oneortheother
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A compendium of sorts for my two 'Battle' stories.
They can be found here: http://ticklingforum.com/search.php?searchid=5038283
Really struggled with a title for this one, so if anyone was expecting a Hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy story I apologize for misleading you!
---
The Solaris:
When you live forever, what more is there to do in life? I am one of the Solaris, and I twist this universe into how I see fit. My people have mastered every language, every skill and seen every inch of the planets. What is left but to see the ingenuity of the sentient mind? The strands of fate and destiny are my tools, and I wield them as skilfully as a puppeteer wields strings. Seeds of discord are planted, nurtured, fertilized with fresh sprinkles of antagonism if needed, and realized. The worlds and their petty conflicts are the only entertainment left that amuse us.
This is our garden, and we hope you enjoy the fruits of our labour. Now this first one is a ripe fruit we are especially proud of…
---
The Humans:
Oh, how I admire those Humans. Them and their diplomacy, as if they really believe talking could solve anything in a world we’ve rigged to lust for conflict. They run this lovely little planet by the name of Amiens, where every race has their ambassador who endlessly lies and blusters about what they race is really trying to do - oh, intrigue and politics… it is the most delicious of fruits.
The Secretary-General of this little house of deceit and diplomacy is a human by the name of Desiree, who is as pretty as she is intelligent, and she is very pretty, with her sheek brown hair, dark blue eyes and strapping physique. You could easily imagine her conducting business in a back room with luscious pillows and soft silk.
The Ambassadors were a constant mess of back-stabbing, plots, vendettas, and secret alliances – in other words, incredibly fun for us to watch as these races desperately tried to win the Game of Tickles. Little do they know that by choosing to play at all, we have already won.
The lovely Secretary-General was overseeing a meeting between all the key races in the Galaxy. They were discussing the ramifications of an unprovoked attack of the Dryads on a Faen’s exploration vessel on the planet of Lomond.
“It was a cowardly attack! Without any provocation or declaration of intent,” the purple-skinned Faen ambassador, Java, said, her tone calm but stern. She adjusted her spectacles. “We demand recompense for the damage done, and the right to punish the Dryad commander who authorized this assault.”
Desiree wanted to roll her eyes, but that wouldn’t do in a meeting like this. The Faen were sore about losing so thoroughly, and they were kicking up a big fuss right now because they were embarrassed, that was clear as day.
“It was far from unprovoked,” the Dryad ambassador, Ivy, glared, as she tossed her green-hair back over her should ruefully. The Dryad wore a more formal robe of leaves than her people generally chose to adorn themselves with, but it still exposed plenty of her skin as green as a grassy summer’s meadow. “You violated intergalactic policy on the preservation of natural habits.”
“Is this true, Ambassador?” Desiree asked, stapling her fingers together as she fixed the Faen command with a cool stare.
“Baseless accusations,” the Faen ambassador said calmly. “I hope someone as wise as the Secretary-General will not take such hearsay for fact.”
“Look at what your people did to Lemond! How did you explain that if not your vile machines?” Ivy growled, slapping her slender green hands on the metal desk, jolting everyone to attention.
"Hmmmm..." Desiree began, and then stopped herself, feigning a moment of introspection, but in reality she was trying to cover for a queer sensation under the table. Oh, those bastards. The human had crossed her shapely legs beneath the table and she suddenly felt her high-heeled sandal drop from a nylon-clad sole. Desiree wore always wore black as it was a neutral colour, but her opaque black stockings definitely applied her ticklishness, and boy, could she feel it. Desiree grit her teeth as she stared up and down the table wondering whose ploy this was. Was it the Faen, trying to distract her so she would rule in their favour? Was it the Dryads, wanting her to think it was the Faen? Was it another race, trying to damage interracial relations?
“Calm yourself, Ambassador,” Desiree said, though the phrase could also have been for her own benefit as a finger began lightly scratching under the ball of her foot. Her mind worked furiously, as she ruled out the races with claws or tentacles. The nail was sharp, but the touch was lazy, as it zigged and zagged along the sole as if mapping out all the ticklish spots, of which there were many. The silky surfaces of her stockings allowed the fingers to slide in smooth, rounded patterns effortlessly, sometimes drawing large circles and other times quickly wriggling along a spot that seemed especially sensitive.
“I represent the fury of my people,” the Dryad spat. “We taught them a well-deserved lesson, yet you seek to punish us for it? We did the galaxy a favour!”
The Dryad Ambassador then went on a lengthy tirade on the evils of scientific development, a lack of respect for the environment, the preservation of rare species and habitats, and god-knows what else, because Desiree was barely listening. There were two hands spidering over her sole now, and Desiree had to feign a cough when those fingers teased the gaps between her pedicured pink toes. She tried to cover one foot with the other, but the hands were quick to snatch away her other shoe the second the opportunity presented itself, so now she had two ticklish soles exposed instead of one.
“Enough,” Desiree said, bleary-eyed, putting an end to the Dryad’s oratory. She placed her feet flat on the floor. “The Dryads took it into their own hands when they should have consulted Amiens,” Desiree knew was speaking more quickly than she should have, but the nails were stroking over the tops of her feet now, along the insteps as well as scratching the sides, which were almost as ticklish as her soles.
The Dryad began bickering indignantly again, but Desiree closed her eyes, frowned and raised a hand to silence her. The closed eyes weren’t just for effect, as the hands were currently picking insistently between her prettily-painted toes, which wanted to make the human leap off her chair and scream.
“You heard the Secretary-General,” the Faen ambassador said with a sweet smile. “Now let us negotiate the terms. I suggest your leader of Lemond, whose name I believe is Raffia, join our sensitivity program for the duration of one year as a form of community service for all the research she destroyed.”
“One year!”
The Faen and the Dryad began a lengthy series of negotiations as they haggled and threatened, as the Secretary-General desperately wished for the meeting to end so the hands would stop their assault on her nylon-covered soles.
Little does she know the one having so much fun tickling her soles is none other than her second-in-command who covets her place. She seeks to embarrass the Secretary-General so she loses credit. How can you not love Humans and their diplomacy? It is simply the war of tickles by another means.
