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Sabotage on the Gargalesis (F/F, speculative fiction)

Inticklergator

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Hello everyone! I finished this story about half a year ago now but wasn't sure whether I wanted to post it or not. As you can see, I decided in the affirmative.

If you like it, a review explaining why would be much appreciated. If you don't like it, a review explaining why would be even more appreciated.

I hope you enjoy the story!

Sabotage on the Gargalesis

A story of The Laughter That Devours

Terrorgatrix Gath-Hel cast a languid eye over her prisoner. A mistress of her work, she maintained steady eye contact with the victim as she applied lubrication agent to each fingernail from a dark, purple vial. Taken from the Belt of Office that both signified a Terrorgatrix's rank and served to carry to tools of her trade, the clear, slippery liquid could greatly reduce friction between whatever they coated and any other surface. For example, the twitching skin of a woman being subjected to merciless tickle torture.

Though the sight caused her great internal suffering, the captive could not bring herself to take her eyes off her soon-to-be torturer. So rapt was she that she even craned her neck as far as her restraints would allow to ensure she could see.

As Gath-Hel took her time applying the tiniest drop to each long, black fingernail the captives dark, brown eyes grew rounder and wider in her dainty face which, already pale by nature, had become bone-white with fear. Such a contrast with her superior! Where the prisoner was petite, slim and oriental, Gath-Hel's body went in and out with gusto and her skin was dark. Natives of some universes might place her as South Asian. The already impressive curves of Gath-Hel's body were further accentuated by her stature, for she was one of the shortest aboard the Gargalesis. True as this was, her rank entitled her to walk taller than anyone else on the ship. She had light brown eyes and her long, wildly curled hair was the same purest black as her fingernails.

The clothes of the two women were also a point of contrast. The captive was invisibly naked under the Sarcophagus, while Gath-Hel wore the proper uniform of a Terrorgatrix – a bright red dress which, while floor-length, was slitted and low-cut in all the right places to tantalize any interested observer.

The application of the lotion was something she liked to use as a kind of subliminal countdown for her victims. Finger by cruel finger, they were forced to anticipate the tickle torture to come.

That countdown was now finished.

One leisurely step after another, she approached the Sarcophagus. An outwardly simple device, the Sarcophagus was nothing more than a long, black, coffin-shaped tube which was flexible enough that, when programmed, it could arrange itself into a wide variety of configurations. It was also strong enough that anyone restrained inside was utterly helpless, unable to budge their prison by even a fraction of a Nanomeasure.
For this captive, Gath-Hel had arranged the Sarcophagus somewhat like an italic z, so that the girl was bent at the knees and again at the abdomen. One unfamiliar with situation might assume this posture to be uncomfortable, but aside from the impossibility of pain, or indeed any suffering other than tickling, within even the upper levels of The Laughter That Devours, the Sarcophagus was manufactured to provide complete sensory deprivation to every part of the victim's body that lay inside it.

The only places which did not lay inside were the victim's head and feet. This configuration placed her head at about the level of the Terrorgatrix's knees, where it rested on a crimson cushion, fear-pallid face framed by the reversed halo of her splayed out, perfectly straight, shining black hair. Her feet stuck out the other end at Gath-Hel's shoulder height, dangling limply.

Gath-Hel reached an elegant hand to her Belt of Office and pressed a button somewhere on it's golden surface. In response a tiny compartment opened in the top of the Sarcophagus and, almost too fast to see, a clutch of fine black threads shot out of the device towards the prisoner's bare feet. Suddenly the smooth, high arches were pulled tightly against the Sarcophagus, while each tiny toe stuck out just above the rim of the device, bent around the corner and splayed just a little apart. A close observer would see, wrapped around each toe, an incredibly fine lasso, perfectly soft and completely unbreakable. Perhaps the captive was struggling, trying to extricate her vulnerable little feet from their exposed position. There would be no way for anyone watching to tell, so still did the machine hold them.

Finally the captive spoke. “P... Please Mistress. I've d, done nothing. I s, swear.” Though she was trying to keep her composure, a constant downward tug at the corners of her mouth showed that she was on the verge of breaking down and sobbing.

Terrorgatrix Gath-Hel felt her own pulse start to quicken. There was nothing in life she enjoyed more than hearing one of her victims beg for mercy, than seeing the terror and suffering in their eyes. She smiled down at the prisoner, letting her have a little hope.

“I believe you.”

“Y, you do?” The prisoner's eyes lit up as though her whole world had been saved.

“I do. At least, you're not guilty of anything that would get you thrown Outside.”

Blessed relief flooded over the prisoner's face.

“But someone else is, and you are going to tell me who.”

Now the girl's face read confusion, with a creeping hint of a return of the old terror.

“Adminitrix Keel, these materials were found during a routine inspection of your personal affects.” Gath-Hel reached to her belt again and pulled a few tattered sheets of paper from the storage pouch. “The Republic of the Will is a tyranny... The Castes Superior are usurpers... the so-called 'threat' from Pandemonia is a creation of the Propagandrixes...”

“T, Terrorgatrix, I swear I don't believe any of that. I just found them in aaaAAAIIIEEEEEEE!” Keel's words broke off into a piercing scream as Gath-Hel ran the tip of one cruel fingernail down her sole.

“The first part was true, the second part was a lie. Don't lie to me again.”

“M, Mistress. Please!”

“I understand. Fully. Look, I know very well that these were given to you by your cabin-mate, Adminitrix Thran, who just so happens to be your dearest and oldest friend. Perhaps your lover. And, for spreading the seditious filth I had the misfortune of reading earlier, a traitor to the Republic of the Will.”

“M, Mistress, she had nothing to do wiiieEEEEE!” This time Gath-Hel didn't give her only one pass with the fingernail. She ran it up and down the poor girl's sole, looking down happily as her victim frantically threw her head back and forth. No doubt she was trying to do the same with her feet and indeed her whole body, but the Sarcophagus held her too tightly to tell. The girl had an interesting, high-pitched laugh that was almost more like a scream. She would let out a long, agonized shriek, an “EEEEE” that always eventually subsided into a rapid fire “heeheehee” for a few seconds. Then the cycle began again.

Up and down, up and down Gath-Hel moved her nail, varying the pressure between light and hard. The rhythm gave Keels a horrible sense of anticipation to accompany the more physical aspect of the torture, but just to keep her victim thrown off the Terrorgatrix sometimes moved in quick, surprising little flourishes, figures of eight, almost imperceptibly fast darts up to the bottoms of Keels' toes, sometimes slowing down or speeding up the main stroke.

Sometimes the cycle of “EEEEEheeheehee” was broken by spluttered attempts at vocalization, but Keels couldn't get the words out. The welling tears of earlier had become fully flowing tears, which flew around her as her head shook violently back and forth.

After a pleasant five minutes Gath-Hel took her finger away. Keels lay there, still and exhausted yet sobbing, tears running in streams down her hot, laughter-reddened cheeks, over the head-rest and onto the floor. Sorrow made her voice hoarse as she pleaded.

“P, p, please Mistress. No more tickling, I beg you. I'll do whatever you want.”

“Yes you will. Tell me that Thran gave you the pamphlets.”

“It was her, Mistress. Thran gave them to me. Please just don't tickle me any more.”

Gath-Hel looked deep into her victim's wet eyes and thrilled at the desolation she saw there.

“I just broke you so completely that you've betrayed your best friend.” Keels continued to be wracked by sobs, not only from the torture she had just undergone, but also from the sorrow of what she had done. Distributing proscribed material was a treasonable offense. That meant being thrown to the eternal tickling hell that was The Laughter that Devours. “I did it in five minutes, using one fingernail and the smallest drop of agent.” She gave a sunny smile, wanting Keels to know the joy her tormentor drew from her suffering. The Terrorgatrix licked her lips in pleasure and anticipation. “Now I'm going to slather your feet in agent. And I'm going to use all ten nails. For an hour.”

In the fleeting moment before the real torture began, the devastation on Keels' face was precious, golden. Almost as wonderful as her horrified “NOOOOO!” and the hour of agonized, shrieking laughter that filled the isolation of Gath-Hel's torture chamber.

* * *

Gath-Hel stood at her Burotron with her back to the still restrained Keels, typing up the information gleaned in the Terrorgation. Though, boring, the work was necessary – one reason for the rapid destruction of Keels was the Terrorgatrix's diligence in note-taking and research. She had known ahead of time that the girl was most sensitive on her feet.

She kept herself amused while she worked by having Keels beg for various things which she certainly did not want.

“Thank me for torturing you” commanded Gath-Hel idly as she typed.

“Thank you for torturing me, Mistress, thank you so much.” Keels was gently and exhaustedly weeping to herself. No threats were necessary. The poor girl was utterly broken.

