Hello again!
Welcome to another one of my twisted tickling tales. I'm sticking with the theme of using established characters from popular (to a lesser or greater extent) fiction. It's sci-fi this time and I hope everyone is familiar with the works of Douglas Adams. If you aren't, you don't know what you're missing!
This takes place in the film's world mainly due to the delectable Zooey Deschanel, and my wish to make her the centre of unwelcome (as far as her character is concerned at least) ticklish attention. In case you missed her, click here:
Trillian
This is an alternate scene, following directly on from part of the film's storyline. This clip is the relevant section of the film.
I don't know about you, but I felt it was such a waste to simply feed Trillian to the Bugblatter Beast of Traal, and have come up with what I hope is a more amusing fate for her.
Here comes the disclaimers... Non-explicit and the key is foot-tickling though there's more body tickling in this one (I thought I'd make the attempt as there were a few requests, however its not really my thing and I'm not sure I've captured it well. Sorry). However in order that some sense of mystery should still be preserved, no revelation will be made concerning in what order the parts of her body will be tickled. This fact may safely be made the subject of suspense since it is of no significance whatsoever.
I hope you enjoy!
The Foot-Tickler's Guide to the Galaxy
The story so far...
In an elaborate (though not entirely successful) attempt to escape from the Vogons, Trillian has been captured and is being charged with attempting to kidnap the Galactic President Zaphod Beeblebrox.
In response, Arthur Dent leads Ford Prefect and Zaphod to the Vogon homeworld, Vogsphere, in a heroic gesture to free her. The intrepid band are currently queuing deep within the sprawling administrative centre, armed with a completed set of prisoner release forms.
Now at the end of her questioning Trillian has just been shown a document signed by Zaphod permitting the destruction of Earth. She has little time to dwell on this as the Vogon bureaucracy rumbles on and her sentence is passed.
The Vogon clerk looked up from his display screen.
“Now according to the Galactic Penal code, the punishment for a presidential kidnapping is...”
“Come on, love!” said a Vogon guard, dragging Trillian out of the chair by her bound wrists.
“...Immediate execution,” the clerk continued, “under the new Galactic Cheerfulness Edicts. Good day...”
The guide has this to say about the recent Galactic Cheerfulness Edicts.
The universe, being unimaginably vast and comprised of bleak, freezing and (mostly) empty vacuum, has the unfortunate effect of making people of an introspective nature feel rather small and insignificant in comparison. This is perfectly normal and correct, unless you are a Giganthropican Sisturgid from the Noogley Sector in which case it would make you feel reasonably huge and insignificant, if that is you happened to be a Giganthropican Sisturgid capable of concentrating on anything other than trying to move any one of your ten solar-system sized eyeballs back and forth in a colossal effort to look for nutritious supernovae.
For most beings this fact is totally beyond any physical means to alter (with a few notable exceptions. See Appendix J – Megalomaniacs and Creatures of Disproportionately Vindictive Nastiness), so worrying about it should be deemed a total waste of effort. However the Galactic Government, being as it is, decided that extra bureaucracy was just the ticket to cheer up the individuals who persisted in concerning themselves with their cosmic unimportance. This had the instantaneous effect of making most of the Vogon species much happier (for whom legislation and paperwork is what narcotics or digital watches are to other, more rational beings) and was hailed as an immediate success by its creator (one Vogon Prostetnic Klabz)
Capitalising on these initial results the legislation went on to intrusively alter the lives of immense swathes of the galactic population, which did at the very least give them all something else to complain about over breakfast instead of existential nihilism.
Trillian is about to come across one of the new law's sub-clauses which deals with the fact that prisoners condemned to death frequently seem to be more unhappy than most. Guidelines therefore state that the nature of the execution should try and remedy this.
“Get off of me! Ow! No!” Trillian wailed as she was dragged along. The Vogon guard either seemed not to notice or was ignoring her. Her mind raced as she struggled, trying to think up an ingenious method of escape. All that came to mind were a string of pleas designed to appeal to her captor's better nature. The fact she attempted such a strategy on a Vogon is evidence of how desperate she was.
“Wait Wait! There's been some kind of mistake!” she babbled.
“I'll say,” the Vogon replied sullenly. “Have you ever considered everything, and I mean everything and wondered if all this is wrong? If it's worthwhile?”
“What?” Trillian gasped, stumbling.
“I'm just agreeing with you. Existence... Could all just be a mistake couldn't it? A minor cosmological fault that will really make no difference in the grand scheme of things. I mean, it seems paltry when you consider the scale of the universe and the macrocosmic intricacy with which it is invested. We're like a tiny imperfection in some vast and unfathomable superstructure. Even if you don't accept all our individual experiences as comparatively fleeting and therefore utterly pointless, you would at least have to acknowledge that in such a complex system there's bound at the very least to be the odd cock-up, wouldn't you say?”
Trillian, not normally one for philosophical debate when faced with the proposition of execution, was rather taken aback by the speech. The guard, seemingly happy to hold up his end of the conversation by himself, took a deep lungful of air and continued.
“If however you were setting aside any overarching existential paradigms and referring merely to a miscarriage of justice and the woeful inadequacy of the Galactic penal system to fully marry motives with punishment, then you could indeed argue that though highly illegal your move was nevertheless generally popular. Speaking for myself and the rest of the security detail, love, we never really liked Mr. Beeblebrox anyway. Too much of a playboy if you ask me. It's all 'Zap' and 'Kapow' with him. All 'Wahah!', if you get me drift?”
Trillian shook her head, her mouth hanging open, and completely failed to come up with any kind of interjection or reply. The guard did not notice.
“Not really appreciated by your average working minion, is Beeblebrox.... We appreciate you sticking up for the little beings of the universe, miss. I know most of the lads downstairs would love you shake you by the hand and say 'Good on you' for trying something that we would only talk about.”
Trillian was about to try and explain how she wasn't actually trying to kidnap Zaphod when the little part of her mind that remained sane and calm in desperate circumstances such as these told her to button it. She instead tried a more direct entreaty to the guard.
“So... Surely you could you put all this down to any one of those errors, either legal, cosmological or philosophical, and say I was a victim of circumstance or statistics or... whatever and just let me go then? It wouldn't matter seeing as you yourself posit that any action we take is inherently without worth...”
“Hmm?” replied the guard as if being distracted from something. “Oh no, sorry. Out of the question, love. Dragging prisoners from one room to another is the only thing I cling to in this desolate and uncaring universe. If I were to give that up then the outlook for my life would seem very grim, wouldn't you say?”
“Ummm...” Trillian began, but then stumbled as she tried to keep up with the Vogon.
“Besides you're still guilty and I do enjoy watching the executions of dangerous terrorists such as yourself on the staff video feeds.”
They reached a large entranceway next to which two other Vogons were waiting.
“Bye then,” said the first Vogon guard, pushing Trillian towards the others. Then he turned and plodded off, humming contentedly as he went.
Trillian watched him go for a moment, feeling an incongruous sense of abandonment. Her mind was sharply dragged back to her current plight much as she herself was dragged bodily into another chamber.
“Resistance is useless!” the two new guards chorused as she allowed herself to be carried along limply, having come to the correct conclusion that her struggling was indeed about as useful as a sense of common decency is to your average estate agent.
The room she found herself in looked like a dingy industrial workshop. Against one wall was something that put Trillian in mind of a dentist's chair from back home. Pointing at it was a long-barrelled and unpleasant looking contraption that was connected by myriad snaking, tangled cables to a bank of screens and dials that were watched over by another Vogon wearing the uniform of a minor functionary. The Vogon looked up at the clumping footsteps of the guards, turning her back on the various motivational posters (“If it's worth doing, it's worth doing in triplicate!” and “You don't have to be mad to work here, but if you are please do not share you medication.”) that she had been reading.
“I am Vogon Functionetic Plödz and I will be overseeing your execution today,” she said in a high, rasping whine. Spittle flew off her pudgy lips with every syllable and even some pauses between words. “You have been scheduled for termination in accordance with Galactic Cheerful Edicts. If you have any complaints please collect a feedback form on your way out.”
The Vogon Plödz rambled on as Trillian was hauled over to the chair. She had begun to struggle again, because sometimes rationality just isn't worth two figs compared with a pig-headed refusal to accept your fate and the cold, hard facts from which it is wrought.
