Jaynin
4th Level Red Feather
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- Jul 12, 2003
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This story is an incomplete series that is quite old, and was lost when Tickle Theater went down, so I went digging through an old computer and managed to find what I had completed. I think there's about five parts or so and I've changed the titles to make following them sequentially easier.
So, enjoy.
---
One by one her senses came back to her, stirring back to awareness and reporting back to her consciousness with their findings after a period of long inactivity. Her skin prickled; the air was slightly cool, and just a touch damp. The naga didn't mind dampness, though the cool air was a bit uncomfortable, but more worrisome were the firm restraints she could feel clamped about each of her six wrists. They weren't harsh nor metallic, feeling instead like tough leather, but they sealed around her wrists tightly enough that wiggling out of them was not an option. The air smelled cool, and clean, slightly musty, but not dank. She hadn't been tossed into a prison to rot, which was fortunate. No, the smells indicated that there were others here, and that she wasn't trapped deep below ground in a black stone nightmare. There was, however, little sound aside from her own breathing. Her tongue flicked the air experimentally, finding nothing of note, but the reporting of her senses ended abruptly as her eyes told her there was nothing but blackness where she was.
She fought down a slight sense of panic, gathering her wits together again. There was something soft tightly wound around her head, covering her eyes. A blindfold, of course, which is why she couldn't see. She'd have to exercise her sense of touch and feel more acutely if she wanted to gather information. Her serpentine lower half reported that the ground beneath her was stone, not worked or polished but also not the rough uneven stone that would be found in a natural rock formation. The rearmost third of her tail was, however, pinned beneath something that kept her from moving forward, and some large donut-shaped ceramic ring was locked around her tail. It was heavy, preventing her from being able to pull it through whatever obstruction was pinning her tail, and if she had to guess, the apparatus was also attached to the support beam she could feel behind her back. It was padded, and supported her comfortably, but also forced her to arch, thrusting her large breasts outward. Her arms were restrained tightly, strapped directly to wooden outriggers she could feel supporting each pair. One set of arms was straight up, one angled upwards, and one out to the side.
Trying not to think of the implications of this device - "What does Queen Lyriss want with me, that she'd send one of hers sneaking in without announcing it? I can hardly believe you'd be a spy, and yet..." A hand, male, cupped her chin slightly, as the voice suddenly filled the air, seeming to fill all of the space around her. The naga's head swam slightly as she tried to rally her will to fight back against the charming seduction that laced the words. It wasn't fair; the words themselves were hardly charming or seductive, but there was still that impulse to just give in so the owner of the voice would reward her. It was just as she'd been warned. Lips brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss, and then the hand withdrew. The naga licked her lips nervously and shook her head. The refusal was plain as day, but she wished there hadn't been so much anxiety in her body language. The whole setup was contrived to throw her off balance, and it was working.
The thing she had feared would happen began without warning, eliciting a gasp and a tightly controlled chuckle. Firm fingernails, belonging to a female, were gently tracing over her full breasts, stopping here and there to scratch slightly at this curve or trace around that edge, softly exploring, not yet seeking to begin 'persuading' her to speak. Try as she might not to show a reaction, her breathing quivered and her whole body contracted as those fingernails traced around the areola, teasing the slightly roughened, puckered skin surrounding her nipples. Her pale green flesh seemed to shake gently as the naga fought her restraints, trying to bury her face against one of her upraised arms to stifle the giggles. The nails spiraled, slowly, in towards her nipples, and then gently brushed each tip before withdrawing.
There was a feminine chuckle, and a fingertip flicked one nipple, making the naga suck in a sharp breath in spite of herself. Then, she felt fingers slowly, softly spidering in her topmost set of underarms, and this brought forth a giggle, no matter how hard she tried to fight it. Hating to give the torturer the satisfaction, she clamped her lips tightly shut and refused to open them, subjecting herself to muffled, mumbled giggles as those fingers explored. And they explored quite a lot, going from underarm to underarm, teasing the hollows softly, sometimes tickling with one finger and sometimes tickling with them all, sometimes tickling the underarm for each set of arms, or sometimes alternating; two underarms on the left, two on the right, the topmost on the left and the middle on the right, and so on... None of the teasing was particularly harsh or difficult to resist, but every touch sent a soft quiver through the naga's body that was impossible to miss. She knew she could hold out against this, but how long? She knew that there had to be more to the process than just this. There had to be some reason for this light teasing... Absent an easily understood reason for her tormentors' behavior, the naga's idle mind started inventing explanations, each more fearsome than the last, until finally it ceased and she let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
The touch of a feather on her neck earned a startled squeak from the naga's lips, and she tried to crane her neck down to cover the spot where it was tickled. This simply earned her a feather in the ear, and when she violently shook her head to ward off that feather, giggling from that touch as well, both feathers slowly traced their tips along her collarbone. There was a seductive feminine chuckle, and then both feathers traced up the naga's neck, seemingly enjoying her indecision and torment as her neck twisted back and forth, trying to cover up the exposed areas, and withdrawing when she shook her head furiously to chase them off, but always punishing her by tickling her ears as soon as she'd stopped. Despairingly, the naga knew she couldn't keep shaking them off like this forever, knowing that the teasing was deliberately designed to wear her out. Worse, the very presence of feathers had her tensed up, because she knew that this teasing was just the first act in what was going to become something much worse...