“Beg me to tickle you again.”

“Please tickle me, Mistress. Please tickle torture me and never stop.”

That was good. Keels was so defeated she was actually getting creative in her desperate attempts to please. It was a wonder she hadn't been found Weak at her Testing.

“Beg me to torture Thran.” Though busy, Gath-Hel listened carefully for any hint of resistance or hesitation.

There was none.

“Please tickle torture Thran, Mistress. Please break her with tickling. Please destroy Thran with tickle torture, Mistress.

A job well done, then. Gath-Hel was satisfied with her work and thrilled at the prospect of tickling Thran into craven submission. As amusing as the torture of Keels had been, the girl had always been a meek one. Thran was of a different sort – a slightly built girl with short pink hair, she wore her Adminitrix's in regulation- skirting ways and had an air of insolence about her. Gath-Hel had been hoping to have an excuse to torture her for a long time. There was nothing she found so satisfying as breaking the proud. Though as a Terrorgatrix it was her right to Terrorgate any individual of the Castes Inferior she chose, there would eventually be consequences, the disapproval of the Council, if she went around doing so without at least a plausible suspicion.

In a sudden panic, Gath-Hel writhed her body and squeezed her arms shut as she felt the sudden intrusion of a probing finger in each armpit. In torment but unable to move efficiently, she lunged awkwardly forward and spun quickly around, steadying herself on the Burotron.
Nuum-Hal! Damn her!

“Vestigatrix” said Gath-Hel, through gritted teeth, though her resentment both failed to conceal and was partially fueled by her attraction to the one who had attacked her. A tall, leggy red-head who was big in all the right places, Vestigatrix Nuum-Hal had joined the crew of the Gargalesis just before that voyage. She was in Gath-Hel's opinion by far the greatest beauty on the whole ship. Like every Vestigatrix, she wore a uniform that used her looks to her advantage – a garment that appeared to be simply one long, green ribbon wrapped around her gorgeous body like a maypole. Technically speaking, it concealed everything that might be considered private, but only just. With her full figure, Nuum-Hal constantly looked like she was about to fall out of it.

The Vestigatrix enhanced that impression now leaning forward. The shorter Gath-Hel was braced, leaning back against the Burotron, which put her head at exactly the right sight for her vision to be engulfed Nuum-Hal's breasts. With a great effort of will she wrenched her eyes to the Vestigatrix's smirking face.

“Hello my dear.” Nuum-Hal enjoyed taunting Gath-Hel with her flirtatious, superior manner.

Gath-Hel suddenly realized something.

“How did you get in here?” The wide door to the chamber was standing open, the light from the corridor outside revealing dim glimpses of the Terrorgatrix's other torture equipment deeper inside.

“The door just opened itself right up for me. It's very accommodating.”

“Damn thing must be broken again.”

“Looks like someone needs to call Mechanitrix Fab.”

“Anyway, what are you doing here?”

“How unfriendly, my darling Gathy!” Nuum-Hal pouted in mock sadness and ran a hand over her ample chest. “I was just coming by to see if you'd got any information out of poor, misguided Keels.”

“As a matter of fact, I have. She got the pamphlets from her cabin-mate and confidante, Adminitrix Thran.”

“Ah. I suppose you'd like me to go and get her for you then.”

“Do so at once” said Gath-Hel, attempting to reassert control over the situation.

“Whatever you want, honey.!” The Vestigatrix blew Gath-Hel a kiss and left, pausing in the doorway to remark “Better get this thing fixed dear. Someone else may come and along and ambush you. And that someone might not love you like I do.”

No matter how hard she tried Gath-Hel couldn't not watch her go. How you wiggle your body all over the ship in that outfit she thought. One day you'll wiggle under my fingers and I'll find out how ticklish those huge breasts are. One day you'll not be so haughty. You'll beg me for mercy that will never come.

Had she been able to, Gath-Hel would long ago have brought Nuum-Hal in for a torture session, suspicion or no suspicion and disapproving council be damned. Alas, as Vestigatrix's were one of the Castes Superior, Nuum-Hal was one of the very few people aboard the Gargalesis who she had no automatic right to tickle torture.

She thought of the Vestigatrix's breasts again, and shivered for more than one reason.

Shaking herself out of it, she pressed a key on the Burotron to call up a personnel map. All aboard ship were fitted with a tracking device, and the Burotron screen showed the symbol for Fab in the Castes Inferior relaxation area. Resting while in a Terrorgatrix's door was malfunctioning! She might have to be punished. First, however, she could fix the damn door.

With a few key clicks she opened a voice channel to the relaxation room. “Mechanitrix Fab. Report to the Terrorgation facility immediately.” She closed the channel without waiting for a reply. Sure enough, the icon that represented Fab was already moving. Gath-Hel had purposely omitted specific information. Let Fab hurry here, not knowing if she is hurrying towards her own destruction.

Suddenly, the world lurched.

* * *

Gath-Hel pushed herself up from the floor and looked around, still dizzy from the fall.

Everything was now lit only by long, thin fluorescent green bulbs set into the ceiling. This could only mean the ship was using emergency power. The constant low vibration that the ship made when moving was conspicuous by it's absence.

Terrorgatrix or not, Gath-Hel shivered. True, the Gargalesis would have enough Suffering stored up to maintain the Reality Fields for several days, but should the fields fail the ship and all her crew, Gath-Hel included, would be subsumed by the chaos of the Outside. Here on the fourth level of The Laughter That Devours was were reality really started to come undone. Up and down, left and right were only subjective terms out there, and nothing in that environment had any permanence beyond what it chose to have. Any being capable of suffering who found herself outside the safety of a Reality Field would immediately be grabbed by feathered tendrils or tentacles that formed from nothing and tortured without mercy until their victims spoke that same word, mercy, upon which they would be sucked down into the third level. None had ever returned from there, but it was assumed that the process was repeated with even greater intensity, then again until the luckless woman found herself in level zero, the hell of unending tickle torture, the true Laughter That Devours.

Gath-Hel had seen studies conducted on Weaks. The longest any had lasted before saying 'mercy' had been eighteen minutes and twelve seconds.

She rebuked herself for dwelling on fearfulness while she should be taking action. The Burotron seemed to have some life in it, so she pressed a few keys to find the central coordinating Hub.

Yes! It was active. She commanded the Burotron to set up a vidlink with the Hub and was rewarded immediately by the site of Coordinatrix Mup.

Mup was a winningly buxom woman with a round, girlish face and her blond hair cut into a bob. A Coordinatrix's uniform was not flatteringly tailored but Mup made it look very attractive indeed, perhaps unwillingly. For all that she put on a formal air, she couldn't prevent her body from straining against the tightly buttoned gray of her clothes, the spaces between each button clearly visible and the buttons themselves always about to go pinging off into the distance.

As usual when she saw Mup, Gath-Hel slipped into a reverie, thinking about how glorious it would be to see that stern, almost robotic face contorted by uncontrollable laughter. That prim little mouth stretched wide into an unwilling grin, that businesswoman's hair flying here and there, most of all that enticing body trying desperately to wrench itself free.

She forced herself to snap out of it. Though one of the Castes Inferior, the Coordinatrix was so important to the running of the ship that torturing her just for the fun of it was a risky proposition. Never had the risk been greater than now.

“Terrorgatrix! Thank the Council!”

“What's going on, Mup?”

“I'm not sure, Terrorgatrix. Right now, your Burotron is the only one able to connect with the Hub. I can't communicate with anyone else and I've got no information from inside or outside sensors. There are some essential functions I could activate manually, but without information that would be very risky. All I know for sure is that almost everything is shut down, doors emergency locked and communications silenced, and power generation has stopped.”

“Yet my Burotron works just fine and my door is jammed open, not shut.”

“It's very strange, Terrorgatrix.”

“Suspicious is what it is, Coordinatrix.”

“Just as you say, Terrorgatrix.”

“Since as far as we know I'm the only one who can move around, I'm going down to Power Generation to see what's going on.”

“Be careful, Terrorgatrix.”

Though moved, Gath-Hel gave the Coordinatrix a stern glance. It was not her place to speak so familiarly to her betters. It was important to keep the Castes Inferior in their places. Mup looked down, suitable chastened.

Gath-Hel left the Terrorgation chamber. Usually antiseptic and lit by stark white bulbs, the dim green of the emergency lighting made the ship feel eery, reinforcing the ever present fear of the Outside.

After a long time of pacing past shut doors and blank, depowered Burotrons the corridor brought Gath-Hel to the wide open space of Suffering Generation.

