.

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to beg,” Bo Katan said, fixing the two Jedi with a fierce glare.

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to keep your secrets,” Sooza said, addressing Bo Katan. “Nothing personal, but its every woman for herself.”

The Jedi exchanged surprised looks as if they were in shock that betrayal had appeared quite so quickly – clearly they had not remembered Sooza’s unscrupulous personality.

“Well, we seem to have skipped a few stages,” the Togruta Jedi said.

“Mercenaries,” the Miraluka Jedi shrugged, as if that explained everything.

“We are not mercenaries!” Bo Katan hissed. She had always been sensitive about being lumped in the same category as every cutthroat with a blaster. “We are the proud warriors of Death Watch, and we fight for Mandal-” Bo Katan’s tirade was suddenly cut short as sharp fingernails danced across her nylon-clad soles – it looked like the Jedi had ticklish revenge on their mind after all. It was a treat watching Bo Katan splutter as she tried to finish spewing her nonsense as giggles trickled out of her mouth – it seemed she was as ticklish as Sooza had always suspected but never quite got around to confirming.

The Jedi each took a hold of a wiggling nyloned foot, and went to work, scraping their fingernails all over the sleek surfaces. And it was clear from the clenched grin on her face that twenty merciless Jedi fingers rummaging wildly all over her slender feet was more tickling than this hardened Mandalorian could stand. She tugged at her restraints again, as if she doing so could take her mind off the torment that was being inflicted on her sensitive soles. When the Jedi began to grab Bo Katan’s muscular, fleshy toes, pull them back, and began poking their fingers at the gaps between them, the headstrong Mandalorian began snorting and laughing in earnest.

“Sounds like she’s more than a little ticklish between the toes,” the Togruta Jedi cooed as she rolled the stem of the toes like she was spinning a top.

“Is it unbearable? Want it to stop?” the other Jedi added, as she continued weaving her fingers in and out of the undersides of those ticklish toes.

Bo Katan clearly saw the trap and she refused to answer to the bait as she closed her eyes and shook her head defiantly in response to the Jedi’s comments.

“You see, this is the game,” the Togruta explained, a cheeky smile on her face. “We can tickle you… or you can tell us to tickle your buddy Sooza.”

“You just have to tell us where. We stop after five minutes… if she tells us where to tickle you!” cackled the Miraluka Jedi.

“And if you name a non ticklish spot, then you get punished. That won’t be fun, I promise you…” the Togruta said, her voice laced with an un-Jedi like menace.

Sooza immediately saw the flaw in their little game – she had played many of these sort of games with her own captives. Her personal favourite was the "no-win" mind game situations. What Sooza liked to do was tempt her captives by telling them she would stop if they could answer a question or some trivial task like reciting the alphabet backwards, but then tickling the snot out of them while they tried to answer and then saying "times up!" and starting the tickle torment all over again.

It was designed to drive a wedge between them, but it clearly forgot to consider the possibility there might already be a substantial wedge present. The flaw in the Jedi’s plan (they were clearly newbies at this sort of diabolical torture which was far more Sooza’s forte) was that Sooza and Bo Katan could theoretically cooperate – they would both name non-ticklish spots yet feign ticklishness all the same. Of course, fortunately for the Jedi, Sooza had no intention of sparing her arrogant superior any relief whatsoever, and she would happily play along. Her resolve was doubly strengthened as Bo Katan happily threw her under the bus.

“Tickle heheheher feeheeeheet! Tihihihickle her tohohohoes! Stahahahap!” Bo Katan cried, clearly desperately to rid herself of the fingers worming and picking between her toes.

“Thank you for being nice and specific,” the Torgruta Jedi nodded.

“But you still have four minutes to go – you’re a real lightweight, aren’t you?”\

Even though Sooza knew she would be the one with fingers teasing her petite toes in a few minutes, she couldn’t help but grin in delight at the look of ticklish outrage on Bo Katan’s face. She knew she would enjoy this show like a junkie enjoyed death sticks. And they loved death sticks.


Bo Katan growled and panted like some trapped Boma beast as she tried to get her racing heart under control. Those vexing Jedi had finally stopped tormenting her soles as they went over to give Sooza a taste of her own medicine. It was oddly therapeutic to watch Sooza’s toes flex back as if they were bolts under a magnetic pull, as the Jedi used the force to keep those ticklish appendages immobile so their fingers could scramble all over them freely.

