tickles_me
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This is the second part to my previous story. Again, any and all thoughts are welcome. Thanks to all who commented last time - I am working on another with a female victim, as well.
Happy new year
Torturing the Warrior II
Jaxton woke slowly and with great effort to unintelligible whispering. As his awareness sharpened he began to recall his circumstances and understand his current situation: he was kneeling, arms shackled above his head so his elbows bent only slightly, on his knees with ankles lashed to posts that held them so his penis and balls dangled free from his thighs. The whispers became clear and sent anticipatory, nervous shivers down his chest and legs; a forced smile began to tug on his face. He was blindfolded and gagged.
“...Ohhh, little piggy, we are going to geeet yoouuuuu,” the blonde queen crooned directly in his left ear, her breathy words sending waves of goosebumps down his neck. “Here I come, right for that hairy, sensitive pit. I’m gonna geeetcha geetcha geetcha in that armpit, and just poke and scratch. Guess what happens after hours and hours of tickling, little pig? How long do you think you can squeal? Days? Months? Kitchy kitchy koooo. I’m coming for youuu, pit. Pit. Pit. Pit...”
“...Forever, every day. I know you loved when I bit those ribs. Num num num, can you feel me coming for you? I am going to bite your whole body, every last ticklish spot - tickle, tickle, tickle. Num num num. I’m gonna eat you up, big man. Big strong giggling man....”
Another female voice - the guard, he assumed - in his right ear causing the same hairs on that side to stand and tingle. It sent tiny lightning bolts down his back and ass. He could feel an occasional brush against the hairs on his chest and belly; the third or fourth one finally caused his muscles to spasm. He was becoming overloaded with the taunting, the anticipation; his nerves were on fire, and he was beginning to lose the battle against the giddy, hysterical smile trying to crack open his face.
“...piss all over yourself. How much water have you had?...you’ll have to, and I’m gonna make you scream and piss...for days. You’ll be pissing and coming and crying and laughing... I’m never going to stop….piece of swine scum...” Jax could barely make out the harsh male whispers over the much more invasive womanly cooing but the shards that registered in his mind terrified him. He had not had the opportunity to consider the increased horrors that awaited him.
Frustrated, desperate tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes and soak into his blindfold; he tested his restraints and guessed that he was lashed back-to-back with the metal chair from his previous tickle torture session: his arms tied to the top of the backrest, his bent knees to the bottom of the back legs, and his ankles to the front legs. This held his legs at a nearly 45 degree angle and exposed his undercarriage and allowed him no self protection.
The whispered taunting went for long minutes with the occasional brush deliberately against his body hair, sometimes in an armpit or against his chest. They brushed against the hairs on either side of his ball sack, his belly hairs, his inner thighs and chanted, “...tickle...TicKLe...TIckLE...tickle...tickle... tiCKLe…” as his face strained to hold his trembling lips still. His breath was shaky and slow through his nose and his muscles twitched involuntarily with every light touch on his hair.
“...get this stretched out pit...kitch kitch kitch…”
“...here I come...nom nom nom…”
“...piss for days…”
“Are you ready?” the queen asked after what felt like hours. “It’s almost time Jax, I can see you fighting that big old smile but you’re a goner. We are going to tickle you until you die from loss of breath, you sad baby. Here we come, we are coming for your ticklish spots. Worse than you thought, right? We are gonna getcha getcha … “
Everything paused for several seconds; Jaxton held his breath, a painful grin plastered on his red, sweating face. “GETCHA!”
Six hands grabbed him at once, each skittering claws wildly but with slight pressure; his arms, from wrists through his armpits over his pecs to his nipples, back across the pecs up the armpits, biceps over the elbows to the wrists. And back down. Two hands on each side, the nails tapping and scratching, one hand leading the other up and back down.
Two more hands, presumably the male guard’s, “ran” as if the fingers were legs from his navel out around his waist, across each kidney and to the spine, then back out again; when the fingers touched his flanks or the skin of his lower back
ticklish lightning shot through his entire body.
Jaxton exploded into tormented howling, his lungs feeling ripped from his body; he could not tell whether anyone was still taunting him over the sound of his shrieking into the gag. “HEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHFFFFFFFFFEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” poured into the fabric, which was quickly soaked.
