oneortheother
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Part two of http://ticklingforum.com/showthread...machines-vines-ticklegasms-and-sexual-themes)
Enjoy.
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Battle of Lomond II – Dryad
O-O-O
Over a high mound overlooking the Faen encampment, Raffia of the Dryads, watched with mild amusement. The unnatural artificial purple hue of the Faen ship was being overrun by an encroaching green, which from this distance, almost looked like a mossy blanket that was being strewn across the vessel, but Raffia knew what was really happening – she wove a slender finger through her frizzy green locks as she imagined the ticklish pandemonium that must be occurring inside as her sisters’ vines invaded ship and ticklish orifice alike. Raffia closed her eyes, and for a moment, no longer needed to imagine. She could feel the cold metallic embrace of a coffin-like trap which had ensnared one of her first scouts to breach the perimeter, it was dark and forboding, and filled with slithery feathers that slithered along her body’s ticklish spots like water-snakes. Raffia shuddered and shifted her consciousness to another scout who was roaring with delight as she scaled a wall, perching like a bird and directing vines to sprout from her vantage point to stun Faen defenders with strategic tickles. Raffia could feel as the Dryad directed a vine into an armpit to force a blast way wide, and a vine to lap up an exposed purple sole to make a different Faen fall to the floor.
Raffia opened her eyes and returned to her safe spot overlooking the conflict. The Dryads possessed a hive-mind which allowed them all access to each other raw emotions and sensory outputs. It wasn’t quite the same as a single collective consciousness, in the sense of each individual Dryad just being a part of the same organism – each of the Dryads had their own individual identity and personality quirks, but their hive-mind simply gave them a thousand eyes and ears in addition to their own, which made them the ideal scouts.
The first thing every Dryad learned was the ability to toggle between their own perceptions and the communal consciousness , after all, it was mighty disorienting to try to fight a foe when you were distracted by a ticklegasm happening miles away. It was easy for Raffia to jump from one to the other here, miles away from any conflict.
Privacy could be difficult during romantic excursions, as every Dryad in the vicinity would be able to feel your orgasm, but the Dryad had never been prudish about such desires. They were creatures of nature, after all, and what was more natural than sensual bliss?
Raffia would never be vain enough to consider herself the leader of the Dryad, or some kind of Hive Queen, as she was well aware she was only a de-facto leader at best. She had a flowery eloquence to her words, a keen military mind, and an aesthetically-appealing appearance which aided negotiations, but she simply represented the emotions of her people as a whole, and the pack’s judgment was always wiser than the individual’s.
Despite her people’s dislike of the Faen for their savage attack on the environment and their opportunistic misuse of nature, Raffia felt sorry for them. She twirled a lock of mossy hair around her slender green fingers. They were callous, and foolhardy, and arrogant, but that was nothing a bit of humbling would not fix. If nothing more, the Dryad’s communal consciousness gave them a unique take on the importance of perspective.
But speaking of perspective… Raffia could sense many of her sisters making her way through deep through the mechanical heart of the Faen stronghold – their hulking great observatory ship.
Time to take a better look inside… Raffia closed her hazel eyes as she shared perspectives with one of her sisters within the metal monstrosity…
O-O-O
Willow’s heart was pounding hard in her chest as she and her sisters poured through the crack in the Faen’s defences like a stream bursting its banks. The way was far from clear, as blasts from automated defenders and ticklish Faen defenders alike stream towards her. It was always the most dangerous for those who were the first to make contact, but those were the moments Willow lived for – her sisters sometimes jokingly said she had a little Boudo in her, but Willow had always agreed with that assessment. The thrill of battle, the joy of victory… this is what made life meaningful. Willow’s brown eyes glittered as she saw a white-coated Faen within striking range. She was cute – thick glasses and a ponytail to give her a studious, geeky look, and she was so preoccupied with dancing her silver nails across a monitor that she seemed barely aware of Willow’s presence. Raffia smiled, miles and miles away. This was looking very promising. A definitive strike here could be an end to this meaningless struggle...
Willow licked her lips in anticipation. She crept like a prowling leopard, her long wiggling nails (which Willow had grown out till they resembled claws or talons) aching to make contact – Willow had already picked out the first three spots she would tickle. The scientist’s taut stomach, just sticking out a bit from her shirt would be a good first target, then her exposed neck and finishing it off with her heaving bosom. Willow was so preoccupied with her plans than she didn’t even notice a pressure plate till her bare green foot was stepping on it. The glasses-wearing Faen turned to stare at her, and pressed a button. Willow could only gasp, her hands reaching out as the trapdoor under her bare soles opened and she tumbled down into darkness.
Willow tried to land on her feet, and luckily, the surface she landed on seemed to be soft. Not so luckily, they turned out to be a mass of feathers. There was row after row of big, fluffy, duster-like contraptions, as well as longer individual feathers flitting to and fro. Willow desperately dug her hands into the walls, trying to find purchase, but the walls were perfectly smooth and with the feathers brushing against her Dryad soles she had no chance of concentrating. It was just impossible to find the footing as every time Willow’s foot landed, it was engulfed in a swarm of feathers which teased every inch of her soles, even dusting the tops of her ankles and insteps. The feathers felt like quicksand, as the longer Willow found herself buried in them, the less likely she was of escaping, and to think her feet weren’t even her worst spot! She wracked her brain for a solution, and try to conjure vines to help her escape, but the lack of sunlight and her tickled state made it impossible for her to create anything useful. Eventually, as if sensing her fatigue, metal claws suddenly retracted from the walls of the feathery prison and latched onto Willow’s arms and wrists. They pulled her back to the cold wall, spreading her like a fallen eagle, as the merciless feathers continued to assault her soles. Raffia felt her own toes curl as if it was her being tickled, which was exactly how it felt, in a way. Despite being such a great distance away she felt such sympathy for her young sister, and wished she could jump down and help her herself. This could have gone better... Perhaps I should have joined this initial attack...
Raffia's doubts were distracted by a burst of sensations as Willow found fresh energy to splutter with laughter and toss her green hair back as an assortment of individual feathers licked their way along her shins, thighs, knees and buttocks, taking care to constantly tease her womanhood so Willow was fighting against the torturous ticklish sensations and the steady throb of arousal.
This was not Willow’s idea of any battle she wanted to be a part of, though she hoped her shrieks of laughter would bring attention from her sisters above, though from the sounds of things, they still had their hands full.
Through tear-stained eyes, she felt mechanical vibrators began retracting out of the walls and howled even louder as they made a beeline for her underarms and sides. The buzzing sensations were especially frustrating as they buzzed along her hips, right near her womanhood that was already moist with attention. As a flurry of feather strokes whizzed throughout poor Willow’s soles and a squad of brushes popped out to assault her taut tummy, Raffia decided she had enough of her perspective. Your valour has been noted, Sister Willow... perhaps some personal tutelage after the battle may cheer you. I promise I am much more ticklish than any Faen you would have encountered.
Raffia shook her head and hugged herself, shivering – not how you wanted to start the battle… she sent our a mass-message through the Dryad Hive Mind to save Willow when they could, as she prepared to jump to another viewpoint, which would perhaps show the battle going more smoothly.
O-O-O
Rose had to admit she might still prefer being on the receiving end, but being the one to dole out the tickling definitely had its pros too. Sure, being the ‘ler was a lot more work (it really was a lot more easy not to mention relaxing to sit back to let the tickling wash over you when you were the ‘lee) but having a writhing woman whimper and wiggle in front of you was its own special kind of pleasure too.