O-O-O
The Ashini:
Diplomacy is all well and good… but there are some darker species whose idea or diplomacy is interrogation, in which point your choice is between a feather and a hard place…
Neptune had always hated spiders. She was been on a routine mission as a Paxim negotiator between Paxim worlds, where her ship had stumbled into an asteroid field. She had landed her ship as best she could and set off her homing beacon, but her would-be rescuers turned out to have more villainous intentions in mind. Friggin’ bugs.
She was eagle-spread on a giant’s spider-web, all her carefully-chosen fashion negotiator attire stolen by those buggers, with silky webbing around her bare ankles, wrists and mouth. Her baby-blue eyes were wide and teary as she could nothing but wait. She heard the ominous skittering sound that were the footsteps of the Ashini, whose colony she had inadvertently stumbled upon. Well, perhaps footsteps was not quite the appropriate term, as the insectoid Ashini had no feet. They were arachnid-like from the waist down, with six spindle-like legs, although from the torso up they could be mistaken for any humanoid aside from the long set of feelers which sprouted from their head. They were gloves and simple vestments over their midsections, fashioned in the silk all Ashini were capable of creating, and Neptune couldn’t help but notice all the toned stomachs and underarms that were in display as the Ashini filled into the room. The Ashini came in a variety of colours, though Neptune found their dull browns, greys and blacks drab and tacky compared to the Paxim’s own colourful garb.
Being lifted in on a plump cushioned throne supported by a dozen other Ashini was a woman who could only be their Queen. Her dark hair was curled into fashionable ringlets, and her sleeveless grey top was woven with the Ashini emblems. Her black gloves reached passed her elbows and were embroidered with white spiderwebs.
“Hello, my dear, welcome to our little colony,” the Queen said, with a sly smile. “We hope you have been enjoying Ashini hospitality, but it’s not every day such a juicy fly falls into our webs,” the Queen skittered off her royal litter to where Neptune lay bound and gagged against that giant web. The Paxim envoy grunted and mmphed into the gag, but the Queen simply smirked.
“You want to talk? There’ll be plenty of time for talking later...” the Queen said, as her nimble, velvety fingers caressed Neptune’s armpits, making the Paxim girl giggle and toss her head from side to side, sending her sky-blue hair flapping.
The Queen gestured lazily with a finger, and Neptune closed her eyes and threw her head back into the soft webbing. Damn friggin’ bugs.
As the Queen contented herself to play with Neptune’s upperbody, some of her lackeys had taken up the slack for Neptune’s legs and feet. Two had latched onto her webbed feet and were licking and nibbling her toes, while massaging and caressing the soles with their fingers. They sucked onto Neptune blue-painted toes like they were sucking on lollipops, and their soft tongues and sensual touches were have a diabolical effect on Neptune who enjoyed a bit of playful worship as much as any overworked Paxim grunt. These damn bugs had the softest tongues… they felt like hot feathers that sneaked between her toes that tickled and much as they turned her on.
Two more were lightly lapping along Neptune’s milky-white thighs with their tongues, while tracing their velvety touch all over her knees and waist. Neptune could already feel her body revolting against her as a fire burned within her stomach and water began seeping out of her womanhood as if to try to put out this fire.
The Queen grinned with an air of regal supremacy as she trailed her fingers across Neptune’s plump, perky breasts and laid them there tauntingly. She paused, looked into Neptune’s fearful blue eyes and leaned close.
“I hope you don’t mind… we haven’t tasted a Paxim in years…”
Neptune could only whimper into her gag as the Queen leaned down to admire the Paxim’s moist, dripping womanhood. She didn’t have much time to even brace herself, as a lazy hand gesture from the Queen sent Ashini scurrying to tend to Neptune’s stiff nipples. Some used their fingers to nudge the stiff buds, some used their fingers, and some even used their feelers, but it all blended into an erotic haze as Neptune tossed her head to and fro as her sensitive breasts were stimulated. The handful of Ashini were a flurry of constant motion, a caress here, a fondle there, and a few scattered kisses meant that Neptune didn’t even know what to think as a stubborn cloud of arousal dulled her thoughts.
Neptune tore her eyes open and forced herself to watch the Queen, shuddering as she felt feelers lightly flicking the hardened tips of her bosoms. The Queen licked her lips, and lightly flicked her tongue along the Paxim’s sopping-wet womanhood. The Queen would pause to lap up the orgasmic fluids tricking down her legs, occasionally missing a few drops to the delight of the Ashini still teasing Neptune’s knees and thighs. The Queen’s feathery-tongue was too much. Neptune closed her eyes, gnashing her molars together as she willed herself not to scream in ecstasy as the Queen sucked and sucked.
Watching was almost as bad as not watching, Neptune decided as she shook her head wildly as if doing so could deny what was happening. The tongues on her feet had doubled to four, to ensure both her toes as well as her high arches would not the sensual touch of Ashini-feather tongues for a moment. She had given up trying to count what in the world they were doing to her rock-hard nipples and throbbing breasts. She arched her back as the Queen and her royal tongue continued to do cruel things to her womanhood. When the orgasm came, and it came quick and hard, Neptune’s mind was frazzled that she barely heard the Queen’s words as she wiped her lips and returned to her litter.
“Keep her going for a few more hours. And step it up a few notches. See if she wants to tell us all about her mission then…”
Neptune screamed threats and begs for mercy into her gag, but it was no use. The Queen left, and the grinning Ashini continued. A lucky Ashini with short brown hair took the Queen’s place, and whispered in Neptune’s ear.
“I hear an orgasm makes you even more sensitive…” she said, sticking her feathery tongue in Neptune’s ear and making the Paxim squeal from the sudden sensations.
As tongues, feelers and fingers proved the truth of this statement, Neptune could only think one thought.
Friggin’ bugs.
Were we cruel for sabotaging the Paxim's aircraft to ensure such crashes occurred every now and then? Perhaps, but the Ashini were most definitely grateful for Neptune's company...
O-O-O
The Primos:
Although some of plants flourish underground, that does not mean we do not see them… for we see everything. In the dark undergrowth of the cities, all manners of excitement and pleasure can be found for the right price.
Sabre growled as she pushed her way into the dinghy bar, The Fox’s Fire, the bartender glared at her as she walked in. Sabre strolled up the bartender, who was a purple-skinned Faen with the initials ‘SF’ on her nametag, trying not to recoil at the stench of this place. The whole city, no, the whole planet stank of sin and sewage. This cesspool of a planet only had one good thing about it – it was easy for a Primos to find a fight.
