tickles_me
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I am a lurker of many years. It seems about time I paid you all back for the hours of enjoyment I've gotten from your delicious, deviant, tickling works of art. Please let me know if you would like a part II and have a happy Halloween!
Torturing the Warrior, part I (f/m, fm/m - noncon, sexual torture)
Corporal Jaxton spent two days chained and dirty on the floor of a dungeon cell before he heard footsteps and jangling keys making their way down the hallway. Two burly guards, a male and a female, entered the room and hoisted him up by his arms wordlessly. He stumbled into flickering candle lanterns between his escorts, barely able to lift his head but still able to note the strength it took to carry a man of his size. Someone had to move his dead weight when he had passed out from exhaustion; they had been torturing him for weeks.
At the end of the hallway, though, they took a right instead of a left - he had no idea what was down to the right. On the left was a room with a single wooden chair (frame, really) to which he had been chained several times. Despite their best malicious efforts he had managed to suffer his pain in near silence; he had only once cried out, losing consciousness before he finished the yell. When he woke up again he was in the cell, chained to the floor with nothing but a bucket of water.
Now, they climbed several flights of stairs after crossing a threshold and entered a beautiful, marbled suite of chambers. A hot spring bath steamed in the center of a cathedral antechamber; there was a long table piled high with hot, fresh meat, white cheeses and exotic fruits. The guards stopped midway into the room beside the hot spring and let him go - his exhausted body dropped onto the polished marble floor. They each clicked their heels, a sign of respect to someone so a fourth person was in the room; the guards each took one step back, placing him a step ahead. He waited without lifting his head, assuming they were saluting a Duke. Maybe even the Prince.
“Welcome, Corporal.” It was a woman’s voice. That he had not expected. What would a woman do with a prisoner of war? “Clean him up.” It was a command. “Then feed him.” After a few seconds of stunned silence he lifted his head to see her leaving the room, a cascade of hair so blonde it was nearly white cascading down her back like strings of snowflakes. The guards lifted him again and brought him to the pool, dunking him as gently as they were able into the hot water; he sucked his breath in as quietly as he could, but he knew they heard him.
“You’re in for a treat, soldier,” the female guard whispered to him. The sound of her voice was startling as they had not spoken a word. Palace guards were forbidden from conversation in public spaces while on duty - he was stunned that this woman dared to whisper to him in a royal chamber. “You are about to experience luxury that only the royal family knows.” She scooped water in her hand and trickled it over his shoulders while he struggled to remain quiet; it felt so good. The woman leaned closer and, with menace, added, “And when you are well, we will start all over again.”
His body cringed; he could not help it. Jax had been trained in this, his own regime had tortured him for several months to prepare him for possible capture. He would not tell them anything, he would endure until his body could no longer handle the trauma. Jaxton knew the danger of the mission he had been assigned when he volunteered, and his capture allowed the rest of his small band of selected warriors to escape with the maps they had stolen. If he said anything it would negate the value of the information they had taken; they would continue to torture him to death for nothing at all. Where was the honor in that? The gods would greet him smiling and clash their tankards together so that they sloshed; he would be honored in the afterlife. He would not break.
They coddled him for 211 days by his count, applying healing salves to his wounds and setting the broken bones so that they healed properly. The woman, the Princess of the Empire of Bastion as it turned out, checked on him from time to time, examining his healing injuries. She did not address him directly but it was clear that she was facilitating every move by his two guards; they were twins, he decided, blonde like the princess, and after the initial threat neither of them had spoken to him, either. They bathed him and swaddled him in hot wraps to help him heal, they had delicious, heaping meals brought to him with hot cider and foamy mugs of mead. He ate entire pork shoulders, roasted pheasant, stewed vegetables and honeyed breads. His wrists and ankles were constantly shackled and chained, padded towels wrapped around the metal to keep it from ripping the flesh to the bone; he was able to shuffle himself around on his own feet but was otherwise immobile. Corporal Jaxton ignored the impending torture as he grew stronger and considered the entire experience to be a reward for his hard work.
One day he awoke in a feather bed to the sun creeping through a crack in the curtains. When he sat up, his stomach sank; the chair from the dungeon, the chair he had been torture in for so long he could not count the sunrises, bad been placed in the center of the chamber. How had they bolted it into the floor without him waking?
The guards arrived shortly after and began their routine, undressing him for a bath. Today they trimmed his flowing hair and beard, tied the long locks back; they scrubbed his skin harshly, rubbing him slightly raw. Once he was dried they applied a cooling lotion to every inch of him, gruffly rubbing his genitals; he made brief eye contact with the male twin when his fingers reached behind Jaxton’s ball sack. He managed not to pull his legs together. Then they powdered him.