With barely any effort the Vogon lifted their prisoner off her feet, her white boots pedalling in the air, and then unceremoniously dumped her into the chair. Trillian kicked and thrashed, but this mostly went unnoticed in any meaningful way by the Vogons who immediately set about strapping her down with the industrious contentment to two menials who draw tremendous satisfaction from their mindless tasks.
Thick reinforced belts were fastened about each of her wrists, securing them to the wide-set arms of the chair. Two further restraints went around her calves, just below her knees. All four were cinched tight enough to hold Trillian to the chair in a position that caused her a tremendous amount of concern. She tried to tug her limbs free, grunting with the effort, but after a few moments the mismatch between her physical strength and the industrial grade restraints became all too obvious and she slumped back, staring dejectedly around the room.
Meanwhile, their work complete, the guards took up their stations. One went off to stand by a metal casket in the corner of the chamber while the other began to fiddle with the worrying machinery that looked for all the world, Trillian couldn't help but conclude, as if it were being aimed at her head. She looked up at the narrow barrel, her clear blue eyes wide with concern for her own well being.
“What is that?” she asked in a small voice.
Plödz seemed slightly taken aback by the question...
“Please refrain from voicing queries till the end of the introduction. Thank you!” she snapped. “Now where was I? Ah yes. As well as the aforementioned equipment the device in front of you takes measurements of your neurobiology and for all intents and purposes is able to measure happiness.”
“Just hope we sorted out the calibration this time,” said one of the guards gleefully. “Last one we had in here the thresholds were too high. Three whole days we were at it. Course they went mad after the first six hours.”
“Then they went very mad after the next twelve,” added the other.
“If you'd like to look this way,” Plödz said pointedly, indicating a screen on the wall that showed a long series of alien numerals. “When cheerfulness thresholds have been reached or exceeded you will be permitted a brief period of existence to experience this sensation of blissful contentment before execution will be carried out. This will be by accelerated atomic destabilisation.
“Now do you have any questions before we begin?”
“I...” Trillian began. These could very well be her last words. She didn't know whether to try for something poignant or just scream invective. In the end, she went for the safe option of fearful gabbling. “Um... If... Er... Can I... Does it hurt?”
“Oh course not, my dear,” said Plödz reassuringly before she turned away, rolling her eyes.
Trillian, with a mounting sense of expectant dread, was really quite unhappy. She began to wonder exactly how they were going to cheer her up, and how that would lead to her demise. This room and the objects in it didn't exactly exude a sense of well-being. She had already ruled out an amusing puppet show and doubted the process would entail some sort of pleasant retrospective of her life. She mentally toyed with various scenarios, all invoked mainly to aid her in ignoring the little, logical part of her brain that was simultaneously making alarming suggestions about what they were going to do, based on the information at hand, such as her being restrained, and the mystery sarcophagus in the corner. Her thoughts were interrupted by Plödz squealing out a command at avolume and pitch that was uncalled for in the small room.
“Release the EEE...” Plödz commanded, the last word said in a nasal squeal.
“What's an... EEE?” asked Trillian to no-one in particular, mimicking the mystery term in a half-hearted manner.
“That would be an Enforced Expiration Engineer, dear,” Plödz explained and grinned. It was by any measure a gruesome sight.
“Oh good...” Trillian murmured looking fretfully over her shoulder.
The Vogon standing next to the metal casket was twisting a locking wheel on its front. With a pneumatic hiss a heavy door swung open revealing the enclosure to be hollow.
A waif-like creature, its brittle thin body wrapped in a shiny, tight-fitting boiler suit emerged from the casket. Its lanky form was almost completely attired in shiny grey material. Even its face was hidden, the only distinguishing features being breathing holes in its mask and a long zip that went from its belly to the centre of its 'face' where the zip's slider hung like a metallic bogey. Its hands however were bare; large and pale, they dangled from narrow wrists. Long, four-jointed fingers ending in tapering fleshy nubs twitched slightly as the EEE, the Engineer, shuffled forward.
Trillian watched with increasing panic, drawing as far back as she could. The thing approached with a jittery, nervous energy as if overly keen on something. It stopped beside her chair and cocked its head at her.
Trillian stared back at the faceless head, eyes wide, her bottom lip quivering very slightly, trying to come to terms with the baleful creature that was apparently to be her executioner.
“We'll start with the armpits!” Plödz said cheerfully. In response the Engineer's fingers flexed.
Arthur, Ford and Zaphod forced their way to the front of the queue, Zaphod smiling and shaking hands all the while, burbling platitudes to the startled and the annoyed as they pushed past.
Getting to the desk, Arthur immediately pushed the completed forms he had been clutching to the clerk, explaining the mistake, saying how Galactic President Zaphod was ordering Trillian's immediate release.
“But this isn't a presidential release form,” said the Vogon clerk. “Those are blue.”
Arthur felt the anger well up in him. He straightened up, set his jaw, looked the Vogon right in the eyes and then, in true British fashion, said absolutely nothing before stalking off to get the correct forms.
“No, no no no no!” Trillian squealed. “Stop, please! No! Don't!”
Vogon Plödz looked on, perplexed.
“It hasn't even started yet,” she said.
Trillian opened her eyes. The Engineer was hovering over her with hands raised, its head still cocked quizzically to one side. It turned to face Vogon Plödz who shrugged and sighed.
“Just get on with it.”
The Engineer turned back to Trillian and reached out towards her defenceless body, it long fingers undulating in the air. The realisation of what was to be the method of her execution had clicked into place for Trillian all at once. Shaking her head and still babbling pleas for clemency she clamped her arms to her sides, or at least tried to, as much as her restraints would allow.
“No, please! Not like this...”
Still the Engineer's spindly hands crept towards her with all the aching slowness of a particularly lethargic glacier.
“Please please please please PLEASE!” she begged, her body jiggling up and down, her expression pained.
The long fingers came to rest on the material of her flight suit and then gently forced their way into her armpits, nestling between the soft flesh of her arm and body.
Trillian yelped as it wiggled its pale fingertips firmly into the crook of her armpits, and then moved them slowly up and down.
“No no no no no!” Trillian squealed, fighting and squirming as she felt a giggle rise up her throat.
“That's better,” said Vogon Plödz and watched as the Engineer worked.
Its hands played back and forth, over her sides, tickling her up and over her arms, its fingertips working into the the material of her flight suit to rub against the tender skin beneath. The spidery digits crawled over her ribs, squeezed at her biceps, and scratched at the hollow of her armpit. Trillian sputtered with laughter unable to wriggling her body away and protect herself in any meaningful way.
The Engineer's fingers crept lower, curling against the material just above Trillian's hips, the soft flesh yielding to its touch.
“Stop it!” Trillian yelled between giggles. “Please! Stop it!”
Plödz ignored the pleas and turned to look at the dials. Behind her Trillian's head shook back and forth, her shrill laughter echoing around the room as the Engineer relentlessly tickled her.
“This isn't eliciting a great enough response,” said Plödz.
Unbidden the Engineer became more energetic, digging his fingers more briskly into Trillian's sides. She squealed even louder. It was raking its hands over the sides of her belly, clutching at her narrow waist. Trillian drew in a ragged breath then cackled as the tickling continued, the hands beginning to work around towards the small of her back. Her body tensed, reflexively arching away from the chair, leaving the Engineer even more room to grope at her sensitive skin.
“Hmmm...” mumbled Plödz, still inspecting the instruments. “Hold it there.”
The Engineer ceased in Trillian's ticklish torment and straightened up, holding its elongated hand up like a mantis' claws. Panting, Trillian raised her head and shook her disarrayed hair from her face, blowing some errant stands aside.
“Tickling? Honestly?” she yelled, not that anyone seemed to listen. “That's all you could come up with? This isn't going to work... Forget cheering my up, just shoot me now, please!”
“The Edicts must be fulfilled,” Plödz said in an off-hand fashion and consulted with on of the guards.
“This can't be right,” Trillian continued, “This can't be the most humane... I mean Vogane.... I mean... It can't be the kindest way of executing someone? Can it? It sure as hell isn't cheerfing me up!”
Plödz didn't respond, but she did nod to the guard who had pointed something out on a chart they had both been inspecting. Shambling over the guard took hold of Trillian's collar, drew down the zip and pulled the top of her flight suit open, exposing her white cotton vest top. She watched, mouth open, her expression one of acute outrage. She had no time to comment as Plödz nodded to the Engineer.