“I’m here for the club,” Sabre said, leaning on the counter and then promptly regretting it as there was now a black smudge on the brown fur of her arms. Like all Primos, she had short, soft light-brown fur over most of her body, with her chest, stomach, and inner thighs all making up a cream-colored underbelly of very fine fur, which she currently had hidden under loose fitting garb. Her shoulder length mane of auburn hair and large green eyes caught the attention of every hot-blooded and semi-inebriated creature in the louche tavern.
“We ain’t got no club here,” the Faen bartender said, polishing a glass with a rag.
“The first rule about the club is you don’t talk about the club. I’m a member. Now where are they? I’m on the clock.”
The Faen fixed Sabre with a piercing stare – it looked lie those flinty grey Faen eyes of hers were sizing her up. “A drink might help your performance.”
Sabre tossed a few credit chips on the counter, which the Bartender promptly scooped up before handing Sabre a fizzing green liquid.
“The basement,” the Bartender said, as the pointed to a stairwell behind the counter, as Sabre knocked the drink back. Sabre was led through into a spacious basement crammed with rowdy people of all species. The crowd parted for her, recognizing her fiery mane of red hair as well as the fact Primos was an uncommon species on a backwater planet like this. She strode towards the centre of the basement where she saw a wrestling ring await her.
“Thought you’d fucking pussied out,” a red-skinned Boudo laughed as she waited inside the ring.
“Wouldn’t miss a chance to beat your sorry ass again,” Sabre replied as she walked into the ring and tugged off her overcoat – protective clothing gave you an advantage, so it was prohibited, and the fact was that half-naked women made a better show.
The Boudo leering at her was Akiko, whom Sabre had sparred with several times at other underground fight clubs like this one. Akiko was one of the few regulars who reliably gave Sabre trouble, as she was cat-quick and agile, while Sabre tended to overwhelm her opposition with her muscular frame. You could call them rivals. Sabre didn’t like all the tricks Akiko would use during their fights, but she was a nice, tough, matchup. Sabre remembered how easy flattening the Dryad she had fought last time was – her tricks with her vines weren’t any good as soon as Sabre’s using her tongue on those Dryad soles of hers.
Now that Sabre had arrived, there was a flurry of activity as gamblers made their bets. Sabre stretched as she stared at her foe, who wore the same cocksure Cheshire grin as she always did. What new tricks did she have up her sleeve this time? Further incentive to win was that if you lost, you were the establishment’s entertainment for the night, and Sabre had no intention of being strapped in a pair of stocks or whatever nefarious bondage device a dinky bar like this surely had.
A tatty-looking referee signalled to the crowd that the match was about to begin, and the roar of the crowd begun to echo across the walls of the basement – there was a lot of money riding on this match, Sabre could tell, but she wasn’t doing this for the money, though it was nice. She loved to fight, and she fought for honour of her people. Every battle she won proved the truth about her race – that they were the true fighters of the galaxy, second to none, definitely not the reckless and undisciplined Boudo.
Sabre fell into a fighting stance, her light-brown fur skin matching well with the white vest and shorts she wore. She wore no shoes or socks, of course. The Primos had quadruped paws instead of feet, but they were no less sensitive there than other species, and Sabre’s claws had served her very well in her battles.
Akiko wore dark undergarments which clashed nicely with her red skin and short dark hair, a mocking smile on her face. Sabre’s favourite tactic was to tackle her foe to the ground, and use her big muscular hands to hold both her foe’s wrists with one hand so her other hand could tickle with impunity – it was a simple technique, but often effective, and she went for it right away as the referee hopped out of the ring.
She charged at Akiko who pirouetted away, landing a glancing poke on Sabre’s left side as she darted back. Sensing that Sabre’s was off-balance from the prod, Akiko tried to sweep Sabre’s legs away and send the larger girl tumbling top the floor, but Sabre saw the blow coming and managed to reach down and snatch’s Akiko’s slender red ankle . Akiko’s eyes grew wide, and sensing an impending foot tickle session by Sabre’s clawed hands, threw her body into the Primos and sent them both tumbling to the floor.
Akiko wrestled her way on-top, as she dug her fingers furiously under Sabre’s arms tll growling giggles came spilling out. Akiko pinned her beneath her legs, and continued tickling as the referee hovered close, signalling the beginning of the ten-second count Sabre had to struggle free or be declared the loser.
“I got you this time, you big bitchy furball!” Akiko cackled as her hands continued plunging into Sabre’s armpits. Sabre grit her sharp teeth and despite the vertiginous sensations the tickling was having on her mind, found the strength to squeeze the Boudo’s red-thighs, with electrical effect. Akiko quivered as if she were being electrocuted as Primos claws dug into her ticklish flesh, and her grip weakened enough that Sabre was able to twist free before the count was completed.
Sabre could see her smaller foe was running out of gas, as she launches a flustered blow at the Primos’s head which was easily sidestepped, with Sabre slipping her fingers into her opponent’s exposed hollows for good measure. As Akiko was giggling, Sabre took advantage of the shift in momentum to barrel into her, and right when Sabre thought she might have her foe pined, Akiko wiggled like some red snake and slipped her way loose. Sabre did managed to get hold of a red foot, however, which was a good enough consolation prize as her clawed fingers began teasing across the flesh, reddening it even further with her sharp tickly touch.
Sabre was thinking that she had this in the bag, until she realize Akiko had somehow clung to her own calves like a limpet, and had caught her own feet in a iron-like grasp. Akiko held Sabre’s ankles in the crook of her toned, muscular arm and was letting her hand go wild over the trapped, wiggling soles. The Primos had paws, but they were no less sensitive there than other species, which was a fact Akiko was taking keen advantage of.
All Sabre could do was tickle back with the slender, anklet-wearing and toe-ring adorned sole she had in her own grasp, at a major disadvantage because she only had one of Akiko’s feet while Akiko had both of hers. All she could do was grit her teeth as raspy, growly splutters of laughter came spilling loose as the soft fur of her soles was petted and stroked by unkind Boudo fingers.
Sabre redoubled her efforts on the sole in front of her face, going right at the long, unpainted bare toes and the slightly-callused high arches, as both muscle-bound women frenzied, hysterical laughter filled the room, the battle coming down to a fierce foot tickling battle.