Inevitably they walked him to the chair, which consisted of a tall back and two arms, four legs, and a partial seat with a hole in the center where his sensitive privates dangled down. That forsaken hole; he refused to recall the details of his genital torture. Anxiety would do no good now. A long chain hung from a ceiling support beam in the chamber above the chair; he was made to stand in front of the chair and then they pushed him backwards, grinning malevolently as he lost his balance completely and thunked into the seatless chair, his ass and testicles protruding through the hole and his knees lifted high so his feet dangled slightly; he caught himself on his elbows using the chair arms as best he could. They collected the chain and yanked his shackled wrists directly over his head so that at first he sank more into the chair but he was then holding his own weight by his arms. Lastly they shackled his ankles to the legs of the chair to complete his immobilization. They blindfolded and gagged him and stood attention a few steps from his chair; he could tell by how they clicked their heels.
“Ah, Corporal,” the princess said. Her slippers made it constantly impossible for him to hear her coming and going; this wasn’t the first time she snuck up on him. That bothered him more than anything. “I am so pleased that this day has come. A man of your size requires more time to heal but I have so far found that it is well worth the wait.” He felt her fingers lightly tracing his body in various places as if she were admiring him. Her people hated his kind and the feeling was mutual - she had likely encountered hundreds or thousands of his people before him. He did not understand why she would touch at all.
Suddenly her voice was immediately beside his right ear, pressed between his face and his upstretched arm; her breath and the vibrations of her throat sent alarming chills down his whole body. “I am very much looking forward to our time together, Jaxton, strung up like a prized hog as you are. Your people have killed my father and I seek to make you squeal.” He was filled with elation at this news and felt a renewed determination to suffer his plight in silence. The Bastion King was dead! A man who had ordered the slaughter of his people, children, had been slain!
His triumph was short lived. Her fingers pressed fingernail tips into the tendons of his straining wrists and gently - gently? - began to wiggle and tap at the skin. Jax did not move in an effort to steady his breathing. What was this?
“Tell me, little piggy, when you were a boy did you have an older sister?” The princess began to drag her fingernails, which were decidedly tickling, slowly down the insides of either arm. The corporal did not respond to her as his nerves began to stand on edge; was she trying to tickle him? He was a decorated warrior soldier of the Pandoli tribesmen, Singer of War and father to eleven boys, most soldiers like him but one of them was in the healer’s academy. A healer! He was feared and celebrated in far away lands. And this woman meant to tickle him? It seemed ironic to laugh at the idea. Of course a woman would be too squeamish for the true art of torture.
“I have a younger brother,” the princess continued. “When he was a child I would hold his arms way above his head, like this, and tickle him all over. My brother, to this day, will not look me in the eye after the hours of begging and crying I forced from him even as we grew into adulthood. You men love your cutting and bone-breaking but then there is all that healing time. I find it boring. So tell me, are you ticklish, warrior?”
The wiggling nails danced in tiny circles as they spiraled down his bicep muscles. Jaxton felt better than he had in weeks. This woman meant to tickle his chin and speak to him as one to a baby! Such nonsense. He began to relax, his concern over the coming hours completely dispelled.
The princess tsk-tsked into his ear, the whoosh and vibration again chilling him. The fingers tickled down his arms and a single finger from each hand began to explore as if the fingers were curious noses.
“Always so cocky and assured, I can see by your body that you are not so worried. My brother would tell you to be more concerned. What about in this soft fuzz, hmm?” She nuzzed his ear with her lips and flicked below his earlobe with her tongue, a move that his wife used more than once to arouse him. He was angry that the tongue jolted his penis into tightening. The memory of his wife compounded his feelings but he did not dwell long on them as her fingertips began to snuffle about in the dark hair in his armpits. His belly clenched and he fought the reflex to pull on his arms; she could not see this bother him. He would not be tickled!
“Definitely don’t laugh, Jax. This first part is a wonderful game. If you laugh, I will tickle you hard and fast and without mercy until you are able to stay quiet for five seconds. Then I will return to this sweet, gentle tickling all over every. Last. Part of you. Whenever you laugh, I will dig in.” With one finger in each of his armpits, poking gently around in the hair while he struggled to steady his breathing and calm his twitching biceps. It did tickle - he had been tickled as a boy, but soon outgrew many of his peers and was no longer a victim. It was so childish! So annoying. He had no desire to laugh and wanted only to snarl at her, but remained still.
“Hmm, hmm. Not in these pits yet, hm? How about down here?” she cooed, scratching five nails on each hand delicately across his pec muscles. Muscles in his stomach clenched without his consent as she dragged ten fingernails inward, then back out to his ribcage, and inward again. His breath caught.
“Aha, we are not even halfway Corporal. Don’t give up now. Breathe in, and out.” She wiggled the nails behind his ribcage and back to the front, back again and front; the third time, his skin crawled and his breath caught again. Dammit! He tried to collect his mind and mediate the way he did to numb against the pain but he found the creeping of her hands to be unfairly distracting; the anticipation pulled his focus roughly away from his own mind.