“Proceed.”
“No no no. Wait! STOP!” Trillian babbled, but the Engineer either couldn't hear or didn't listen. Once again it descended on her. Its lithe hands disappeared into her clothing rummaging lower to find the bottom of her vest. Gently teasing the clothing up it began to stroke its fingertips against Trillian's bare flesh, occasionally digging gently into the tender skin around her hips and waist.
Trillian gave a howl of laughter, straining forward in the seat as the Engineer did his worst, his fingers teasing and titillating, the sensation close to unbearable. She shook her head wordlessly, unable to control her desperate giggling for long enough to demand an end to this treatment. Then the pitch of her laughter changed, becoming a deeper chuckle as the Engineer began to poke and squeeze at her soft belly. A finger twirled around her navel before both hands began to scrabble up and down over her ribs again. Jiggling and shrieking Trillian's eyes began to water as she giggled breathlessly.
Insensitive to Trillian's plight first-hand, Plödz shook her head at the dials.
“No, no. No good. We'll move on.”
The engineer withdrew its hands from Trillian's, giving her a moment to rest and slump forward. Gasping for breath she looked up at the Engineer through her disarrayed hair.
“Please don't do that again,” she said, her voice small and weak.
However the Engineer was already preparing for what was to come next. Its fingers lingering in the air over her thighs.
“Oh no!” she moaned, already exhausted. She tried to clamp her legs together but the restraints below her knees made this about as effective as Pebblian relaxation drill. The Engineer's sinewy fingers fell upon Trillian's legs. The restraints stopped her doing anything about it.
“No, please... Don't do that. No! NO!”
The Enginner placed its hands onto Trillian's trapped leg, the material of her trousers pulled tight over the sumptuously curved thigh. Its fingers curled around the flesh of her inside leg then began to flick back and forth, scratching and pinching at the material and her delicate skin beneath. Trillian cackled with laughter, straining forward, trying to double up, but then rocked back. She shuffled her hips back and forth, wriggled her booted feet; anything to alleviate the terrible, unbearable, tickling sensations that shot through her and made every muscle tense, that made her back arch, her body writhe and that made her toes curl.
Fingers dancing expertly, the Engineer managed to reach almost every inch of her tender thighs and caused Trillian to snort with laughter. Then, moving its hands around her thighs, it shoved it fingers under her legs to tickle her behind her trapped knees. Trillian's giggling was redoubled into a full blown laughing fit, her head tilted back, eyes and mouth wide open.
Keeping one hand at her knee the Engineer's other hand moved higher. It wedged it fingers into her groin and waggled its fingers industriously. This made Trillian buck and jump against her restraints, spluttering as she tried to force out more pleas for the Engineer to stop. Not that they would have had any effect.
“That's more of a lilac,” said the Vogon clerk.
“It's blue!” Arthur fumed. “It's bloody blue! There's nothing on the rack that's more blue than that!”
“It is more of a purple to be fair,” mumbled Ford.
“Have you checked the rack over there?”
Arthur squinted over and spotted a very small rack quite low on the wall, almost obscured by a rather sickly potted plant. It contained a solitary sheaf of blue paper. Scowling he stormed away.
The Engineer still had one handwedged into Trillian's groin, though its concentration was now elsewhere. Its other hand was flitting about her upper body, squeezing at her neck and shoulders, pinching at her sides. With a swift movement it slipped its fingers into her vest and then manoeuvred its fingers around the bare flesh under her arms. Each time the Engineer moved switched its hand to a new location Trillian would yelp and flinch, trying to alter her position to protect her vulnerable body. It pecked its fingers at her a few more times before it began to clench its fingers against her groin again which made Trillian abandon any attempt to defend herself, her whole body shaking with laughter. Seizing this revealed weakness the Engineer plunged its hand back into Trillian's top, going once again for her midriff. All twelve of its fingers rubbed against her, throwing Trillian's body into a series of squirming spasms. She buried the back of her head into the headrest, her face raised towards the ceiling, and howled with laughter.
From somewhere distant Trillian heard snippets of Vogon Plödz's voice.
“I just don't understand it...”
The Engineer's fingers probed the flesh around her soft belly.
“...just isn't doing enough...”
Trillian giggled and thrashed, cackling breathlessly.
“...operating perfectly...”
The Engineer worked his hands upwards, attacking her ribs just below her bosom.
“...the soup today I think, with some of that crusty stuff on top...”
Trillian wailed and screamed and moaned, thrashing and squirming in her chair.
“...I thought they just used those to store their shoes...”
The Engineer's fingers began to run up the curve of her breasts.
“...Lets the feet now, shall we?”
“NO!” Trillian yelled at the top of her voice. The Engineer stopped and immediately retracted its hands, drawing back as if frightened.
Trillian lay quite still, gulping down air. However she had heard enough of what was being said and it took precedence over paltry, life-sustaining considerations such as oxygen.
“Please don't...” she groaned, breathing hard. “Not my feet... Honestly...”
At the foot of the chair, the Engineer pawed at her white boots, seemingly confused, maybe still wary of Trillian's wrathful outburst. She tried and experimental scratch at the boot's sole, but pulled its hand back almost immediately. One of the Vogon guards stepped forward, gently pushing the Engineer aside. Trillian, meanwhile, begged steadily to Vogon Plödz.
“Please... don't! I won't be able to stand it...” Trillian began.
The Vogon guard placed a gloved hand on her boot
“I'm so cheerful now...!” she went on.
The footwear was unfastened, sitting loose on her leg.
“I'm too cheerful in fact...!”
He began to pull the boot from her foot.
“You don't need to go to any more trouble...”
The boot slipped off entirely.
“Please don't go to any more trouble!”
The Engineer approached her socked foot, the toes flexing beneath the sweaty white material.
“PLEASE!” Trillian said emphatically. She screwed up her toes, her face a grimace, jaw set, ready for the inevitable. The Engineer's fingers loomed. She gave a little whimper.
The long fingers curled against the sole of Trillian's foot, the fingertips rustling against the material of her sock. She gave a brief bark of laughter.
“Oh no, no no...” she groaned, and then quickly ran out of space for words.
With all twelve fingers against Trillian's sole, the Engineer danced them around her foot, scratching at the cotton sock, dragging the material over the smooth skin nestled beneath, fingertips bumping over the fleshy ridges of her wrinkled sole as they ran up and down her foot. Trillian tittered shrilly, her leg jiggling, her foot twisting back and forth.
The Engineer carefully pressed its palm onto the top of her toes, bending them back, holding it firm, cotton sock and soft skin pulled taught. It caressed the ball of her foot with its free hand, then it delicately flicked one finger up and down her arch.
Trillian squealed and moaned, sputtering and shaking. She tried to wrench her foot from the Engineer's grasp, but the attempts were in vain. It continued to stroke her foot, to rub it and fondle it, to find every last tender little spot of flesh beneath her sock and tease it mercilessly with it roving fingers.
The Engineer, releasing her toes, began to drag its fingertips up Trillian's foot, from heel up the arch, and flicking over the ball of her foot. In response the foot writhed and jumped, trying to escape the squirming fingers. One such movement was so lively it almost dragged her sock off. The white material bunched up around the middle of her foot, her creamy pink heel left bare.
The Engineer paused, but then, with head cocked, reached out and daintily plucked the sock off her foot. It held it in the air close to its breathing holes for a moment. Then it discarded it and seemed to focus instead on Trillian's bare foot. Its head turned and tilted, taking in the curves and contours or her foot, the sumptuous sole; the pale, elegant arch; the plump, pink toes.
“Oh no... No...” Trillian yelled
Extending one long finger her placed in on the fleshy tip of her big toe. Then with a languid movement it dragged the digit down her foot, over the little fleshy ridges that formed as Trillian clenched her toes, her foot bending downwards.
“Get off!” she screamed. “Not that!” The, however, Engineer repeated the action. Trillian shrieked so loudly the second time it actually paused and cocked its head again.
“Just bugger off!” she said for emphasis.
The Engineer reached out again.
“I said no! No! No no! Oh why don't you listen to me-eeeEEEE!” her words segued into a squeal that turned into a keening wail of laughter.
It had begun tickling in earnest, ignoring her pleas to the contrary. It fingers skittered and danced over her soft skin, concentrating to the exclusion of all else on the bare sole of Trillian's foot.