The audience waited with bated breath at each squirm and smirk and squeal, with one eye on the clock. Akiko and Sabre were too preoccupied with their ticklish soles to take much notice of this, but there was a timer signifying the end of the match, and if the match was not decided by then, both competitors would find themselves in the tickle stocks by the end of the game.
And isn’t that the perfect ending? No winner, no losers… simply laughter all around.
O-O-O
For every creature that craves the light, we find many who prefer darkness. And who are we to dissuade them? In the dark is where the fun occurs…
The Varanids:
It was nightfall in the city, which was just how Venom liked it. She slipped along the roof, peering down at the balcony of the mansion. The guards had been easy enough to evade, and the skin tone of the Varanids made it child’s play to blend with the shadows and escape notice. Her sandals crunched softly as Venom landed on the balcony, and her mouth curled into a little smile, with her tiny fangs poking out, as she realized the balcony gate had been carelessly left open.
The fact she was disrupting the Ashini ambassador on Amiens just made it even better. The Varanids and the Ashini shared a common ancestor, but their philosophies varied wildly. The Ashini were content to work themselves into an early grave, but the Varanids were willing to make something of their lives instead of being mindless cattle who obeyed a Queen. Venom was sick of the communistic nonsense she heard the Ashini spout, and had taken this contract quite happily. Not enough that she didn’t haggle for a raise, but still. Venom gave the door a cautious push as she slipped inside, quiet as a shadow.
Venom flexed her hands, making sure her prongs were out. Every Varanid had poison running through their veins, but not the lethal kind – it was part aphrondisiac and part tranquilizer, though not in that order, and it was a major reason why so many Varanids made their mark as thieves, pirates and bounty hunters. Ships cruising near the Varanid homeworld had to expect to be raided, boarded, and tickled silly by the Varanid Homeguard, though they were at least generous enough to merely demonstrate their superiority before departing.
She crept around the room, avoiding the piles of precariously balanced papers that looked like they would fall at the slightest touch. She could hear sounds of merriment and laughter from the floor below, but that was no surprise – she had timed her breaking-in to coincide with some dinner party the Ambassador was throwing downstairs, as it gave her the perfect window of opportunity. She had been given a map of the building when she accepted the mission, so she made a beeline for the master bedroom where her prey would await. The Ashini Queen’s own daughter was the ambassador here, and Venom was salivating at the chance of tickling royal blood. It had been years since she had gotten a chance to tickle such a high-ranked official – she had accepted a mission a while back to abduct a prominent Dryad on behalf of the Boudos to send a message that those shrubs and their pollen would not be welcome in their side of the city. Venom could have clawed her nails up and down those pale-green Dryad soles for weeks…
Venom was so caught in her vivid daydream that she almost walked right into the door, which would have been very unprofessional indeed. A quick twist of the doorknob showed the door was locked, but that was no problem. She bent down, reached into her cloak and began fiddling with a lockpick. She had just about cracked the code when a spray of gas suddenly came shooting from the door! Venom breathed in the foul, acrid air in shock, and before she could even register what was happening, she had slumped down onto the carpet, unconscious.
---
Venom woke up to the sight of the smug Ashini princess staring at her.
“My, my, isn’t this a surprise,” she said, stroking her embroidered gown. Venom growled as she realized she was topless and placed in some kind of stockade. She remembered the map of the building and realized the ‘winery’ was probably the architect’s way of saying ‘custom dungeon’. A quick glance around showed that the dungeon got more than regular use. A purring and yowling Primos girl in a rack in the far corner of the dungeon, as a pair of well-dressed Faen teased her chest and pawed feet respectively.
“My two friends over there helped designed the security that caught you,” the Princess said, with a feral grin. “You’ll have a chance to thank them personally later, I promise,” she said, her proclamation sending shivers down Venom’s spine.
Another glance around the room showed more guests, as well as other Ashini scuttling about with serving trays. There was a well-dressed Boudo woman pouring wine into the deep navel of a pale-skinned human girl, and slurping and lapping it off with her tongue. A Dryad lady was putting on a show with her tentacles and a eagle-spread Paxim girl with hair like sunlight, and even a trio of Ashini with their wrists bound to manacles along the wall were being tormented, just to show that the Princess was happy to pimp out ever her own kind.
Was the ambassador entertaining guests at some kind of perverse dinner party? Those goodie-two-shoes humans definitely would not approve of what was going on down here… maybe Venom could leverage that information somehow…
The princess seemed to be reading Venom’s mind. “If you thinking of blackmailing me, then you clearly don’t know me or my mother very well. We Ashini have our own way of dealing with unwanted guests… There are a lot of powerful people in this room, and it would not be hard to make you disappear.”
Venom grit her fanged teeth and said nothing.
“Don’t want to talk? No problem – much more fun that way,” the Princess smirked, with a smile that was as pretty as it was an infuriating. She gave an appraising eye down Venom’s body. Like all Ashini, her long, smooth body was greyish-black and covered with smooth scales dark black scales, though needless to say, the scales did not cover the delicate hollows under her arms nor the paler grey skin on the soles of her feet.
“Every Varanid seems to do hers black,” the Princess commented, as she stroked under the toenail of Venom’s big toe, which had been painted a jet black. “You all seem to be slaves to fashion just like the Paxim…” she whispered mockingly, as her sharp fingers began a dance across her soles.
Venom flinched from the touch, but refused to give her captor the satisfaction. Her lip was pursed in a tight, thin line. She tried to keep her face still as stone, and never reveal how sensitive her soles were to every casual flick or pinch from the Princess’s royal fingers. Her smile blossomed into a silly, helpless grin as the Princess discovered the gaps between her slender talon-like toes, but it seemed her lack of a reaction had bored the Princess.
“You’re not as fun as I thought you would be,” she sulked, standing up. “I’ll come back when you’re warmed up a bit more… the night is still young…”
Venom wasn’t sure what to make of such words, till the two Faen scientists seated themselves in front of her, and pulled out a pair of contraptions from their pockets – an electric toothbrush and some kind of massager by the look of them, which did not bode well at all.
As the brush scrubbed under her toes while the massager gave her ribs and hips a thorough ‘massage’, Venom was too wet and too winded to think, and she saw more party guests stepping up to take the place the Faen aristocrats had just vacated.
“Prihihihihincess! I wahahahahant to tahahahalk!”
And talk she did... and laugh... and moan... Till next time.