The tickle-loving Dryad had been placed in the diabolical Faen device Endurance for what probably was hours but had passed by like a nostalgia afternoon for her. The device would feather the midsection with cruel mechanical precision, and it came equipped with brushes that would come forth and attack captive soles as soon as any laughter was detected. It was a frustrating machine, the way most machines were, but currently the prison guard who had been interrogating Rose was the one being frustrated. Her name tag read Apple, which had always struck Rose as a rather un-Faen like name, but she knew better than to confuse Races and their bizarre naming conventions.
The guard had been stripped off her skin-tight metal armour that all Faen troops wore, exposing her eggplant-purple skin. Her face which had been so haughty when lecturing Rose about the ‘barbarities of lesser species’ was fixed in a tight, ticklish grin, as feathers licked up and down her bare torso. Rose felt a stab of jealousy as she watched the feathers glide up and down the Faen’s well-endowed chest – they definitely had not been quite so generous while she was in the chair, but maybe she was just imagining things as the Faen’s chest heaved and quaked with repressed laughter. Like most Dryads, Rose did not know how to operate technology any more than pressing buttons randomly, but it seemed to have sufficed in this case, as the machine was happily humming along on auto-pilot it seemed.
“Thanks for the save, sister,” Rose smiled, tearing away from the sight of Apple’s anguished face to give her green-skinned Dryad saviour a hug.
“I hope we didn’t cut your fun short, Rose,” the Dryad, whose name was Maple, said with a mischievous grin.
“Don’t worry, you can make it up to me,” Rose said, as she strode towards a tickle-torture device that had caught her eye from the minute she had been wheeled in.
“Rose, we’re supposed to be joining the assault,” Maple said, crossing her arms.
“One more person won’t make a big difference. We outnumber them by a ton anyway – let me play with one of their toys please!” Rose begged, flashing Maple her big brown eyes.
Maple rolled her eyes as she helped strap Rose into the stockade. It was a big metal device with toe-stocks and other diabolical devices where a captive’s feet would lay. “You’re taking this up with Raffia later.”
“Oh, I’m sure she already knows,” Rose said, slipping her pale green feet into the stocks, a devilish smirk on her face as if she could sense that Raffia was there. Rose always was a lazy worker… Raffia smiled at the display as she sensed her sister’s glee. It seemed the battle was going smoothly in any case, so it seemed unnecessarily harsh to punish Rose for indulging herself after the efforts she had put into sabotaging Faen defences.
The stockade intended to have its captive’s hands tied firmly behind her back, and Maple saw no reason not to do that as she knew how much being tied up aroused her kinky sister. The soon-to-be trapped girl clapped her hands with excitement as Maple closed the stocks, tied Rose’s toes back, and helped tie the arms back behind her back.
“Nice and tight,” Rose grinned, as Maple fiddled with the monitor till an impressive array of probes, vibrators, scratchers and massagers popped out from the mechanical compartment of the stockade contraption and begun working on the delicious-ticklish soles that were in front of her.
The Dryads were illiterate, as they lacked a need for written communication with their communal Hive mind, but Maple was still able to understanding the colour-coded screen in front of the controls for the stocks as Rose burbled with giggles as the nefarious instruments probed up and down her soles exploratively. Maple brushed a lock of green hair from her face as she leaned down to peer at the diagram of the soles on the display – it seemed like there were a cluster of hotspots (helpfully highlighted in red) along the balls of the feet near the centre of the sole. Purely out of cat-like curiosity, Maple pressed the monitor with a green finger and was delighted as the ticklish instruments responded to her command and immediate began plumbing that spot for all the ticklish laughter they could extract.
“Whahahahat did you dohohoho!” Rose cried, but she did not sound annoyed although her laughter had doubled. The thrusting of her hips seemed to indicate she was enjoying the abuse of the most responsive spots on her soles. The monitor was filled with all sorts of data being fed into the machine through the various sensors implanted into each and every single tickling tool, though by this point Maple was too enraptured by the sensual moaning laughter that was spilling out of her sister’s lips.
As the precise scratching tools focused on the small points of supreme sensitivity on Rose’s slender green feet, her toes would quiver as if shocked by such stimuli, which Maple recognized as a sign her sister the ticking was truly intense – just the way Rose liked it. Maple felt obligated to join her sister-in-arms in combat, but she was the opposite of sister Rose. If Rose couldn’t walk past a tickle-device without hopping in, Maple couldn’t walk past a comely, ticklish lass without giving her a good tickle. And surely she had a duty to make sure her sister didn’t get into any trouble! The Faen might stumble upon her!
That was just a pretense – an excuse, and Raffia knew it, as she saw through Maple’s eyes as she climbed onto Rose’s lap and spun a finger around the erect areolas. Rose grinned at her with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, and howled with laughter as Maple suddenly spidered her coconut-like bosoms.
“I know how you prefer to be tickled than anything else…” Maple whispered in Rose’s ear, as she felt the other Dryad rock beneath her like a bucking broncho from the assortment of tools still wreaking havoc on the stocked soles.
“Dahahahahamn strahahaight!” Rose squeaked, a giddy grin plastered on her face as Maple’s roving fingers pillaged into her mid-section, scrapping her sides as she leaned down to plant wet raspberries and kisses on the wiggling stomach. I’m not sure who if I envy more… Raffia felt a nagging fire in her leafy loins as she reluctantly pulled away from the sight and sensations of Rose and Maple’s hijinks. She needed to see how the battle was going, and as pleasing as witnessing these excursions was, she really needed to focus on the matter at hand.
It would be terrible irresponsible of their military commander to pleasure herself into a stupor when she was supposed to be directing her comrades, after all.
There would be time for that later. Raffia closed her eyes as she searched for the next sister who would offer her insight into this wild battle of theirs.
O-O-O
Chaos and pandemonium; and that just how Juniper liked it. The flashing lights and shrill sirens of the Faen vessel were as pure as a bird-song to her. A blast from a Faen guard missed her by an inch, and short-circuited a nearby monitor, exploding in a loud and exciting fashion. She raised a hand and extended vines a foot long and slapped the guard in her helmeted head. All Dryads could conjure vines provided they had sunlight and could concentrate, but Juniper’s skills with her vines had always been prestigious, and it was what distinguished her among her sisters – despite their shared Hive mind all sisters, all people always sought a way to distinguish themselves, and Juniper took a lot of pride in her abilities as she cracked the vine like a whip and knocked the Faen guard on her back. This proficiency was what made her one of the finest warriors in the Dryad sisterhood, and although the Dryads would not be gaudy enough to give her some inane hollow title like Captain within the Dryad egalitarian hierarchy, Juniper knew that Raffia and the other wise sisters all valued her expertise. She loved battle, and battle loved her, as a snap of her wrist send the Faen guard tumbling back again as she raised her wrist-blaster to line up a shot.
Juniper badly wanted to play with the Faen girl she had just disabled, but a pair of her opportunistic had already sisters pounced on the fallen Faen, which was fair play, Juniper supposed sulkily. They pushed her onto her stomach, as the Faen desperately tried to plea and beg – clearly no brave warrior, this one. One sat on the Faen’s shines, plucked off the metal boots and dug into the purple-soles, protected only by a thin layer of nylon. The other Dryad sat on the Faen’s lower back, and contented herself with fingers wriggling in the vulnerable patches of the armour under the arms, where protection was sacrificed for flexibility.