The nails went back again, this time each hand crept along like a five-legged spider and she bit his right earlobe while whispering, “Tickle tickle corporal. I can seeee you twitching and squirming.” And front again, then a pause. “So soon, too. Sometimes men make it whole days before they break. Days and days of soft,” her fingers crawled backwards again, toward a shockingly sensitive spot directly under his scapula, “endless,” her fingertips reached the back of his ribs and tapped. Tapped. Tapped. He snerked into his gag.
“AHH!” Her cry of triumph scared the ever-living daylights out of him and his throat opened for a startled cry, which became a deep and impossible-to-control guffaw: she dug her fingertips into either side of his ribcage, pinching and pressing into the muscled flesh. The tickling was sudden and unbearable. Groaning, straining sounds poured from his lungs; tiny hiccups escaped but he was able to keep from outright laughing. At first.
She rapidly walked her fingers up into his armpits, now on fire from the nerve-tapping a second ago, and an endless groan devolved, to his dismay, into rolling laugher. She scratched with one finger on each hand, tsking and kissing the inside of his ear. The chills made him more sensitive! Damn the devil woman. She paused for one quick second and then dug all five fingers on each hand into each of his taut pits, clawing at them from the outside in.
“Gotcha! I gotcha, you big, stupid oaf. I’m going to make you piss all over this floor. Kitch kitch kitch, piggy! Squeal for your new queen! Kitch kitch koo!”
“MMMMMMFFFFFFF...HMMMMMM ERRRRRRFFF HUH HUH,” he hollered into the gag. The sound was heavily muffled by the increasingly-soaked rolled kerchief. She paused briefly and sank each hand into a pit again, skittering four fingers toward the shoulder so that she could press one thumb stiffly into the exhausted, sweaty hollows and wiggle them mercilessly. “MMMMM...MUUUHHUUHHUHH,” he protested, unable to recover from the intense tickling and unstoppable laughter.
As she pinched the tendon at the forefront of his fuzzy pit he struggled to breathe, the sensations overloading him. It began to dawn on him that this could go on forever. He would never need to recover, except to sleep. Corporal Jaxton felt, below bellowing hilarity deep in his gut, the tiniest tendril of icy panic. He could live to ripe old age like this....
As that thought occurred to him the hands paused again and then attacked his pecs with rapid, giddy pokes; she moved her head down from the side of his face to his left pec muscle and began, to his horror, to gnaw on the skin around his dark nipple. As her fingertips ran her hands backwards from the pecs to his spine, and forward again. And skittered back. He squealed and honked, finally unable to keep from shaking his body in a futile effort to escape the fingers. The ticklish biting of his nipple again zapped his lower belly and, in turn, he could feel his penis begin to rise.
“Atta boy! I knew you would just fall apart. The great Warrior Jaxton, nothing but a ticklish, helpless little boy. You were silent through weeks of hurt and I have nearly broken you in less than half an hour,” the princess gloated, having pulled away from his nipple. “You have got to pull it together, though, or I can’t stop. Then again, I don’t want you to tell me anything today.Or tomorrow. Or next month. Go ahead and try, though.”
She leaned in again while she tickled his armpits with all of her fingers, deftly crawling up and down, up and down, while he struggled to slow his breath enough to stop laughing. If he could, would she really stop all the poking?
She lowered her voice so he could barely hear her over his own yowling; her five-legged spider hands were creeping up his bicep muscles, now incredibly sensitive to her touches. And down again, the anticipation of their arrival in his ticklish pits causing his body to shake. He wanted to be angry but could only find laughter in his belly.
“I just want you to squeal. You little pig. Every day for the rest of our lives.” She pressed into the space where his armpit became ribcage, with creeping, slow finger walking, each touch radiating from her fingertips so that the skin an inch on either side vibrated with ticklish sensations. Jaxton squealed again and again as she poked, paused, poked again causing his whole body to convulse in wave after wave; he barely caught himself before he tried to beg her to give him a break. Beg?! It had been minutes!
Corporal Jaxton had not experienced anything close to this in his entire life. Her fingers worked over the top half of his torso without stopping - and all he wanted was a second to catch his breath. She only paused long enough for him to inhale half a break before tickling it back out of him again, and as long as her fingers touched him his body could only press the air out.
Ultimately, he was unable to stay quiet for the required length of time to slow the tickling until he was so exhausted that he simply could not make any more noise. The fingers finally ceased, after how long he did not know, and he felt his head spin. He felt as if he might lose consciousness. His body ached from the strain of partially dangling and the heaving laughter.