She knew, then, when the feathers drifted over her cheek and slowly teased down the sides of her neck, paying a visit to her underarms, where they must be headed, and her giggling slowly ramped up as the feather tips touched the upper curves of her breasts. "Please - plehee hee hee hee please," she gasped before she could stop herself, and the feathers drifted down to her nipples, teasing the tips, and then stopping there, circling around the areola gently, the blade of the feather sliding sideways against her firm tips... Embarrassingly, the stimulation caused the nipples to harden under the feathers' touch, and once they had done so, the teasing began with gusto. Tickling feathers assaulted her breasts, more than just two now; there had to be at least six, crawling and dancing over her large, firm chest, breaking down the wall she had built up and which they had so carefully teased into dust, drawing forth giggles that she couldn't stop. It was overwhelming - the touch of each feather was soft, and bad enough by itself, but the totally random motions of six feathers all gliding this way and that, teasing her sensitive flesh, made it impossible to even anticipate what was going to happen.
A pair of hands cupped and lifted her breasts into the willing embrace of the feathers as they tickled the undersides at the same time. The naga shrieked with dismay, tossing back her head to giggle harder, trying to suck her stomach in so that the large rounded orbs of her breasts weren't so tempting as targets, but the curvature of the frame she was lashed to prevented any such defense. No, she was made to suffer the full stroke and tease of each feather, and they seemed especially interested in her nipples, making long sweeping strokes to run the soft down of the feathers lengthwise against the base, or dancing the very soft tip against their tops, finding all sorts of fiendish ways to tease her. And even as horribly ticklish as it was, the giggling naga knew that it was still just that, teasing. So much teasing, that she thought she might burst, such a light touch that it might even end up having more embarrassing effects upon her... No! She had to fight against that, shaking her head back and forth again even as it whipped around with yet more laughter. She knew that's exactly what they would try to do once her guard was down and she was weakened. She had to fight it.
One by one the feathers withdrew their teasing embrace, until the very last one licked her nipple with a kind of fond farewell and departed, leaving the naga girl much the worse for wear, giggling and panting, her chest heaving as she took deep breaths, and yet some part of her knew that the worst was yet to come. "The worst" turned out to be everything she could have imagined, and more; with frightful suddenness, fingers descended upon her underarms, tickling lightly, circling and scratching lightly at the sensitive hollows, gentle 'kitchy kitchy' teases breathed into her ear by teasing female voices, their short fingernails tormenting her soft skin... at first it started with just one pair of underarms. Then another pair of hands joined, and another, until every underarm was being tickled simultaneously, almost all of them using short, soft strokes against her skin, finding the firm edges to generate the friction that drove the naga wild with laughter; "STOOOOOP stahahhaa. stahhahaa sthopahahah stop please pleeheheheeeease..." she cried out before she could contain herself, and blushed wildly at the soft chuckles that statement elicited, feeling her cheeks warm hotly before the tickling swept embarrassment away and took over her mind again.
It was everywhere and it was constant; her body prickled with the nonstop jolts of ticklish sensation that curled out of her underarms and ran screaming up her spine, bringing her skin to a kind of ticklish anticipation. It was gathering in her chest, the tingling and the teasing, bringing her nipples to firm attention, making her start to gasp and writhe slightly in addition to her ticklish bouncing, making her wish in the back of her mind for some attention to the firm, sensitive mounds... but there was none to be had. All of the tickling focused under her arms. Occasionally, some fingers would wander onto her ribs and scritch back and forth, usually to bring her laughter back to a fresh howl with some variety if it had been flagging, but none ventured so far as to make the kinds of touches she found herself starting to need.
Ticklish, frustrated tears wet the cloth of the blindfold. It wasn't fair! How could they make her feel this way even as they were tickling the sense right out of her? The naga's mind was wandering, trying to escape the relentless teasing jabs of tickling sensation that poured out of her underarms like a tidal surge, building up to unleash its ticklish terror upon her mind before somehow relaxing, ebbing for a few brief moments of clarity before it gathered itself and surged forward again, threatening to swamp her mind in the throes of hysteria. The naga's sides hurt from laughing so hard, her breasts tingling so hard it almost started to itch, the craving for a touch driving her wild and almost loosening her tongue. Frantically the naga recalled Queen Lyriss' admonitions and commands, as well as her dire warning should the naga's tongue flap under persusasion, but it wasn't fair... they didn't fight like they were supposed to! Her breasts were supposed to be tickled to insanity, driving her mind into a sheltered recess within herself where she could wait out the torture while her body twisted and writhed according to the whims of her tormentors.
But this... this need, it wasn't fair, it made things so hard to resist... she was on the brink of begging for it, of begging them to start tickling her breasts again, and trying desperately to hold her tongue. She just couldn't let them know how much of an effect they were having on her. She couldn't! They'd know to wear her down by tickling her underarms until she cried and broke down... as they were already doing. Frantically she tried to focus her thoughts to gather strength and collect her willpower, but every time she tried to slow her breathing to concentrate, tickling shattered the wall she was trying to built and ran rampant over her, crawling up and down her body like the finest caresses of a lover... The naga suddenly stiffened, and earned herself a wave of ticklish torment as the fingers exploited her suddenly taut body. That was it... the tickling, though torturous, was light. Light enough to tease her extremely sensitive body... the soft, pale green skin of her upper body was wickedly sensitive to any kind of tactile sensation, as were all the naga. Her serpentine lower body, made of darker green scales and an almost white underbelly, was fairly immune to this kind of teasing, but her luscious upper body was a ripe target.