O-O-O
They can be found here: http://ticklingforum.com/search.php?searchid=5038283
Really struggled with a title for this one, so if anyone was expecting a Hitchhiker's guide to the galaxy story I apologize for misleading you!
---
The Solaris:
When you live forever, what more is there to do in life? I am one of the Solaris, and I twist this universe into how I see fit. My people have mastered every language, every skill and seen every inch of the planets. What is left but to see the ingenuity of the sentient mind? The strands of fate and destiny are my tools, and I wield them as skilfully as a puppeteer wields strings. Seeds of discord are planted, nurtured, fertilized with fresh sprinkles of antagonism if needed, and realized. The worlds and their petty conflicts are the only entertainment left that amuse us.
This is our garden, and we hope you enjoy the fruits of our labour. Now this first one is a ripe fruit we are especially proud of…
---
The Humans:
Oh, how I admire those Humans. Them and their diplomacy, as if they really believe talking could solve anything in a world we’ve rigged to lust for conflict. They run this lovely little planet by the name of Amiens, where every race has their ambassador who endlessly lies and blusters about what they race is really trying to do - oh, intrigue and politics… it is the most delicious of fruits.
The Secretary-General of this little house of deceit and diplomacy is a human by the name of Desiree, who is as pretty as she is intelligent, and she is very pretty, with her sheek brown hair, dark blue eyes and strapping physique. You could easily imagine her conducting business in a back room with luscious pillows and soft silk.
The Ambassadors were a constant mess of back-stabbing, plots, vendettas, and secret alliances – in other words, incredibly fun for us to watch as these races desperately tried to win the Game of Tickles. Little do they know that by choosing to play at all, we have already won.
The lovely Secretary-General was overseeing a meeting between all the key races in the Galaxy. They were discussing the ramifications of an unprovoked attack of the Dryads on a Faen’s exploration vessel on the planet of Lomond.
“It was a cowardly attack! Without any provocation or declaration of intent,” the purple-skinned Faen ambassador, Java, said, her tone calm but stern. She adjusted her spectacles. “We demand recompense for the damage done, and the right to punish the Dryad commander who authorized this assault.”
Desiree wanted to roll her eyes, but that wouldn’t do in a meeting like this. The Faen were sore about losing so thoroughly, and they were kicking up a big fuss right now because they were embarrassed, that was clear as day.
“It was far from unprovoked,” the Dryad ambassador, Ivy, glared, as she tossed her green-hair back over her should ruefully. The Dryad wore a more formal robe of leaves than her people generally chose to adorn themselves with, but it still exposed plenty of her skin as green as a grassy summer’s meadow. “You violated intergalactic policy on the preservation of natural habits.”
“Is this true, Ambassador?” Desiree asked, stapling her fingers together as she fixed the Faen command with a cool stare.
“Baseless accusations,” the Faen ambassador said calmly. “I hope someone as wise as the Secretary-General will not take such hearsay for fact.”
“Look at what your people did to Lemond! How did you explain that if not your vile machines?” Ivy growled, slapping her slender green hands on the metal desk, jolting everyone to attention.
"Hmmmm..." Desiree began, and then stopped herself, feigning a moment of introspection, but in reality she was trying to cover for a queer sensation under the table. Oh, those bastards. The human had crossed her shapely legs beneath the table and she suddenly felt her high-heeled sandal drop from a nylon-clad sole. Desiree wore always wore black as it was a neutral colour, but her opaque black stockings definitely applied her ticklishness, and boy, could she feel it. Desiree grit her teeth as she stared up and down the table wondering whose ploy this was. Was it the Faen, trying to distract her so she would rule in their favour? Was it the Dryads, wanting her to think it was the Faen? Was it another race, trying to damage interracial relations?
“Calm yourself, Ambassador,” Desiree said, though the phrase could also have been for her own benefit as a finger began lightly scratching under the ball of her foot. Her mind worked furiously, as she ruled out the races with claws or tentacles. The nail was sharp, but the touch was lazy, as it zigged and zagged along the sole as if mapping out all the ticklish spots, of which there were many. The silky surfaces of her stockings allowed the fingers to slide in smooth, rounded patterns effortlessly, sometimes drawing large circles and other times quickly wriggling along a spot that seemed especially sensitive.
“I represent the fury of my people,” the Dryad spat. “We taught them a well-deserved lesson, yet you seek to punish us for it? We did the galaxy a favour!”
The Dryad Ambassador then went on a lengthy tirade on the evils of scientific development, a lack of respect for the environment, the preservation of rare species and habitats, and god-knows what else, because Desiree was barely listening. There were two hands spidering over her sole now, and Desiree had to feign a cough when those fingers teased the gaps between her pedicured pink toes. She tried to cover one foot with the other, but the hands were quick to snatch away her other shoe the second the opportunity presented itself, so now she had two ticklish soles exposed instead of one.
“Enough,” Desiree said, bleary-eyed, putting an end to the Dryad’s oratory. She placed her feet flat on the floor. “The Dryads took it into their own hands when they should have consulted Amiens,” Desiree knew was speaking more quickly than she should have, but the nails were stroking over the tops of her feet now, along the insteps as well as scratching the sides, which were almost as ticklish as her soles.
The Dryad began bickering indignantly again, but Desiree closed her eyes, frowned and raised a hand to silence her. The closed eyes weren’t just for effect, as the hands were currently picking insistently between her prettily-painted toes, which wanted to make the human leap off her chair and scream.
“You heard the Secretary-General,” the Faen ambassador said with a sweet smile. “Now let us negotiate the terms. I suggest your leader of Lemond, whose name I believe is Raffia, join our sensitivity program for the duration of one year as a form of community service for all the research she destroyed.”
“One year!”
The Faen and the Dryad began a lengthy series of negotiations as they haggled and threatened, as the Secretary-General desperately wished for the meeting to end so the hands would stop their assault on her nylon-covered soles.
Little does she know the one having so much fun tickling her soles is none other than her second-in-command who covets her place. She seeks to embarrass the Secretary-General so she loses credit. How can you not love Humans and their diplomacy? It is simply the war of tickles by another means.