Everywhere she looked, the same scene of ticklish chaos was unfurling with minute variations – if Juniper wasn’t worried of being immobilized by a Faen blaster, and missing out on the fun, she would have happily stayed in this exact spot and just watched the explosion of activity. A Faen scientist with her top ripped off was wrapped to a wall, while a pair of Dryads cooed and giggled over her bouncing breasts, tickling her chest with touches as light as the brush of a petal.
A trio of sisters pooled their powers together to create a great thicket of vines which swallowed a squadron of Faen soldiers, screams of laughter bellowing from the mass of shrubbery as probing tendrils invaded every ticklish orifice. The screechy, shrill Faen laughter filled the air – not that all Faen laughter was homogeneous, but Juniper seemed to notice how many Faen seemed to share the same shriek-y, spluttering, indignant tone of laughter which was such a contrast to the melodic giggles of the Dryads. Harmonious Dryad laughter was more prevalent in the outer walls and corridors of the ship, where the ship’s defences and their defenders had been deadly. The Faen had bust out quite a lot of tricky traps to try and dissuade them… ticklish caltrops which had rendered corridors unpassable due to the Dryad’s lack of footwear and their own innate foot ticklishness. The Jet-pack using Faen soldiers could pass it no problem, of course, the clever buggers. Robotic hands that sprung from walls, ceilings and floors to startle surprised Dryads with their ticklish touch, giving away their position to Faen defenders and distracting them for a moment so immobilizing blasts could come hissing towards them.
The Dryads would never consider themselves a war-like or militaristic race, unlike the boisterous Boudo or fascistic Paxim, but their attacks had been as tireless and insistent as the crashing tide, and they had the numbers to throw wave after wave of Dryads against an underwhelmed Faen defence. The last bastion of defence was the private chambers of that haughty Head Scientist of theirs.
The former guards of the laboratory were strung up and stripped of weaponry and armour when Juniper arrived, her bare green feet slapping across the cold metal surface of the corridor. One had been hung upside down and plastered, back-first, wall with vines, so a sister could stick her tongue in the purple navel while her hands skittered over the purple thighs, which was as red as the Faen officer’s face as she hung there, tittering. The other guard was eagle-spread with vines teeming around her wrists and ankles, as her stomach pressed against the cool surface of the walls, hiccupping with shrill giggles as a Dryad spidered her buttocks, amused by the way they wiggled and jiggled with each flex of her fingers. She would flick her long sharp nails across the squirming Faen’s behind, lazily dragging the tips of her nails across the bare bottom.
“Ah, you made it. About time,” said the Dryad tickling the Faen buttocks by way of greeting. Juniper recognized as Holly, a sister she would have to confess she did not particularly like. Despite the sense of community shared by most Dryads, there were those who were less selfless, and Holly was one of them.
“Here to save the day, Junebug?” the other Dryad said, retracting her tongue from the Faen belly, which was dripping with saliva. This would have to be Olive, Holly’s partner in crime.
“What’s the situation?” Juniper asked, fists clench as she tried to suppress the desire to truss the other Dryad in vines as Olive called her that childish nickname. Battle was fun, but being captured and tickled silly was not. Juniper disliked being tickled on account of her innate sensitivity not meshing with her battle-girl persona, and Olive and Holly had given her that nickname after a time they had ambushed Juniper bathing in a nearby stream. They had bound her up to a tree, blindfolded her, and made her squeal with random little touches all over body. And then they had coated her body with honey and watched as legions of ants came streaming all over her body. Needless to say, it was not an affectionate nickname.
“See for yourself,” Holly shrugged, as she kicked the door open with a bare green foot.
At a glance, Juniper could immediately see why they had deigned to wait for backup.
“Those mad scientists…” Juniper could only say as a glowing blast flew through the air and caught her in the chest.
Raffia fell to her knees, temporarily overwhelmed by the sensations that roared throughout her body. She had cut herself off from Juniper’s Hive mind connection, as the sensations that had flooded her body had been that overwhelming. Just what was that… Raffia could only shudder at the sensations and realized she had only felt a sensation of what Juniper must have felt, as she closed her eyes and prepared to see through a new set of eyes what had happened to proud and brave Juniper
O-O-O
The ditzy fool, Olive thought, rolling her eyes – so much for the ‘mighty warrior’s fighting capacities. She brushed a lock of green hair out of her eyes as she stared down at Juniper’s twitching, giggling form as light crackled around her body like glowing chains.
“So much for that,” Holly said, as she prodded Juniper’s form with her toe. “I wonder what that feels like…” Olive did not like Holly’s tone; her sister and best friend tended to be a bit reckless at times, probably fuelled by the fact she probably did not really fear ticklish repercussions, while Olive decidedly enjoyed being on the ‘ler end more.
“Feel free to find out yourself if you must,” Olive said, as she returned to the bound Faen she had been playing with before Juniper barged in. She squeezed the pale, purple sides as she talked. “We should wait for our back-up. There’s just two of us. And Gods knows what she’s got in there.”
“I’m pretty sure I saw. It was some kind of rifle blaster thingy,” Holly said, putting a finger on her lip as she pouted. “Are you sure we should wait?”
“Positive,” Olive nodded, feeling relieved at her sister’s submissive nature as she dipped her finger into the squealing Faen’s belly button; it was really one of Holly’s more endearing traits.
Just when Olive was really getting into tickling the snot out of the Faen girl, her micro-managing leader had to come and muck it up. “Storm the room. Avenge your fallen sister!” Olive held her head as voice as harsh as a growl filled her mind as if someone was speaking in her ear. She should have figured that Raffia’s Hive mind presence would be watching the proceedings and object to seeing her favourite warrior disabled in such an embarrassing fashion. The de-facto Dryad leader had always had a soft spot for her. Olive and Holly had been punished to share the same fate as Juniper when the lickspittle decided to tattle on them… being trapped for hours with ants crawling all over their bodies had been far from fun… though Olive was sure her companion Holly enjoyed it more than she let on. Holly had always been happy to be the test subject whenever Olive tested new ‘techniques’ that could be accomplished with vines and other tools of nature the Dryads could create.
Olive glanced over at her best friend – Holly was shorter, with tangled hair in need of a good wash and pouty lips in need of a good laugh. “Looks like you got your wish. What’s the plan?”
“There’s two of us, and one of her. We should be able to get her. Well, one of us,” Holly shrugged, and it was clear from her expression she was hoping to get a taste of the blast that left Juniper giggling outside the door.
“I’ve got a better idea…” Olive said, as she nodded towards the Faen guard whose stomach she was still spidering her sharp nails over.
The Faen were smaller anatomically (probably why they were so reliant on their machines, Olive theorized) than the Dryads, which made Olive’s diabolical plan of using their two captives as human shields much easier. They used vines to tie the semi-conscious Faen guards to their bodies and sprinted in the room.
The room was a mess – files and vials thrown to the floor as the ship had been rocked by the Dryads’ assaults. The room was clearly a laboratory, filled with fancy scientific machinery that Olive could not even begin to fathom. A panting, dishevelled Faen scientist was the only living thing in the room, a heavy blaster rifle in her arm like Holly had said. The weapon looked large and unwieldy, but the weapon fired a steady stream of energy that made aiming easy – you just had to wave the blaster around the general area and one of the streams would eventually hit. The spectacled scientist shot from right to left, and the quick blast that flew from the nozzle of the rifle gave them no time to dodge. It would have caught both Dryads in the chest and sent them down laughing if not for their ‘armour’ which took the brunt of the energy, shrieking with ticklish dissatisfaction and renewing their bids for freedom.