Cupping her instep in one hand it swirled it index finger around the silky hollow of her arch. Then it pressed it hand gently onto Trillian's little toes once again, bending them back, dragging the sole taught.
“Oh please...” she gasped. “Please don't.”
With its free hand the Engineer pawed at Trillian's bare sole, running its fingers over the sumptuous curves and smooth flesh. Nothing Trillian could do could stop the attention. Her foot was trapped, helpless before this creature. Her head swung back and forth, her body rocking as she struggled against the restraints. She snorted as she fought for air, mouth and eyes wide as her foot was relentlessly tickled.
Still holding her foot immobile the Engineer dug his fingertips beneath her toes, stroking her most soft and tender skin, adding a frantic edge to Trillian's already skill laughter.
Without a pause the Engineer glanced over its shoulder (Trillian was too preoccupied to question why or how an apparently eyeless creature did this). The three Vogons were all staring at the instruments with much scratching of heads and shrugging.
The Engineer turned back to Trillian. With one hand it continued to tickle her foot. With the other it reached up to the zip upon it face. It eased it down exposing a toothy mouth. The jaws opened and a long, sinuous tongue unfurled, lolling out of the Engineer's mask. Still struggling Trillian glimpsed it and screamed at the top of her lungs.
“NO! Stay AWAY!”she managed.
Leaning forward the Engineer braced itself on Trillian's chair with both hands. Its tongue curled and flexed and then fell upon Trillian's naked foot, lapping at the skin on her sole. She screamed in frustration, the yell stuttering with laughter, ending in a croaky, breathless giggle. Tears streamed down her face, her eyes screwed tightly shut. The Engineer's tongue curled around her foot, hugging it in a moist fleshy grip, while its prehensile tip twirled and flicked around each pink toe, from the smallest to the largest, pausing to slowly rub around the wide, fleshy pad of Trillian's big toe. Balling her fists she clenched her teeth and began to force words out in a growl.
“Stop! Just stop...” she said as she wheezed and sputtered, “Whatever you want. Just don't! Don't don't...!” and that was all she managed before doubling up and cackling.
The Engineer didn't stop. It had what it wanted. Its tongue uncoiled and then snaked and flicked over her foot. The hollow of her arch, the skin between her large and second toes, the flesh at the back of her ankle around her Achilles tendon. It attended to each and every one of these spots and others, the sinuous tendril snaking back and forth across her bare flesh, expertly keeping Trillian squealing and moaning with each new ticklish attack on her defenceless, naked foot.
Next the Engineer pressed its thumbs into her toes, splaying them wide, its fingers cupped over her instep. Its tongue waggled over her toes, licking at the soft fleshy pads beneath them. Trillian wailed as its fleshy extremity worked between each toe, slithering back and forth, running its not inconsiderable length between each. Then it licked downwards, running wetly over her soft, pale arch, twitching up and down against the creamy, tender skin.
Plödz glanced away from the flickering dials and caught sight of what had been going on behind her back. She watched Trillian squeal and squirm for a few moments, one eyebrow cocked.
“Hmmm...” she mumbled. “Must be hungry.”
Arthur stormed up to the counter for, what he promised himself was definitely going to be the last time. Quite different from the previous three times. This was definitely the last time.
“Here's the form, here's you pencil, here's... and android's arm... and here's the president! Now where is Trillian?”
“Thank you for filing the Presidential Release form,” said the clerk, stamping it. “Please allow three to five days for processing, followed by thirty working days for release of the prisoner.”
“What?” Arthur asked, incredulous.
The Vogon rolled her eyes and explained.
“The form needs to be processed, copied, countersigned, lost, found....”
Arthur had stopped listening. He was already running off with the form in hand, Ford and Zaphod close behind.
“Maybe we should try nipples next...” said Plödz airily looking back at the dials. They were barely managing to lift off the baseline. Behind her Trillian, her face damp with sweat, breathing hard to get her breath back, turned her head and stared blearily at the screens. The Engineer stood to one side, its tongue still lolling, its head swaying slightly as Trillian unconsciously flexed and twisted her bare foot fanning her toes.
Shaking her head, Vogon Plödz faced Trillian.
“I don't know what it is about you Denvans. We never seem to be able to get to cheerful enough for the coup-de-grace.”
“I'm... I'm a human,” Trillian panted.
“A what?” asked Plödz.
The little voice shouted inside Trillian's head was trying to stop her, but she was too exhausted and the message from her brain arrived at her mouth too late to stop her saying:
“A human... From Earth. Galactic location zee zee nine, plural zee, alpha.”
“Oh.” Vogon Plödz consulted a chart and then adjusted a dial. “That will make a difference. Try it again.”
“Oh...” Trillian managed to moan before the Engineer leant in and raked his fingers around her bare foot again. Its tongue snaked over her toes, its fingers rubbed and danced over her pink sole. She immediately began to jump and shudder, squealing with laughter once more. On Plödz's screen the dial jumped into the last of the specially colour coded sections.
“Oh yes. Much better. Start the clock.”
The screen on the wall began a countdown, the numbers cycling all too quickly. Not that Trillian noticed. She was too busy concentrating on the insufferable tingling sensations that shot up her leg from her beleaguered foot. The Engineer was meticulous, revisiting all the hollows and crannies that had made her squeal not so long ago and elicited the same reactions again, but with a loss of inhibition that followed on from extreme exhaustion. Trillian laughed without restraint as the engineer worked its ticklish craft upon her trapped, bare foot.
“Readings are becoming erratic. Get the other boot off!” Plödz commanded.
Trillian shook her head vehemently as a guard stepped forward and tugged her other boot away. The Engineer immediately set upon it, long fingers rubbing away at he sock, long tongue still slathering over the bare skin of her unclad foot. Trillian croaked breathlessly, her whole body shuddering. The countdown on the screen cycled to the last few digits.
“Prepare the Beam,” Plödz commanded.
A Vogon guard placed a hand on a large switch on the side of the pointy contraption.
“And...” Plödz said.
“STOP!”
Plödz turned at this new voice. The guards turned too and even the engineer glanced over it shoulder, though it kept its fingers moving against Trillian's feet.
Arthur, stifling a look of shock at Trillian's plight, was striding over to Plödz, a blue form in hand.
“I have in my hand a Presidential Release Form and I also the the president. I'm asking... No, I'm demanding you release her at once.”
Ford had unpacked his towel and waved it at the Engineer. It who cowered and retreated. Almost immediately Trillian collapsed limply aganist the chair, panting and wheezing.
“Thank you... Thank you...” she muttered over an over again.
The Engineer scuttled away and fled down a service corridor. The Guards plodded after it half-heartedly.
Alone and faced with completed and correctly stamped paperwork, Plödz also began to back away.
“Administration isn't my department... I don't have the authority! I'll have to speak to my supervisor...” she wailed.
“Oh, okay!” said Arthur, mercilessly proffering the forms towards the Vogon. “Good let's go talk to them shall we! Ford, lend a hand! I may need the Guide!”
Ford hurried after Arthur and the Vogon, Guide in hand and already on the chapter covering the minutiae of pointless, mind-numbing bureaucracy.
This left Zaphod alone with Trillian. He smiled at her.
“You don't look too good, baby doll,” he said, sidling over to her. “Had a rough time?”
“You could say that,” she said, her voice still hoarse. “Not least of all because I have not only been tortured in the most humiliating and ridiculous manner, but I also found out you signed the order for Earth's demolition!”
“I did?” said Zaphod, his mind obviously somewhere else.
“You really didn't read it, did you?” she asked, her tone one of utter disbelief. “You really thought it was an autograph! Didn't you?”
“Hey hey, okay,” Zaphod replied, hands held out in a placating gesture. “I understand you're upset.”
“Upset!? You destroyed my home planet!”
“But I realise you're only like this because you've been through a lot recently...” Zaphod continued unabashed.
“Don't patronise me, you cocky bast...”
“Others would take offence because they don't know you like I do.” He was standing at the foot of the chair by now and smirking. “And I like to think I know you very well...”
Something in his manner alarmed Trillian.
“Zaphod!” she said warningly.
“Relax, baby,” he said, and whipped off her other sock with a smooth, easy motion. “I know what I'm doing.”
Trillian fixed him with her wide blue eyes, her little pink feet flexed, her toes fanning.
“Don't you dare,” she said, with just the hint of a smile on her lips.
Zaphod smiled back and winked.