The sweating Mandalorian had always steadfastly believed the traditions, and she never took a perverse pleasure in their ordeal, but… she could start to see why someone might enjoy it. She felt a bubble of satisfaction in her stomach as she watched Sooza squeak and squeal, desperately trying to shake her ankles free as the Jedi’s fingers weaved a ticklish path across the nylon-covered soles. The nylons Bo Katan wore over her own feet had definitely amplified her own sensitivity, and she would wager that the same was true for her former comrade. She definitely seemed to be laughing her squeaky laugh enough, as dexterous fingers of the Jedi traced along and in between those petite toes.

She watched with joy mixed in with a bit of trepidation as Sooza laughed harder and harder as the Jedi fingers struck every inch of her soles – Sooza was almost hiccupping with laughter when the Jedi skittered their fingers along the outer and inner sides of her feet, so they took care to do it more insistently and often.

Sooza hadn’t named a ticklish spot yet… could it be that she had forgotten? Maybe the Jedi would keep tickling her till the dim-witted fool remembered! Bo Katan smile grew to a sharp grin as minutes passed by and Jedi fingers tormented still, helpless, feet till Sooza’s squawking laughter was echoing across the rooms off the wall. But the Jedi seemed to realize the time, and slowed their tickling to a crawl to let Sooza catch her breath, and they stopped entirely at the five minute mark.

There was a pause, and Sooza looked at her former comrade straight in the eye, as if she wanted to savour her expression when she gave the Jedi their command.

“Tickle her stomach. Get her right in the navel,” she said, in a voice as cold as intergalactic space.

“Aren’t you being helpful, the bellybutton, eh?” the Miraluka said, and motioned to move to Bo Katan, but the other Jedi raised a hand.

“How about we make this more interesting…” the Togruta Jedi smiled, as she reached in a plastisteel container and pulled out a pair of electric toothbrushes. In the dim light of the room the Togruta almost looked like a horned demon at times, an image that was hammered in as they rolled up Bo Katan’s shirt to reveal to muscular set of abdominals, and set the two buzzing toothbrushes to work along her stomach.

The stomach muscles contracted as they reacted to the powerful stimulation – it almost looked like she was belly dancing as Bo Katan threw her head back and bit her lip hard as the fiendish sensations crawled up her body like worms.

“I hope you aren’t expecting me to beg,” Bo Katan managed to say through gritted teeth.

“No, I expect you to laugh,” the Togruta said with a Cheshire cat smile, as she slipped her whirling toothbrush into the little divet that was Bo Katan’s bellybutton, and the Mandalorian howled with her powerful lungs till laughter was bouncing across every corner of her room. The Jedi liked this reaction so they took to constantly slipping their brushes into her navel every few seconds to keep her in that steady state of hysteria.

Bo Katan didn’t want to laugh – she would have given an arm and a leg for a blaster right now to defend herself, but there was nothing she could do but flail about impotently and scream curses at her captors, who seemed amused by every colourful insult and profanity she threw their way. They seemed to resolve to tickle her ever harder for being so mouthy; the hundreds of tiny bristles the two whirling electric toothbrushes housed weaving along her toned abdomen was bad enough, but the Jedi then added their fingers to the mix too, and skittered and stroked along the sides of her stomach. Bo Katan thrust left and right with every poke there.

Sooza grinned as she watched her former superior grunt and giggle as the two Jedi poked and stroked with one hand while maneuvering the humming brush with the other. It was almost like being the boss and sending out your cronies to tickle someone or your behalf – was this what being in power was like? If so, she could see why so many were loathe to give it up. The Jedi stopped, and Sooza realized the power had shifted again.

Bo Katan glared at her with hatred flaming in her pretty dark eyes. She panted for breath, looked like she wanted to spit then thought better of it. “Get her armpits. Make her suffer,” she snarled.

“That’s quite a good choice,” the Miraluka Jedi said, with a laugh. “Never fun to be tickled there, eh, Ahsoka?”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Ahsoka said with a friendly poke to the other Jedi’s sides.