Everyone who, after submitting on level five, materialized in an area held by the Republic of the Will, was required to undergo the Test as soon as one hundred such women had been collected. Held in isolation until the fateful day, they faced the merciless Examinatrixes. The Test was simple – undergo tickle torture for as long as possible without begging for mercy. Each woman was Tested in complete isolation – no one permitted to be present but her and her Examinatrix. With no idea of how others were performing, each Testee had no choice but to strive to endure as well as possible. Each was informed of the rules – the one amongst them who held out longest would join the Castes Superior in whatever role best suited her personality, while the next nine would be assigned to the Castes Inferior.

The other ninety were deemed Weak.

Suffering Generation was a cavernous, tube-shaped chamber – Gath-Hel had to crane her neck to peer up into it's full height – that housed a huge, rotating double helix made up of opaque, white things that looked like life support pods.

At least, it should have been rotating. The fact that it was not confirmed what Gath-Hel had already inferred – no Suffering was being generated aboard the Gargalesis.

Even more worrying was the fact that Gath-Hel was alone. There wasn't even anyone standing at the monitoring station – a serious breach of protocol.

Gath-Hel knew enough of the science of Suffering Generation to understand that the Weak confined within the Helix Engine experienced a kind of collective, gestalt consciousness while the machine was running. Preoccupied with it's own unbearable suffering though that consciousness was, any one of it's constituent parts ought to have some awareness of whatever had happened in the chamber right before the shutdown.
The nearest pod levitated about three feet off the ground, joined to the one above it in it's Helix by a complex chord of interwoven golden threads.

The Terrorgatrix unlatched and opened the pod, noted on it's lid as number 3178624.

There below her was a tall, naked, light brown skinned body, wide in the hip and the bust and with just a little hair peeking out from under the Suffering Collector to show that she was a brunette. The Suffering Collector encased her face, a silvery cube that blocked out all light from the eyes of the woman within. The lower half of it was a purple mask with an attached nozzle that fed into the main body of the pod.

The golden threads that joined the pod to it;s parent Helix entered the pod's interior next to 3178624's feet. Inside the pod, the chord was unwound into a great number of smaller threads which wound themselves all over the inmate's feet, over the solves and looping round each toe. Close inspection would reveal a huge number of tiny filaments on each part of each thread. When turned on, these would run endlessly over the victim's feet, a perpetual cycle of torment.

This Helix engine was a foot model, then. Although of course the total amount of Suffering extracted per Weak could be increased by tickling the whole body, a large Helix Engine like this one could achieve a better Suffering input to output ratio by utilizing one giant device that focused on a single part.

The Gargalesis was built to be robust, able to operate alone for extended periods of time and at short notice, hence the use of a foot model. The fact that the feet are the most reliably ticklish part of the body meant that the Helix Engine could be adequately fueled by Weak chosen at random or by prisoners taken in battle. Other Helix Engines, used in situations that allowed more preparation, might focus on a different area, perhaps the thighs, and be stocked with victims carefully selected for having the appropriate weakness.

Gath-Hel unclasped the mask. 3178624 let out a great gasp, likely the first audible sound she had made in decades as the mask absorbed all sounds the victim produced.

“Have you come to release us? Are we finally free?”

Though she found the mouth moving while the eyes remained hidden unnerving, Gath-Hel answered coldly. “No, 3178624. You will tell me what happened here. Why is the Helix Engine not running?”

“I will not tell you.” Of course. After who knows how many years of constant ticklish torment, it was surely worth risking a little defiance to lengthen her respite.

“You will.” Answered Gath-Hel.

Much as she enjoyed torturing a helpless victim, time was of the essence. She would quickly discover 3178624's weak spots and use Scarabs on them.

Gath-Hel put a dab of agent on the nail her forefinger and went to work, probing lightly into 3178624's belly button. This elicited a giggle. Sensitive, but she didn't hate it. Slowly, the Terrorgatrix traced her finger up the Weak's sides. This got a bit a more of a response but still wasn't the right spot.

To save space the pod clamped it's inmate's arms firmly to her sides with fine, strong ribbons. This made it hard to get at her underarms but still, Gath-Hel wormed her finger into one and wiggled it gently. 3178624 broke out in a great throaty laugh - “HAHHAHHAHA!”
Good – she had found a good spot for exhausting the Weak's body. To break the will, she would now need to find somewhere that 3178624 not only was sensitive, but utterly hated to be tickled.

Gath-Hel idled her finger along the captive's torso, tracing a spiral round her belly button, then down to tease the hips and legs. All the while 3178624 giggled, but nothing more.

Only the feet were left, it seemed, but they were covered by the golden threads. What to do?

“Ha! I defy you, tyrant!”shouted 3178624, the effort making her full breasts shake.

Now Gath-Hel saw. She touched the very tip of her lubricated fingernail to the very base of 3178624's breast.

“Ha!” The captive shouted again but this time she sounded afraid.

Slowly, ever so slowly, Gath-Hel moved her fingernail around and around 3178624's breast in a spiral, smaller and smaller, closer and closer to the nipple. As she did so, 3178624 shouted garbled defiance broken up by “HAHAHA!” - a shouted, despairing kind of laugh. She did her best to move herself out of the way of the agonizing finger but was so tightly bound that the succeeded only in making her breasts jiggle in a way Gath-Hel found very pleasing. 3178624 grew more frantic with every passing moment.

Finally Gath-Hel's circling nail reached 3178624's nipple.

“NOOOOOO!”

The Terrorgatrix had found the spot. She quickly slid one fingernail onto each nipple.

“NOOOOOOOOOO!” Gath-Hel observed how 3178624's whole body became tense, stretched out as though she were trying to arch herself out of the pod altogether.

Gath-Hel took the little vial of agent from her Belt of Office and let one drop fall onto each of the captive's nipples. 3178624 must have remembered the feel of the stuff from when she failed the Test all those years ago, because she immediately started making a weird groaning sound, something Gath-Hel had heard before from tickle victims experiencing great fear.

“Please don't. Not there. I'll tell you everything.”

“Yes, you will.”

Gath-Hel opened one of the many pouched on her Belt of Office and brought out two small, black hemispheres, each about the size of a limpet.
Scarabs.

The Terrorgatrix felt the underside of each one, checking that they were in working order. They were hollow and contained something like what you would get if you took a cylindrical hairbrush, miniaturized it until the bristles were barely visible, greatly lengthened it and finally coiled it tightly. On activation, they would tickle whatever part of a victim's body they were in contact with.

Ever the perfectionist, Gath-Hel of course had specialized Scarabs for all possible tickle spots. These, naturally, were Nipple Scarabs.
She carefully placed each one on 3178624's shining, lubricated nipples.

“Please don't! Oh, please not that! Anything but that! I'll talk! I'll talk!”

Gath-Hel reflected that 3178624's evident familiarity with the devices must come from her Testing. Presumably the Examinatrix had gone straight for the nipples, hence her early surrender.

Pitilessly, Gath-Hel touched her thumb to the Scarab pouch. At once 3178624 went bolt rigid as if trying to throw her own chest high into the air.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!”

Gath-Hel slowly wiggled a finger into each armpit, where they mercilessly tickled the poor captive by making tiny, come-hither motions against her bare skin.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA NOOOOO!! PLEASE! PLEASE! PLEASE!”

3178624 tried with all her might to wriggle herself from side to side, but so tightly was she bound that all she succeeded in doing was making her body vibrate and breasts swing wildly, the Scarabs never dislodged by a millimeter.

“AAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” She had a deep, throaty laugh that forced it's way out of her and spoke in ever microsecond of her utter desperation, broken only by the occasional screamed “NOOOOOO!”

Gath-Hel could most likely have gotten all the information she wanted after one minute. She let the torture go on for five. Best to be sure and anyway, her work was as much fun as ever.

Finally, she withdrew her fingers and switched off the Scarabs.

“Oh please, I'll talk, oh please no more!”

“What happened?”

“Oh please, it was the Monitrix. No more, I beg you. She shut down the engine, then put a passlock on the monitoring station. Please don't tickle me any more.”

“And then what? Where is she now?”

“I don't know. Please no more. She just left.”

“Well done.”

Information successfully extracted, Gath-Hel regarded her victim. She had plenty more Scarabs, so why not let her suffer? She reattached 3178624's mask, muffling any further pleading she might attempt. She hefted up the lid of the pod, let it drop, closed and clasped it shut. Then she turned the Scarabs on and walked away.

Incredible how good those pods are at damping sound, she reflected. She couldn't hear a thing, though she knew 3178624 must be trying to scream her head off.

Scarabs were able both to hold a charge and to pick up ambient Suffering from the the surrounding area. Unless she went to retrieve them, they would probably run until the next time the Engine was given a full inspection, which might well be years away. Gath-Hel repressed a shudder. Though utterly sadistic and without a shred of pity in her being, she now felt the closest emotion to sympathy of which she was capable. Her greatest secret was that her own nipples were incredibly ticklish, far more sensitive even than 3178624's. She never breathed of it to anyone or even fully admitted it to herself, but deep down she knew that she had only so long at her own Test by the sheer luck that her Examinatrix had neglected her nipples. Why, she had no idea. Had they been the first target, she would certainly have been numbered among the Weak.