Welcome to another one of my twisted tickling tales. I'm sticking with the theme of using established characters from popular (to a lesser or greater extent) fiction. It's sci-fi this time and I hope everyone is familiar with the works of Douglas Adams. If you aren't, you don't know what you're missing!
This takes place in the film's world mainly due to the delectable Zooey Deschanel, and my wish to make her the centre of unwelcome (as far as her character is concerned at least) ticklish attention. In case you missed her, click here:
Trillian
This is an alternate scene, following directly on from part of the film's storyline. This clip is the relevant section of the film.
I don't know about you, but I felt it was such a waste to simply feed Trillian to the Bugblatter Beast of Traal, and have come up with what I hope is a more amusing fate for her.
Here comes the disclaimers... Non-explicit and the key is foot-tickling though there's more body tickling in this one (I thought I'd make the attempt as there were a few requests, however its not really my thing and I'm not sure I've captured it well. Sorry). However in order that some sense of mystery should still be preserved, no revelation will be made concerning in what order the parts of her body will be tickled. This fact may safely be made the subject of suspense since it is of no significance whatsoever.
I hope you enjoy!
The Foot-Tickler's Guide to the Galaxy
The story so far...
In an elaborate (though not entirely successful) attempt to escape from the Vogons, Trillian has been captured and is being charged with attempting to kidnap the Galactic President Zaphod Beeblebrox.
In response, Arthur Dent leads Ford Prefect and Zaphod to the Vogon homeworld, Vogsphere, in a heroic gesture to free her. The intrepid band are currently queuing deep within the sprawling administrative centre, armed with a completed set of prisoner release forms.
Now at the end of her questioning Trillian has just been shown a document signed by Zaphod permitting the destruction of Earth. She has little time to dwell on this as the Vogon bureaucracy rumbles on and her sentence is passed.
The Vogon clerk looked up from his display screen.
“Now according to the Galactic Penal code, the punishment for a presidential kidnapping is...”
“Come on, love!” said a Vogon guard, dragging Trillian out of the chair by her bound wrists.
“...Immediate execution,” the clerk continued, “under the new Galactic Cheerfulness Edicts. Good day...”
The guide has this to say about the recent Galactic Cheerfulness Edicts.
The universe, being unimaginably vast and comprised of bleak, freezing and (mostly) empty vacuum, has the unfortunate effect of making people of an introspective nature feel rather small and insignificant in comparison. This is perfectly normal and correct, unless you are a Giganthropican Sisturgid from the Noogley Sector in which case it would make you feel reasonably huge and insignificant, if that is you happened to be a Giganthropican Sisturgid capable of concentrating on anything other than trying to move any one of your ten solar-system sized eyeballs back and forth in a colossal effort to look for nutritious supernovae.
For most beings this fact is totally beyond any physical means to alter (with a few notable exceptions. See Appendix J – Megalomaniacs and Creatures of Disproportionately Vindictive Nastiness), so worrying about it should be deemed a total waste of effort. However the Galactic Government, being as it is, decided that extra bureaucracy was just the ticket to cheer up the individuals who persisted in concerning themselves with their cosmic unimportance. This had the instantaneous effect of making most of the Vogon species much happier (for whom legislation and paperwork is what narcotics or digital watches are to other, more rational beings) and was hailed as an immediate success by its creator (one Vogon Prostetnic Klabz)
Capitalising on these initial results the legislation went on to intrusively alter the lives of immense swathes of the galactic population, which did at the very least give them all something else to complain about over breakfast instead of existential nihilism.
Trillian is about to come across one of the new law's sub-clauses which deals with the fact that prisoners condemned to death frequently seem to be more unhappy than most. Guidelines therefore state that the nature of the execution should try and remedy this.
“Get off of me! Ow! No!” Trillian wailed as she was dragged along. The Vogon guard either seemed not to notice or was ignoring her. Her mind raced as she struggled, trying to think up an ingenious method of escape. All that came to mind were a string of pleas designed to appeal to her captor's better nature. The fact she attempted such a strategy on a Vogon is evidence of how desperate she was.
“Wait Wait! There's been some kind of mistake!” she babbled.
“I'll say,” the Vogon replied sullenly. “Have you ever considered everything, and I mean everything and wondered if all this is wrong? If it's worthwhile?”
“What?” Trillian gasped, stumbling.
“I'm just agreeing with you. Existence... Could all just be a mistake couldn't it? A minor cosmological fault that will really make no difference in the grand scheme of things. I mean, it seems paltry when you consider the scale of the universe and the macrocosmic intricacy with which it is invested. We're like a tiny imperfection in some vast and unfathomable superstructure. Even if you don't accept all our individual experiences as comparatively fleeting and therefore utterly pointless, you would at least have to acknowledge that in such a complex system there's bound at the very least to be the odd cock-up, wouldn't you say?”
Trillian, not normally one for philosophical debate when faced with the proposition of execution, was rather taken aback by the speech. The guard, seemingly happy to hold up his end of the conversation by himself, took a deep lungful of air and continued.
“If however you were setting aside any overarching existential paradigms and referring merely to a miscarriage of justice and the woeful inadequacy of the Galactic penal system to fully marry motives with punishment, then you could indeed argue that though highly illegal your move was nevertheless generally popular. Speaking for myself and the rest of the security detail, love, we never really liked Mr. Beeblebrox anyway. Too much of a playboy if you ask me. It's all 'Zap' and 'Kapow' with him. All 'Wahah!', if you get me drift?”
Trillian shook her head, her mouth hanging open, and completely failed to come up with any kind of interjection or reply. The guard did not notice.
“Not really appreciated by your average working minion, is Beeblebrox.... We appreciate you sticking up for the little beings of the universe, miss. I know most of the lads downstairs would love you shake you by the hand and say 'Good on you' for trying something that we would only talk about.”
Trillian was about to try and explain how she wasn't actually trying to kidnap Zaphod when the little part of her mind that remained sane and calm in desperate circumstances such as these told her to button it. She instead tried a more direct entreaty to the guard.
“So... Surely you could you put all this down to any one of those errors, either legal, cosmological or philosophical, and say I was a victim of circumstance or statistics or... whatever and just let me go then? It wouldn't matter seeing as you yourself posit that any action we take is inherently without worth...”
“Hmm?” replied the guard as if being distracted from something. “Oh no, sorry. Out of the question, love. Dragging prisoners from one room to another is the only thing I cling to in this desolate and uncaring universe. If I were to give that up then the outlook for my life would seem very grim, wouldn't you say?”
“Ummm...” Trillian began, but then stumbled as she tried to keep up with the Vogon.
“Besides you're still guilty and I do enjoy watching the executions of dangerous terrorists such as yourself on the staff video feeds.”
They reached a large entranceway next to which two other Vogons were waiting.
“Bye then,” said the first Vogon guard, pushing Trillian towards the others. Then he turned and plodded off, humming contentedly as he went.
Trillian watched him go for a moment, feeling an incongruous sense of abandonment. Her mind was sharply dragged back to her current plight much as she herself was dragged bodily into another chamber.
“Resistance is useless!” the two new guards chorused as she allowed herself to be carried along limply, having come to the correct conclusion that her struggling was indeed about as useful as a sense of common decency is to your average estate agent.
The room she found herself in looked like a dingy industrial workshop. Against one wall was something that put Trillian in mind of a dentist's chair from back home. Pointing at it was a long-barrelled and unpleasant looking contraption that was connected by myriad snaking, tangled cables to a bank of screens and dials that were watched over by another Vogon wearing the uniform of a minor functionary. The Vogon looked up at the clumping footsteps of the guards, turning her back on the various motivational posters (“If it's worth doing, it's worth doing in triplicate!” and “You don't have to be mad to work here, but if you are please do not share you medication.”) that she had been reading.
“I am Vogon Functionetic Plödz and I will be overseeing your execution today,” she said in a high, rasping whine. Spittle flew off her pudgy lips with every syllable and even some pauses between words. “You have been scheduled for termination in accordance with Galactic Cheerful Edicts. If you have any complaints please collect a feedback form on your way out.”
The Vogon Plödz rambled on as Trillian was hauled over to the chair. She had begun to struggle again, because sometimes rationality just isn't worth two figs compared with a pig-headed refusal to accept your fate and the cold, hard facts from which it is wrought.