His break did not last long. The princess - no, she was right. Queen now - was moving, and he guessed based on her breathing that she had sat before him. This would put her face between his dangling, shackled feet and eye level to his exposed crotch and ass. He focused on pulling air into his lungs around the sobbing aftershock of intense, prolonged laughter.
“Guards, come.”
She gave no other command but he felt hands on his bare feet, yanking his toes backwards to pull the skin of his soles tight. Jaxton swallowed carefully, his breath just beginning to slow when the fingernails began to claw and drag at his heels. His muscles jumped from being startled but he found the tickling to be completely bearable and was briefly relieved. The nails tickled up until his arches, gently.
“Remember, Piggy, if you squeal I will attack you.” There was malicious delight in her voice. Jaxton was grateful that his feet did not seem to be particularly sensitive to tickles. She twirled her nails in circles closer to the balls of his feet and the tickling sensation began to return. Jaxton cursed in his mind but was still. “Kitch kitch kitch, I bet this piggy has ticklish piggy toes,” the queen teased as her servants adjusted their hold on his shackled feet so that the toes were pulled back but accessible.
His feet twitched involuntarily as she tickled the undersides of his toes, relentlessly and for longer than Jaxton believed he could hold out. But he did; although it tickled, it was not like his ribs and armpits. She then took her time tracing a single finger up the insides of his ankles and over his knees. He refused to wiggle away, although he almost lost as she rubbed her nails over his kneecaps, back, over again, and back.
She worked her tickling way downward to lightly tap and drag her nails on insides of his thighs. Up toward the knee. Back down to the softest part of the insides of his thighs. His skin crawled as her hands climbed away from his knees. The hairs on his legs stood on edge and his penis filled a little more.
Without warning, her fingernails rapidly, lightly tickled his ball sack and ass from under the chair. His body convulsed with the sudden intense waves of ticklish sensations as he tried to lift himself out of the chair, and a scream poured into the gag, muffled but hysterical. The guards dropped his feet, which flapped about wildly, the toes spreading as his body strained. “RRRRRRRAAAAAAHHHHHHUHUHUHUHHHHHHUHUHHHH! EERRRRRRHURRRHURRRRRHURRRR ungh ungh!!”
“Oh my what a ticklish little bottom this piggy has. Go ahead piggy, run away! Go go go!” The queen tormented him as his ass and balls swayed desperately; this was worse than his ribcage. The light tickles became sharp, ticklish pinches that sent unbearable jolts into his penis and up his body so that he felt as if lightning storms were rolling electrically across the plane of sensitive skin between his ass and balls. His body strained to get away from the sensations.
Jaxton still could not find his anger, but was distantly surprised to realize he felt as if he could cry. Tears were leaking from his eyes into the blindfold fabric from the strain of his laughter but a small wave of the desire to sob, another feeling he had not had since he was a small child, welled up in his chest. It all sounded the same to the new queen, who happily plucked the wrinkled skin of his scrotum while humming. She crawled her poking fingernails over his ass again and again, delighting in how he twisted himself away from her hands.
“Are you ready for what comes next, Jaxton?” His addled brain muddled its way through that sentence just in time to feel her jam her index finger and thumb into the pressed creases on either side of his penis and balls. She dug into the soft crevice and pinched roughly.
Corporal Jaxton had a split second to wish he would pass out before the tickling jolted through his body, arching his back and ripping a hilarious cry from deep in his belly. His penis stood up immediately and he could feel the head of it begin to slap against his belly where he was folded over it into the chair.
“EEEAHHHHHHUHHHUHHHHMMMMMMFFFFFFFFFOOHOHOHOHHHHMOOOOHHHOHO,” he howled, finally devolving into sobbing laughter. He may have wondered if the queen could tell the difference through the gag if he was able to form any thoughts. She alternated between pinch-tickling his ball sack, now right up to where it met his turgid penis, down and under it and then pulling it forward to scratch at the sensitive back. He sobbed and squealed, shaking his knees and pulling on his arms. Each of her hands took one ball and tickled it all over, front to back and underneath, poking while she teased him verbally about what a sensitive man he was.
Jaxton understood, finally, being tortured. He felt as if his body were on fire; he was unable to control even something as simple as his own breathing. After all he had endured he could not believe that being tickled would rip him open so thoroughly and he hated every second he was forced to laugh.
The queen began to dig her wiggling claws into his round ass cheeks, walking them to his lower back and the lower sides of his torso from under the chair while Jaxton’s body managed to locate previously untapped stores of energy to lend to his hilarity. She tickled and poked at his body where it was bent in half in the chair, the sides of his stomach muscles with wide pinches and sang, “Tickly tickly boy, what a happy prisoner! Try to calm down, Corporal, we have so much fun left for the day. AH kitchy kitchy kitchy - AHH kitchy kitchy!!” She pulled her hands back on the, “AH” and attacked with random, rapid muscle-deep pinching while he cackled and struggled into the gag. His whole body tense painfully for the onslaught with every impending “kitcky”.