Holly caught a blast to her ankle, and she curled into a ball, giggling and pounding her fists against the hard floor, but Olive closed the distance and charged into the spectacled scientist. They struggled with the rifle, until as Olive twisted the muzzle of the rifle till it point the floor, there was a blast and a cry. Head Scientist Corel rolled about on the floor clutching her feet.
She had just shot herself in the foot.
O-O-O
When Head Scientist Corel came to, she awoke to find herself still in her familiar laboratory, and she felt a stab of hope till she realized she was tied down. She blinked her eyes, barely able to see as they had taken her glasses away, and realized her lab did not look quite so familiar – it seemed to have become overrun with vegetation as the pristine white walls were caked with mud and moss. It was unsettling to see her room so… green.
She was on one of her examination tables, though it looked like today she would be one being examined. At her ankles and wrists were brown branches that had melded themselves into the table, stretching her body tightly above her head. Her bare feet were spread a foot from each other, and smaller branches had wrapped themselves against the bindings of her feet, creating an almost stocks-like effect. Tiny branches had wrapped around her and between her toes to keep her bare purple feet perfectly immobile and helpless.
There was a gag in her mouth too, and despite her vaunted intellect and sesquipedalian vocabulary, there was naught she could do but moan into her gag (which tasted disgustingly of wood) and struggle impotently to attract the attention of the figure in the room. She was naked, of course, but she still had her pride.
The Dryad turned to look at Corel, her arms clasped behind her back. The Dryad’s eyes mud-brown eyes made contact with Corel’s flinty grey ones as she strode towards the examination table.
“Head Scientist Corel of the Faen,” the Dryad said politely, as she rubbed her hands together. “My name is Raffia, and my sisters have chosen me to speak on their behalf.”
Corel grunted into the gag, hoping the Dryad would let her speak, but Raffia just stood there as she continued to rub her hands together.
“I can see you want to talk, but there will come a time for talking later. We warned you Faen to leave this planet. We warned you that the destruction of this beautiful land would not be tolerated. We warned you.”
Corel whimpered into the gag. She had been under orders! It wasn’t her fault! She desperately tried to enunciate such feelings through her gag.
“But words are a wind that is blown away by the autumn breeze. Words are forgotten, but actions are not. I can see you need to receive a sharp lesson. I really don’t think this will leave an impression if I’m too soft. You need to suffer to see how nature suffers under your reckless touch,” Raffia said matter-of-factly, still rubbing her hands together.
Raffia raised her green hands, and Corel could see that they were coated in a light brown substance. The Faen scientist, helpless in her branchy binds, could only quiver as she felt warm hands trace across her cool, naked body. Corel shivered as the sticky substance trickled across her skin. The strange liquid tingled and began to itch terribly as Raffia continued to rub it into the soft, sensitive skin of Corel’s stomach and along her sides.
Corel was barely able to brace herself as Raffia’s fingers, as sharp as a hawk’s talons, suddenly dug into her sides. The proud scientist yelped and made a move to throw herself off the table. Wait, she had never been quite so sensitive there… Sweat trickled down Corel’s brow as Raffia’s fingernails stroked and flicked across her body like a pair of hairy big spiders. Raffia’s fingers seemed much more bristly than normal fingers, but Corel didn’t know if that was just the sap doing that to her. Raffia bought her fingers to Corel’s face, and the inquisitive scientist could see thin, hair-like fibres began to grow out from the pads of them, and although these bristles were so short that you had to squint to notice them, they could definitely be felt as Raffia spread a fresh batch of sap across her chest and began to spider her fingers along Corel’s chest, circling around her nipples.
As if it had a mind of its own, Corel could feel her body rebel against her, as she sweet smell of sap filled her ears and the mound between her legs began to moisten. She couldn’t be… enjoying this? Corel thought as she howled into the gag as Raffia began to tease under her neck.
“I understand your species crave knowledge, Faen, so I shall indulge you… Dryad sap is sensitizes the body… and it’s a powerful aphrodisiac, as I am sure you can feel… ” Raffia said in a voice as light as summer wind as her bristly fingers snuck into Corel’s taut, hairless underarms.
Before long, the pinnacle of her species, Head Scientist Corel, was screaming begs into her gag as her body turned against her, yearning for the tickling that was driving her mad. She thrust her hips as if that would encourage the Dryad to touch her there, but Raffia’s touch was cruelly instructive as ever – she would teasingly dart down to slather sap along her thighs and hips, and go to town there with her bristly fingers, but never quite touch her along the waterfall of moisture that was dripping down her legs and onto the white table.
“Have you learned your lesson?” Raffia whispered, as her tongue flicked across Corel’s slick purple nipple. Her fingers were playing with Corel’s navel now, the cruel juxtaposition of pleasure of agony wreaking havoc on the Faen’s conflicted body. She couldn’t think straight with all this happening to her… she wanted it to stop as much as she wanted it to continue. Corel nodded then shook her head, then nodded again as if shocked at herself for shaking her head in the first place.
Then as quick as it all began, Raffia pulled back, as Head Scientist Corel laid panting and sweating on her own examination table, beaten. Her skin was still tingling from where the sap had been rubbed into her skin. She dimly wondered what chemical qualities must be present in such sap – she had to figure out a way to reverse-engineer it.
Raffia clutched her head as if she was having a headache, and moments later, five of her Dryad sisters walked into the room, with matching green-skin, green-hair and great grins.
“My sisters will attend you now,” Raffia said as she turned to leave. Corel begged with her eyes, but Raffia only smiled. “I shall return later. I hope by then the lesson has sunk in.” And then she was gone, as four giggling, barely-clothed Dryad girls walked around to admire their captive like a wolf circling prey.
They were all rubbing their hands, and Corel knew they weren’t just doing that in anticipation of what they would do to her.
She could only squeak into her gag as two of the Dryads knelt in front of her soles and began rubbing the sap into her feet, which had always been her worst spot – great, now they would be ultra-sensitive to boot… And they made sure to coat the sap along the stalks of each toe, rubbing along the spaces between and beneath each of these silver-painted toes.
Two more of them went to Corel’s flanks, and claimed a side each. Their touch was tender as they rubbed sap into her armpits and breasts, giggling at how aroused the Faen leader was. Corel was ashamed of herself, but she found moans escaping her lips as the Dryad girls caressed and massaged her body. This was nice, and she knew the tickling would not be. She might as well try to enjoy this. The fifth Dryad used two slick, cold hands to rub Corel’s womanhood, and Corel closed her eyes as she could feel the sap working its bittersweet magic there.
After a particularly loud moan that was absorbed into the gag, the girls looked at each with wolfish grins, and began tickling in earnest. Her soles had ten fingers scitching haphazardly across their super-ticklish surfaces, and a tongue was constantly lapping across her trapped toes to give the tickling a sensuality that Corel’s sopping womanhood adored.
Her mid-section felt like a swarm of bees were darting across her body, as four hands scampered from spot to spot like an inquisitive raven, brushing and flicking their fingers along stomach, navel, ribs, sides, breasts, armpits and neck. Their tongues would aid in their exploration too, licking along her armpits and her necks, and constantly licking her rock-hard nipples. And the way their arms would fondle her almost felt like a lover’s arms, Corel thoughtly dimly as their sensual tickling whipped her body into a frenzy.
The worst was the Dryad between her legs, whose slimy Dryad tongue was doing unspeakable things to the burst dam between her legs. And her fingers were far from idle too, as they traced and teased along her purple inner thighs, right where Corel hated to be tickled of how much it turned her on there.