With barely any effort the Vogon lifted their prisoner off her feet, her white boots pedalling in the air, and then unceremoniously dumped her into the chair. Trillian kicked and thrashed, but this mostly went unnoticed in any meaningful way by the Vogons who immediately set about strapping her down with the industrious contentment to two menials who draw tremendous satisfaction from their mindless tasks.
Thick reinforced belts were fastened about each of her wrists, securing them to the wide-set arms of the chair. Two further restraints went around her calves, just below her knees. All four were cinched tight enough to hold Trillian to the chair in a position that caused her a tremendous amount of concern. She tried to tug her limbs free, grunting with the effort, but after a few moments the mismatch between her physical strength and the industrial grade restraints became all too obvious and she slumped back, staring dejectedly around the room.
Meanwhile, their work complete, the guards took up their stations. One went off to stand by a metal casket in the corner of the chamber while the other began to fiddle with the worrying machinery that looked for all the world, Trillian couldn't help but conclude, as if it were being aimed at her head. She looked up at the narrow barrel, her clear blue eyes wide with concern for her own well being.
“What is that?” she asked in a small voice.
Plödz seemed slightly taken aback by the question...
“Please refrain from voicing queries till the end of the introduction. Thank you!” she snapped. “Now where was I? Ah yes. As well as the aforementioned equipment the device in front of you takes measurements of your neurobiology and for all intents and purposes is able to measure happiness.”
“Just hope we sorted out the calibration this time,” said one of the guards gleefully. “Last one we had in here the thresholds were too high. Three whole days we were at it. Course they went mad after the first six hours.”
“Then they went very mad after the next twelve,” added the other.
“If you'd like to look this way,” Plödz said pointedly, indicating a screen on the wall that showed a long series of alien numerals. “When cheerfulness thresholds have been reached or exceeded you will be permitted a brief period of existence to experience this sensation of blissful contentment before execution will be carried out. This will be by accelerated atomic destabilisation.
“Now do you have any questions before we begin?”
“I...” Trillian began. These could very well be her last words. She didn't know whether to try for something poignant or just scream invective. In the end, she went for the safe option of fearful gabbling. “Um... If... Er... Can I... Does it hurt?”
“Oh course not, my dear,” said Plödz reassuringly before she turned away, rolling her eyes.
Trillian, with a mounting sense of expectant dread, was really quite unhappy. She began to wonder exactly how they were going to cheer her up, and how that would lead to her demise. This room and the objects in it didn't exactly exude a sense of well-being. She had already ruled out an amusing puppet show and doubted the process would entail some sort of pleasant retrospective of her life. She mentally toyed with various scenarios, all invoked mainly to aid her in ignoring the little, logical part of her brain that was simultaneously making alarming suggestions about what they were going to do, based on the information at hand, such as her being restrained, and the mystery sarcophagus in the corner. Her thoughts were interrupted by Plödz squealing out a command at avolume and pitch that was uncalled for in the small room.
“Release the EEE...” Plödz commanded, the last word said in a nasal squeal.
“What's an... EEE?” asked Trillian to no-one in particular, mimicking the mystery term in a half-hearted manner.
“That would be an Enforced Expiration Engineer, dear,” Plödz explained and grinned. It was by any measure a gruesome sight.
“Oh good...” Trillian murmured looking fretfully over her shoulder.
The Vogon standing next to the metal casket was twisting a locking wheel on its front. With a pneumatic hiss a heavy door swung open revealing the enclosure to be hollow.
A waif-like creature, its brittle thin body wrapped in a shiny, tight-fitting boiler suit emerged from the casket. Its lanky form was almost completely attired in shiny grey material. Even its face was hidden, the only distinguishing features being breathing holes in its mask and a long zip that went from its belly to the centre of its 'face' where the zip's slider hung like a metallic bogey. Its hands however were bare; large and pale, they dangled from narrow wrists. Long, four-jointed fingers ending in tapering fleshy nubs twitched slightly as the EEE, the Engineer, shuffled forward.
Trillian watched with increasing panic, drawing as far back as she could. The thing approached with a jittery, nervous energy as if overly keen on something. It stopped beside her chair and cocked its head at her.
Trillian stared back at the faceless head, eyes wide, her bottom lip quivering very slightly, trying to come to terms with the baleful creature that was apparently to be her executioner.
“We'll start with the armpits!” Plödz said cheerfully. In response the Engineer's fingers flexed.
Arthur, Ford and Zaphod forced their way to the front of the queue, Zaphod smiling and shaking hands all the while, burbling platitudes to the startled and the annoyed as they pushed past.
Getting to the desk, Arthur immediately pushed the completed forms he had been clutching to the clerk, explaining the mistake, saying how Galactic President Zaphod was ordering Trillian's immediate release.
“But this isn't a presidential release form,” said the Vogon clerk. “Those are blue.”
Arthur felt the anger well up in him. He straightened up, set his jaw, looked the Vogon right in the eyes and then, in true British fashion, said absolutely nothing before stalking off to get the correct forms.
“No, no no no no!” Trillian squealed. “Stop, please! No! Don't!”
Vogon Plödz looked on, perplexed.
“It hasn't even started yet,” she said.
Trillian opened her eyes. The Engineer was hovering over her with hands raised, its head still cocked quizzically to one side. It turned to face Vogon Plödz who shrugged and sighed.
“Just get on with it.”
The Engineer turned back to Trillian and reached out towards her defenceless body, it long fingers undulating in the air. The realisation of what was to be the method of her execution had clicked into place for Trillian all at once. Shaking her head and still babbling pleas for clemency she clamped her arms to her sides, or at least tried to, as much as her restraints would allow.
“No, please! Not like this...”
Still the Engineer's spindly hands crept towards her with all the aching slowness of a particularly lethargic glacier.
“Please please please please PLEASE!” she begged, her body jiggling up and down, her expression pained.
The long fingers came to rest on the material of her flight suit and then gently forced their way into her armpits, nestling between the soft flesh of her arm and body.
Trillian yelped as it wiggled its pale fingertips firmly into the crook of her armpits, and then moved them slowly up and down.
“No no no no no!” Trillian squealed, fighting and squirming as she felt a giggle rise up her throat.
“That's better,” said Vogon Plödz and watched as the Engineer worked.
Its hands played back and forth, over her sides, tickling her up and over her arms, its fingertips working into the the material of her flight suit to rub against the tender skin beneath. The spidery digits crawled over her ribs, squeezed at her biceps, and scratched at the hollow of her armpit. Trillian sputtered with laughter unable to wriggling her body away and protect herself in any meaningful way.
The Engineer's fingers crept lower, curling against the material just above Trillian's hips, the soft flesh yielding to its touch.
“Stop it!” Trillian yelled between giggles. “Please! Stop it!”
Plödz ignored the pleas and turned to look at the dials. Behind her Trillian's head shook back and forth, her shrill laughter echoing around the room as the Engineer relentlessly tickled her.
“This isn't eliciting a great enough response,” said Plödz.
Unbidden the Engineer became more energetic, digging his fingers more briskly into Trillian's sides. She squealed even louder. It was raking its hands over the sides of her belly, clutching at her narrow waist. Trillian drew in a ragged breath then cackled as the tickling continued, the hands beginning to work around towards the small of her back. Her body tensed, reflexively arching away from the chair, leaving the Engineer even more room to grope at her sensitive skin.
“Hmmm...” mumbled Plödz, still inspecting the instruments. “Hold it there.”
The Engineer ceased in Trillian's ticklish torment and straightened up, holding its elongated hand up like a mantis' claws. Panting, Trillian raised her head and shook her disarrayed hair from her face, blowing some errant stands aside.
“Tickling? Honestly?” she yelled, not that anyone seemed to listen. “That's all you could come up with? This isn't going to work... Forget cheering my up, just shoot me now, please!”
“The Edicts must be fulfilled,” Plödz said in an off-hand fashion and consulted with on of the guards.
“This can't be right,” Trillian continued, “This can't be the most humane... I mean Vogane.... I mean... It can't be the kindest way of executing someone? Can it? It sure as hell isn't cheerfing me up!”
Plödz didn't respond, but she did nod to the guard who had pointed something out on a chart they had both been inspecting. Shambling over the guard took hold of Trillian's collar, drew down the zip and pulled the top of her flight suit open, exposing her white cotton vest top. She watched, mouth open, her expression one of acute outrage. She had no time to comment as Plödz nodded to the Engineer.