“I can’t believe how ticklish you are! If only your soldiers could see you! AHHH kitchy kitchy kitchy!” He again began to cry around the laughter, the thought of his men seeing this humiliating scene far from any outcome he had ever imagined when he agreed to his mission so long ago.
When he was again so breathless he could not make a sound and desperately tried to lapse into unconsciousness, the queen again stopped her ministrations. She ordered the two guards to give Jaxton water and to adjust his bondage. They removed the gag and yanked back his head while he gasped for air, and after a few moments poured water into his open mouth - he choked and gagged on several bellyfulls of air and water. He then felt the shackles on his ankles released from the chair and, to his intense dismay and utter horror, they lifted him from of the chair hole and quickly drew his ankles backwards toward his shoulders. The shackles were locked into either side of the back of the chair while he dangled from the ceiling.
This exposed everything sensitive and private to him, including his swollen penis and, now, his winking asshole; his pits were still accessible, and his feet were upturned on either side of his head and arms. Relieved of his gag, Jaxton struggled to keep from sobbing at the thought of what could be done to him like this; he still could not see anything. The room was quiet but for his breathing and the water trickling in the hot spring; his breath eventually calmed, and even his penis began to soften while his body recovered its needed oxygen.
Although he knew it was coming he was unprepared for the feeling of tickling fingers again on his ballsack. He pressed his lips together and took a long, slow breath.
“Ah, ah, ah, Corporal. I can see that someone is enjoying this as much as I am.” She was speaking of his half-erect penis and as she spoke, walked two fingers from each hand over his balls and up his staff. It grew as she touched it despite his desperate attempts to calm it. She walked the fingers back down again, and back up; it did not tickle, but it was electric and titillating. Chills began to radiate from his crotch and he recalled how sensitive they left him in their wake.
“I know a secret about big strapping men and the little demons they keep in their trousers,” the queen said while she touched him. She grabbed his erect member and rubbed one finger around the leaky little hole at the top while he put everything he had into keeping his breathing even despite the involuntary muscle spasms jolting him. “The happier your demon is, Corporal, the more ticklish you become. I cannot wait to see the show I am sure this gigantic manhood will put on after hours and hours of attention.”
His toes flexed on either side of his head and he licked his lips. The queen pulled the skin back from his penis head and used the slippery liquid there to gently pinch two fingers and a thumb up and down the head. Up and down. He couldn’t help groaning - it was the briefest, jolting tickle followed by two full seconds of erotic ecstasy and Jaxton could not reconcile the two.
“Oh Corporal, what I can see of your face struggling to act like you will not break over, and and over again truly warms my heart. How do you like my attention, hmm? Just wait and see. What a big, strapping man no wonder you have so many sons! I wonder, are any of those men as ticklish as their father?” She began to stroke him, gently at first and then firmer and more rapidly; he tried to ignore the sensation but he was so broken down from the hours of laughter that he could not find one calm place in his mind. As his body reacted, so did she, bringing him to the edge and then slowing down; and again, and again. She kissed his testicles and rubbed his ass while his toes curled with wave after wave of sexual pleasure. Jaxton let out an involuntary moan and knew that he was finished.
An earth-shattering orgasm welled up and crashed out of him, his mouth opening to cry out with a masculine groan that was immediately interrupted by peals of squealing, high pitched belly laughing. The twin guards pulled his toes backwards and began to bite the bottoms of his upturned feet; it was stiff biting, not the gnawing that the queen used on his nipple. And it was devastating.
“UNNGGHHH … MmmmwwwaaaAAAAAAAAAAHHAAAAHAAAAHAAA….EEEE *cough* *gasp* No no no NO NO AAAHAHAH” - they started in the middle of his arches, down to the heels which were still less sensitive, and then back toward his toes. He began to beg as they reached the balls of his feet, their chomping teeth zapping his legs with tickling that went straight into the bone. He squealed, desperate to clench his toes while they dragged pointy teeth over the taut, red skin where his toes began. They took all five toes from each food into their mouths and bit and slurped the stems and in between while tracing stubby fingers up and down his tightened, hairy calf muscles and Jaxton lost his mind. “BWWAAAHAHAHAAAAA….AAAAHAHA...Ungh ungh unghgghhhmrrrraaaaAAWWWHAHAHAHANOOO!!!”
As they each only needed one hand to hold a foot, and their mouths to torment his toes, the guards tickled and prodded up and down his stretched, straining arms; they pinched and poked into his armpits and he shook his head, crying “OhGOOOOAAAHHHAHAHDDSAAAAAAANOOO NOT NOAAAHAA!!!”