Sooza barely had time to compute this strange scene when a pair of toothbrushes came prowling down her biceps to enter the stronghold of ticklishness that was her underarms. The brush was horribly effective – the way it kept on spinning meant that the brush could stay on the same super sensitive spot, say the centres of those astonishingly sensitive underarms and just stay stationary in that same static spot and stimulate the nerves till Sooza settled for a steady stream of laughter spilling from her lips.

The prison uniform had short sleeves which protected her armpits slightly, but they couldn’t keep out the pair of roving toothbrushes that buzzed and scratched all over her underarms. It was like the Jedi were trying to scrub her armpits clean as they held Sooza’s arms still while they toothbrushes buzzed about happily.

“If only cleaning duty at the temple was this fun, eh?” Ahsoka said.

Sooza’s thought the feet tickling had been bad, but the hundreds of bristles scritching along her underarms was a powerfully frustrating sort of tickle teasing – she wanted nothing more than to yank her arms free, but the pesky Jedi weren’t going to let that happen. She had to get back at Bo Katan… where would be a good spot to attack next.

She felt a bit robbed when the Jedi put the toothbrushes back into the plastisteel cylinder, but grinned when they pulled out a pair of feathers instead.

Oh, she knew exactly where to put those.


Damn that Sooza… Bo Katan was having difficulty forming full sentences as the Jedi stuck the feathers up her armpits and scratched them about methodically. She desperately wanted to yank her arms free, but despite her muscular biceps, she was closer to pulling her arm out of its socket than making any kind of meaningful progress towards freedom. All she was really doing was exhibiting to the smirking Jedi just how ticklish her armpits were, though her high-pitched wails of laughter may have already given the game way somewhat on that account.

“Is it unbearable?” Ahsoka whispered as she teased the triceps with gentle grazes from her fingers while her other hand continued to twist the scratchy end of the feather all over sensitive flesh.

“Wouldn’t you like to tickle Sooza for putting you through such suffering?” Barriss added, with a fiendish grin as she mimicked Ahsoka’s actions on Bo Katan’s other arm.

“Yehehehes! Bo Katan blurted as she closed her eyes due to the intensity of the sensations flowing from the sensitive hollows under her arms.

“All you have to do is give us full information about Death Watch… we’ll give you a leaner sentence and thirty minutes alone with Sooza. Doesn’t that sound like fun?” The mighty Mandalorian had to admit she was sorely tempted – nothing would be sweeter than hearing Sooza beg and whimper for thirty long minutes under her ticklish touch, but betraying Death Watch and everything she stood for…

Bo Katan bit her lip and shook her head as the Jedi tickled her even harder for declining their offer. The tickling was bad, but worse was the comment Ahsoka whispered in her ear. “You think your pal Sooza isn’t going to sell you out? She’ll happily betray you…”

Tears welled up in her eyes as Bo Katan knew this was true, but nonetheless she could not give up Death Watch’s secrets. There were valuable things she knew that Sooza did not, and even if betrayal was all but certain considering Sooza’s louche nature and the Jedi’s baleful tickling influences, Bo Katan could not concede.

She felt the feathers being removed from her underarms as the Jedi stepped back.

“You heard the offer, Sooza, it’s your turn, unless you’d like to tell us something.”

“Gladly,” Sooza said, with a feckless smile that made Bo Katan’s blood boil.

The Jedi escorted Sooza from the room, as Bo Katan stewed in her bonds, mulling over all the efforts of Death Watch Sooza was undoing with her loose lips. She shook her head in dismay – whatever happened to loyalty to a cause.

The door opened, and Sooza re-entered, a grin on her face as she wiggled her fingers eagerly.

“I have been dying to do this for the longest time…”


Being tickled by Sooza was no fun.

Well, the first part of that statement should have gone without saying, Bo Katan thought, as she arched her spine and reclined as much as she could in her bondage as a storm of fingernails swept across her nylon-clad soles. Beaming like a bride at her wedding, Sooza was having the time of her life as she rough, unkempt nails scratched and stroked as they flew over the soles like a blur.