The six hands continued their respective journeys, in identical patterns, without stopping or slowing, while Jaxton’s middle tried to fold him in half. The restraints held despite his increasingly insane efforts to escape the tickling, wiggling fingers of his three captors.
He had survived weeks of painful burning torture, days of starvation and beatings; they had whipped him and froze him and he had not talked. He had barely made a sound at all. This tickling, that he had scoffed at, was worse than he would have ever expected. All of his torture resistance training, meditation and mind-compartmentation; harnessing the adrenaline from the pain into numbing his awareness - none of that worked. The adrenaline was not a soft solid, it was liquid and excitable. His muscles yanked and shook and the laughter rolled out of his body even when there was no breath to give it thunder.
“MRRRRPHHRRRPHERRRphhEERRRPHHH…*gasp* herrrrnph EHHHHHHERRMPhh”
He honked and squealed and his head began to shake back and forth; he pulled on his arms and his knees. Jaxton desperately needed to inhale but the insufferable pinches and taps forced his torso to constrict and push all the air out.
Minutes ticked on as did the fingers. Up his arms to the wrists, tickle tickle tickle, down to the elbows which cringed as the fingers continued down under the soft skin on his upper arms. Skitter skitter tickling into the armpits, down, back up the pit, down the pit. His biceps strained and be howled, his stretched armpits trembling and sensitive. Tickling up the pit and back down again, then forward over the pecs - which quivered to the touch as the tapping fingers danced over his nipples. One circle while he squealed, another with two hard grunts and a third circle tickling around each nipple with a long sobbing guffaw.
The fingers tickling his belly and sides began to reach down over his butt cheeks, tickling and pinching down each side of his hips and then under the globe at the bottom of each cheek. Jaxton’s ass jerked and pulled away from the tickling even though he tried to keep still; his body was on fire, every touch felt electric into his bones and his lungs began to ache. He felt confused and unaware; he was losing consciousness.
“HEEHHHHHHFH…*cough*...FUHHHHFUUHHHhhh…*wheeze* *wheeze*....”
Suddenly the hands stopped. Jaxton heaved, his body sucking air into his lungs while he sobbed and his hands and feet flexed in their bonds. Nobody else spoke or moved, that he could tell, for several minutes while he heaved and sobbed and gulped. Jaxton was sweaty and exhausted. As the queen began to talk to him again, Jaxton let out a heartfelt sob, his hands flapping and shaking in their shackles.
“Are you ready? Are you ready, ready, ready little piggy? I do so enjoy your squealing, that was a great entertainment. And I can see that your little demon has risen again. Kitchy kitchy koooo little squealer, here we cooommmmeee…”
“MMMOOOOOOHHHHHhhhh….EEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAHAAAHMOOOMOOMOOOOO *wheeze* *cough* EHhheheheeEEHHHHHAAAAHAAAA” he wailed into the gag, his head
shaking back and forth as the hands resumed their original trails. Up the arms and up and down the armpits, the nipples and navel and flanks and the curve of his ass. Jaxton squealed and shook and sobbed as they tickled him, now intensely aware of his throbbing, bouncing erection.
“Such a ticklish boy! Kitchy kitchy koo, ahh kitch kitch kitch! Laugh you little baby! Laugh!” the queen taunted him on the left side. “Let's try something else.”
The tickling on his right side and belly ceased, he jerked to the right to escape the two-handed tapping in his left armpit only and the two hands increased their urgency. Scramble scramble scramble, “EEhhEEEhhEEEhhhhhEEAAHAAAAHAAA…” he shouted, straining to the right. Then, the pit tickling also stopped.
Jaxton hung limply, his head falling forward in defeat while he again struggled to breathe.
“You sad little man. How are you ever going to survive this? Such a ticklish little boy, I cannot wait to torture you in front of every prisoner of war before we execute them. But first I will learn all of your sensitive, giggly, humiliated crevices and pieces,” the queen threatened from in front of him.
He felt large hands wrap crosswise below his chin and across each cheek, locking his head in place. The twins were holding his head still - why? The queen grabbed his penis and pushed it by the head up against his stomach, stretching and exposing the skin at the bottom crease of the shaft where it met the balls. Jaxton’s legs visibly trembled before her as she rubbed her thumb gently against the bottom of the covered head of his penis; his face was in an uncontrollable strained laughing-frown.