O-O-O
The Ashini:
Diplomacy is all well and good… but there are some darker species whose idea or diplomacy is interrogation, in which point your choice is between a feather and a hard place…
Neptune had always hated spiders. She was been on a routine mission as a Paxim negotiator between Paxim worlds, where her ship had stumbled into an asteroid field. She had landed her ship as best she could and set off her homing beacon, but her would-be rescuers turned out to have more villainous intentions in mind. Friggin’ bugs.
She was eagle-spread on a giant’s spider-web, all her carefully-chosen fashion negotiator attire stolen by those buggers, with silky webbing around her bare ankles, wrists and mouth. Her baby-blue eyes were wide and teary as she could nothing but wait. She heard the ominous skittering sound that were the footsteps of the Ashini, whose colony she had inadvertently stumbled upon. Well, perhaps footsteps was not quite the appropriate term, as the insectoid Ashini had no feet. They were arachnid-like from the waist down, with six spindle-like legs, although from the torso up they could be mistaken for any humanoid aside from the long set of feelers which sprouted from their head. They were gloves and simple vestments over their midsections, fashioned in the silk all Ashini were capable of creating, and Neptune couldn’t help but notice all the toned stomachs and underarms that were in display as the Ashini filled into the room. The Ashini came in a variety of colours, though Neptune found their dull browns, greys and blacks drab and tacky compared to the Paxim’s own colourful garb.
Being lifted in on a plump cushioned throne supported by a dozen other Ashini was a woman who could only be their Queen. Her dark hair was curled into fashionable ringlets, and her sleeveless grey top was woven with the Ashini emblems. Her black gloves reached passed her elbows and were embroidered with white spiderwebs.
“Hello, my dear, welcome to our little colony,” the Queen said, with a sly smile. “We hope you have been enjoying Ashini hospitality, but it’s not every day such a juicy fly falls into our webs,” the Queen skittered off her royal litter to where Neptune lay bound and gagged against that giant web. The Paxim envoy grunted and mmphed into the gag, but the Queen simply smirked.
“You want to talk? There’ll be plenty of time for talking later...” the Queen said, as her nimble, velvety fingers caressed Neptune’s armpits, making the Paxim girl giggle and toss her head from side to side, sending her sky-blue hair flapping.
The Queen gestured lazily with a finger, and Neptune closed her eyes and threw her head back into the soft webbing. Damn friggin’ bugs.
As the Queen contented herself to play with Neptune’s upperbody, some of her lackeys had taken up the slack for Neptune’s legs and feet. Two had latched onto her webbed feet and were licking and nibbling her toes, while massaging and caressing the soles with their fingers. They sucked onto Neptune blue-painted toes like they were sucking on lollipops, and their soft tongues and sensual touches were have a diabolical effect on Neptune who enjoyed a bit of playful worship as much as any overworked Paxim grunt. These damn bugs had the softest tongues… they felt like hot feathers that sneaked between her toes that tickled and much as they turned her on.
Two more were lightly lapping along Neptune’s milky-white thighs with their tongues, while tracing their velvety touch all over her knees and waist. Neptune could already feel her body revolting against her as a fire burned within her stomach and water began seeping out of her womanhood as if to try to put out this fire.
The Queen grinned with an air of regal supremacy as she trailed her fingers across Neptune’s plump, perky breasts and laid them there tauntingly. She paused, looked into Neptune’s fearful blue eyes and leaned close.
“I hope you don’t mind… we haven’t tasted a Paxim in years…”
Neptune could only whimper into her gag as the Queen leaned down to admire the Paxim’s moist, dripping womanhood. She didn’t have much time to even brace herself, as a lazy hand gesture from the Queen sent Ashini scurrying to tend to Neptune’s stiff nipples. Some used their fingers to nudge the stiff buds, some used their fingers, and some even used their feelers, but it all blended into an erotic haze as Neptune tossed her head to and fro as her sensitive breasts were stimulated. The handful of Ashini were a flurry of constant motion, a caress here, a fondle there, and a few scattered kisses meant that Neptune didn’t even know what to think as a stubborn cloud of arousal dulled her thoughts.
Neptune tore her eyes open and forced herself to watch the Queen, shuddering as she felt feelers lightly flicking the hardened tips of her bosoms. The Queen licked her lips, and lightly flicked her tongue along the Paxim’s sopping-wet womanhood. The Queen would pause to lap up the orgasmic fluids tricking down her legs, occasionally missing a few drops to the delight of the Ashini still teasing Neptune’s knees and thighs. The Queen’s feathery-tongue was too much. Neptune closed her eyes, gnashing her molars together as she willed herself not to scream in ecstasy as the Queen sucked and sucked.
Watching was almost as bad as not watching, Neptune decided as she shook her head wildly as if doing so could deny what was happening. The tongues on her feet had doubled to four, to ensure both her toes as well as her high arches would not the sensual touch of Ashini-feather tongues for a moment. She had given up trying to count what in the world they were doing to her rock-hard nipples and throbbing breasts. She arched her back as the Queen and her royal tongue continued to do cruel things to her womanhood. When the orgasm came, and it came quick and hard, Neptune’s mind was frazzled that she barely heard the Queen’s words as she wiped her lips and returned to her litter.
“Keep her going for a few more hours. And step it up a few notches. See if she wants to tell us all about her mission then…”
Neptune screamed threats and begs for mercy into her gag, but it was no use. The Queen left, and the grinning Ashini continued. A lucky Ashini with short brown hair took the Queen’s place, and whispered in Neptune’s ear.
“I hear an orgasm makes you even more sensitive…” she said, sticking her feathery tongue in Neptune’s ear and making the Paxim squeal from the sudden sensations.
As tongues, feelers and fingers proved the truth of this statement, Neptune could only think one thought.
Friggin’ bugs.
Were we cruel for sabotaging the Paxim's aircraft to ensure such crashes occurred every now and then? Perhaps, but the Ashini were most definitely grateful for Neptune's company...
O-O-O
The Primos:
Although some of plants flourish underground, that does not mean we do not see them… for we see everything. In the dark undergrowth of the cities, all manners of excitement and pleasure can be found for the right price.
Sabre growled as she pushed her way into the dinghy bar, The Fox’s Fire, the bartender glared at her as she walked in. Sabre strolled up the bartender, who was a purple-skinned Faen with the initials ‘SF’ on her nametag, trying not to recoil at the stench of this place. The whole city, no, the whole planet stank of sin and sewage. This cesspool of a planet only had one good thing about it – it was easy for a Primos to find a fight.