For some reason, Bo Katan had always thought that the stim expert and chemist of Death Watch would have a steady hand and a measured touch, but like everything else about the Mandalorian, Bo Katan had misjudged Sooza, it seemed. The comparison was especially clear due to the juxtaposition of Ahsoka and Barriss, whose precise, deft strokes seemed controlled as if guided by their infamous stoical Jedi discipline. The Jedi had tickled insistently, stubbornly, and cruelly as they pushed her buttons, but the tickling had been consistent too – after the first minute or so Bo Katan had noticed patterns developing in their hand manoeuvres, which hadn’t made the tickling any more bearable, but it was a pleasingly distracting thing to focus on. Sooza’s style of tickling brought no such comfort as it was unpredictable as she was. It was a wild mix of strokes, pinches, scratches, kisses, nibbles and licks as Sooza used tongue and fingers to drive Bo Katan into a logorrheic state of laughter. The nylons blocked the sensations somewhat, but they accentuated the feelings of every long stroke up and down her sole too.

The Mandalorian leader’s complexion was becoming florid as Sooza’s flurry of wild finger strokes intensified, focusing on the area around the ball of the foot and the centre of the sole. The Jedi had been kind enough to share their toys with Sooza, but she was in no great haste to use them, and she happy to simply use her fingers to wring as much ticklish mirth from Bo Katan’s pair of wiggling, nylon-covered soles as she could.

“I have wanted to do this for the longest time… big, tough leader girl getting humbled by a lil bit of tickling on her feet… if only I could sell tickets to the other Death Watch boys,” Sooza purred, as she skittered her nails along the gaps between Bo Katan’s slender toes, with her nylons making everything smooth and slippery and much more unbearable that it should have been.

“Fahahahahahack ohohohohoff!” Bo Katan cussed, but the sniggering turncoat continued all the same.

“What, you think we all liked you? We all complained about you soooooo much behind your back. We were all tired of you being so sanctimonious all the time… we all wanted to see you giggling and squeaking for once. And it looks like I’m the lucky one to finally get the honours!” the other girl tossed her head back and giggled as Bo Katan giggled at a considerably higher-pitch and intensity.

After tormenting her soles for what felt like a few eternities, Sooza stood up, flexed her wrists, and reach for her toothbrushes. The toothbrushes were re-introduced to Bo Katan’s mid-section, tracing devastating paths as they buzzed their bristles happily against toned yet ticklish flesh. The toothbrushes whirled all over her torso like Sooza was a perfectionist cleaner trying to scrub a speeder pristine of dirt and flecks of mud. Sooza’s unpredictability continued too, with her toothbrushes attacking her with asymmetrical two-pronged attacks – the toothbrushes maneuvered along a side and an armpit, her bellybutton and her neck, a rib and her thigh, the possibilities were as endless as they were effective. Sooza even introduced her wicked traitor’s tongue to the mix too, blowing raspberries on Bo Katan’s six pack while the toothbrushes snuck into her armpits. Bo Katan struggled to say what was worse: the indignant humiliating of such a childish and demeaning tickling technique, or the sheer effective ticklishness of tongue and lips on her toned abs.

Keeping a stiff upper lip was always how Bo Katan had conducted herself, and it was a moral victory that she managed to keep her laughter under control for the most part despite occasional-to-frequent splutters of hysterical laughter. Fear began surging through her body as she looked at the clock in the room and realized it had already been almost an hour… where were the Jedi? She was struck with doubt as the realization Sooza might tickle her to death became a real possibility. There was no honour in such a death… even her legacy would be tainted by such an embarrassment, though thoughts of legacy and honour became hard to focus on when Sooza twisted around and turned the brushes on Bo Katan’s wiggling toes and soles once more.

“Jehehehedi!” Bo Katan called, real desperation in her voice. “I want to tahahahalk!”


Sooza did not know what to think – one second she having the time of her life, as she watched her short, stunny fingernail flick across Bo Katan’s ticklish soles. Her head felt so fuzzy… The world was a black abyss, or she was blindfolded, and as she turned her head the second possibility seemed more likely as she felt the material rub against her face.

She dimly recalled her former commander shouting something incoherent in an amusingly-impotent fashion that had made Sooza chuckle, and then the Jedi did something, and then she was here.

There was something powerfully frustrating about being blindfolded. Most people, soldiers especially, tended to rely so much on their eyesight that when it was taken from them they would be in a hyperaware state of every sound. Sooza’s ears pricked at the sound of the air ventilation vents on the ship, and every groan and hum the vessel made as it continued its voyage towards Coruscant.