The light, bearable tickling from before was a distant memory as he was newly sensitized by his rip-roaring climax. The queen allowed the guards a few minutes before she, too, joined in. She began to tickle his ass and balls again, over his softening penis, under his legs to his belly and ribs, back out to the backs of his knees; she pinched and squeezed the back of his quad muscles, which flexed and shook while he laughed and laughed. He thrashed when she again poked and pinched into the crevices on either side of his penis, wedged in between his thighs. Meanwhile the guards had turned their heads and were each grinding one struggling big toe in their molar teeth like jerky.
The queen sang while Jaxton did his best to turn himself inside out: “Kitchy kitchy Corporal! What wonderful fireworks! I think you hit the ceiling you silly boy! Getcha getcha, we are gonna getcha! How do you like those teeth, hmm? And you thought you were going to get off easy. Ha! Tickle tickle, how about these pits again hmm? Gitchy gitchy gitchy gitchy AHHH Gitchy gitchy, ah gitchy gitchy!
“NOOOOAAAHAASTAAAAHHHSTAAHHHAHAHAHA” he cried, his face twisting into sobs in between boughts of forced, hilarious laughter. “RRRAAWWWHAHAAAWWWHA Ungh UnnggghhhawwwWWWAAAHHH!!” The queen grabbed his penis again and pulled the skin back, exposing his shiny, spent head; she began to tug on it, this time rubbing the shiny head with her thumb. Jaxton exploded with renewed hysterical vigor, the head of his penis tickling so badly that his hands began to flail around involuntarily in their shackles above his head. He screamed bloody murder. The guards clawed and grabbed at his hairy armpits; they put their big mouths against his ribcage and nibbled and bit his sides.
“STAHPSTAHPSTAHPICAHHHAHAHAHNCAAAAAHAHANTAHHHHISURRENDERRR!” he cried, shaking his red face back and forth. She tickled his penis mercilessly while his pits and ribs were gnawed and nibbled.
The queen laughed. “There is no surrender, darling.” She pinched his penis head while he screamed and laughed until he orgasmed once more and then passed out.
End of Part I
Torturing the Warrior, part I (f/m, fm/m - noncon, sexual torture)
Corporal Jaxton spent two days chained and dirty on the floor of a dungeon cell before he heard footsteps and jangling keys making their way down the hallway. Two burly guards, a male and a female, entered the room and hoisted him up by his arms wordlessly. He stumbled into flickering candle lanterns between his escorts, barely able to lift his head but still able to note the strength it took to carry a man of his size. Someone had to move his dead weight when he had passed out from exhaustion; they had been torturing him for weeks.
At the end of the hallway, though, they took a right instead of a left - he had no idea what was down to the right. On the left was a room with a single wooden chair (frame, really) to which he had been chained several times. Despite their best malicious efforts he had managed to suffer his pain in near silence; he had only once cried out, losing consciousness before he finished the yell. When he woke up again he was in the cell, chained to the floor with nothing but a bucket of water.
Now, they climbed several flights of stairs after crossing a threshold and entered a beautiful, marbled suite of chambers. A hot spring bath steamed in the center of a cathedral antechamber; there was a long table piled high with hot, fresh meat, white cheeses and exotic fruits. The guards stopped midway into the room beside the hot spring and let him go - his exhausted body dropped onto the polished marble floor. They each clicked their heels, a sign of respect to someone so a fourth person was in the room; the guards each took one step back, placing him a step ahead. He waited without lifting his head, assuming they were saluting a Duke. Maybe even the Prince.
“Welcome, Corporal.” It was a woman’s voice. That he had not expected. What would a woman do with a prisoner of war? “Clean him up.” It was a command. “Then feed him.” After a few seconds of stunned silence he lifted his head to see her leaving the room, a cascade of hair so blonde it was nearly white cascading down her back like strings of snowflakes. The guards lifted him again and brought him to the pool, dunking him as gently as they were able into the hot water; he sucked his breath in as quietly as he could, but he knew they heard him.
“You’re in for a treat, soldier,” the female guard whispered to him. The sound of her voice was startling as they had not spoken a word. Palace guards were forbidden from conversation in public spaces while on duty - he was stunned that this woman dared to whisper to him in a royal chamber. “You are about to experience luxury that only the royal family knows.” She scooped water in her hand and trickled it over his shoulders while he struggled to remain quiet; it felt so good. The woman leaned closer and, with menace, added, “And when you are well, we will start all over again.”
His body cringed; he could not help it. Jax had been trained in this, his own regime had tortured him for several months to prepare him for possible capture. He would not tell them anything, he would endure until his body could no longer handle the trauma. Jaxton knew the danger of the mission he had been assigned when he volunteered, and his capture allowed the rest of his small band of selected warriors to escape with the maps they had stolen. If he said anything it would negate the value of the information they had taken; they would continue to torture him to death for nothing at all. Where was the honor in that? The gods would greet him smiling and clash their tankards together so that they sloshed; he would be honored in the afterlife. He would not break.