Now to find that treasonous Monitrix.

She set off back into the corridor.

The Gargalesis was relatively simple in her internal structure – with almost all the doors closed there was nowhere to hide and the corridors branched out only rarely. Gath-Hel estimated that she would be able to cover most of the the ground in about half an hour, her efficient mind already plotting the optimum path. One that would give her quarry little opportunity to cut round behind her and which would, in case of failure, bring her back to her Terrorgation chamber where she could look at the ship's map.

She primed her eyes and ears for any hint of her prey as she stalked rapidly down the corridor. She used even her sense of touch, alert for subtle vibrations in the floor that would betray movement.

It wasn't long before she felt a faint counterpoint to the rhythm of her own footsteps. She homed in on the signal, a slow and almost wandering pace that showed the prey had no idea she was being hunted.

Fast and silent, the Terrorgatrix took a right turn and there, moving away from her with what the poor fool evidently thought was stealth was a woman in the gray, angular uniform of a Monitrix. The idiot was actually craning her neck and taking long, lunging steps on her toes, as if she were living in some kind of comic.

Still unseen, Gath-Hel's hand went once more to her Belt of Office. The time, it was to draw her Bondage Bolas from their holster. Despite the emergency, the Terrorgatrix was pleased at the rare opportunity to use them. This kind of activity would more usually fall within a Vestigatrix's remit. A very fine and very tightly coiled twenty meter crossed pair of threads that ran at each end into something vaguely resembling a mechanical spider, the device was imbued with a primitive but brutally artificial intelligence.

Foot over foot, drawing gradually closer to the unsuspecting Monitrix, Gath-Hel pointed the ends of the Bolas base-first at her. Once they had given a dull vibration to signal that they had locked on, she ran her finger around the rim of one end to calibrate them. The Bolas would now bind her victim exactly as she wanted.

Gath-Hel tossed the Bolas at the Monitrix. A moment after they left her hands the A.I. Took over, propelling itself with silent purpose.

Totally surprised, the Monitrix yelped as the Bolas entwined themselves around her tall, lithe body in a pattern too fast for any mortal eye to follow.

'Who? What?” She took one more wobbling step on her high-heeled feet, her body not able to respond quickly enough to stop her tripping. Trip she did – the unyielding yet perfectly smooth threads of the Bolas brought her bound and bewildered to the floor.

Suddenly, the spider-like devices darted in opposite directions from each other. Two scuttled up the corridor walls and nested themselves in the corners between the walls and the ceiling, while too settled in the lower corners. With a faint whirring noise they pulled the thread into themselves, jerking the uselessly struggling woman into the air feet first. With a sudden irresistible jerk the Bolas pulled her legs apart, leaving her dangling upside down in mid air. The Bolas completed their work by pulling her hands inexorably up and binding them tightly to each other behind her back.

The Monitrix still had no idea what was happening to her and looked around her with big blue eyes. She had a slightly pale, incredibly cute face with full, luscious lips and her long, light brown hair hung down to pile on the floor.

The part of her Gath-Hel was interested in was rather higher up. As she approached her newest victim she saw that the girl had two of the longest and shapeliest legs she had ever laid eyes on. The bondage position she had chosen, while scarcely pleasant for the victim, gave her a most alluring view – the regulation miniskirt was far too tight to have actually fallen upside down, but the victim's spread legs forced it down til it more resembled some crumpled belt.

“Who are you? What do you want?”

“I am your torturer, and I want you to tell me why you have sabotaged this ship.”

“What? Sabotage? No! I am utterly loyal to the Republic!”

“You have done something to the Helix Engine and you are going to tell me all about it.”

“Huh? I onlEEEEEEEEEE!”

Gath-Hel wasn't one to waste time – even her taunting was ruthlessly practical. The Monitrix tried and failed to buckle her legs as Gath-Hel's fingertips flicked daintily one after the other over the backs of her knees, almost like a villain striking some monstrously fat white cat.
“Please don't tickle me! PleHEEHEEHEEEEEESE!”

“What exactly did you 'only' do the Helix Engine?”

“I'll talk, I'll taHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“You certainly will!” By the Council, look at those legs! Gath-Hel stopped toying with her prey and moved her hands to the poor girl's thighs, sliding her palms sensually along the smooth skin and enjoying the feel of her taught, toned muscles. She carefully placed finger and thumb to either side of the biggest thigh tendon, on many women the golden spot for thigh tickling. Then she dug in.

The Monitrix went wild, but even through her helpless laughter she never stopped trying to beg for mercy.

“STAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAP! PLEHEEHEHEEEEESE!” NOOOOOOHOHOHO MOOOOOHOOHOHOHORE!”

Gath-Hel drank in her pleading, reveling in her desperation as her fingers dug deep into the unfortunate girl's muscles, which quivered intensely under her ministrations. The Monitrix was shaking violently, and any conventional bondage material, such as are found outside the Laughter That Devours, would surely have been broken. Entwined by the diabolical Bolas, she couldn't move herself in the slightest.

“PLEHEHEHEEEEEESE! MERRRHERHERCEEEEEEEEE!”

The Terrorgatrix sometimes regretted being too professional to just lose herself in a victim's suffering. There was however a definite gray are regarding torturing a victim more than was strictly necessary. On the one hand, doing so was an inefficient use of time and arguably self-indulgent. On the other, going too far could generate fear, which in turn could deter the kinds of activity likely to place a woman at a Terrorgatrix's lack of mercy in the first place. Plus it could ensure against misjudging the brokenness of the victim. Gath-Hel however would never admit that she was capable of such an error.

She certainly judged this one broken. And she judged the point of breaking to be the very best time to apply more tickle torture.
Still kneading and digging at those strong thighs, Gath-Hel slid her hand slightly higher up the Monitrix's inverted legs. She licked her lips with glee and lowered her mouth to her victim's leg, carefully deploying upper and lower teeth to those very sensitive areas on either side of the tendon. She didn't bite – there was no pain of any kind within the Laughter That Devours but a light touch can often mean heavier torture. She merely pressed down with a light nibble. The already hysterical Monitrix exploded in ticklish agony.

“OH PLEHEEHEESE! I BEHEHG YOOHOOHOO! NO MOHOHOHAHAHEEHEEHAHAAA!”

The Terrorgatrix added yet a further twist to the torture by shifting her mouth just a few millimeters, so quickly that she did so more than once a second, pressing down ever so gently with her teeth each time. The shuddering in the tormented girl's thighs was incredible, the tension so great that if she had suddenly been able to move she might have crushed Gath-Hel's head like an egg.

There was zero possibility of such an occurrence.

Gath-Hel felt a very slight tickle herself from the victim's hair on her shins as she thrashed her head back and forth. She felt droplets of water run down her legs to her feet – tears flung here and there by the Monitrix's uncontrollably thrashing head. Her attempts at pleading had gradually degenerated into straightforward and heartfelt bawling.

“ABOOHOOHOOHOO, WAAAAAAA!”

Gath-Hel was sure she would get the information she needed now, so she finally and somewhat reluctantly relented. She squatted down, bringing her face level with that of her victim. Now that the Monitrix was no longer thrashing her head around, her face was red and shuddering, wide streams of tears running weirdly over her forehead and into her damp hair. Even in broken, sorrowful agony her cuteness was still undeniable.

“Tell me about you and the Helix Engine.”

“Er, er, earlier today d, Vestigatrix Nuum-Hal gave me an Algorithmic Slate and told me to run it in the M, M, Monitoring Station.”

“I see!” Gath-Hel's eyes lit up. It seemed Nuum-Hal was not as clean as she appeared to be. She forced herself to stay in the present and not drift off into a beautiful reverie in which, in the very near future, she broke the gorgeous Vestigatrix under her fingers, made her beg and scream, whimper and writhe.

“And why did you not tell me this immediately?”

“The Vestigattrix said if I told anybody I would be p,p, punished.”

Truthfully, the Monitrix had done nothing wrong. Absolute obedience to the Castes Superior was the inviolable law of the Republic of the Will. Even if the command were treasonous, the Castes Inferior were still liable to be punished if they dared disobey.

Nonetheless, Gath-Hel said “Well. It seems you think the Vestigatrix's authority greater than mine. You must be taught the error of your ways.”
“P, please Terrorgatrix. I was only attempting to do my duty.”

“Do you contradict me, Monitrix?”

“No, Terrorgatrix!”

“I think you do contradict me. Are you saying I'm wrong?”

“No, Terrorgatrix!”

“Then you were contradicting me. Do you know your place, Monitrix?”