What had the Jedi said? It was coming back now… something about taking a quick rest? Sooza couldn’t remember, but she definitely was not in a comfortable resting position. She wiggled her body and discovered rigid resistance at her ankles, wrists and waist. She was tied eagle-spread to some kind of flat surface, probably some boxes from the cargo hold she had been in earlier.

Sooza still wore the same tacky uniforms the Jedi had given them, and those dreaded nylons were still on her feet as she wiggled her toes experimentally. She knew what likely awaited her, but she didn’t quite want to believe it… the tight bonds binding her down, her exposed body, those blasted stockings… there seemed like only one possible conclusion.

There were footsteps, whose echoes bounced across the walls of the cargo hold which sounded deafening to Sooza’s sharp ears. The footsteps stopped in front of Sooza’s right foot, and for a few heartbeats, nothing happened. All Sooza could hear was the steady hum of the ventilation system and her heart pounding in her chest. Just when Sooza was starting to think she might have imagined the footsteps or it was some kind of cruel Jedi Mind Trick, a strong hand snapped out and grabbed her right foot, yanking the sole back by the toes. The grip was firm, and the hands callused, and Sooza could only gasp as her foot was pulled back and held firmly in place. There was no doubt who it could be, as Sooza had felt those hands on her soles before.

Bo Katan.

Bo Katan pushed the toes of Sooza’s right foot back, extending the tendon, which Sooza knew from painstaking experimentation always intensified the tickling sensations along the arches and the ball of the foot. Her other foot curled and flexed, as if wishing it could aid the trapped foot. This was going to be bad…

Sooza had always found Bo Katan’s rigmarole about the great Mandalorian traditions and the noble ordeal and yadda yadda yadda rather tiring, but anything would be better than this oppressive silence, which sent a shiver through Sooza’s spine like a cold knife in her back. Sooza was expected to be excoriated for betraying their former-cause, and she honestly thought that maybe even that would be better than this awkward silence which stretched on and on. She almost wished the tickling on her horrendously sensitive feet would begin already.

And she got her wish.

Fingers as cruel as talons worked up and down her right foot. The appendage jolted as it were electrified, quivering and shaking to try to break free of Bo Katan’s iron grip, but the arm held the foot still, no matter how hard Sooza tried to liberate her trapped toosies. Five fingers turned into a predatory spider which danced and danced along Sooza’s slender soles, and Sooza could not do anything but shake her head and roar with laughter. The spider turned into a claw which scratched up and down the sole like a wildebeest trying to slash at prey. She could feel Bo Katan putting all her vengeance and fury into the tickling, as tears trickled down her flushed cheeks. The claw turned into a lone snake, which slithered along the arches and weaved through her toes, as Sooza laughed and laughed.

When the right foot was released, the foot immediately curled up, but Sooza knew it was no cause for celebration, as Bo Katan strode to her left foot and latched onto it with a grip like plastisteel.

“I’m not stopping, Sooza. This is the only justice I can give my people, it seems,” Bo Katan said, as she cracked her knuckles and the spider, the claw and the snake went from the jungles of faraway planets to Sooza’s sole once more.
Mature Content Filter is On
(Contains: nudity and sexual themes)


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….


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.               


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.


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.


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...         


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.



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!”   



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

Battle of Lomond II – Dryad


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She had just shot herself in the foot.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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




Do you prefer upperbody or lowerbody (feet) tickling? 

70 deviants said Lowerbody
33 deviants said Upperbody


Add a Comment:
Landauer1990 Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2015
Just read your comment to chentsweatervest's GoT tickle story, which makes me wonder:
Will you ever do an ASoIaF or a GoT tickle story yourself?
oneortheother Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2015
I miss his stories </3

And hmmm, it is a possibility. I wouldn't rule it out. Perhaps if I was commissioned to do one. Just too busy with commissions and other stuff these days :P
Sunking88 Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2014
Happy Birthday
oneortheother Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2015
MtkMichele Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2014
Happy birthday! ;)
oneortheother Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2015
MtkMichele Featured By Owner Jan 5, 2015
You're welcome!
stod7 Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2014
Happy Birthday! :D
oneortheother Featured By Owner Jan 4, 2015
Technaboom Featured By Owner Dec 29, 2014
Happy Birthday!
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