They coddled him for 211 days by his count, applying healing salves to his wounds and setting the broken bones so that they healed properly. The woman, the Princess of the Empire of Bastion as it turned out, checked on him from time to time, examining his healing injuries. She did not address him directly but it was clear that she was facilitating every move by his two guards; they were twins, he decided, blonde like the princess, and after the initial threat neither of them had spoken to him, either. They bathed him and swaddled him in hot wraps to help him heal, they had delicious, heaping meals brought to him with hot cider and foamy mugs of mead. He ate entire pork shoulders, roasted pheasant, stewed vegetables and honeyed breads. His wrists and ankles were constantly shackled and chained, padded towels wrapped around the metal to keep it from ripping the flesh to the bone; he was able to shuffle himself around on his own feet but was otherwise immobile. Corporal Jaxton ignored the impending torture as he grew stronger and considered the entire experience to be a reward for his hard work.
One day he awoke in a feather bed to the sun creeping through a crack in the curtains. When he sat up, his stomach sank; the chair from the dungeon, the chair he had been torture in for so long he could not count the sunrises, bad been placed in the center of the chamber. How had they bolted it into the floor without him waking?
The guards arrived shortly after and began their routine, undressing him for a bath. Today they trimmed his flowing hair and beard, tied the long locks back; they scrubbed his skin harshly, rubbing him slightly raw. Once he was dried they applied a cooling lotion to every inch of him, gruffly rubbing his genitals; he made brief eye contact with the male twin when his fingers reached behind Jaxton’s ball sack. He managed not to pull his legs together. Then they powdered him.
Inevitably they walked him to the chair, which consisted of a tall back and two arms, four legs, and a partial seat with a hole in the center where his sensitive privates dangled down. That forsaken hole; he refused to recall the details of his genital torture. Anxiety would do no good now. A long chain hung from a ceiling support beam in the chamber above the chair; he was made to stand in front of the chair and then they pushed him backwards, grinning malevolently as he lost his balance completely and thunked into the seatless chair, his ass and testicles protruding through the hole and his knees lifted high so his feet dangled slightly; he caught himself on his elbows using the chair arms as best he could. They collected the chain and yanked his shackled wrists directly over his head so that at first he sank more into the chair but he was then holding his own weight by his arms. Lastly they shackled his ankles to the legs of the chair to complete his immobilization. They blindfolded and gagged him and stood attention a few steps from his chair; he could tell by how they clicked their heels.
“Ah, Corporal,” the princess said. Her slippers made it constantly impossible for him to hear her coming and going; this wasn’t the first time she snuck up on him. That bothered him more than anything. “I am so pleased that this day has come. A man of your size requires more time to heal but I have so far found that it is well worth the wait.” He felt her fingers lightly tracing his body in various places as if she were admiring him. Her people hated his kind and the feeling was mutual - she had likely encountered hundreds or thousands of his people before him. He did not understand why she would touch at all.
Suddenly her voice was immediately beside his right ear, pressed between his face and his upstretched arm; her breath and the vibrations of her throat sent alarming chills down his whole body. “I am very much looking forward to our time together, Jaxton, strung up like a prized hog as you are. Your people have killed my father and I seek to make you squeal.” He was filled with elation at this news and felt a renewed determination to suffer his plight in silence. The Bastion King was dead! A man who had ordered the slaughter of his people, children, had been slain!
His triumph was short lived. Her fingers pressed fingernail tips into the tendons of his straining wrists and gently - gently? - began to wiggle and tap at the skin. Jax did not move in an effort to steady his breathing. What was this?
“Tell me, little piggy, when you were a boy did you have an older sister?” The princess began to drag her fingernails, which were decidedly tickling, slowly down the insides of either arm. The corporal did not respond to her as his nerves began to stand on edge; was she trying to tickle him? He was a decorated warrior soldier of the Pandoli tribesmen, Singer of War and father to eleven boys, most soldiers like him but one of them was in the healer’s academy. A healer! He was feared and celebrated in far away lands. And this woman meant to tickle him? It seemed ironic to laugh at the idea. Of course a woman would be too squeamish for the true art of torture.
“I have a younger brother,” the princess continued. “When he was a child I would hold his arms way above his head, like this, and tickle him all over. My brother, to this day, will not look me in the eye after the hours of begging and crying I forced from him even as we grew into adulthood. You men love your cutting and bone-breaking but then there is all that healing time. I find it boring. So tell me, are you ticklish, warrior?”
The wiggling nails danced in tiny circles as they spiraled down his bicep muscles. Jaxton felt better than he had in weeks. This woman meant to tickle his chin and speak to him as one to a baby! Such nonsense. He began to relax, his concern over the coming hours completely dispelled.