Soft warm sensations pressed into each of his ears, then parted, then again; the guards were kissing his ears, the lobes and shells and right against the center. His breathing began to increase with anxiety as the kissing became more intense, their tongues reaching out to gently flit into the holes of his ears.
Kiss, kiss, flick flick flick, kiss kiss. Shivers broke out down his neck and shoulders, the goosebumps spreading down his back and ass. After a minute he began to fidget, testing the hold on his face; after two, his frown began to shiver and turn upward; in three minutes his maniacal smile could be seen around the gag and he was struggling to keep from thrashing his body in tortured frustration.
Without removing her massaging thumb from the underside of his penis head, the queen began to tickle with the nails on her other hand, under and around the shaft of his penis, down over the left ball, around the bottom, across the back and up under the right ball, then up the shaft. Back down the right ball, under to the back, tap tap tap, over and under the left ball and back up. He wiggled and laughed. Occasionally she would reach to either side and tickle at his flank, causing him to shake his torso and squeal every time; his penis grew even more in her hand as he grew unwillingly aroused by the overstimulation, the humiliation, the rage.
Jaxton howled, gasped, and howled again; the tickling of his penis sent electric shocks into his ears and the kisses and wet tongue rubbing in his ear suddenly became unbearably ticklish. His long deep howls ended in shrieky wails, followed by a hard breath into his nose and another wail.
“What a ticklish penis! If you orgasm, I am going to let Pol here tickle your armpits. Definitely do not explode, Jaxton, or you are going to regret it. Tickle tickle tickle little piggy, squeal! Kitch kitch kitch - weeeee weee wee wee! Weee weee wee, piggy! Tickle tickle!” the queen teased loudly enough for him to hear over the smacking of the lips against his ears and his own tortured laughter.
Worse, a deep rumbling orgasm was building with every press of her thumb into his head; he was not going to last long, and he had no desire to be tickled by this man. Kiss, flick flick flick, kiss kiss - “...is this ball more ticklish? or this ball? the backs? oh here! kitchy kitchy, shake that rump little piggy! oh, what a ticklish spot! right here? oh yes, right HERE!” - wiggle wiggle tap tap, under the balls, under the shaft, pinch, pinch over his left flank.
She did not neglect to pinch and scribble her fingers into the creases where his thighs met his body, skittering into the tight incredibly ticklish “V”. His legs shook as she pinch pinch pinched the tendons and curled a single finger behind his balls, flicking his perineum. He snorted and shook his head back and forth, completely overwhelmed and beginning to unravel; his laughing became long bouts of silence and hectic trembling. An occasional grunt or squeal ripped from his exhausted throat.
When the queen began to rub his balls and along his shaft with her free hand, rather than tickle, slowly and with delightful pressure, Jaxton was abruptly taken by a long, deep moan. One long rub down the shaft, against the balls, back up the shaft; a second, third. Fourth. Jaxton’s body began to tense, the snorts replaced with a deep frown as he struggled to fight the oncoming wave.
On the fifth rub from the balls up his shaft, Jaxton’s body was overcome with a roaring orgasm, the hot seed spilling up between his belly and the queen’s face. He shook and groaned as every muscle tensed, reverberating with tortured, exhausted pleasure; the guards released him. He began to cry as soon as his body slumped again against the bonds. As he hung there, his shoulders wracked with quiet sobs and he watched his spent penis begin to soften.
“Get him, Pol.”
His eyes shot up and met the queen’s as thick, intense fingers grabbed his outstretched armpits from behind him - HARD. The first fingers of each hand massaged deeply into the dimpled hollows of his pits in small, slow circles. The male guard was straddling the chair back and pressing firmly into the hollow wells of his outstretched armpits. Jaxton’s entire body thrashed and shook as he cackled, making a new sound, “MERRPHHHERRPHERPHERPHER!!!” he cried, tossing his body back and forth, his head shaking “no, no, no, no, no!” as he laughed.
He did not sob or shriek, just deep, hilarious belly laughter tumbled from him. He was so angry and could only giggle and snort like a surprised child; he could not even cry.
The need to piss suddenly blossomed in his lower belly and he found a new way to be desperate.
“Piss, you animal. Piss all over yourself,” Pol said. His voice was vengeful and raspy and hot in Jax’s ear. The deep massages pulled giddy trumpeting laughter from him without pause, with hiccuping breaths between the guffaws. He shook and flapped his hands and his elbows while the queen watched, grinning. The pressure in his belly tightened and he strained to hold in the urine pressing down his urethra.