“Yes, Terrorgatrix!”

“So, if I think it proper to punish you, you will...”

“Be grateful, Terrorgatrix.”

“Exactly.” Gath-Hel stood back up. She carefully selected two little devices from the Scarab pouch on her Belt of Office. These Scarabs were obviously different to those she had used earlier. Where those had resembled limpets, these looked more like miniature sets of headphones. Gath-Hel looked inside each 'ear' of each Scarab to check they were in working order. Whereas the Nipple Scarabs contained something like a very tightly coiled, very long stiffened feather, these had within them something that looked more like a pestle.

The Monitrix's face quivered with the effort of trying and failing not to sob as Gath-Hel positioned the Scarabs carefully on exactly the spots she had been attacking, the connecting bodies of the devices arcing snugly over those strong tendons.

“I won't turn them on until you... guess what?”

“A... Ask you to, Terrorgatrix?”

“BEG me to. And while you're about it, what do grateful victims say?”

“Th... thank you?”

“So what are you going to say now?”

“P..please don't.”

“WHAT? Gath-Hel let the Monitrix see the rage provoked by the slightest hint of disobedience “One more chance, Monitrix. You do not want to offer me defiance.”

“Th... thank you for punishing me Terrorgatrix. Please turn those... things on.”

“I will” answered Gath-Hel, and did.

She took her time sauntering away from the howling, sobbing wreck of an upside-down tickle victim. She always enjoyed the screams of a truly broken Terrorgatee.

Emergencies however forbid self-indulgence. As the tormented shrieking faded into the distance she quickened her pace. Her plan was simple - use the Burotron in her Terrorgation Chamber to locate Nuum-Hal, then apprehend her, make her either repair or give the information necessary to repair the Helix Engine, then settle in to several glorious weeks of making her cry.

After a brief and efficient walk through the ship she returned to her Terrorgation chamber to find everything just as she had left it. Adminitrix Keel was still and almost silent but for the rhythm of her long, slow breaths in an out. She gave no indication that was aware of Gath-Hel's return, something the Terrorgatrix noted with a little dissatisfaction. Such a silence was probably the result of a calculated decision to avoid drawing attention, and that Keels was capable of such calculation suggested she had not yet been truly tickled out of her mind. A truly broken victim would break down in tears and pleas for mercy at the first sign of her torturer's return, unless of course she had been instructed to remain silent.

There were more important things to deal with now, however. Gath-Hel went straight to her Burotron.

“Coordinatrix? Are you still there?”

“Receiving, Terrorgatrix.”

“Excellent. Watch out for Vestigatrix Nuum-Hal. She has sabotaged the Helix Engine. I'm not sure exactly how and I have no idea why, but I'm absolutely certain that she's the traitor.”

“Understood, Terrorgatrix.”

Cool-headed, that Mup though Gath-Hel. She's just been told of treason in the ranks of the Castes Superior and there's not even a hint of trepidation in her voice.

“I'm going to apprehend her just as soon as I find out where she is. We'll get the Gargalesis powered up again in no time.” Good thing she always carried at least three sets of Bondage Bolas.

The Burotron was still displaying it's live map of the ship. How strange that of all such devices on board only hers should still work. What a doubly bizarre coincidence then that on a ship where every door was jammed shut hers alone should be jammed open.

Just as she was thinking this Gath-Hel caught a movement out of the corner of her eye. She spun around, expecting another ambush from Nuum-Hal, this time with serious intent.

But it was only the Mechanitrix.

Suddenly Gath-Hel experienced a startling sensation, like waking up. Her brain raced through a cascade of deductive connections. Who was more able to have tempered with her door than the Mechanitrix? Who else had, by her seeming lack of competence, played such a key role in the day's events? The Mechanitrix was obviously working for Nuum-Hal, which raised all kinds of questions. Why should Gath-Hel's door alone malfunction? Why only her Burotron work? On the face of it, whatever Nuum-Hal was up to would be better served by locking the Terrorgatrix in and preventing her from communicating. Could the whole sabotage be a trap designed specially for her?

She would find out.

“Mechanitrix! You're going to tell me everything you've done to my Chamber and why!”

“Done, Terrorgatrix? But I haven't done anything. I wouldn't dare!”

This gave Gath-Hel pause. The denial sounded utterly sincere. After a split-second's hesitation, she reasoned that the girl must be a dangerous one, an especially cunning and deceitful traitor.

“Oh wouldn't you? I'll be the judge of what you would and wouldn't do. You'll tell me the truth on my Exposer!”

The girl gave a bow and said “I swear I've done nothing wrong, but if it is your will to tickle torture me then I humbly submit.”

An incredibly good attitude. Suspiciously good.

“Go over there!” Gath-Hel pointed to the Exposer, a simple enough frame in the shape of an inverted capital T.

The Mechanitrix meekly obeyed, affording Gath-Hel a good look at her on the way. A short girl with a demure face and big, round frameless glasses, she has the strong yet lithe body of a tennis player. Her skin was pale with just a slight golden tint and her blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail. In some universes her appearance might have suggested a Slavic origin. As a Mechanitrix the girl was outfitted practically if not terribly elegantly in short shorts and tank top, both in same light shade of gray Fetching enough to a certain taste.

“Hands above your head.” The Mechanitrix obeyed. “Stretch.” She reached as high as she could, he arms straight over her head. “Now get right up against the Exposer.”

The girl did so, her waist at exactly the height were two two beams met. She was a perfect fit, no adjustment required.

Gath-Hel stalked behind the Exposer, perturbed by her soon-to-be tickle victim's lack of perturbation. Perhaps she was fool enough to believe that the Terrorgatrix would give her justice once she had ascertained the subject's innocence. The truth was, Gath-Hel tickle tortured her victims primarily for her own enjoyment, delivering up the occasional tidbit of extracted information or confession so that she would be able to continue doing so. Having an objective standard by which to judge the defeatedness of the ticklee and her own victory as a tickler was an added bonus. Some of the confessions were even true.

She flipped a switch on the back of the Exposer and two wide manacles snapped shut over the Mechanitrix's wrists and elbows. The mechanism automatically pulled upwards until the girl was standing on tiptoes. Her arms were held back of the wrist to back of the wrist, so perfectly close together that it would have been impossible to slip a piece of paper between them.

Gath-Hel flipped another switch and, from the extreme ends of the Exposer's arms, two more manacles shot out at the end of retractable lengths of the same thread that was so indispensable to a Terrorgatrix's art. Each manacle closed itself around one of the Mechanitrix's ankles and then slowly but relentlessly and irresistibly pulled themselves back in until her legs were level against the beam. Two more manacles closed themselves around her knees.

The girl was now in exactly the same inverted T shape as the Exposer, her legs at exact right angles to her body.

Now that her suspiciously willing victim was helpless and restrained Gath-Hel prepared to go to work. The girl's clothes combined with the rigidly held position enforced by the Exposer left her underarms perfectly bare and vulnerable.

Gath-Hel held eye contact and slowly moved each hand towards the girl's underarms. As they came within a few inches the girl bit her lip and widened her eyes, comically trying to stare at both hands at once. Sometimes Gath-Hel impressed even herself with her intuitions about a subject's vulnerabilities.

“Not yet, Mechanitrix. I'll have you squealing a long time before I touch them.”

“I promise I've done nothing I shouldn't, Terrorgatrix.” It was spoken calmly.

“We'll see.”

Gath-Hel let her palms glide onto the girl's sides, where she made a rubbing, rocking motion with her fingers at an oblique angle to the cloth-covered flesh. The Mechanitrix let out a stream of bubbly, girlish giggles, looking open-mouthed into Gath-Hel's eyes. She wore an expression of a kind Gath-Hel had always found adorable, as if she found it simply amazing, unbelievable that she was being tickled.

Gath-Hel wanted more. She inched her hands up the girl's sides until she was tickling her bottom ribs. This got a more strenuous reaction, a high-pitched eccentric laugh that actually sounded like someone saying “hahahahaha”.

Interesting.

Gath-Hel tried increasing the pressure and was rewarded by proportionally more intense laughter - “HAHAHAHAHA”.

The girl's head was craned forward by the press of her tightly held arms, but now she seemed to be trying to lift it skyward, though there was no sky in the Laughter That Devours, as if imploring some goddess to save her. There were no goddesses either, though the opposite certainly existed.

A true expert in tickle torture, Gath-Hel knew when it was best to turn the screw slowly. She moved her hands upwards by exactly one rib and introduced a random element into the rib tickling, letting her fingers explore the crevasses between ribs and rub over the ribs themselves, which were easily discernible even through the tank top.

“AHAHAHAHA! OH PLEASE! OH PLEASE!”