They were confusing her body into wanting a lover's touch. She cried out helplessly, with laughter, at the injustice of it all; she'd been warned repeatedly about not letting the incubus get his hands on her before she saw him. Queen Lyriss had explicitly, flatly guaranteed that she'd end up a mewling, playful little kitten if she was touched that way... her detailing of the events that would occur had been so precise that the naga had taken to wondering exactly how she knew, but figured the Queen was just trying to scare her. Now, though, she believed it. It was the worst kind of torture, the torture of desire, generated by none other than her own body, and there was no way to resist, no way to stop the lightly teasing nails that spidered in the sensitive hollows of her skin, causing the tingling rush to spread throughout all of her body and bring forth that lustful cry...
Realizing that she'd moaned aloud, and quite forcefully, the naga's pale green skin darkened with a heavy blush around her cheeks. She was breathing hard and flushed from the tickling, which she just now realized had stopped, the hands stroking her upper arms gently before pulling back entirely, leaving her with just that tingling sensation and her heaving chest. "So now what?" she cried out, leaning forward, the hurt tone in her voice suggesting she'd been done a great injustice, wiggling in her restraints before slumping back. "No fair..." she murmured.
Once again she felt hands on her body. This time, though, they were acompanied by something incredibly soft that touched her chest, and was somehow maneuvered around through each of her arms, joining at the back, and the naga heard a zipping sound. The garment which she was now wearing was very tight around her chest, and quite soft... in her mind, it seemed like she'd been fitted with a short, tight top designed explicitly for her, as it had holes for each of her arms, and the sleeves were nonexistent - the expanse of each soft underarm showed perfectly. She shivered, shifting slightly against the frame, and froze, a gasp sucking her breath away. The tight, soft top...it tickled! She nearly panicked, not daring to breathe... each shift, each minute movement, caused what felt like a thousand tiny feathers embedded in the cloth to brush against her body. There were no actual feathers, she told herself, it was just the material of the clothing, which wasn't quite as soft as it had first appeared... rather, it seemed to have thousands of tiny, tiny bumps and ridges, which rubbed against her as she moved, and they were so small and the material soft and comfortable enough while adhering so tightly to her skin that the gentle touch tickled everywhere.
"We'll be back in a bit," a female voice said with a giggle, and a kiss was planted on the naga's cheek. Footsteps receded from the naga, sounding firmly against the stone floor, and did not once pause in response to the naga's sudden giggle-laced begging.
---
Time's passage seemed meaningless. The naga had tried, frantically, to latch onto anything, a thought, a sensation, an idea, that would allow her to regain her sense of time, but it was no good. Everything in her mind and her world revolved around that horrible, hideous garment which she'd been made to wear, and her every thought revolved around how not to get teased by it again - ideas which were inevitably futile. For about the tenth time her tense, weary muscles relaxed as she sobbed in frustration, the ticklish tingling of the garment's interior playing up against her breasts again. It was especially agonizing against her nipples, which had grown stiff, and rubbed against the material at the slightest provocation.
It was driving her mad. She needed a touch, needed to be played with, anything but this horrible, light, teasing tickling that was driving her out of her mind. It wasn't that she had been tickled hoarse or beyond the capacity for any rational thought, but rather that the tickling was low-key, gentle, but never-ending. There was no thinking being on the other side of the blindfold to get bored or want to change things up. There was just the garment, the ridges, the tickling, everything... when footsteps sounded, drawing closer to her, she hardly noticed at first, so consumed was she with the sensation that dominated her world.
The footsteps drew near and stopped, and she felt a single pair of hands reach around behind her back and release the zipper, then slowly draw the garment off of her. She sobbed with relief, but that was only temporary, because now that the distraction of the clothing was gone, that fiery tingling urge was back in full force, made no better by the fingers she felt on one nipple, tugging lightly and then tickling. She giggled and then pouted, her lips pursed like she was about to begin whining about the injustice of it all, and then her breath was stolen from her as she felt a soft pair of lips kiss firmly against hers. In that same moment, all the shackles binding her wrists released at once, but rather than fight to get free, she wrapped her arms around the form of the being in front of her, a male, and pressed him tightly to her, whining with the onrush of her pent-up desire. His lips were nice and soft, though at this point she felt as if she might kiss sandpaper and be satisfied with it.
"What's your name?" The question drifted through the air to her, as they finally released each other, and she could feel his hands playing gently against her front, making her giggle coyly and twist, rubbing against him.
"My name's Syreth," she said without thinking, her inhibitions seemingly melted away. Syreth seemed to sigh with relief at unburdening herself from the secret, and impulsively she moved to unwind the blindfold from her eyes and lean forward to kiss him again. This time, though, she closed her eyes and tilted her head just slightly, bearing up under his ticklish touch, which deliberately wandered from her breasts to ribs to sides and back again, circling under her arms, making her writhe in a pleasing fashion while they were connected, absorbing her giggles into his mouth and licking at her lips as if feeding on them. Finally, Syreth drew back and opened her red eyes to see who it might be standing before her.