“MERRPHERRPHERR...OOOHAAAHAAAHAAHAAHAHAHAHA!!” Jaxton bubbled. “MOOOOHOHOHOHOHHOOOHOMOMOMOMO!!” he begged. “BAAAHHHPBAAAHHHPAAAHAHA!!”
The two women disappeared behind him and he soon felt another horrifying sensation: drips of hot burning wax began to fall, slowly at first, onto the upturned soles of his feet. Jaxton screamed as the wax became hot globs, then pools, of fire seeping into the wrinkle creases. “AAHHHHHHHHMOOOOHOOOHOOO” he begged, hysterical and conflicted by the warring sensations.
The soles of his feet were completely on fire and he couldn't laugh anymore, although the intense tickling in his armpits continued to communicate unbearable sensations into his brain. Suddenly the fingers in his armpits stopped and he sucked air in desperately, fists and toes clenched so until knuckles were white. His feet hurt but he could breathe, long hysterical sucks into his nose. His lungs ached and his thighs twitched as he heaved.
“I bet you have to make a little pee pee,” the male guard suddenly whispered in his ear. “Here.” Eight meaty fingers pressed menacingly into his ribcage and each thumb dug into the muscles beneath his shoulder blades. “Let me help you.”
The hands began to tickle and Jaxton let out a fiercely desperate moan before forced squeaky giggles poured out of him and rapidly became involuntary belly laughter. “Kootchy kootchy koo you swine. Squeal piggy, go ahead big man. Cry. Tickle tickle.”
Fingernails dug hard and with purpose into his feet, twenty pinching scratching fingernails removing the hardened candle wax that had burned him. The sensation was without equal, long white streaks of intense tickling were painted into the red, tortured flesh of his soles. His toes flexed and the nails tickled them, too, pinching the tips and scrabbling into the crunched spaces. He kicked but his ankles had no range of motion tied to the legs of the chair and his lungs were filled with renewed hilarious vigor. He laughed and screamed and tried to beg through the gag as he was tickled without mercy.
Jaxton felt hot piss pour out of him, some running down one leg but most of it splashing onto the floor; the fingers tickled him until all of the liquid spurted from him to the last few drops. Then they stopped and he slumped in his bonds again, broken and sobbing and pulling in air.
Someone pulled his head back by the hair, the gag was untied and water poured over his face, choking him and pouring down his body. Jaxton sputtered and gagged and felt as if he were drowning as they poured water over his face; he managed to swallow more than he wanted. The water continued to pour in a thick stream over his nose and mouth as hands again tickled his stomach, ten fingers pressing individually, slowly into the hard, trembling muscles. Laughter bubbled up into the water running down his face and Jaxton began to drown as he laughed and sobbed; the tickling continued after his head was released and the water ceased.
The belly tickling went on for a long time, penetrating and calculated. Many fingers creeped slowly and randomly over his lower belly, pressing into the muscles around his navel and poking his sides and flanks. His torso shook as he dangled, wheezing into his gag; his body was too exhausted to produce laughter.
Jaxton trembled while his head hung in defeat, his belly twitching and his hands flexing into and out of fists. He was broken, in less than a single day of tickle torture the great warrior had been tormented into a sobbing, giggling mess; the reality of his situation had sunk in, and this was the torture he would see for the rest of his life.
He was too exhausted to laugh anymore, his body twitching but the sounds simply not coming from the tiny puffs of air he managed to exhale. The tickling stopped and he hung there, waiting, inhaling and exhaling. The three of them abruptly turned and left the room; Jaxton hung limp. His breathing finally normalized, his head began to clear; his body was sweaty and ached from dangling in his bonds. He was surprised to feel that he could sleep and dozed a little in the shackles.
He did not know what amount of time lapsed while he dozed on and off in his bondage but he snapped awake into the blindfold when the door slammed shut and he could hear the twin bootsteps sound across the room. He heard them approach and take places to the left and in front of him, and the whispering began.
“How are you feeling, little piggy? Are you ready for round two? Tickle tickle tickle,” the queen said without touching him.
“I’m cominggg forrr yooouuuu, piglet, you squealy little thing. Kitchy kitchy, can you feel me commminnng for you? Hmm? I’m...gonna...GETcha, GETcha, GET...CHA,” the other woman taunted in his opposite ear.