Her laughter had a throaty, breathless quality and sometimes broke off into a strange “OOOOO” halfway between a simper and a groan.
Hmm. The girl was certainly laughing her head off and was certainly suffering, but that edge that truly put the torture in tickle torture was somehow missing.

No matter. Gath-Hel would find a way to put it there. So slowly, one by one, she shifted the locus of her tickling rib by ticklish rib til her fingers were on the very edge of the tank top, ready at any moment to complete their transition onto the bare, sensitive flesh of the underarms. At each step of the horribly slow journey the Mechanitrix's eyes grew more desperate and laughter more breathless. Time to turn the knife.

“Three.”

“OH NO! PLEASE NO!”

“Two.”

“OH PLEASE! NOT THERE!”

“One.”

“PLEASE NOT THERE PLEASE NOT THERE PLEASE NOT THERE PLEASE NOT THERRRRREEEEEEEEEHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

The Mechanitrix's skin was flushed red and she sounded so breathless it was a wonder she could find voice to laugh. Gath-Hel let her hands play over the girl's pits for a few minutes and drank in the laughter.. Finally she relented.

“Are you ready to talk now?”

“I swear I've done nothing. Oh please, I swear!”

Still not broken then! Unacceptable.

“Wrong answer.”

Yet again the Terrorgatrix's Belt of Office proved it's worth. She removed a thin sliver of a blade from a slot. Though no harm could come to flesh here in the Laughter That Devours, cloth could be cut as easily as anywhere. She hooked a finger into the tank top right where the girl's cleavage was and pulled in away from her body. Then with one smooth stroke she cut the garment right down the center, exposing the Mechanitrix's fit, sportswoman's body. There proved to be no underwear beneath the top, treating Gath-Hel to a face-full of round, firm breasts.
Then she began the whole, agonizing process all over again – this time on bare skin.

“OH NO! NO! NO NO NO NO NONONONONO!”

Rib by sensitive rib Gath-Hel worked her way up again from the beginning, at each step noting how the girl's “NO!” grew more plaintive and her laughter both faster and more high-pitched, though never quite losing it's weird, aspirated sound as if the word 'ha' were being deliberately pronounced.

This time up, she found a highly amusing way to enhance the torture. When her fingers again reached the very top of the victim's ribs she found that, as with many women, there two little hollows just to the side of the breasts which were extremely ticklish. Into these hollows she put her thumbs which she moved round and round in sadistic circles and semi-circles, feeling the ridged bone and firm muscle beneath. This made the Mechanitrix do her utmost to shake her body from side to side. Her utmost wasn't much in such a strict device as the Exposer, but it did make her breasts sway from side to side very pleasantly.

Gath-Hel thought she had worked out how to break her victim. She kept her thumbs making those tight, torturous circles and with her fingers mounted a sudden attack on the underarms. The Mechanitrix threw back her head and screamed.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!”

After she had “NOOO”d for as long as one would imagine anyone ever could she reverted to the same breathless, desperate laughter as before, both descriptions more fitting than ever.

Yet, she did not seem broken. Suffering – yes. Tortured – obviously. But Gath-Hel's long experience had given her the ability to know when a girl had crossed the line into true defeat and this one had not. It was almost as if some part of her were enjoying it.

And maybe that was just it!

Right then.

Time was wasting so Gath-Hel tried one more question before proceeding to the next stage of the torture.

“What have you done to my door?”

“Nothing, Terrorgatrix, I swear. Nothing but try to fix it.”

“I will get the truth out of you, you know.”

So saying, Gath-Hel once again took her knife and cut down one leg and then the other of the Mechanitrix's short shorts.

Just as Gath-Hel had suspected, the girl's vagina was soaking.

It was rare, but occasionally a Terrorgatrix would encounter such a woman, one strange enough to be aroused by being tickle tortured.

Fortunately counter-measures had long ago been developed. It was known that a woman of this type would be much more sensitive and much more easily broken after an orgasm.

Gath-Hel produced yet another gadget from her Belt of Office. It looked a lot like a Nipple Scarab except that it was white in color, with a small bulb in the center of the hemisphere. This little-known device was called a Clitorator. Gath-Hel placed it gently on the Mechanitrix's Clitoris.
“Terrorgatrix? What are you doing? I promise, I really haven't done anything.”

Gath-Hel said nothing. The Clitorator went to work, it's bulb lighting up dark green.

“Terrorgatrix?” The Mechanitrix looked curious, confused.

Gath-Hel simply waited with folded arms and watched the bulb, which was slowly turning to a lighter shade of green. As torturer and victim waited in the near silence of the Terrorgation Chamber the bulb's color faded gradually into amber, then from amber into a deeper orange, from orange into a red and finally switched itself off.

The poor girl had no idea what had been done to her. The moment the Cliterator was removed her entire body sagged in the restraints and she let out a great, high-pitched sigh. If her mind still did not understand, her body surely did. On her face were confusion, dismay and exhaustion. A truly fiendish device, the Clitorator had first numbed the nerves around her clitoris and then brought her to orgasm without her experiencing the slightest pleasure, without experiencing any sensation at all. The result – she was thrown directly into post-orgasmic fatigue and hypersensitivity without even having the pleasure that should come before.

“You're one of those that think they like to be tickled. I'm going to show you that you don't.” Gath-Hel lost no time attacking, thumbs and fingers back in exactly the spots that had been so torturous before. This time the Mechanitrix threw her head up and screamed, a piercing siren of unbearable ticklish suffering.

“AAAAAAAAAA! AHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

Her whole body shook and her eyes seemed to be staring into null space as she was wracked with torturous tickling. She would have torn apart the whole ship just to get away from Gath-Hel if only she could have. For her part the Terrorgatrix enjoyed the breaking of a difficult tickle victim so much that she lost track of time, reveling in the long screams of laughter, the freely flowing tears, the shuddering athletic muscles and the wobbling breasts.

Still, she eventually snapped out of it and stopped tickling. The Mechanitrix hung there limp as a dead fish and weeping copiously, still laughing by some weird reflex even now she was no longer being tickled. The girl was broken. Defeated. Wrecked.

“Now. Tell me what you've done.”

“Uhhuuhuuuhuuu” bawled the Mechanitrix. “I haven't done anythiiiiiiiing. I sweeeeaaaaaaaar.”

The sudden realization hit Gath-Hel like an eighteen-greatmass Willship and full power. The girl was telling the truth. She was innocent.
“Damn!”

Gath-Hel did not feel guilty in the slightest but was horrified at the wasted time and worse, the time her error had afforded Nuum-Hal to advance whatever her own sinister agenda might be. Worst of all, if this sabotage had consequences of any weight then the fallout would be sure to cost her standing. She would lose face as the very least.

Without a second thought she left the devastated girl in the Exposer and ran to the Burotron. Feeling the beginnings of panic rise in her blood she frantically scanned the Livemap for the Vestigatrix's symbol. She couldn't see it. Where is it, damn it?

She forced herself to calm down and started looking again, this time methodically from one sector of the ship to another.

Soon enough she found the symbol but was alarmed to see that it was moving, and fast. From it's location and direction of movement the traitor could only be heading for the Hangar Bay used to dock smaller craft in the ship. In cases of proven treason the airlock that allowed such passage could also double as a means of throwing the guilty party Outside to be claimed by The Laughter That Devoured. When the outer door opened any unprotected woman in the airlock would immediately be grabbed by the multi-limbed, roiling, tickling mass. Gath-Hel, however, had every intention of capturing her quarry.

She ran.

What could her adversary be planning in the Bay? The most likely possibility seemed to be to abscond somewhere, but where? All the craft in the Bay were powered by battery, they would be able to get far and the Gargalesis was weeks of travel from anywhere. And why? With some precious artifact or sensitive information to sell or exploit?

No matter, though Gath-Hel as she pelted through the corridors. I'll have the truth of it from her own mouth. She'll writhe and plead. Images of the glorious torture the future held flashed through her mind like a titillating slide-show as she rounded the corner to find the door to the Hangar Bay open. My prey must be here! Grinning in triumph she took a Bola in each hand and strode through the doorway.

And suddenly was falling. The world span wildly. Some other malfunction or act of sabotage? Perhaps the ship had collided with something.
Whatever it was had only lasted a moment. On the floor she shook the confusion out of her head and made to regain her feet.

She couldn't stand up.

She couldn't move her legs at all.

She tried to push herself up with her arms and found that her arms were suddenly pinned to her sides. All she could do was wriggle – then all at once her limbs were moving for her.

Her arms and legs all moved out and away so that she was spreadeagled face down. With a jolt the floor started moving beneath her – she was being dragged along it. Looking around for some clue as to what was happening to her she finally saw the telltale black threads wound around her arms, almost too fine to be seen. Looking up her arm she saw several feet away a scuttling mechanical arachnid. A glance to the other side showed her another. She was caught in a Bola.