A mischievous smile touched his lips, disorganized dirty blonde hair drifting over his face and down his neck, framing the strange red sigil in the middle of his forehead and the steel-gray eyes that were crinkled in amusement. His clothing was plain - a white shirt with khaki pants - and his body lean but firm. "Syreth, hm?" His fingers tickled her breasts again, and Syreth let him do as he pleased; it felt SO good to finally just let herself go and enjoy it. Her giggles were calculated to goad him into more, and the naga found her mind mushy and warm, but she didn't care. The long-awaited relief was such that sating her desire overrode any other concerns she might have had. If she had other concerns, she'd forgotten them. "Why did you come here, Syreth?" he asked, tilting his head and leaning forward to nibble on her neck. The naga arched, giggling happily as his fingers traced into her underarms and teased.
"Hee, hee... I came... hehe... because, because, um..." Her mind blanked; why HAD she come? Then it came to her: "Oh, I remember! Hee... hehe... stop that, I can't think. Um... Queen Lyriss wanted me to approach you in private to ask about... if you'd meet with her." Why had that been so much of a secret? She couldn't recall. It had something to do with meeting him in private... "She thought that, if the... the other girls found me first, they'd soften me up and weaken my negotiating position, so she wanted me to sneak in." It seemed like a terribly weak excuse to her own ears, almost embarrassing. Had that been the whole reason?
He laughed. It was such a nice, rich sound when he chuckled like that, and Syreth found herself wanting to hear more of it, so her middle set of hands worked to unbutton his shirt while he spoke. "Is that all? Really, you should tell the Queen that I'd be more than happy to meet with her, and I'm honestly more likely to receive a straightforward ambassador than one that sneaks around in my caverns." She sighed with consternation, but her hands had worked under his shirt and started to play on his chest. He giggled.
"She was worried that you'd tease concessions from me," Syreth said, the memories of her mission slowly coming into focus. "She had a few requests to present to you and didn't want me forced back from that position before I could deliver the message..." Her fingernails scratched lightly on his chest. She liked hearing him giggle.
"She's too... too busy thinking of... a-aha-ahaaa-angles to this... just... oh, never mind. I'll mee-hehe-hehee meet with her," he said, trying to wiggle his way out of her grasp. That didn't work, though, so he instead braved the teasing and tugged on one of her nipples, to be rewarded with a sharp moan. His fingers played with her breasts, slowly but surely forcing her back up against the frame to which she'd been bound helplessly not too long before, and bringing giggles bubbling up to her lips. "Phew... in any case. You can tell her that I'll meet with her at her earliest convenience," he said, giving her another kiss on the lips, and then his fingers slipped away from her breasts, as he pulled back from her.
"Wait," she said softly, catching hold of his arm and giving him a look of longing. "Please don't make me go back like this," she pleaded. He looked in her eyes and understood what she meant, and smiled, nodding as he stepped back closer to her, his hands coming up to her breasts and slowly, slowly his fingers began circling around...
It was nothing but a light touch, again. How could they always know that it was light touches? Syreth giggled herself silly, but there was a rich, sultry undertone to her giggles as she pulled him close, hands rubbing against his back as she left herself open for his tickling fingers to explore everywhere. The firm curves of her breasts, the soft, sensitive undersides... the firm nipples that he seemed to enjoy coming back to over and over again. All of it was tickled once, twice, a dozen times; his hands never stopped moving, his fingers continually seeking someplace else to be, not lingering anywhere for more than a few seconds. Syreth wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, losing herself in the ticklish feeling dancing across her chest, willing herself to remain still for it even as she whimpered, begging him not to make her waist.
He must have known, though, and it seemed as if he delighted in every squirm, arch, and gasp she made, every time she had to tighten her grip on his shoulders or around his neck to keep from covering herself with a gasp and a squeal. Syreth quivered, her lowest set of arms wrapped tight around her middle, hugging herself firmly as her breasts were teased, every ticklish inch of them explored with expert attention, until finally she could take it no more and whimpered, pressing her breasts into his hands, rubbing the hard tips against his palms, looking into his eyes with an expression of unquenched desire. He understood, then, that he couldn't tease her anymore. Syreth knew that she would lose her mind if she got teased too much more. She already felt hazy enough as it is... leaning up, finally, she kissed him, as his hands firmly tickled and massaged her breasts. She pressed herself against him to keep still, quivering in their embrace, each shiver and shake a sign of the impending explosion that was about to rock her body from head to tail...
At long last, she could feel it rising in her stomach, the unbridled ecstasy rushing out to consume her body, her motions becoming faster, more insistent against him, her strong grip crushing her to him even as he tickled the tips of her nipples with his fingers, then rubbed them up and down, tugging hard on them one last time before letting them spring back into position, perky and full, where just the gentle touch of his fingers running around the outside of them made her cry out harshly, tossing back her head and letting out a long, animal moan as her body was engulfed fully by the tingling, unreasoning white light of pleasure...