Jaxton began to laugh.
Happy new year
Torturing the Warrior II
Jaxton woke slowly and with great effort to unintelligible whispering. As his awareness sharpened he began to recall his circumstances and understand his current situation: he was kneeling, arms shackled above his head so his elbows bent only slightly, on his knees with ankles lashed to posts that held them so his penis and balls dangled free from his thighs. The whispers became clear and sent anticipatory, nervous shivers down his chest and legs; a forced smile began to tug on his face. He was blindfolded and gagged.
“...Ohhh, little piggy, we are going to geeet yoouuuuu,” the blonde queen crooned directly in his left ear, her breathy words sending waves of goosebumps down his neck. “Here I come, right for that hairy, sensitive pit. I’m gonna geeetcha geetcha geetcha in that armpit, and just poke and scratch. Guess what happens after hours and hours of tickling, little pig? How long do you think you can squeal? Days? Months? Kitchy kitchy koooo. I’m coming for youuu, pit. Pit. Pit. Pit...”
“...Forever, every day. I know you loved when I bit those ribs. Num num num, can you feel me coming for you? I am going to bite your whole body, every last ticklish spot - tickle, tickle, tickle. Num num num. I’m gonna eat you up, big man. Big strong giggling man....”
Another female voice - the guard, he assumed - in his right ear causing the same hairs on that side to stand and tingle. It sent tiny lightning bolts down his back and ass. He could feel an occasional brush against the hairs on his chest and belly; the third or fourth one finally caused his muscles to spasm. He was becoming overloaded with the taunting, the anticipation; his nerves were on fire, and he was beginning to lose the battle against the giddy, hysterical smile trying to crack open his face.
“...piss all over yourself. How much water have you had?...you’ll have to, and I’m gonna make you scream and piss...for days. You’ll be pissing and coming and crying and laughing... I’m never going to stop….piece of swine scum...” Jax could barely make out the harsh male whispers over the much more invasive womanly cooing but the shards that registered in his mind terrified him. He had not had the opportunity to consider the increased horrors that awaited him.
Frustrated, desperate tears began to leak from the corners of his eyes and soak into his blindfold; he tested his restraints and guessed that he was lashed back-to-back with the metal chair from his previous tickle torture session: his arms tied to the top of the backrest, his bent knees to the bottom of the back legs, and his ankles to the front legs. This held his legs at a nearly 45 degree angle and exposed his undercarriage and allowed him no self protection.
The whispered taunting went for long minutes with the occasional brush deliberately against his body hair, sometimes in an armpit or against his chest. They brushed against the hairs on either side of his ball sack, his belly hairs, his inner thighs and chanted, “...tickle...TicKLe...TIckLE...tickle...tickle... tiCKLe…” as his face strained to hold his trembling lips still. His breath was shaky and slow through his nose and his muscles twitched involuntarily with every light touch on his hair.
“...get this stretched out pit...kitch kitch kitch…”
“...here I come...nom nom nom…”
“...piss for days…”
“Are you ready?” the queen asked after what felt like hours. “It’s almost time Jax, I can see you fighting that big old smile but you’re a goner. We are going to tickle you until you die from loss of breath, you sad baby. Here we come, we are coming for your ticklish spots. Worse than you thought, right? We are gonna getcha getcha … “
Everything paused for several seconds; Jaxton held his breath, a painful grin plastered on his red, sweating face. “GETCHA!”
Six hands grabbed him at once, each skittering claws wildly but with slight pressure; his arms, from wrists through his armpits over his pecs to his nipples, back across the pecs up the armpits, biceps over the elbows to the wrists. And back down. Two hands on each side, the nails tapping and scratching, one hand leading the other up and back down.
Two more hands, presumably the male guard’s, “ran” as if the fingers were legs from his navel out around his waist, across each kidney and to the spine, then back out again; when the fingers touched his flanks or the skin of his lower back
ticklish lightning shot through his entire body.
Jaxton exploded into tormented howling, his lungs feeling ripped from his body; he could not tell whether anyone was still taunting him over the sound of his shrieking into the gag. “HEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHFFFFFFFFFEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH,” poured into the fabric, which was quickly soaked.
The six hands continued their respective journeys, in identical patterns, without stopping or slowing, while Jaxton’s middle tried to fold him in half. The restraints held despite his increasingly insane efforts to escape the tickling, wiggling fingers of his three captors.