Enjoy.
---
Battle of Lomond II – Dryad
O-O-O
Over a high mound overlooking the Faen encampment, Raffia of the Dryads, watched with mild amusement. The unnatural artificial purple hue of the Faen ship was being overrun by an encroaching green, which from this distance, almost looked like a mossy blanket that was being strewn across the vessel, but Raffia knew what was really happening – she wove a slender finger through her frizzy green locks as she imagined the ticklish pandemonium that must be occurring inside as her sisters’ vines invaded ship and ticklish orifice alike. Raffia closed her eyes, and for a moment, no longer needed to imagine. She could feel the cold metallic embrace of a coffin-like trap which had ensnared one of her first scouts to breach the perimeter, it was dark and forboding, and filled with slithery feathers that slithered along her body’s ticklish spots like water-snakes. Raffia shuddered and shifted her consciousness to another scout who was roaring with delight as she scaled a wall, perching like a bird and directing vines to sprout from her vantage point to stun Faen defenders with strategic tickles. Raffia could feel as the Dryad directed a vine into an armpit to force a blast way wide, and a vine to lap up an exposed purple sole to make a different Faen fall to the floor.
Raffia opened her eyes and returned to her safe spot overlooking the conflict. The Dryads possessed a hive-mind which allowed them all access to each other raw emotions and sensory outputs. It wasn’t quite the same as a single collective consciousness, in the sense of each individual Dryad just being a part of the same organism – each of the Dryads had their own individual identity and personality quirks, but their hive-mind simply gave them a thousand eyes and ears in addition to their own, which made them the ideal scouts.
The first thing every Dryad learned was the ability to toggle between their own perceptions and the communal consciousness , after all, it was mighty disorienting to try to fight a foe when you were distracted by a ticklegasm happening miles away. It was easy for Raffia to jump from one to the other here, miles away from any conflict.
Privacy could be difficult during romantic excursions, as every Dryad in the vicinity would be able to feel your orgasm, but the Dryad had never been prudish about such desires. They were creatures of nature, after all, and what was more natural than sensual bliss?
Raffia would never be vain enough to consider herself the leader of the Dryad, or some kind of Hive Queen, as she was well aware she was only a de-facto leader at best. She had a flowery eloquence to her words, a keen military mind, and an aesthetically-appealing appearance which aided negotiations, but she simply represented the emotions of her people as a whole, and the pack’s judgment was always wiser than the individual’s.
Despite her people’s dislike of the Faen for their savage attack on the environment and their opportunistic misuse of nature, Raffia felt sorry for them. She twirled a lock of mossy hair around her slender green fingers. They were callous, and foolhardy, and arrogant, but that was nothing a bit of humbling would not fix. If nothing more, the Dryad’s communal consciousness gave them a unique take on the importance of perspective.
But speaking of perspective… Raffia could sense many of her sisters making her way through deep through the mechanical heart of the Faen stronghold – their hulking great observatory ship.
Time to take a better look inside… Raffia closed her hazel eyes as she shared perspectives with one of her sisters within the metal monstrosity…
O-O-O
Willow’s heart was pounding hard in her chest as she and her sisters poured through the crack in the Faen’s defences like a stream bursting its banks. The way was far from clear, as blasts from automated defenders and ticklish Faen defenders alike stream towards her. It was always the most dangerous for those who were the first to make contact, but those were the moments Willow lived for – her sisters sometimes jokingly said she had a little Boudo in her, but Willow had always agreed with that assessment. The thrill of battle, the joy of victory… this is what made life meaningful. Willow’s brown eyes glittered as she saw a white-coated Faen within striking range. She was cute – thick glasses and a ponytail to give her a studious, geeky look, and she was so preoccupied with dancing her silver nails across a monitor that she seemed barely aware of Willow’s presence. Raffia smiled, miles and miles away. This was looking very promising. A definitive strike here could be an end to this meaningless struggle...
Willow licked her lips in anticipation. She crept like a prowling leopard, her long wiggling nails (which Willow had grown out till they resembled claws or talons) aching to make contact – Willow had already picked out the first three spots she would tickle. The scientist’s taut stomach, just sticking out a bit from her shirt would be a good first target, then her exposed neck and finishing it off with her heaving bosom. Willow was so preoccupied with her plans than she didn’t even notice a pressure plate till her bare green foot was stepping on it. The glasses-wearing Faen turned to stare at her, and pressed a button. Willow could only gasp, her hands reaching out as the trapdoor under her bare soles opened and she tumbled down into darkness.
Willow tried to land on her feet, and luckily, the surface she landed on seemed to be soft. Not so luckily, they turned out to be a mass of feathers. There was row after row of big, fluffy, duster-like contraptions, as well as longer individual feathers flitting to and fro. Willow desperately dug her hands into the walls, trying to find purchase, but the walls were perfectly smooth and with the feathers brushing against her Dryad soles she had no chance of concentrating. It was just impossible to find the footing as every time Willow’s foot landed, it was engulfed in a swarm of feathers which teased every inch of her soles, even dusting the tops of her ankles and insteps. The feathers felt like quicksand, as the longer Willow found herself buried in them, the less likely she was of escaping, and to think her feet weren’t even her worst spot! She wracked her brain for a solution, and try to conjure vines to help her escape, but the lack of sunlight and her tickled state made it impossible for her to create anything useful. Eventually, as if sensing her fatigue, metal claws suddenly retracted from the walls of the feathery prison and latched onto Willow’s arms and wrists. They pulled her back to the cold wall, spreading her like a fallen eagle, as the merciless feathers continued to assault her soles. Raffia felt her own toes curl as if it was her being tickled, which was exactly how it felt, in a way. Despite being such a great distance away she felt such sympathy for her young sister, and wished she could jump down and help her herself. This could have gone better... Perhaps I should have joined this initial attack...
Raffia's doubts were distracted by a burst of sensations as Willow found fresh energy to splutter with laughter and toss her green hair back as an assortment of individual feathers licked their way along her shins, thighs, knees and buttocks, taking care to constantly tease her womanhood so Willow was fighting against the torturous ticklish sensations and the steady throb of arousal.
This was not Willow’s idea of any battle she wanted to be a part of, though she hoped her shrieks of laughter would bring attention from her sisters above, though from the sounds of things, they still had their hands full.
Through tear-stained eyes, she felt mechanical vibrators began retracting out of the walls and howled even louder as they made a beeline for her underarms and sides. The buzzing sensations were especially frustrating as they buzzed along her hips, right near her womanhood that was already moist with attention. As a flurry of feather strokes whizzed throughout poor Willow’s soles and a squad of brushes popped out to assault her taut tummy, Raffia decided she had enough of her perspective. Your valour has been noted, Sister Willow... perhaps some personal tutelage after the battle may cheer you. I promise I am much more ticklish than any Faen you would have encountered.
Raffia shook her head and hugged herself, shivering – not how you wanted to start the battle… she sent our a mass-message through the Dryad Hive Mind to save Willow when they could, as she prepared to jump to another viewpoint, which would perhaps show the battle going more smoothly.
O-O-O
Rose had to admit she might still prefer being on the receiving end, but being the one to dole out the tickling definitely had its pros too. Sure, being the ‘ler was a lot more work (it really was a lot more easy not to mention relaxing to sit back to let the tickling wash over you when you were the ‘lee) but having a writhing woman whimper and wiggle in front of you was its own special kind of pleasure too.