When Syreth finally managed to return home, much later, it was all she could do to gasp out a breathy report to her Queen before sliding off to her quarters and collapsing into a quivering pile of bliss.
So, enjoy.
---
One by one her senses came back to her, stirring back to awareness and reporting back to her consciousness with their findings after a period of long inactivity. Her skin prickled; the air was slightly cool, and just a touch damp. The naga didn't mind dampness, though the cool air was a bit uncomfortable, but more worrisome were the firm restraints she could feel clamped about each of her six wrists. They weren't harsh nor metallic, feeling instead like tough leather, but they sealed around her wrists tightly enough that wiggling out of them was not an option. The air smelled cool, and clean, slightly musty, but not dank. She hadn't been tossed into a prison to rot, which was fortunate. No, the smells indicated that there were others here, and that she wasn't trapped deep below ground in a black stone nightmare. There was, however, little sound aside from her own breathing. Her tongue flicked the air experimentally, finding nothing of note, but the reporting of her senses ended abruptly as her eyes told her there was nothing but blackness where she was.
She fought down a slight sense of panic, gathering her wits together again. There was something soft tightly wound around her head, covering her eyes. A blindfold, of course, which is why she couldn't see. She'd have to exercise her sense of touch and feel more acutely if she wanted to gather information. Her serpentine lower half reported that the ground beneath her was stone, not worked or polished but also not the rough uneven stone that would be found in a natural rock formation. The rearmost third of her tail was, however, pinned beneath something that kept her from moving forward, and some large donut-shaped ceramic ring was locked around her tail. It was heavy, preventing her from being able to pull it through whatever obstruction was pinning her tail, and if she had to guess, the apparatus was also attached to the support beam she could feel behind her back. It was padded, and supported her comfortably, but also forced her to arch, thrusting her large breasts outward. Her arms were restrained tightly, strapped directly to wooden outriggers she could feel supporting each pair. One set of arms was straight up, one angled upwards, and one out to the side.
Trying not to think of the implications of this device - "What does Queen Lyriss want with me, that she'd send one of hers sneaking in without announcing it? I can hardly believe you'd be a spy, and yet..." A hand, male, cupped her chin slightly, as the voice suddenly filled the air, seeming to fill all of the space around her. The naga's head swam slightly as she tried to rally her will to fight back against the charming seduction that laced the words. It wasn't fair; the words themselves were hardly charming or seductive, but there was still that impulse to just give in so the owner of the voice would reward her. It was just as she'd been warned. Lips brushed her cheek with a gentle kiss, and then the hand withdrew. The naga licked her lips nervously and shook her head. The refusal was plain as day, but she wished there hadn't been so much anxiety in her body language. The whole setup was contrived to throw her off balance, and it was working.
The thing she had feared would happen began without warning, eliciting a gasp and a tightly controlled chuckle. Firm fingernails, belonging to a female, were gently tracing over her full breasts, stopping here and there to scratch slightly at this curve or trace around that edge, softly exploring, not yet seeking to begin 'persuading' her to speak. Try as she might not to show a reaction, her breathing quivered and her whole body contracted as those fingernails traced around the areola, teasing the slightly roughened, puckered skin surrounding her nipples. Her pale green flesh seemed to shake gently as the naga fought her restraints, trying to bury her face against one of her upraised arms to stifle the giggles. The nails spiraled, slowly, in towards her nipples, and then gently brushed each tip before withdrawing.
There was a feminine chuckle, and a fingertip flicked one nipple, making the naga suck in a sharp breath in spite of herself. Then, she felt fingers slowly, softly spidering in her topmost set of underarms, and this brought forth a giggle, no matter how hard she tried to fight it. Hating to give the torturer the satisfaction, she clamped her lips tightly shut and refused to open them, subjecting herself to muffled, mumbled giggles as those fingers explored. And they explored quite a lot, going from underarm to underarm, teasing the hollows softly, sometimes tickling with one finger and sometimes tickling with them all, sometimes tickling the underarm for each set of arms, or sometimes alternating; two underarms on the left, two on the right, the topmost on the left and the middle on the right, and so on... None of the teasing was particularly harsh or difficult to resist, but every touch sent a soft quiver through the naga's body that was impossible to miss. She knew she could hold out against this, but how long? She knew that there had to be more to the process than just this. There had to be some reason for this light teasing... Absent an easily understood reason for her tormentors' behavior, the naga's idle mind started inventing explanations, each more fearsome than the last, until finally it ceased and she let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding.
The touch of a feather on her neck earned a startled squeak from the naga's lips, and she tried to crane her neck down to cover the spot where it was tickled. This simply earned her a feather in the ear, and when she violently shook her head to ward off that feather, giggling from that touch as well, both feathers slowly traced their tips along her collarbone. There was a seductive feminine chuckle, and then both feathers traced up the naga's neck, seemingly enjoying her indecision and torment as her neck twisted back and forth, trying to cover up the exposed areas, and withdrawing when she shook her head furiously to chase them off, but always punishing her by tickling her ears as soon as she'd stopped. Despairingly, the naga knew she couldn't keep shaking them off like this forever, knowing that the teasing was deliberately designed to wear her out. Worse, the very presence of feathers had her tensed up, because she knew that this teasing was just the first act in what was going to become something much worse...