He had survived weeks of painful burning torture, days of starvation and beatings; they had whipped him and froze him and he had not talked. He had barely made a sound at all. This tickling, that he had scoffed at, was worse than he would have ever expected. All of his torture resistance training, meditation and mind-compartmentation; harnessing the adrenaline from the pain into numbing his awareness - none of that worked. The adrenaline was not a soft solid, it was liquid and excitable. His muscles yanked and shook and the laughter rolled out of his body even when there was no breath to give it thunder.
“MRRRRPHHRRRPHERRRphhEERRRPHHH…*gasp* herrrrnph EHHHHHHERRMPhh”
He honked and squealed and his head began to shake back and forth; he pulled on his arms and his knees. Jaxton desperately needed to inhale but the insufferable pinches and taps forced his torso to constrict and push all the air out.
Minutes ticked on as did the fingers. Up his arms to the wrists, tickle tickle tickle, down to the elbows which cringed as the fingers continued down under the soft skin on his upper arms. Skitter skitter tickling into the armpits, down, back up the pit, down the pit. His biceps strained and be howled, his stretched armpits trembling and sensitive. Tickling up the pit and back down again, then forward over the pecs - which quivered to the touch as the tapping fingers danced over his nipples. One circle while he squealed, another with two hard grunts and a third circle tickling around each nipple with a long sobbing guffaw.
The fingers tickling his belly and sides began to reach down over his butt cheeks, tickling and pinching down each side of his hips and then under the globe at the bottom of each cheek. Jaxton’s ass jerked and pulled away from the tickling even though he tried to keep still; his body was on fire, every touch felt electric into his bones and his lungs began to ache. He felt confused and unaware; he was losing consciousness.
“HEEHHHHHHFH…*cough*...FUHHHHFUUHHHhhh…*wheeze* *wheeze*....”
Suddenly the hands stopped. Jaxton heaved, his body sucking air into his lungs while he sobbed and his hands and feet flexed in their bonds. Nobody else spoke or moved, that he could tell, for several minutes while he heaved and sobbed and gulped. Jaxton was sweaty and exhausted. As the queen began to talk to him again, Jaxton let out a heartfelt sob, his hands flapping and shaking in their shackles.
“Are you ready? Are you ready, ready, ready little piggy? I do so enjoy your squealing, that was a great entertainment. And I can see that your little demon has risen again. Kitchy kitchy koooo little squealer, here we cooommmmeee…”
“MMMOOOOOOHHHHHhhhh….EEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAHAAAHMOOOMOOMOOOOO *wheeze* *cough* EHhheheheeEEHHHHHAAAAHAAAA” he wailed into the gag, his head
shaking back and forth as the hands resumed their original trails. Up the arms and up and down the armpits, the nipples and navel and flanks and the curve of his ass. Jaxton squealed and shook and sobbed as they tickled him, now intensely aware of his throbbing, bouncing erection.
“Such a ticklish boy! Kitchy kitchy koo, ahh kitch kitch kitch! Laugh you little baby! Laugh!” the queen taunted him on the left side. “Let's try something else.”
The tickling on his right side and belly ceased, he jerked to the right to escape the two-handed tapping in his left armpit only and the two hands increased their urgency. Scramble scramble scramble, “EEhhEEEhhEEEhhhhhEEAAHAAAAHAAA…” he shouted, straining to the right. Then, the pit tickling also stopped.
Jaxton hung limply, his head falling forward in defeat while he again struggled to breathe.
“You sad little man. How are you ever going to survive this? Such a ticklish little boy, I cannot wait to torture you in front of every prisoner of war before we execute them. But first I will learn all of your sensitive, giggly, humiliated crevices and pieces,” the queen threatened from in front of him.
He felt large hands wrap crosswise below his chin and across each cheek, locking his head in place. The twins were holding his head still - why? The queen grabbed his penis and pushed it by the head up against his stomach, stretching and exposing the skin at the bottom crease of the shaft where it met the balls. Jaxton’s legs visibly trembled before her as she rubbed her thumb gently against the bottom of the covered head of his penis; his face was in an uncontrollable strained laughing-frown.
Soft warm sensations pressed into each of his ears, then parted, then again; the guards were kissing his ears, the lobes and shells and right against the center. His breathing began to increase with anxiety as the kissing became more intense, their tongues reaching out to gently flit into the holes of his ears.