“I’m here for the club,” Sabre said, leaning on the counter and then promptly regretting it as there was now a black smudge on the brown fur of her arms. Like all Primos, she had short, soft light-brown fur over most of her body, with her chest, stomach, and inner thighs all making up a cream-colored underbelly of very fine fur, which she currently had hidden under loose fitting garb. Her shoulder length mane of auburn hair and large green eyes caught the attention of every hot-blooded and semi-inebriated creature in the louche tavern.
“We ain’t got no club here,” the Faen bartender said, polishing a glass with a rag.
“The first rule about the club is you don’t talk about the club. I’m a member. Now where are they? I’m on the clock.”
The Faen fixed Sabre with a piercing stare – it looked lie those flinty grey Faen eyes of hers were sizing her up. “A drink might help your performance.”
Sabre tossed a few credit chips on the counter, which the Bartender promptly scooped up before handing Sabre a fizzing green liquid.
“The basement,” the Bartender said, as the pointed to a stairwell behind the counter, as Sabre knocked the drink back. Sabre was led through into a spacious basement crammed with rowdy people of all species. The crowd parted for her, recognizing her fiery mane of red hair as well as the fact Primos was an uncommon species on a backwater planet like this. She strode towards the centre of the basement where she saw a wrestling ring await her.
“Thought you’d fucking pussied out,” a red-skinned Boudo laughed as she waited inside the ring.
“Wouldn’t miss a chance to beat your sorry ass again,” Sabre replied as she walked into the ring and tugged off her overcoat – protective clothing gave you an advantage, so it was prohibited, and the fact was that half-naked women made a better show.
The Boudo leering at her was Akiko, whom Sabre had sparred with several times at other underground fight clubs like this one. Akiko was one of the few regulars who reliably gave Sabre trouble, as she was cat-quick and agile, while Sabre tended to overwhelm her opposition with her muscular frame. You could call them rivals. Sabre didn’t like all the tricks Akiko would use during their fights, but she was a nice, tough, matchup. Sabre remembered how easy flattening the Dryad she had fought last time was – her tricks with her vines weren’t any good as soon as Sabre’s using her tongue on those Dryad soles of hers.
Now that Sabre had arrived, there was a flurry of activity as gamblers made their bets. Sabre stretched as she stared at her foe, who wore the same cocksure Cheshire grin as she always did. What new tricks did she have up her sleeve this time? Further incentive to win was that if you lost, you were the establishment’s entertainment for the night, and Sabre had no intention of being strapped in a pair of stocks or whatever nefarious bondage device a dinky bar like this surely had.
A tatty-looking referee signalled to the crowd that the match was about to begin, and the roar of the crowd begun to echo across the walls of the basement – there was a lot of money riding on this match, Sabre could tell, but she wasn’t doing this for the money, though it was nice. She loved to fight, and she fought for honour of her people. Every battle she won proved the truth about her race – that they were the true fighters of the galaxy, second to none, definitely not the reckless and undisciplined Boudo.
Sabre fell into a fighting stance, her light-brown fur skin matching well with the white vest and shorts she wore. She wore no shoes or socks, of course. The Primos had quadruped paws instead of feet, but they were no less sensitive there than other species, and Sabre’s claws had served her very well in her battles.
Akiko wore dark undergarments which clashed nicely with her red skin and short dark hair, a mocking smile on her face. Sabre’s favourite tactic was to tackle her foe to the ground, and use her big muscular hands to hold both her foe’s wrists with one hand so her other hand could tickle with impunity – it was a simple technique, but often effective, and she went for it right away as the referee hopped out of the ring.
She charged at Akiko who pirouetted away, landing a glancing poke on Sabre’s left side as she darted back. Sensing that Sabre’s was off-balance from the prod, Akiko tried to sweep Sabre’s legs away and send the larger girl tumbling top the floor, but Sabre saw the blow coming and managed to reach down and snatch’s Akiko’s slender red ankle . Akiko’s eyes grew wide, and sensing an impending foot tickle session by Sabre’s clawed hands, threw her body into the Primos and sent them both tumbling to the floor.
Akiko wrestled her way on-top, as she dug her fingers furiously under Sabre’s arms tll growling giggles came spilling out. Akiko pinned her beneath her legs, and continued tickling as the referee hovered close, signalling the beginning of the ten-second count Sabre had to struggle free or be declared the loser.
“I got you this time, you big bitchy furball!” Akiko cackled as her hands continued plunging into Sabre’s armpits. Sabre grit her sharp teeth and despite the vertiginous sensations the tickling was having on her mind, found the strength to squeeze the Boudo’s red-thighs, with electrical effect. Akiko quivered as if she were being electrocuted as Primos claws dug into her ticklish flesh, and her grip weakened enough that Sabre was able to twist free before the count was completed.
Sabre could see her smaller foe was running out of gas, as she launches a flustered blow at the Primos’s head which was easily sidestepped, with Sabre slipping her fingers into her opponent’s exposed hollows for good measure. As Akiko was giggling, Sabre took advantage of the shift in momentum to barrel into her, and right when Sabre thought she might have her foe pined, Akiko wiggled like some red snake and slipped her way loose. Sabre did managed to get hold of a red foot, however, which was a good enough consolation prize as her clawed fingers began teasing across the flesh, reddening it even further with her sharp tickly touch.
Sabre was thinking that she had this in the bag, until she realize Akiko had somehow clung to her own calves like a limpet, and had caught her own feet in a iron-like grasp. Akiko held Sabre’s ankles in the crook of her toned, muscular arm and was letting her hand go wild over the trapped, wiggling soles. The Primos had paws, but they were no less sensitive there than other species, which was a fact Akiko was taking keen advantage of.
All Sabre could do was tickle back with the slender, anklet-wearing and toe-ring adorned sole she had in her own grasp, at a major disadvantage because she only had one of Akiko’s feet while Akiko had both of hers. All she could do was grit her teeth as raspy, growly splutters of laughter came spilling loose as the soft fur of her soles was petted and stroked by unkind Boudo fingers.
Sabre redoubled her efforts on the sole in front of her face, going right at the long, unpainted bare toes and the slightly-callused high arches, as both muscle-bound women frenzied, hysterical laughter filled the room, the battle coming down to a fierce foot tickling battle.