“Proceed.”
“No no no. Wait! STOP!” Trillian babbled, but the Engineer either couldn't hear or didn't listen. Once again it descended on her. Its lithe hands disappeared into her clothing rummaging lower to find the bottom of her vest. Gently teasing the clothing up it began to stroke its fingertips against Trillian's bare flesh, occasionally digging gently into the tender skin around her hips and waist.
Trillian gave a howl of laughter, straining forward in the seat as the Engineer did his worst, his fingers teasing and titillating, the sensation close to unbearable. She shook her head wordlessly, unable to control her desperate giggling for long enough to demand an end to this treatment. Then the pitch of her laughter changed, becoming a deeper chuckle as the Engineer began to poke and squeeze at her soft belly. A finger twirled around her navel before both hands began to scrabble up and down over her ribs again. Jiggling and shrieking Trillian's eyes began to water as she giggled breathlessly.
Insensitive to Trillian's plight first-hand, Plödz shook her head at the dials.
“No, no. No good. We'll move on.”
The engineer withdrew its hands from Trillian's, giving her a moment to rest and slump forward. Gasping for breath she looked up at the Engineer through her disarrayed hair.
“Please don't do that again,” she said, her voice small and weak.
However the Engineer was already preparing for what was to come next. Its fingers lingering in the air over her thighs.
“Oh no!” she moaned, already exhausted. She tried to clamp her legs together but the restraints below her knees made this about as effective as Pebblian relaxation drill. The Engineer's sinewy fingers fell upon Trillian's legs. The restraints stopped her doing anything about it.
“No, please... Don't do that. No! NO!”
The Enginner placed its hands onto Trillian's trapped leg, the material of her trousers pulled tight over the sumptuously curved thigh. Its fingers curled around the flesh of her inside leg then began to flick back and forth, scratching and pinching at the material and her delicate skin beneath. Trillian cackled with laughter, straining forward, trying to double up, but then rocked back. She shuffled her hips back and forth, wriggled her booted feet; anything to alleviate the terrible, unbearable, tickling sensations that shot through her and made every muscle tense, that made her back arch, her body writhe and that made her toes curl.
Fingers dancing expertly, the Engineer managed to reach almost every inch of her tender thighs and caused Trillian to snort with laughter. Then, moving its hands around her thighs, it shoved it fingers under her legs to tickle her behind her trapped knees. Trillian's giggling was redoubled into a full blown laughing fit, her head tilted back, eyes and mouth wide open.
Keeping one hand at her knee the Engineer's other hand moved higher. It wedged it fingers into her groin and waggled its fingers industriously. This made Trillian buck and jump against her restraints, spluttering as she tried to force out more pleas for the Engineer to stop. Not that they would have had any effect.
“That's more of a lilac,” said the Vogon clerk.
“It's blue!” Arthur fumed. “It's bloody blue! There's nothing on the rack that's more blue than that!”
“It is more of a purple to be fair,” mumbled Ford.
“Have you checked the rack over there?”
Arthur squinted over and spotted a very small rack quite low on the wall, almost obscured by a rather sickly potted plant. It contained a solitary sheaf of blue paper. Scowling he stormed away.
The Engineer still had one handwedged into Trillian's groin, though its concentration was now elsewhere. Its other hand was flitting about her upper body, squeezing at her neck and shoulders, pinching at her sides. With a swift movement it slipped its fingers into her vest and then manoeuvred its fingers around the bare flesh under her arms. Each time the Engineer moved switched its hand to a new location Trillian would yelp and flinch, trying to alter her position to protect her vulnerable body. It pecked its fingers at her a few more times before it began to clench its fingers against her groin again which made Trillian abandon any attempt to defend herself, her whole body shaking with laughter. Seizing this revealed weakness the Engineer plunged its hand back into Trillian's top, going once again for her midriff. All twelve of its fingers rubbed against her, throwing Trillian's body into a series of squirming spasms. She buried the back of her head into the headrest, her face raised towards the ceiling, and howled with laughter.
From somewhere distant Trillian heard snippets of Vogon Plödz's voice.
“I just don't understand it...”
The Engineer's fingers probed the flesh around her soft belly.
“...just isn't doing enough...”
Trillian giggled and thrashed, cackling breathlessly.
“...operating perfectly...”
The Engineer worked his hands upwards, attacking her ribs just below her bosom.
“...the soup today I think, with some of that crusty stuff on top...”
Trillian wailed and screamed and moaned, thrashing and squirming in her chair.
“...I thought they just used those to store their shoes...”
The Engineer's fingers began to run up the curve of her breasts.
“...Lets the feet now, shall we?”
“NO!” Trillian yelled at the top of her voice. The Engineer stopped and immediately retracted its hands, drawing back as if frightened.
Trillian lay quite still, gulping down air. However she had heard enough of what was being said and it took precedence over paltry, life-sustaining considerations such as oxygen.
“Please don't...” she groaned, breathing hard. “Not my feet... Honestly...”
At the foot of the chair, the Engineer pawed at her white boots, seemingly confused, maybe still wary of Trillian's wrathful outburst. She tried and experimental scratch at the boot's sole, but pulled its hand back almost immediately. One of the Vogon guards stepped forward, gently pushing the Engineer aside. Trillian, meanwhile, begged steadily to Vogon Plödz.
“Please... don't! I won't be able to stand it...” Trillian began.
The Vogon guard placed a gloved hand on her boot
“I'm so cheerful now...!” she went on.
The footwear was unfastened, sitting loose on her leg.
“I'm too cheerful in fact...!”
He began to pull the boot from her foot.
“You don't need to go to any more trouble...”
The boot slipped off entirely.
“Please don't go to any more trouble!”
The Engineer approached her socked foot, the toes flexing beneath the sweaty white material.
“PLEASE!” Trillian said emphatically. She screwed up her toes, her face a grimace, jaw set, ready for the inevitable. The Engineer's fingers loomed. She gave a little whimper.
The long fingers curled against the sole of Trillian's foot, the fingertips rustling against the material of her sock. She gave a brief bark of laughter.
“Oh no, no no...” she groaned, and then quickly ran out of space for words.
With all twelve fingers against Trillian's sole, the Engineer danced them around her foot, scratching at the cotton sock, dragging the material over the smooth skin nestled beneath, fingertips bumping over the fleshy ridges of her wrinkled sole as they ran up and down her foot. Trillian tittered shrilly, her leg jiggling, her foot twisting back and forth.
The Engineer carefully pressed its palm onto the top of her toes, bending them back, holding it firm, cotton sock and soft skin pulled taught. It caressed the ball of her foot with its free hand, then it delicately flicked one finger up and down her arch.
Trillian squealed and moaned, sputtering and shaking. She tried to wrench her foot from the Engineer's grasp, but the attempts were in vain. It continued to stroke her foot, to rub it and fondle it, to find every last tender little spot of flesh beneath her sock and tease it mercilessly with it roving fingers.
The Engineer, releasing her toes, began to drag its fingertips up Trillian's foot, from heel up the arch, and flicking over the ball of her foot. In response the foot writhed and jumped, trying to escape the squirming fingers. One such movement was so lively it almost dragged her sock off. The white material bunched up around the middle of her foot, her creamy pink heel left bare.
The Engineer paused, but then, with head cocked, reached out and daintily plucked the sock off her foot. It held it in the air close to its breathing holes for a moment. Then it discarded it and seemed to focus instead on Trillian's bare foot. Its head turned and tilted, taking in the curves and contours or her foot, the sumptuous sole; the pale, elegant arch; the plump, pink toes.
“Oh no... No...” Trillian yelled
Extending one long finger her placed in on the fleshy tip of her big toe. Then with a languid movement it dragged the digit down her foot, over the little fleshy ridges that formed as Trillian clenched her toes, her foot bending downwards.
“Get off!” she screamed. “Not that!” The, however, Engineer repeated the action. Trillian shrieked so loudly the second time it actually paused and cocked its head again.
“Just bugger off!” she said for emphasis.
The Engineer reached out again.
“I said no! No! No no! Oh why don't you listen to me-eeeEEEE!” her words segued into a squeal that turned into a keening wail of laughter.
It had begun tickling in earnest, ignoring her pleas to the contrary. It fingers skittered and danced over her soft skin, concentrating to the exclusion of all else on the bare sole of Trillian's foot.