She knew, then, when the feathers drifted over her cheek and slowly teased down the sides of her neck, paying a visit to her underarms, where they must be headed, and her giggling slowly ramped up as the feather tips touched the upper curves of her breasts. "Please - plehee hee hee hee please," she gasped before she could stop herself, and the feathers drifted down to her nipples, teasing the tips, and then stopping there, circling around the areola gently, the blade of the feather sliding sideways against her firm tips... Embarrassingly, the stimulation caused the nipples to harden under the feathers' touch, and once they had done so, the teasing began with gusto. Tickling feathers assaulted her breasts, more than just two now; there had to be at least six, crawling and dancing over her large, firm chest, breaking down the wall she had built up and which they had so carefully teased into dust, drawing forth giggles that she couldn't stop. It was overwhelming - the touch of each feather was soft, and bad enough by itself, but the totally random motions of six feathers all gliding this way and that, teasing her sensitive flesh, made it impossible to even anticipate what was going to happen.
A pair of hands cupped and lifted her breasts into the willing embrace of the feathers as they tickled the undersides at the same time. The naga shrieked with dismay, tossing back her head to giggle harder, trying to suck her stomach in so that the large rounded orbs of her breasts weren't so tempting as targets, but the curvature of the frame she was lashed to prevented any such defense. No, she was made to suffer the full stroke and tease of each feather, and they seemed especially interested in her nipples, making long sweeping strokes to run the soft down of the feathers lengthwise against the base, or dancing the very soft tip against their tops, finding all sorts of fiendish ways to tease her. And even as horribly ticklish as it was, the giggling naga knew that it was still just that, teasing. So much teasing, that she thought she might burst, such a light touch that it might even end up having more embarrassing effects upon her... No! She had to fight against that, shaking her head back and forth again even as it whipped around with yet more laughter. She knew that's exactly what they would try to do once her guard was down and she was weakened. She had to fight it.
One by one the feathers withdrew their teasing embrace, until the very last one licked her nipple with a kind of fond farewell and departed, leaving the naga girl much the worse for wear, giggling and panting, her chest heaving as she took deep breaths, and yet some part of her knew that the worst was yet to come. "The worst" turned out to be everything she could have imagined, and more; with frightful suddenness, fingers descended upon her underarms, tickling lightly, circling and scratching lightly at the sensitive hollows, gentle 'kitchy kitchy' teases breathed into her ear by teasing female voices, their short fingernails tormenting her soft skin... at first it started with just one pair of underarms. Then another pair of hands joined, and another, until every underarm was being tickled simultaneously, almost all of them using short, soft strokes against her skin, finding the firm edges to generate the friction that drove the naga wild with laughter; "STOOOOOP stahahhaa. stahhahaa sthopahahah stop please pleeheheheeeease..." she cried out before she could contain herself, and blushed wildly at the soft chuckles that statement elicited, feeling her cheeks warm hotly before the tickling swept embarrassment away and took over her mind again.
It was everywhere and it was constant; her body prickled with the nonstop jolts of ticklish sensation that curled out of her underarms and ran screaming up her spine, bringing her skin to a kind of ticklish anticipation. It was gathering in her chest, the tingling and the teasing, bringing her nipples to firm attention, making her start to gasp and writhe slightly in addition to her ticklish bouncing, making her wish in the back of her mind for some attention to the firm, sensitive mounds... but there was none to be had. All of the tickling focused under her arms. Occasionally, some fingers would wander onto her ribs and scritch back and forth, usually to bring her laughter back to a fresh howl with some variety if it had been flagging, but none ventured so far as to make the kinds of touches she found herself starting to need.
Ticklish, frustrated tears wet the cloth of the blindfold. It wasn't fair! How could they make her feel this way even as they were tickling the sense right out of her? The naga's mind was wandering, trying to escape the relentless teasing jabs of tickling sensation that poured out of her underarms like a tidal surge, building up to unleash its ticklish terror upon her mind before somehow relaxing, ebbing for a few brief moments of clarity before it gathered itself and surged forward again, threatening to swamp her mind in the throes of hysteria. The naga's sides hurt from laughing so hard, her breasts tingling so hard it almost started to itch, the craving for a touch driving her wild and almost loosening her tongue. Frantically the naga recalled Queen Lyriss' admonitions and commands, as well as her dire warning should the naga's tongue flap under persusasion, but it wasn't fair... they didn't fight like they were supposed to! Her breasts were supposed to be tickled to insanity, driving her mind into a sheltered recess within herself where she could wait out the torture while her body twisted and writhed according to the whims of her tormentors.
But this... this need, it wasn't fair, it made things so hard to resist... she was on the brink of begging for it, of begging them to start tickling her breasts again, and trying desperately to hold her tongue. She just couldn't let them know how much of an effect they were having on her. She couldn't! They'd know to wear her down by tickling her underarms until she cried and broke down... as they were already doing. Frantically she tried to focus her thoughts to gather strength and collect her willpower, but every time she tried to slow her breathing to concentrate, tickling shattered the wall she was trying to built and ran rampant over her, crawling up and down her body like the finest caresses of a lover... The naga suddenly stiffened, and earned herself a wave of ticklish torment as the fingers exploited her suddenly taut body. That was it... the tickling, though torturous, was light. Light enough to tease her extremely sensitive body... the soft, pale green skin of her upper body was wickedly sensitive to any kind of tactile sensation, as were all the naga. Her serpentine lower body, made of darker green scales and an almost white underbelly, was fairly immune to this kind of teasing, but her luscious upper body was a ripe target.