The tickle-loving Dryad had been placed in the diabolical Faen device Endurance for what probably was hours but had passed by like a nostalgia afternoon for her. The device would feather the midsection with cruel mechanical precision, and it came equipped with brushes that would come forth and attack captive soles as soon as any laughter was detected. It was a frustrating machine, the way most machines were, but currently the prison guard who had been interrogating Rose was the one being frustrated. Her name tag read Apple, which had always struck Rose as a rather un-Faen like name, but she knew better than to confuse Races and their bizarre naming conventions.
The guard had been stripped off her skin-tight metal armour that all Faen troops wore, exposing her eggplant-purple skin. Her face which had been so haughty when lecturing Rose about the ‘barbarities of lesser species’ was fixed in a tight, ticklish grin, as feathers licked up and down her bare torso. Rose felt a stab of jealousy as she watched the feathers glide up and down the Faen’s well-endowed chest – they definitely had not been quite so generous while she was in the chair, but maybe she was just imagining things as the Faen’s chest heaved and quaked with repressed laughter. Like most Dryads, Rose did not know how to operate technology any more than pressing buttons randomly, but it seemed to have sufficed in this case, as the machine was happily humming along on auto-pilot it seemed.
“Thanks for the save, sister,” Rose smiled, tearing away from the sight of Apple’s anguished face to give her green-skinned Dryad saviour a hug.
“I hope we didn’t cut your fun short, Rose,” the Dryad, whose name was Maple, said with a mischievous grin.
“Don’t worry, you can make it up to me,” Rose said, as she strode towards a tickle-torture device that had caught her eye from the minute she had been wheeled in.
“Rose, we’re supposed to be joining the assault,” Maple said, crossing her arms.
“One more person won’t make a big difference. We outnumber them by a ton anyway – let me play with one of their toys please!” Rose begged, flashing Maple her big brown eyes.
Maple rolled her eyes as she helped strap Rose into the stockade. It was a big metal device with toe-stocks and other diabolical devices where a captive’s feet would lay. “You’re taking this up with Raffia later.”
“Oh, I’m sure she already knows,” Rose said, slipping her pale green feet into the stocks, a devilish smirk on her face as if she could sense that Raffia was there. Rose always was a lazy worker… Raffia smiled at the display as she sensed her sister’s glee. It seemed the battle was going smoothly in any case, so it seemed unnecessarily harsh to punish Rose for indulging herself after the efforts she had put into sabotaging Faen defences.
The stockade intended to have its captive’s hands tied firmly behind her back, and Maple saw no reason not to do that as she knew how much being tied up aroused her kinky sister. The soon-to-be trapped girl clapped her hands with excitement as Maple closed the stocks, tied Rose’s toes back, and helped tie the arms back behind her back.
“Nice and tight,” Rose grinned, as Maple fiddled with the monitor till an impressive array of probes, vibrators, scratchers and massagers popped out from the mechanical compartment of the stockade contraption and begun working on the delicious-ticklish soles that were in front of her.
The Dryads were illiterate, as they lacked a need for written communication with their communal Hive mind, but Maple was still able to understanding the colour-coded screen in front of the controls for the stocks as Rose burbled with giggles as the nefarious instruments probed up and down her soles exploratively. Maple brushed a lock of green hair from her face as she leaned down to peer at the diagram of the soles on the display – it seemed like there were a cluster of hotspots (helpfully highlighted in red) along the balls of the feet near the centre of the sole. Purely out of cat-like curiosity, Maple pressed the monitor with a green finger and was delighted as the ticklish instruments responded to her command and immediate began plumbing that spot for all the ticklish laughter they could extract.
“Whahahahat did you dohohoho!” Rose cried, but she did not sound annoyed although her laughter had doubled. The thrusting of her hips seemed to indicate she was enjoying the abuse of the most responsive spots on her soles. The monitor was filled with all sorts of data being fed into the machine through the various sensors implanted into each and every single tickling tool, though by this point Maple was too enraptured by the sensual moaning laughter that was spilling out of her sister’s lips.
As the precise scratching tools focused on the small points of supreme sensitivity on Rose’s slender green feet, her toes would quiver as if shocked by such stimuli, which Maple recognized as a sign her sister the ticking was truly intense – just the way Rose liked it. Maple felt obligated to join her sister-in-arms in combat, but she was the opposite of sister Rose. If Rose couldn’t walk past a tickle-device without hopping in, Maple couldn’t walk past a comely, ticklish lass without giving her a good tickle. And surely she had a duty to make sure her sister didn’t get into any trouble! The Faen might stumble upon her!
That was just a pretense – an excuse, and Raffia knew it, as she saw through Maple’s eyes as she climbed onto Rose’s lap and spun a finger around the erect areolas. Rose grinned at her with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes, and howled with laughter as Maple suddenly spidered her coconut-like bosoms.
“I know how you prefer to be tickled than anything else…” Maple whispered in Rose’s ear, as she felt the other Dryad rock beneath her like a bucking broncho from the assortment of tools still wreaking havoc on the stocked soles.
“Dahahahahamn strahahaight!” Rose squeaked, a giddy grin plastered on her face as Maple’s roving fingers pillaged into her mid-section, scrapping her sides as she leaned down to plant wet raspberries and kisses on the wiggling stomach. I’m not sure who if I envy more… Raffia felt a nagging fire in her leafy loins as she reluctantly pulled away from the sight and sensations of Rose and Maple’s hijinks. She needed to see how the battle was going, and as pleasing as witnessing these excursions was, she really needed to focus on the matter at hand.
It would be terrible irresponsible of their military commander to pleasure herself into a stupor when she was supposed to be directing her comrades, after all.
There would be time for that later. Raffia closed her eyes as she searched for the next sister who would offer her insight into this wild battle of theirs.
O-O-O
Chaos and pandemonium; and that just how Juniper liked it. The flashing lights and shrill sirens of the Faen vessel were as pure as a bird-song to her. A blast from a Faen guard missed her by an inch, and short-circuited a nearby monitor, exploding in a loud and exciting fashion. She raised a hand and extended vines a foot long and slapped the guard in her helmeted head. All Dryads could conjure vines provided they had sunlight and could concentrate, but Juniper’s skills with her vines had always been prestigious, and it was what distinguished her among her sisters – despite their shared Hive mind all sisters, all people always sought a way to distinguish themselves, and Juniper took a lot of pride in her abilities as she cracked the vine like a whip and knocked the Faen guard on her back. This proficiency was what made her one of the finest warriors in the Dryad sisterhood, and although the Dryads would not be gaudy enough to give her some inane hollow title like Captain within the Dryad egalitarian hierarchy, Juniper knew that Raffia and the other wise sisters all valued her expertise. She loved battle, and battle loved her, as a snap of her wrist send the Faen guard tumbling back again as she raised her wrist-blaster to line up a shot.
Juniper badly wanted to play with the Faen girl she had just disabled, but a pair of her opportunistic had already sisters pounced on the fallen Faen, which was fair play, Juniper supposed sulkily. They pushed her onto her stomach, as the Faen desperately tried to plea and beg – clearly no brave warrior, this one. One sat on the Faen’s shines, plucked off the metal boots and dug into the purple-soles, protected only by a thin layer of nylon. The other Dryad sat on the Faen’s lower back, and contented herself with fingers wriggling in the vulnerable patches of the armour under the arms, where protection was sacrificed for flexibility.