Kiss, kiss, flick flick flick, kiss kiss. Shivers broke out down his neck and shoulders, the goosebumps spreading down his back and ass. After a minute he began to fidget, testing the hold on his face; after two, his frown began to shiver and turn upward; in three minutes his maniacal smile could be seen around the gag and he was struggling to keep from thrashing his body in tortured frustration.
Without removing her massaging thumb from the underside of his penis head, the queen began to tickle with the nails on her other hand, under and around the shaft of his penis, down over the left ball, around the bottom, across the back and up under the right ball, then up the shaft. Back down the right ball, under to the back, tap tap tap, over and under the left ball and back up. He wiggled and laughed. Occasionally she would reach to either side and tickle at his flank, causing him to shake his torso and squeal every time; his penis grew even more in her hand as he grew unwillingly aroused by the overstimulation, the humiliation, the rage.
Jaxton howled, gasped, and howled again; the tickling of his penis sent electric shocks into his ears and the kisses and wet tongue rubbing in his ear suddenly became unbearably ticklish. His long deep howls ended in shrieky wails, followed by a hard breath into his nose and another wail.
“What a ticklish penis! If you orgasm, I am going to let Pol here tickle your armpits. Definitely do not explode, Jaxton, or you are going to regret it. Tickle tickle tickle little piggy, squeal! Kitch kitch kitch - weeeee weee wee wee! Weee weee wee, piggy! Tickle tickle!” the queen teased loudly enough for him to hear over the smacking of the lips against his ears and his own tortured laughter.
Worse, a deep rumbling orgasm was building with every press of her thumb into his head; he was not going to last long, and he had no desire to be tickled by this man. Kiss, flick flick flick, kiss kiss - “...is this ball more ticklish? or this ball? the backs? oh here! kitchy kitchy, shake that rump little piggy! oh, what a ticklish spot! right here? oh yes, right HERE!” - wiggle wiggle tap tap, under the balls, under the shaft, pinch, pinch over his left flank.
She did not neglect to pinch and scribble her fingers into the creases where his thighs met his body, skittering into the tight incredibly ticklish “V”. His legs shook as she pinch pinch pinched the tendons and curled a single finger behind his balls, flicking his perineum. He snorted and shook his head back and forth, completely overwhelmed and beginning to unravel; his laughing became long bouts of silence and hectic trembling. An occasional grunt or squeal ripped from his exhausted throat.
When the queen began to rub his balls and along his shaft with her free hand, rather than tickle, slowly and with delightful pressure, Jaxton was abruptly taken by a long, deep moan. One long rub down the shaft, against the balls, back up the shaft; a second, third. Fourth. Jaxton’s body began to tense, the snorts replaced with a deep frown as he struggled to fight the oncoming wave.
On the fifth rub from the balls up his shaft, Jaxton’s body was overcome with a roaring orgasm, the hot seed spilling up between his belly and the queen’s face. He shook and groaned as every muscle tensed, reverberating with tortured, exhausted pleasure; the guards released him. He began to cry as soon as his body slumped again against the bonds. As he hung there, his shoulders wracked with quiet sobs and he watched his spent penis begin to soften.
“Get him, Pol.”
His eyes shot up and met the queen’s as thick, intense fingers grabbed his outstretched armpits from behind him - HARD. The first fingers of each hand massaged deeply into the dimpled hollows of his pits in small, slow circles. The male guard was straddling the chair back and pressing firmly into the hollow wells of his outstretched armpits. Jaxton’s entire body thrashed and shook as he cackled, making a new sound, “MERRPHHHERRPHERPHERPHER!!!” he cried, tossing his body back and forth, his head shaking “no, no, no, no, no!” as he laughed.
He did not sob or shriek, just deep, hilarious belly laughter tumbled from him. He was so angry and could only giggle and snort like a surprised child; he could not even cry.
The need to piss suddenly blossomed in his lower belly and he found a new way to be desperate.
“Piss, you animal. Piss all over yourself,” Pol said. His voice was vengeful and raspy and hot in Jax’s ear. The deep massages pulled giddy trumpeting laughter from him without pause, with hiccuping breaths between the guffaws. He shook and flapped his hands and his elbows while the queen watched, grinning. The pressure in his belly tightened and he strained to hold in the urine pressing down his urethra.