They were confusing her body into wanting a lover's touch. She cried out helplessly, with laughter, at the injustice of it all; she'd been warned repeatedly about not letting the incubus get his hands on her before she saw him. Queen Lyriss had explicitly, flatly guaranteed that she'd end up a mewling, playful little kitten if she was touched that way... her detailing of the events that would occur had been so precise that the naga had taken to wondering exactly how she knew, but figured the Queen was just trying to scare her. Now, though, she believed it. It was the worst kind of torture, the torture of desire, generated by none other than her own body, and there was no way to resist, no way to stop the lightly teasing nails that spidered in the sensitive hollows of her skin, causing the tingling rush to spread throughout all of her body and bring forth that lustful cry...
Realizing that she'd moaned aloud, and quite forcefully, the naga's pale green skin darkened with a heavy blush around her cheeks. She was breathing hard and flushed from the tickling, which she just now realized had stopped, the hands stroking her upper arms gently before pulling back entirely, leaving her with just that tingling sensation and her heaving chest. "So now what?" she cried out, leaning forward, the hurt tone in her voice suggesting she'd been done a great injustice, wiggling in her restraints before slumping back. "No fair..." she murmured.
Once again she felt hands on her body. This time, though, they were acompanied by something incredibly soft that touched her chest, and was somehow maneuvered around through each of her arms, joining at the back, and the naga heard a zipping sound. The garment which she was now wearing was very tight around her chest, and quite soft... in her mind, it seemed like she'd been fitted with a short, tight top designed explicitly for her, as it had holes for each of her arms, and the sleeves were nonexistent - the expanse of each soft underarm showed perfectly. She shivered, shifting slightly against the frame, and froze, a gasp sucking her breath away. The tight, soft top...it tickled! She nearly panicked, not daring to breathe... each shift, each minute movement, caused what felt like a thousand tiny feathers embedded in the cloth to brush against her body. There were no actual feathers, she told herself, it was just the material of the clothing, which wasn't quite as soft as it had first appeared... rather, it seemed to have thousands of tiny, tiny bumps and ridges, which rubbed against her as she moved, and they were so small and the material soft and comfortable enough while adhering so tightly to her skin that the gentle touch tickled everywhere.
"We'll be back in a bit," a female voice said with a giggle, and a kiss was planted on the naga's cheek. Footsteps receded from the naga, sounding firmly against the stone floor, and did not once pause in response to the naga's sudden giggle-laced begging.
---
Time's passage seemed meaningless. The naga had tried, frantically, to latch onto anything, a thought, a sensation, an idea, that would allow her to regain her sense of time, but it was no good. Everything in her mind and her world revolved around that horrible, hideous garment which she'd been made to wear, and her every thought revolved around how not to get teased by it again - ideas which were inevitably futile. For about the tenth time her tense, weary muscles relaxed as she sobbed in frustration, the ticklish tingling of the garment's interior playing up against her breasts again. It was especially agonizing against her nipples, which had grown stiff, and rubbed against the material at the slightest provocation.
It was driving her mad. She needed a touch, needed to be played with, anything but this horrible, light, teasing tickling that was driving her out of her mind. It wasn't that she had been tickled hoarse or beyond the capacity for any rational thought, but rather that the tickling was low-key, gentle, but never-ending. There was no thinking being on the other side of the blindfold to get bored or want to change things up. There was just the garment, the ridges, the tickling, everything... when footsteps sounded, drawing closer to her, she hardly noticed at first, so consumed was she with the sensation that dominated her world.
The footsteps drew near and stopped, and she felt a single pair of hands reach around behind her back and release the zipper, then slowly draw the garment off of her. She sobbed with relief, but that was only temporary, because now that the distraction of the clothing was gone, that fiery tingling urge was back in full force, made no better by the fingers she felt on one nipple, tugging lightly and then tickling. She giggled and then pouted, her lips pursed like she was about to begin whining about the injustice of it all, and then her breath was stolen from her as she felt a soft pair of lips kiss firmly against hers. In that same moment, all the shackles binding her wrists released at once, but rather than fight to get free, she wrapped her arms around the form of the being in front of her, a male, and pressed him tightly to her, whining with the onrush of her pent-up desire. His lips were nice and soft, though at this point she felt as if she might kiss sandpaper and be satisfied with it.
"What's your name?" The question drifted through the air to her, as they finally released each other, and she could feel his hands playing gently against her front, making her giggle coyly and twist, rubbing against him.
"My name's Syreth," she said without thinking, her inhibitions seemingly melted away. Syreth seemed to sigh with relief at unburdening herself from the secret, and impulsively she moved to unwind the blindfold from her eyes and lean forward to kiss him again. This time, though, she closed her eyes and tilted her head just slightly, bearing up under his ticklish touch, which deliberately wandered from her breasts to ribs to sides and back again, circling under her arms, making her writhe in a pleasing fashion while they were connected, absorbing her giggles into his mouth and licking at her lips as if feeding on them. Finally, Syreth drew back and opened her red eyes to see who it might be standing before her.