Everywhere she looked, the same scene of ticklish chaos was unfurling with minute variations – if Juniper wasn’t worried of being immobilized by a Faen blaster, and missing out on the fun, she would have happily stayed in this exact spot and just watched the explosion of activity. A Faen scientist with her top ripped off was wrapped to a wall, while a pair of Dryads cooed and giggled over her bouncing breasts, tickling her chest with touches as light as the brush of a petal.
A trio of sisters pooled their powers together to create a great thicket of vines which swallowed a squadron of Faen soldiers, screams of laughter bellowing from the mass of shrubbery as probing tendrils invaded every ticklish orifice. The screechy, shrill Faen laughter filled the air – not that all Faen laughter was homogeneous, but Juniper seemed to notice how many Faen seemed to share the same shriek-y, spluttering, indignant tone of laughter which was such a contrast to the melodic giggles of the Dryads. Harmonious Dryad laughter was more prevalent in the outer walls and corridors of the ship, where the ship’s defences and their defenders had been deadly. The Faen had bust out quite a lot of tricky traps to try and dissuade them… ticklish caltrops which had rendered corridors unpassable due to the Dryad’s lack of footwear and their own innate foot ticklishness. The Jet-pack using Faen soldiers could pass it no problem, of course, the clever buggers. Robotic hands that sprung from walls, ceilings and floors to startle surprised Dryads with their ticklish touch, giving away their position to Faen defenders and distracting them for a moment so immobilizing blasts could come hissing towards them.
The Dryads would never consider themselves a war-like or militaristic race, unlike the boisterous Boudo or fascistic Paxim, but their attacks had been as tireless and insistent as the crashing tide, and they had the numbers to throw wave after wave of Dryads against an underwhelmed Faen defence. The last bastion of defence was the private chambers of that haughty Head Scientist of theirs.
The former guards of the laboratory were strung up and stripped of weaponry and armour when Juniper arrived, her bare green feet slapping across the cold metal surface of the corridor. One had been hung upside down and plastered, back-first, wall with vines, so a sister could stick her tongue in the purple navel while her hands skittered over the purple thighs, which was as red as the Faen officer’s face as she hung there, tittering. The other guard was eagle-spread with vines teeming around her wrists and ankles, as her stomach pressed against the cool surface of the walls, hiccupping with shrill giggles as a Dryad spidered her buttocks, amused by the way they wiggled and jiggled with each flex of her fingers. She would flick her long sharp nails across the squirming Faen’s behind, lazily dragging the tips of her nails across the bare bottom.
“Ah, you made it. About time,” said the Dryad tickling the Faen buttocks by way of greeting. Juniper recognized as Holly, a sister she would have to confess she did not particularly like. Despite the sense of community shared by most Dryads, there were those who were less selfless, and Holly was one of them.
“Here to save the day, Junebug?” the other Dryad said, retracting her tongue from the Faen belly, which was dripping with saliva. This would have to be Olive, Holly’s partner in crime.
“What’s the situation?” Juniper asked, fists clench as she tried to suppress the desire to truss the other Dryad in vines as Olive called her that childish nickname. Battle was fun, but being captured and tickled silly was not. Juniper disliked being tickled on account of her innate sensitivity not meshing with her battle-girl persona, and Olive and Holly had given her that nickname after a time they had ambushed Juniper bathing in a nearby stream. They had bound her up to a tree, blindfolded her, and made her squeal with random little touches all over body. And then they had coated her body with honey and watched as legions of ants came streaming all over her body. Needless to say, it was not an affectionate nickname.
“See for yourself,” Holly shrugged, as she kicked the door open with a bare green foot.
At a glance, Juniper could immediately see why they had deigned to wait for backup.
“Those mad scientists…” Juniper could only say as a glowing blast flew through the air and caught her in the chest.
Raffia fell to her knees, temporarily overwhelmed by the sensations that roared throughout her body. She had cut herself off from Juniper’s Hive mind connection, as the sensations that had flooded her body had been that overwhelming. Just what was that… Raffia could only shudder at the sensations and realized she had only felt a sensation of what Juniper must have felt, as she closed her eyes and prepared to see through a new set of eyes what had happened to proud and brave Juniper
O-O-O
The ditzy fool, Olive thought, rolling her eyes – so much for the ‘mighty warrior’s fighting capacities. She brushed a lock of green hair out of her eyes as she stared down at Juniper’s twitching, giggling form as light crackled around her body like glowing chains.
“So much for that,” Holly said, as she prodded Juniper’s form with her toe. “I wonder what that feels like…” Olive did not like Holly’s tone; her sister and best friend tended to be a bit reckless at times, probably fuelled by the fact she probably did not really fear ticklish repercussions, while Olive decidedly enjoyed being on the ‘ler end more.
“Feel free to find out yourself if you must,” Olive said, as she returned to the bound Faen she had been playing with before Juniper barged in. She squeezed the pale, purple sides as she talked. “We should wait for our back-up. There’s just two of us. And Gods knows what she’s got in there.”
“I’m pretty sure I saw. It was some kind of rifle blaster thingy,” Holly said, putting a finger on her lip as she pouted. “Are you sure we should wait?”
“Positive,” Olive nodded, feeling relieved at her sister’s submissive nature as she dipped her finger into the squealing Faen’s belly button; it was really one of Holly’s more endearing traits.
Just when Olive was really getting into tickling the snot out of the Faen girl, her micro-managing leader had to come and muck it up. “Storm the room. Avenge your fallen sister!” Olive held her head as voice as harsh as a growl filled her mind as if someone was speaking in her ear. She should have figured that Raffia’s Hive mind presence would be watching the proceedings and object to seeing her favourite warrior disabled in such an embarrassing fashion. The de-facto Dryad leader had always had a soft spot for her. Olive and Holly had been punished to share the same fate as Juniper when the lickspittle decided to tattle on them… being trapped for hours with ants crawling all over their bodies had been far from fun… though Olive was sure her companion Holly enjoyed it more than she let on. Holly had always been happy to be the test subject whenever Olive tested new ‘techniques’ that could be accomplished with vines and other tools of nature the Dryads could create.
Olive glanced over at her best friend – Holly was shorter, with tangled hair in need of a good wash and pouty lips in need of a good laugh. “Looks like you got your wish. What’s the plan?”
“There’s two of us, and one of her. We should be able to get her. Well, one of us,” Holly shrugged, and it was clear from her expression she was hoping to get a taste of the blast that left Juniper giggling outside the door.
“I’ve got a better idea…” Olive said, as she nodded towards the Faen guard whose stomach she was still spidering her sharp nails over.
The Faen were smaller anatomically (probably why they were so reliant on their machines, Olive theorized) than the Dryads, which made Olive’s diabolical plan of using their two captives as human shields much easier. They used vines to tie the semi-conscious Faen guards to their bodies and sprinted in the room.
The room was a mess – files and vials thrown to the floor as the ship had been rocked by the Dryads’ assaults. The room was clearly a laboratory, filled with fancy scientific machinery that Olive could not even begin to fathom. A panting, dishevelled Faen scientist was the only living thing in the room, a heavy blaster rifle in her arm like Holly had said. The weapon looked large and unwieldy, but the weapon fired a steady stream of energy that made aiming easy – you just had to wave the blaster around the general area and one of the streams would eventually hit. The spectacled scientist shot from right to left, and the quick blast that flew from the nozzle of the rifle gave them no time to dodge. It would have caught both Dryads in the chest and sent them down laughing if not for their ‘armour’ which took the brunt of the energy, shrieking with ticklish dissatisfaction and renewing their bids for freedom.