The dragging stopped abruptly but the Bola spiders she could see kept moving, pulling her arms down and closer to her sides.
Suddenly she was being pulled into an upright position.

Two supporting columns in the wall plus the floor and ceiling made a square. The Bola spiders binding her legs were already in the two lower corners and now those assigned to her arms scuttled up into the higher. With a faint whirring noise every spider at once retracted the thread, pulling her body taught.

She was trapped, pulled spreadeagled against the wall and unable to move her limbs at all. At best she could wiggle her hands and feet and swivel her neck.

Enraged at this indignity. She peered into the scarcely lit green-tinted darkness of the Passage Bay, seeking the one who had dared attack her. And there, sauntering towards her seductively as ever, was Nuum-Hal.

“Release me immediately or you'll pay a terrible price!”

“I don't think I will, little tickle slave.”

“Tickle slave!? Who do you think you're addressing?”

“You'll see the situation my way soon enough, tickle slave. But first I need to ask a favor of you.”

“Hah! You'll get nothing from me, traitor!”

“I don't need you to give me anything, dear tickle slave. I only need you to say something.” Nuum-Hal held up a plain, black rectangle not much bigger than her thumb. “This little device is known as a Simcom. It's keyed to communicate with the Hub while mimicking your Burotron. You're going to tell that ravishing young lady, Mup, to hit the emergency manual open switch for the airlock.”

“I will never aid your treason! What could induce a Vestigatrix of all Castes to betray the Republic?”

“Induce? Oh, I've been a Pandemonian agent for a very long time, and after you do my that favor you'll see my employers taking over this ship and taking her crew off to wherever they like taking people. The work is fun and I get paid in helpless, beautiful tickle slaves just like you.”

“I will never submit to the likes of you.”

“Of course you will dear. You'll do what I want, I'll take you away as my payment and then sooner or later I'll get bored of you and throw you Outside, just like I have all the others.”

“You'll never get away with this!”

“Blah, blah, blah. They all the same things. There's no one left who could possibly help you. Everyone who wasn't locked in when the Engine stopped you've left tied up, remember? Anyway, time is wasting! Time to break you, my darling little tickle slave!”

Gath-Hel did her best to look contemptuous as her soon-to-be torturer squatted to remove her knee-length boots. The truth was she was afraid, she knew that Nuum-Hal knew she was afraid and she knew that Nuum-Hal knew that she knew that she knew.

Nuum-Hal tossed the boots over her shoulder and went to work with one finger on the sole of Gath-Hel's foot.

Though it was only the sole her foot being tickled, the tickling sensation jolted through her whole body. It felt like urgency itself distilled into the form of a neural signal.

“Stop that! How dare you do this to me?!”

In the rising panic that was overwhelming her rational mind Gath-Hel willed herself – don't laugh don't laugh don't laugh. But the corners of her mouth were pulling themselves up against her will.

Nuum-Hal added another finger.

“Stop it! Get off! Get ohohohohoff!!” She could hold it in no longer, laughter forced itself from her throat. Her black-nailed toes wriggled and wiggled.

“Anything you say, dear little tickle slave.” Nuum-Hal moved her attentions to the other foot.

“Nohohohohohohohohohoho! Stohohohohohohohop!”

“Now let's try both at once.”

“Nooooooo!”

“Poor, cute little Gath-Hel. So very ticklish. Your feet aren't bad at all dear. Let's see about the rest of you.”

Agonizingly fast, agonizingly light, Nuum-Hal moved her fingers up Gath-Hel's legs. This didn't tickle much, but the brevity of the reprieve was made clear when Nuum-Hal squeezed her knees.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHA!” Gath-Hel's legs reflexively tried to curl themselves into a protective ball but they couldn't move at all. Straining against the threads that bound her was without sensation except that of being prevented from moving.

The sensation of having her knees tickled, on the other hand, was unbearable. It was as if her knees were constantly sending messengers to her brain, each one more urgent than the last, saying run!, get away!, under attack! But she couldn't get away. All she could do was laugh and suffer.

“Stohohohohaaaaaaaap!”

“A please wouldn't hurt, dear.”

“IEEE WOHOHOHOHON'T BEHEHEHEHEHEHEG!”

“Oh really? It's not as if saying one little word is same as giving up, you know. You wouldn't be betraying anyone.”

Gath-Hel tried desperately to think clearly through the horrible tickling sensations. She was proud, but wasn't success more important than pride? Her torturer had a long time to work on her but it was not unlimited. Playing along with her might win a few seconds break and Gath-Hel needed as many breaks as she could get if she was going to endure, to win. What could be more rational than sacrificing the trivial to secure the essential?

“PLEEEEHEEHEEHEEEEEESE! STOHOHOHOHOP!”

“You see, tickle slave? You're already learning to obey.”

Damn it, the traitor was right. How easily it had been to rationalize her submission!

“Let's see how things go above the knees.” Gath-Hel tried to grit her teeth, brace herself as her tormentor's hands squeezed their way up her thighs. But then a pair of thumbs went into a particular spot just about three inches below her waistline. It was she could do not to scream.

“NOHOHOHO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“I'm sure you'd like me to stop tickling these lovely thighs of yours. All it takes is one little word.”

Damn my own pride thought Gath-Hel though the confusion of ticklish suffering. Learning to obey my foot! The true trap here is thinking that empty words mean anything. Do whatever it takes to endure!

“PLEEEHEEHEEEESE! NO MOOOOHAAAAAAAAA!”

“Good little tickle slave.”

Nuum-Hal stopped tickling her and stood up. As usual her breasts were right at Gath-Hel's head level and as usual were perilously close to falling out of the ribbon the Vestigatrix's liked to call a dress. The bound Terrorgatrix couldn't stop herself being affected by the beauty of her torturer even now. Her breath rasped in her throat as she inhaled and exhaled mightily.

“I am the slave of no-one.” But really, as soon as the tickling as stopped she had known the truth. It was incorrect to say she wasn't betraying anyone – every act of surrender was a betrayal of herself.

Nuum-Hal only smiled and took the knife from Gath-Hel's Belt of Office. In one undeniably elegant motion she slit Gath-Hel's dress from hem to neckline. For the first time since her Testing Gath-Hel felt embarrassed, exposed, ashamed. The tattered remains of her dress was hanging on either side of her naked body.

“My dear, you're ever bit as beautiful as I imagined. I'm going to enjoy making this beautiful body writhe.”

Gath-Hel just had time to think oh no not again already. Then long fingers were exploring her belly and sides, squeezing and teasing, wiggling in her belly button, driving her wild.

“AAAAHAHAHAHA!”

“You know what I want to hear, my pretty darling tickle slave.”

“AHEEHEE PLEEHEESE STOHOHOP!”

The pattern was becoming obvious and sure enough the Vestigatrix's hands leaped to her ribs.

Hold on thought Gath-Hel. I have to hold on this time because I know I can't stand what's probably coming next, even for a moment.

“AHAHAHAHA!”

“Say it little tickle slave.”

“AHAHAHAHA! I WOOOOHOHOHON'T!”

“Suddenly so stubborn! I wonder why you're holding out on me this time.”

Curse this traitor! She can obviously read me like a book! As thumbs ran vicious circles and viciouser figures of eight all over and between her ribs Gath-Hel reasoned that she better not hold on too long now, actually. Too much resistance here would give away her secret. Better make another strategic withdrawal.

“PLEEEEEEEAAAAASE!” It came out as one long squeal and no sooner had it left her lips than she was screaming “PLEASE! NO! STOP! NOT THERE! MERCY! PLEASE!

“Hmmm” purred Nuum-Hal as she moved on to her victim's underarms. “Found your weak spot, helpless little tickle slave.”

No! With her weakness known Gath-Hel seriously doubted her ability to endure. Her nipples were being left alone for now, but that was small comfort with ten diabolically light fingers in her armpits. She pulled down with all her might, trying to use her arms to protect herself, but it was of as little use as she had known it would be. Her whole body burned with ticklishness, she would have rather had no underarms to tickle than suffer like this.

“AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA!”

“The underarms aren't bad either.”

“AHAHAPLEEHEEHEESE STOHOHOP!”

“Aw, so soon?”

Gath-Hel didn't know whether or not to be glad that her beautiful torturer evidently regarded everything from the neck up as one spot. Narrow-edged fingernails lightly scratched at her earlobes while fingers felt all the sensitive spaces of her neck. The sensations lacked in agonizing urgency what they made up for in reflexive panic. Gath-Hel could throw her head from side to side and she could try to clamp down with her chin, but in the first case she always found a finger waiting wherever her head moved and the second method only made the tickling worse.
“So cute! Aren't you, little tickle slave?” The Vestigatrix was looking down at her with what looked scarily like genuine affection.