“MERRPHERRPHERR...OOOHAAAHAAAHAAHAAHAHAHAHA!!” Jaxton bubbled. “MOOOOHOHOHOHOHHOOOHOMOMOMOMO!!” he begged. “BAAAHHHPBAAAHHHPAAAHAHA!!”
The two women disappeared behind him and he soon felt another horrifying sensation: drips of hot burning wax began to fall, slowly at first, onto the upturned soles of his feet. Jaxton screamed as the wax became hot globs, then pools, of fire seeping into the wrinkle creases. “AAHHHHHHHHMOOOOHOOOHOOO” he begged, hysterical and conflicted by the warring sensations.
The soles of his feet were completely on fire and he couldn't laugh anymore, although the intense tickling in his armpits continued to communicate unbearable sensations into his brain. Suddenly the fingers in his armpits stopped and he sucked air in desperately, fists and toes clenched so until knuckles were white. His feet hurt but he could breathe, long hysterical sucks into his nose. His lungs ached and his thighs twitched as he heaved.
“I bet you have to make a little pee pee,” the male guard suddenly whispered in his ear. “Here.” Eight meaty fingers pressed menacingly into his ribcage and each thumb dug into the muscles beneath his shoulder blades. “Let me help you.”
The hands began to tickle and Jaxton let out a fiercely desperate moan before forced squeaky giggles poured out of him and rapidly became involuntary belly laughter. “Kootchy kootchy koo you swine. Squeal piggy, go ahead big man. Cry. Tickle tickle.”
Fingernails dug hard and with purpose into his feet, twenty pinching scratching fingernails removing the hardened candle wax that had burned him. The sensation was without equal, long white streaks of intense tickling were painted into the red, tortured flesh of his soles. His toes flexed and the nails tickled them, too, pinching the tips and scrabbling into the crunched spaces. He kicked but his ankles had no range of motion tied to the legs of the chair and his lungs were filled with renewed hilarious vigor. He laughed and screamed and tried to beg through the gag as he was tickled without mercy.
Jaxton felt hot piss pour out of him, some running down one leg but most of it splashing onto the floor; the fingers tickled him until all of the liquid spurted from him to the last few drops. Then they stopped and he slumped in his bonds again, broken and sobbing and pulling in air.
Someone pulled his head back by the hair, the gag was untied and water poured over his face, choking him and pouring down his body. Jaxton sputtered and gagged and felt as if he were drowning as they poured water over his face; he managed to swallow more than he wanted. The water continued to pour in a thick stream over his nose and mouth as hands again tickled his stomach, ten fingers pressing individually, slowly into the hard, trembling muscles. Laughter bubbled up into the water running down his face and Jaxton began to drown as he laughed and sobbed; the tickling continued after his head was released and the water ceased.
The belly tickling went on for a long time, penetrating and calculated. Many fingers creeped slowly and randomly over his lower belly, pressing into the muscles around his navel and poking his sides and flanks. His torso shook as he dangled, wheezing into his gag; his body was too exhausted to produce laughter.
Jaxton trembled while his head hung in defeat, his belly twitching and his hands flexing into and out of fists. He was broken, in less than a single day of tickle torture the great warrior had been tormented into a sobbing, giggling mess; the reality of his situation had sunk in, and this was the torture he would see for the rest of his life.
He was too exhausted to laugh anymore, his body twitching but the sounds simply not coming from the tiny puffs of air he managed to exhale. The tickling stopped and he hung there, waiting, inhaling and exhaling. The three of them abruptly turned and left the room; Jaxton hung limp. His breathing finally normalized, his head began to clear; his body was sweaty and ached from dangling in his bonds. He was surprised to feel that he could sleep and dozed a little in the shackles.
He did not know what amount of time lapsed while he dozed on and off in his bondage but he snapped awake into the blindfold when the door slammed shut and he could hear the twin bootsteps sound across the room. He heard them approach and take places to the left and in front of him, and the whispering began.
“How are you feeling, little piggy? Are you ready for round two? Tickle tickle tickle,” the queen said without touching him.
“I’m cominggg forrr yooouuuu, piglet, you squealy little thing. Kitchy kitchy, can you feel me commminnng for you? Hmm? I’m...gonna...GETcha, GETcha, GET...CHA,” the other woman taunted in his opposite ear.
Jaxton began to laugh.