Cupping her instep in one hand it swirled it index finger around the silky hollow of her arch. Then it pressed it hand gently onto Trillian's little toes once again, bending them back, dragging the sole taught.
“Oh please...” she gasped. “Please don't.”
With its free hand the Engineer pawed at Trillian's bare sole, running its fingers over the sumptuous curves and smooth flesh. Nothing Trillian could do could stop the attention. Her foot was trapped, helpless before this creature. Her head swung back and forth, her body rocking as she struggled against the restraints. She snorted as she fought for air, mouth and eyes wide as her foot was relentlessly tickled.
Still holding her foot immobile the Engineer dug his fingertips beneath her toes, stroking her most soft and tender skin, adding a frantic edge to Trillian's already skill laughter.
Without a pause the Engineer glanced over its shoulder (Trillian was too preoccupied to question why or how an apparently eyeless creature did this). The three Vogons were all staring at the instruments with much scratching of heads and shrugging.
The Engineer turned back to Trillian. With one hand it continued to tickle her foot. With the other it reached up to the zip upon it face. It eased it down exposing a toothy mouth. The jaws opened and a long, sinuous tongue unfurled, lolling out of the Engineer's mask. Still struggling Trillian glimpsed it and screamed at the top of her lungs.
“NO! Stay AWAY!”she managed.
Leaning forward the Engineer braced itself on Trillian's chair with both hands. Its tongue curled and flexed and then fell upon Trillian's naked foot, lapping at the skin on her sole. She screamed in frustration, the yell stuttering with laughter, ending in a croaky, breathless giggle. Tears streamed down her face, her eyes screwed tightly shut. The Engineer's tongue curled around her foot, hugging it in a moist fleshy grip, while its prehensile tip twirled and flicked around each pink toe, from the smallest to the largest, pausing to slowly rub around the wide, fleshy pad of Trillian's big toe. Balling her fists she clenched her teeth and began to force words out in a growl.
“Stop! Just stop...” she said as she wheezed and sputtered, “Whatever you want. Just don't! Don't don't...!” and that was all she managed before doubling up and cackling.
The Engineer didn't stop. It had what it wanted. Its tongue uncoiled and then snaked and flicked over her foot. The hollow of her arch, the skin between her large and second toes, the flesh at the back of her ankle around her Achilles tendon. It attended to each and every one of these spots and others, the sinuous tendril snaking back and forth across her bare flesh, expertly keeping Trillian squealing and moaning with each new ticklish attack on her defenceless, naked foot.
Next the Engineer pressed its thumbs into her toes, splaying them wide, its fingers cupped over her instep. Its tongue waggled over her toes, licking at the soft fleshy pads beneath them. Trillian wailed as its fleshy extremity worked between each toe, slithering back and forth, running its not inconsiderable length between each. Then it licked downwards, running wetly over her soft, pale arch, twitching up and down against the creamy, tender skin.
Plödz glanced away from the flickering dials and caught sight of what had been going on behind her back. She watched Trillian squeal and squirm for a few moments, one eyebrow cocked.
“Hmmm...” she mumbled. “Must be hungry.”
Arthur stormed up to the counter for, what he promised himself was definitely going to be the last time. Quite different from the previous three times. This was definitely the last time.
“Here's the form, here's you pencil, here's... and android's arm... and here's the president! Now where is Trillian?”
“Thank you for filing the Presidential Release form,” said the clerk, stamping it. “Please allow three to five days for processing, followed by thirty working days for release of the prisoner.”
“What?” Arthur asked, incredulous.
The Vogon rolled her eyes and explained.
“The form needs to be processed, copied, countersigned, lost, found....”
Arthur had stopped listening. He was already running off with the form in hand, Ford and Zaphod close behind.
“Maybe we should try nipples next...” said Plödz airily looking back at the dials. They were barely managing to lift off the baseline. Behind her Trillian, her face damp with sweat, breathing hard to get her breath back, turned her head and stared blearily at the screens. The Engineer stood to one side, its tongue still lolling, its head swaying slightly as Trillian unconsciously flexed and twisted her bare foot fanning her toes.
Shaking her head, Vogon Plödz faced Trillian.
“I don't know what it is about you Denvans. We never seem to be able to get to cheerful enough for the coup-de-grace.”
“I'm... I'm a human,” Trillian panted.
“A what?” asked Plödz.
The little voice shouted inside Trillian's head was trying to stop her, but she was too exhausted and the message from her brain arrived at her mouth too late to stop her saying:
“A human... From Earth. Galactic location zee zee nine, plural zee, alpha.”
“Oh.” Vogon Plödz consulted a chart and then adjusted a dial. “That will make a difference. Try it again.”
“Oh...” Trillian managed to moan before the Engineer leant in and raked his fingers around her bare foot again. Its tongue snaked over her toes, its fingers rubbed and danced over her pink sole. She immediately began to jump and shudder, squealing with laughter once more. On Plödz's screen the dial jumped into the last of the specially colour coded sections.
“Oh yes. Much better. Start the clock.”
The screen on the wall began a countdown, the numbers cycling all too quickly. Not that Trillian noticed. She was too busy concentrating on the insufferable tingling sensations that shot up her leg from her beleaguered foot. The Engineer was meticulous, revisiting all the hollows and crannies that had made her squeal not so long ago and elicited the same reactions again, but with a loss of inhibition that followed on from extreme exhaustion. Trillian laughed without restraint as the engineer worked its ticklish craft upon her trapped, bare foot.
“Readings are becoming erratic. Get the other boot off!” Plödz commanded.
Trillian shook her head vehemently as a guard stepped forward and tugged her other boot away. The Engineer immediately set upon it, long fingers rubbing away at he sock, long tongue still slathering over the bare skin of her unclad foot. Trillian croaked breathlessly, her whole body shuddering. The countdown on the screen cycled to the last few digits.
“Prepare the Beam,” Plödz commanded.
A Vogon guard placed a hand on a large switch on the side of the pointy contraption.
“And...” Plödz said.
“STOP!”
Plödz turned at this new voice. The guards turned too and even the engineer glanced over it shoulder, though it kept its fingers moving against Trillian's feet.
Arthur, stifling a look of shock at Trillian's plight, was striding over to Plödz, a blue form in hand.
“I have in my hand a Presidential Release Form and I also the the president. I'm asking... No, I'm demanding you release her at once.”
Ford had unpacked his towel and waved it at the Engineer. It who cowered and retreated. Almost immediately Trillian collapsed limply aganist the chair, panting and wheezing.
“Thank you... Thank you...” she muttered over an over again.
The Engineer scuttled away and fled down a service corridor. The Guards plodded after it half-heartedly.
Alone and faced with completed and correctly stamped paperwork, Plödz also began to back away.
“Administration isn't my department... I don't have the authority! I'll have to speak to my supervisor...” she wailed.
“Oh, okay!” said Arthur, mercilessly proffering the forms towards the Vogon. “Good let's go talk to them shall we! Ford, lend a hand! I may need the Guide!”
Ford hurried after Arthur and the Vogon, Guide in hand and already on the chapter covering the minutiae of pointless, mind-numbing bureaucracy.
This left Zaphod alone with Trillian. He smiled at her.
“You don't look too good, baby doll,” he said, sidling over to her. “Had a rough time?”
“You could say that,” she said, her voice still hoarse. “Not least of all because I have not only been tortured in the most humiliating and ridiculous manner, but I also found out you signed the order for Earth's demolition!”
“I did?” said Zaphod, his mind obviously somewhere else.
“You really didn't read it, did you?” she asked, her tone one of utter disbelief. “You really thought it was an autograph! Didn't you?”
“Hey hey, okay,” Zaphod replied, hands held out in a placating gesture. “I understand you're upset.”
“Upset!? You destroyed my home planet!”
“But I realise you're only like this because you've been through a lot recently...” Zaphod continued unabashed.
“Don't patronise me, you cocky bast...”
“Others would take offence because they don't know you like I do.” He was standing at the foot of the chair by now and smirking. “And I like to think I know you very well...”
Something in his manner alarmed Trillian.
“Zaphod!” she said warningly.
“Relax, baby,” he said, and whipped off her other sock with a smooth, easy motion. “I know what I'm doing.”
Trillian fixed him with her wide blue eyes, her little pink feet flexed, her toes fanning.
“Don't you dare,” she said, with just the hint of a smile on her lips.
Zaphod smiled back and winked.
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