Holly caught a blast to her ankle, and she curled into a ball, giggling and pounding her fists against the hard floor, but Olive closed the distance and charged into the spectacled scientist. They struggled with the rifle, until as Olive twisted the muzzle of the rifle till it point the floor, there was a blast and a cry. Head Scientist Corel rolled about on the floor clutching her feet.
She had just shot herself in the foot.
O-O-O
When Head Scientist Corel came to, she awoke to find herself still in her familiar laboratory, and she felt a stab of hope till she realized she was tied down. She blinked her eyes, barely able to see as they had taken her glasses away, and realized her lab did not look quite so familiar – it seemed to have become overrun with vegetation as the pristine white walls were caked with mud and moss. It was unsettling to see her room so… green.
She was on one of her examination tables, though it looked like today she would be one being examined. At her ankles and wrists were brown branches that had melded themselves into the table, stretching her body tightly above her head. Her bare feet were spread a foot from each other, and smaller branches had wrapped themselves against the bindings of her feet, creating an almost stocks-like effect. Tiny branches had wrapped around her and between her toes to keep her bare purple feet perfectly immobile and helpless.
There was a gag in her mouth too, and despite her vaunted intellect and sesquipedalian vocabulary, there was naught she could do but moan into her gag (which tasted disgustingly of wood) and struggle impotently to attract the attention of the figure in the room. She was naked, of course, but she still had her pride.
The Dryad turned to look at Corel, her arms clasped behind her back. The Dryad’s eyes mud-brown eyes made contact with Corel’s flinty grey ones as she strode towards the examination table.
“Head Scientist Corel of the Faen,” the Dryad said politely, as she rubbed her hands together. “My name is Raffia, and my sisters have chosen me to speak on their behalf.”
Corel grunted into the gag, hoping the Dryad would let her speak, but Raffia just stood there as she continued to rub her hands together.
“I can see you want to talk, but there will come a time for talking later. We warned you Faen to leave this planet. We warned you that the destruction of this beautiful land would not be tolerated. We warned you.”
Corel whimpered into the gag. She had been under orders! It wasn’t her fault! She desperately tried to enunciate such feelings through her gag.
“But words are a wind that is blown away by the autumn breeze. Words are forgotten, but actions are not. I can see you need to receive a sharp lesson. I really don’t think this will leave an impression if I’m too soft. You need to suffer to see how nature suffers under your reckless touch,” Raffia said matter-of-factly, still rubbing her hands together.
Raffia raised her green hands, and Corel could see that they were coated in a light brown substance. The Faen scientist, helpless in her branchy binds, could only quiver as she felt warm hands trace across her cool, naked body. Corel shivered as the sticky substance trickled across her skin. The strange liquid tingled and began to itch terribly as Raffia continued to rub it into the soft, sensitive skin of Corel’s stomach and along her sides.
Corel was barely able to brace herself as Raffia’s fingers, as sharp as a hawk’s talons, suddenly dug into her sides. The proud scientist yelped and made a move to throw herself off the table. Wait, she had never been quite so sensitive there… Sweat trickled down Corel’s brow as Raffia’s fingernails stroked and flicked across her body like a pair of hairy big spiders. Raffia’s fingers seemed much more bristly than normal fingers, but Corel didn’t know if that was just the sap doing that to her. Raffia bought her fingers to Corel’s face, and the inquisitive scientist could see thin, hair-like fibres began to grow out from the pads of them, and although these bristles were so short that you had to squint to notice them, they could definitely be felt as Raffia spread a fresh batch of sap across her chest and began to spider her fingers along Corel’s chest, circling around her nipples.
As if it had a mind of its own, Corel could feel her body rebel against her, as she sweet smell of sap filled her ears and the mound between her legs began to moisten. She couldn’t be… enjoying this? Corel thought as she howled into the gag as Raffia began to tease under her neck.
“I understand your species crave knowledge, Faen, so I shall indulge you… Dryad sap is sensitizes the body… and it’s a powerful aphrodisiac, as I am sure you can feel… ” Raffia said in a voice as light as summer wind as her bristly fingers snuck into Corel’s taut, hairless underarms.
Before long, the pinnacle of her species, Head Scientist Corel, was screaming begs into her gag as her body turned against her, yearning for the tickling that was driving her mad. She thrust her hips as if that would encourage the Dryad to touch her there, but Raffia’s touch was cruelly instructive as ever – she would teasingly dart down to slather sap along her thighs and hips, and go to town there with her bristly fingers, but never quite touch her along the waterfall of moisture that was dripping down her legs and onto the white table.
“Have you learned your lesson?” Raffia whispered, as her tongue flicked across Corel’s slick purple nipple. Her fingers were playing with Corel’s navel now, the cruel juxtaposition of pleasure of agony wreaking havoc on the Faen’s conflicted body. She couldn’t think straight with all this happening to her… she wanted it to stop as much as she wanted it to continue. Corel nodded then shook her head, then nodded again as if shocked at herself for shaking her head in the first place.
Then as quick as it all began, Raffia pulled back, as Head Scientist Corel laid panting and sweating on her own examination table, beaten. Her skin was still tingling from where the sap had been rubbed into her skin. She dimly wondered what chemical qualities must be present in such sap – she had to figure out a way to reverse-engineer it.
Raffia clutched her head as if she was having a headache, and moments later, five of her Dryad sisters walked into the room, with matching green-skin, green-hair and great grins.
“My sisters will attend you now,” Raffia said as she turned to leave. Corel begged with her eyes, but Raffia only smiled. “I shall return later. I hope by then the lesson has sunk in.” And then she was gone, as four giggling, barely-clothed Dryad girls walked around to admire their captive like a wolf circling prey.
They were all rubbing their hands, and Corel knew they weren’t just doing that in anticipation of what they would do to her.
She could only squeak into her gag as two of the Dryads knelt in front of her soles and began rubbing the sap into her feet, which had always been her worst spot – great, now they would be ultra-sensitive to boot… And they made sure to coat the sap along the stalks of each toe, rubbing along the spaces between and beneath each of these silver-painted toes.
Two more of them went to Corel’s flanks, and claimed a side each. Their touch was tender as they rubbed sap into her armpits and breasts, giggling at how aroused the Faen leader was. Corel was ashamed of herself, but she found moans escaping her lips as the Dryad girls caressed and massaged her body. This was nice, and she knew the tickling would not be. She might as well try to enjoy this. The fifth Dryad used two slick, cold hands to rub Corel’s womanhood, and Corel closed her eyes as she could feel the sap working its bittersweet magic there.
After a particularly loud moan that was absorbed into the gag, the girls looked at each with wolfish grins, and began tickling in earnest. Her soles had ten fingers scitching haphazardly across their super-ticklish surfaces, and a tongue was constantly lapping across her trapped toes to give the tickling a sensuality that Corel’s sopping womanhood adored.
Her mid-section felt like a swarm of bees were darting across her body, as four hands scampered from spot to spot like an inquisitive raven, brushing and flicking their fingers along stomach, navel, ribs, sides, breasts, armpits and neck. Their tongues would aid in their exploration too, licking along her armpits and her necks, and constantly licking her rock-hard nipples. And the way their arms would fondle her almost felt like a lover’s arms, Corel thoughtly dimly as their sensual tickling whipped her body into a frenzy.
The worst was the Dryad between her legs, whose slimy Dryad tongue was doing unspeakable things to the burst dam between her legs. And her fingers were far from idle too, as they traced and teased along her purple inner thighs, right where Corel hated to be tickled of how much it turned her on there.