A mischievous smile touched his lips, disorganized dirty blonde hair drifting over his face and down his neck, framing the strange red sigil in the middle of his forehead and the steel-gray eyes that were crinkled in amusement. His clothing was plain - a white shirt with khaki pants - and his body lean but firm. "Syreth, hm?" His fingers tickled her breasts again, and Syreth let him do as he pleased; it felt SO good to finally just let herself go and enjoy it. Her giggles were calculated to goad him into more, and the naga found her mind mushy and warm, but she didn't care. The long-awaited relief was such that sating her desire overrode any other concerns she might have had. If she had other concerns, she'd forgotten them. "Why did you come here, Syreth?" he asked, tilting his head and leaning forward to nibble on her neck. The naga arched, giggling happily as his fingers traced into her underarms and teased.
"Hee, hee... I came... hehe... because, because, um..." Her mind blanked; why HAD she come? Then it came to her: "Oh, I remember! Hee... hehe... stop that, I can't think. Um... Queen Lyriss wanted me to approach you in private to ask about... if you'd meet with her." Why had that been so much of a secret? She couldn't recall. It had something to do with meeting him in private... "She thought that, if the... the other girls found me first, they'd soften me up and weaken my negotiating position, so she wanted me to sneak in." It seemed like a terribly weak excuse to her own ears, almost embarrassing. Had that been the whole reason?
He laughed. It was such a nice, rich sound when he chuckled like that, and Syreth found herself wanting to hear more of it, so her middle set of hands worked to unbutton his shirt while he spoke. "Is that all? Really, you should tell the Queen that I'd be more than happy to meet with her, and I'm honestly more likely to receive a straightforward ambassador than one that sneaks around in my caverns." She sighed with consternation, but her hands had worked under his shirt and started to play on his chest. He giggled.
"She was worried that you'd tease concessions from me," Syreth said, the memories of her mission slowly coming into focus. "She had a few requests to present to you and didn't want me forced back from that position before I could deliver the message..." Her fingernails scratched lightly on his chest. She liked hearing him giggle.
"She's too... too busy thinking of... a-aha-ahaaa-angles to this... just... oh, never mind. I'll mee-hehe-hehee meet with her," he said, trying to wiggle his way out of her grasp. That didn't work, though, so he instead braved the teasing and tugged on one of her nipples, to be rewarded with a sharp moan. His fingers played with her breasts, slowly but surely forcing her back up against the frame to which she'd been bound helplessly not too long before, and bringing giggles bubbling up to her lips. "Phew... in any case. You can tell her that I'll meet with her at her earliest convenience," he said, giving her another kiss on the lips, and then his fingers slipped away from her breasts, as he pulled back from her.
"Wait," she said softly, catching hold of his arm and giving him a look of longing. "Please don't make me go back like this," she pleaded. He looked in her eyes and understood what she meant, and smiled, nodding as he stepped back closer to her, his hands coming up to her breasts and slowly, slowly his fingers began circling around...
It was nothing but a light touch, again. How could they always know that it was light touches? Syreth giggled herself silly, but there was a rich, sultry undertone to her giggles as she pulled him close, hands rubbing against his back as she left herself open for his tickling fingers to explore everywhere. The firm curves of her breasts, the soft, sensitive undersides... the firm nipples that he seemed to enjoy coming back to over and over again. All of it was tickled once, twice, a dozen times; his hands never stopped moving, his fingers continually seeking someplace else to be, not lingering anywhere for more than a few seconds. Syreth wrapped her arms around his neck and closed her eyes, losing herself in the ticklish feeling dancing across her chest, willing herself to remain still for it even as she whimpered, begging him not to make her waist.
He must have known, though, and it seemed as if he delighted in every squirm, arch, and gasp she made, every time she had to tighten her grip on his shoulders or around his neck to keep from covering herself with a gasp and a squeal. Syreth quivered, her lowest set of arms wrapped tight around her middle, hugging herself firmly as her breasts were teased, every ticklish inch of them explored with expert attention, until finally she could take it no more and whimpered, pressing her breasts into his hands, rubbing the hard tips against his palms, looking into his eyes with an expression of unquenched desire. He understood, then, that he couldn't tease her anymore. Syreth knew that she would lose her mind if she got teased too much more. She already felt hazy enough as it is... leaning up, finally, she kissed him, as his hands firmly tickled and massaged her breasts. She pressed herself against him to keep still, quivering in their embrace, each shiver and shake a sign of the impending explosion that was about to rock her body from head to tail...
At long last, she could feel it rising in her stomach, the unbridled ecstasy rushing out to consume her body, her motions becoming faster, more insistent against him, her strong grip crushing her to him even as he tickled the tips of her nipples with his fingers, then rubbed them up and down, tugging hard on them one last time before letting them spring back into position, perky and full, where just the gentle touch of his fingers running around the outside of them made her cry out harshly, tossing back her head and letting out a long, animal moan as her body was engulfed fully by the tingling, unreasoning white light of pleasure...
When Syreth finally managed to return home, much later, it was all she could do to gasp out a breathy report to her Queen before sliding off to her quarters and collapsing into a quivering pile of bliss.