The audience waited with bated breath at each squirm and smirk and squeal, with one eye on the clock. Akiko and Sabre were too preoccupied with their ticklish soles to take much notice of this, but there was a timer signifying the end of the match, and if the match was not decided by then, both competitors would find themselves in the tickle stocks by the end of the game.
And isn’t that the perfect ending? No winner, no losers… simply laughter all around.
O-O-O
For every creature that craves the light, we find many who prefer darkness. And who are we to dissuade them? In the dark is where the fun occurs…
The Varanids:
It was nightfall in the city, which was just how Venom liked it. She slipped along the roof, peering down at the balcony of the mansion. The guards had been easy enough to evade, and the skin tone of the Varanids made it child’s play to blend with the shadows and escape notice. Her sandals crunched softly as Venom landed on the balcony, and her mouth curled into a little smile, with her tiny fangs poking out, as she realized the balcony gate had been carelessly left open.
The fact she was disrupting the Ashini ambassador on Amiens just made it even better. The Varanids and the Ashini shared a common ancestor, but their philosophies varied wildly. The Ashini were content to work themselves into an early grave, but the Varanids were willing to make something of their lives instead of being mindless cattle who obeyed a Queen. Venom was sick of the communistic nonsense she heard the Ashini spout, and had taken this contract quite happily. Not enough that she didn’t haggle for a raise, but still. Venom gave the door a cautious push as she slipped inside, quiet as a shadow.
Venom flexed her hands, making sure her prongs were out. Every Varanid had poison running through their veins, but not the lethal kind – it was part aphrondisiac and part tranquilizer, though not in that order, and it was a major reason why so many Varanids made their mark as thieves, pirates and bounty hunters. Ships cruising near the Varanid homeworld had to expect to be raided, boarded, and tickled silly by the Varanid Homeguard, though they were at least generous enough to merely demonstrate their superiority before departing.
She crept around the room, avoiding the piles of precariously balanced papers that looked like they would fall at the slightest touch. She could hear sounds of merriment and laughter from the floor below, but that was no surprise – she had timed her breaking-in to coincide with some dinner party the Ambassador was throwing downstairs, as it gave her the perfect window of opportunity. She had been given a map of the building when she accepted the mission, so she made a beeline for the master bedroom where her prey would await. The Ashini Queen’s own daughter was the ambassador here, and Venom was salivating at the chance of tickling royal blood. It had been years since she had gotten a chance to tickle such a high-ranked official – she had accepted a mission a while back to abduct a prominent Dryad on behalf of the Boudos to send a message that those shrubs and their pollen would not be welcome in their side of the city. Venom could have clawed her nails up and down those pale-green Dryad soles for weeks…
Venom was so caught in her vivid daydream that she almost walked right into the door, which would have been very unprofessional indeed. A quick twist of the doorknob showed the door was locked, but that was no problem. She bent down, reached into her cloak and began fiddling with a lockpick. She had just about cracked the code when a spray of gas suddenly came shooting from the door! Venom breathed in the foul, acrid air in shock, and before she could even register what was happening, she had slumped down onto the carpet, unconscious.
---
Venom woke up to the sight of the smug Ashini princess staring at her.
“My, my, isn’t this a surprise,” she said, stroking her embroidered gown. Venom growled as she realized she was topless and placed in some kind of stockade. She remembered the map of the building and realized the ‘winery’ was probably the architect’s way of saying ‘custom dungeon’. A quick glance around showed that the dungeon got more than regular use. A purring and yowling Primos girl in a rack in the far corner of the dungeon, as a pair of well-dressed Faen teased her chest and pawed feet respectively.
“My two friends over there helped designed the security that caught you,” the Princess said, with a feral grin. “You’ll have a chance to thank them personally later, I promise,” she said, her proclamation sending shivers down Venom’s spine.
Another glance around the room showed more guests, as well as other Ashini scuttling about with serving trays. There was a well-dressed Boudo woman pouring wine into the deep navel of a pale-skinned human girl, and slurping and lapping it off with her tongue. A Dryad lady was putting on a show with her tentacles and a eagle-spread Paxim girl with hair like sunlight, and even a trio of Ashini with their wrists bound to manacles along the wall were being tormented, just to show that the Princess was happy to pimp out ever her own kind.
Was the ambassador entertaining guests at some kind of perverse dinner party? Those goodie-two-shoes humans definitely would not approve of what was going on down here… maybe Venom could leverage that information somehow…
The princess seemed to be reading Venom’s mind. “If you thinking of blackmailing me, then you clearly don’t know me or my mother very well. We Ashini have our own way of dealing with unwanted guests… There are a lot of powerful people in this room, and it would not be hard to make you disappear.”
Venom grit her fanged teeth and said nothing.
“Don’t want to talk? No problem – much more fun that way,” the Princess smirked, with a smile that was as pretty as it was an infuriating. She gave an appraising eye down Venom’s body. Like all Ashini, her long, smooth body was greyish-black and covered with smooth scales dark black scales, though needless to say, the scales did not cover the delicate hollows under her arms nor the paler grey skin on the soles of her feet.
“Every Varanid seems to do hers black,” the Princess commented, as she stroked under the toenail of Venom’s big toe, which had been painted a jet black. “You all seem to be slaves to fashion just like the Paxim…” she whispered mockingly, as her sharp fingers began a dance across her soles.
Venom flinched from the touch, but refused to give her captor the satisfaction. Her lip was pursed in a tight, thin line. She tried to keep her face still as stone, and never reveal how sensitive her soles were to every casual flick or pinch from the Princess’s royal fingers. Her smile blossomed into a silly, helpless grin as the Princess discovered the gaps between her slender talon-like toes, but it seemed her lack of a reaction had bored the Princess.
“You’re not as fun as I thought you would be,” she sulked, standing up. “I’ll come back when you’re warmed up a bit more… the night is still young…”
Venom wasn’t sure what to make of such words, till the two Faen scientists seated themselves in front of her, and pulled out a pair of contraptions from their pockets – an electric toothbrush and some kind of massager by the look of them, which did not bode well at all.
As the brush scrubbed under her toes while the massager gave her ribs and hips a thorough ‘massage’, Venom was too wet and too winded to think, and she saw more party guests stepping up to take the place the Faen aristocrats had just vacated.
“Prihihihihincess! I wahahahahant to tahahahalk!”
And talk she did... and laugh... and moan... Till next time.
O-O-O
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