Damn her!

“EEYAAAAHAHAAHAHAHAA!”

“What's the magic word?”

“OKAYEEEE! PLEEEAAASE!”

At last, a reprieve. Suddenly not being tickled, Gath-Hel hung in her restraints panting and gasping. She did her best to enjoy the break but mostly just worried about the tickle torture that would surely come.

“It didn't take you long to learn some manners, did it tickle slave? It didn't take me long to find your two weak spots either.”

Gath-Hel didn't waste her thought or her breath on conversation or defiance. She didn't think it would help. Perhaps not speaking would even encourage the traitor to waste time filling the silence.

“Don't worry my dear. I'm not going to tickle your nipples.”

Hope! Gath-Hel didn't understand it but it was hope nonetheless.

“At least, not until you beg me to.”

“What? Why the hell would I do that?”

Nuum-Hal gave her a wide, loving smile and tenderly stroked her face.

“Because you're my tickle slave, tickle slave. Knees!”

“EEYAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! STOHOHOOOOOOP PLEEEHEEHEESE! AHAAHAHA! AAAAAA!”

“Underarms!"

“EEAAAA! HAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Feet!”

“NOOOOOHOOHOO! PLEEEEAAAAAASE!”

“Belly!”

“STOHOHOHOHOHOOOOOOOOP! AYYYAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!”

“Just tell me when you're ready, little tickle slave. Thighs!"

“OKAYYYYHAHAHAHAHA!”

The tickling stopped. What did this ship full of idiots matter to Gath-Hel anyway. Why should she suffer to protect them? If they all had to be sacrificed to save her it was a good deal. That such a betrayal would almost certainly not save her was a face she could not allow herself to fully recognize.”

Gath-Hel drew in breath to speak.

“Too slow! Ribs!”

“EEEEHEEHAHAHAHAAAA! I'LL DOOHOOHOO IHIHIHIHIT!”

“Neck!”

“GAAAAGH!”

“Belly!”

“EEHEEHEEHAHAHAHA! I'HIHIHIHI'LL DOOHOOOHOOO IIIIT!”

“Do what?”

This time Gath-Hel did not hesitate.

“I'll tell Mup to open the outer door of the airlock.”

“Not yet you won't. First I want to tickle your nipples. Feet!”

“NOOOHOHO! EEYAAAHAHAHA!”

“Neck!”

“GNIIIIIII!”

“Underarms!”

AAAHAHAHAHAHAAAAA! PLEASE STOHOHOHOP! MERHERHERCYYYY!”

“Ribs!”

“HAAHAHAHAHAHAAA! I DOHOHOHON'T UNDERSTAAAAND!”

“You're going to beg me to tickle your nipples. Feet!”

“NOHOHOHOOO I WOOOOOOON'T!”

“Well I'll just keep torturing you until you do. No rush. Knees!”

“AAYAAHAHAHAAAA! PLEEEEEEEEAAAAASE!”

“Feet!”

“NOOOOOOO! HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Thighs!”

“PLEEEEHEEHEEHEEESE! MERCYYYYYY!”

“Underarms!”

“AHAAAAHAHAHA!”

Confusion. Suffering. Her torturer could tickle any part of her she wished – what was so important about a few words? What difference did it make what she said or didn't say? By co-operating she risked nothing and might just gain a reprieve or trust, or at least distract her tormentor for a moment.

“Knees!”

“I'LL SAYHAYHAY IIIIHIHIHIIIIIT!”

The tickling stopped. Though the words were unthinkable, agony even to say, Gath-Hel knew better than to hesitate.

“Tickle my nipples.”

“Beg, I said. That sounded more like a command. Underarms!”

“PLEEEHEEHEEESE! I'LL BEHEHEHEHEG!”

Again the tickling stopped. She could feel her mouth trying to twist itself downwards into a sob. Her pride gone, Gath-Hel spoke and knew immediately that she was lost.”

“Please tickle my nipples. PLEASE STOP! OH! NO MORE! MERCY! I CAN'T TAHAHAHAHAAAAKE IT! PLEASE MISTRESS! PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE STOP! MERCY! PLEASE STOP! NOOO!”

The tears that been waiting just behind her eyes throughout the torture finally flowed freely. Had she had the spare attention to dwell on such things she would have known she was defeated. Her body and her spirit knew it anyway. Up until this point every surrender she had made had been calculated, however poorly. Now there was no calculation left in her, only ticklish suffering and abjection. If she thought of anything other than her own tormented body it was only of how she might appease her mistress.

“OH NO! MERCY PLEASE!”

“Now beg me to put lubrication agent on them.”

“PLEASE! PUT IT ON!”

Her defiance was utterly destroyed. She sobbed noisily, felt the tears soak her cheeks and run down her neck as Nuum-Hal smilingly took vial from the ex-Terrorgatrix's Belt of Office and poured it lavishly over her breasts, covering them in the shining liquid. Gath-Hel knew it would make the tickle torture, already unbearable, so much worse. Murmured pleas for mercy escaped around her blubbing. Then the torture resumed.

“PLEASE! NO! MERCY!”

“Have you changed your mind about being my tickle slave then darling?”

“YES MISTRESS! I'M YOUR TICKLE SLAVE! I'M YOUR TICKLE SLAVE! I'M YOHOHOHOHOHOUUUR TIIHIHIHIHICKLE SLAHAHAHAHHAVE!”

* * *

Eventually, after a great deal of begging, Gath-Hel's new mistress kindly allowed her to tell Mup to open the airlock. She didn't notice the rumble of the outer door opening then shutting again, didn't see the sinner door slide open to admit the Pandemonian craft. She did not observe how, in contrast to the technological behemoths of the Republic, they more resembled caravels, graceful ships from the age of sail propelled directly by the will of a Demoness pilot. Later she barely registered the long column of prisoners being marched past her into captivity, arms bound behind their backs and necks circles with slave collars. She didn't notice Mup being levitated through the air by one towering, blue-skinned Demoness, untouched yet being made to laugh in helpless, ticklish agony as an example to others/ She didn't notice the contempt in the glances of those she herself had tickle tortured, nor the grim satisfaction in the eyes of her former victims.

She did not notice any of this because the only thing she had any attention for was the horrible, unbearable, relentless tickle torture of slippery, unbelievably ticklish nipples. She had been a proud woman, but before Nuum-Hal took her away into her new life as a tormented tickle toy she wept pathetically and begged shamelessly. In the vain hope of appeasing her owner she begged to be tickle tortured, she begged her torturer to never stop, she told her torturer how much she loved being tickled and how lucky she was to be the tickle slave of such a beautiful, benevolent and skillful woman. She thanked Nuum-Hal profusely for breaking her and for making her the tickle slave she had always been destined to be.

In her new life the closest thing to a break Gath-Hel ever got was when her mistress put Nipple Scarabs on her rather than minister to her in person. How long did Gath-Hel's new mistress torment her before growing bored and leaving her outside? How pathetically did Gath-Hel beg her not to, beg to be allowed to continue in her lowly position? Perhaps you will find the answers to these questions and others in some other story of....

The Laughter That Devours
 
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A fantastic tale indeed and really well done, really rather enjoyed the whole Warhammer vibe to it all, really makes it stand out. The tickling was great and the descriptions really highlighted the torture they must have felt. Gath-Hel was a fun character to follow, seeing her so arrogant to be brought down eventually, in a rather satisfying way considering her sadism. ;) Really liked the setting as well and would enjoy seeing more stories within it. A great story to show here.
 
This is INSANELY well written. The detail, the length, the new ideas (I particularly liked the "orgasm without orgasming" scarab xD)... brilliant. I really, really hope to see more :)
 
Thanks for the kind feedback! Since people seem to like it I will do more! Could take a while though ;)
 
Such an excellently developed world, even if you don't revisit these specific characters would at least love to see more world building done, and maybe explain who or what these demonesses are.
 
Nipple scarabs!? You, my friend, are a genius. This story is groundbreaking for me. Bravo! I can't shout it loud enough!
 
Thanks again everyone, but also an apology. I've just read through the thing myself and oy vey was my editing terrible. Lots of typos. I will check the next one at least three times.
 
Oh there's no need, you're writing was already top quality. Just please bring more of your creativity.
 
I loved it. Great world building and a masterfully told story. I was anticipating some sexual play with the Mechgirl. I was really looking forward to it. But I have to say that your twist in that regard was interesting and original. Well well done.
 
I am a huge fan of the 40k lore - the best fictional setting there is bar none, in my opinion. The game itself I enjoy but not as much as I enjoy warmachine/hordes, especially since they gave daemons to everyone just after I finally settled on collecting daemons mostly because so few others seem to play them.
 
I do hope that in your next we see monster girls with similar levels of creativity.
 
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