The princess tsk-tsked into his ear, the whoosh and vibration again chilling him. The fingers tickled down his arms and a single finger from each hand began to explore as if the fingers were curious noses.
“Always so cocky and assured, I can see by your body that you are not so worried. My brother would tell you to be more concerned. What about in this soft fuzz, hmm?” She nuzzed his ear with her lips and flicked below his earlobe with her tongue, a move that his wife used more than once to arouse him. He was angry that the tongue jolted his penis into tightening. The memory of his wife compounded his feelings but he did not dwell long on them as her fingertips began to snuffle about in the dark hair in his armpits. His belly clenched and he fought the reflex to pull on his arms; she could not see this bother him. He would not be tickled!
“Definitely don’t laugh, Jax. This first part is a wonderful game. If you laugh, I will tickle you hard and fast and without mercy until you are able to stay quiet for five seconds. Then I will return to this sweet, gentle tickling all over every. Last. Part of you. Whenever you laugh, I will dig in.” With one finger in each of his armpits, poking gently around in the hair while he struggled to steady his breathing and calm his twitching biceps. It did tickle - he had been tickled as a boy, but soon outgrew many of his peers and was no longer a victim. It was so childish! So annoying. He had no desire to laugh and wanted only to snarl at her, but remained still.
“Hmm, hmm. Not in these pits yet, hm? How about down here?” she cooed, scratching five nails on each hand delicately across his pec muscles. Muscles in his stomach clenched without his consent as she dragged ten fingernails inward, then back out to his ribcage, and inward again. His breath caught.
“Aha, we are not even halfway Corporal. Don’t give up now. Breathe in, and out.” She wiggled the nails behind his ribcage and back to the front, back again and front; the third time, his skin crawled and his breath caught again. Dammit! He tried to collect his mind and mediate the way he did to numb against the pain but he found the creeping of her hands to be unfairly distracting; the anticipation pulled his focus roughly away from his own mind.
The nails went back again, this time each hand crept along like a five-legged spider and she bit his right earlobe while whispering, “Tickle tickle corporal. I can seeee you twitching and squirming.” And front again, then a pause. “So soon, too. Sometimes men make it whole days before they break. Days and days of soft,” her fingers crawled backwards again, toward a shockingly sensitive spot directly under his scapula, “endless,” her fingertips reached the back of his ribs and tapped. Tapped. Tapped. He snerked into his gag.
“AHH!” Her cry of triumph scared the ever-living daylights out of him and his throat opened for a startled cry, which became a deep and impossible-to-control guffaw: she dug her fingertips into either side of his ribcage, pinching and pressing into the muscled flesh. The tickling was sudden and unbearable. Groaning, straining sounds poured from his lungs; tiny hiccups escaped but he was able to keep from outright laughing. At first.
She rapidly walked her fingers up into his armpits, now on fire from the nerve-tapping a second ago, and an endless groan devolved, to his dismay, into rolling laugher. She scratched with one finger on each hand, tsking and kissing the inside of his ear. The chills made him more sensitive! Damn the devil woman. She paused for one quick second and then dug all five fingers on each hand into each of his taut pits, clawing at them from the outside in.
“Gotcha! I gotcha, you big, stupid oaf. I’m going to make you piss all over this floor. Kitch kitch kitch, piggy! Squeal for your new queen! Kitch kitch koo!”
“MMMMMMFFFFFFF...HMMMMMM ERRRRRRFFF HUH HUH,” he hollered into the gag. The sound was heavily muffled by the increasingly-soaked rolled kerchief. She paused briefly and sank each hand into a pit again, skittering four fingers toward the shoulder so that she could press one thumb stiffly into the exhausted, sweaty hollows and wiggle them mercilessly. “MMMMM...MUUUHHUUHHUHH,” he protested, unable to recover from the intense tickling and unstoppable laughter.
As she pinched the tendon at the forefront of his fuzzy pit he struggled to breathe, the sensations overloading him. It began to dawn on him that this could go on forever. He would never need to recover, except to sleep. Corporal Jaxton felt, below bellowing hilarity deep in his gut, the tiniest tendril of icy panic. He could live to ripe old age like this....
As that thought occurred to him the hands paused again and then attacked his pecs with rapid, giddy pokes; she moved her head down from the side of his face to his left pec muscle and began, to his horror, to gnaw on the skin around his dark nipple. As her fingertips ran her hands backwards from the pecs to his spine, and forward again. And skittered back. He squealed and honked, finally unable to keep from shaking his body in a futile effort to escape the fingers. The ticklish biting of his nipple again zapped his lower belly and, in turn, he could feel his penis begin to rise.
“Atta boy! I knew you would just fall apart. The great Warrior Jaxton, nothing but a ticklish, helpless little boy. You were silent through weeks of hurt and I have nearly broken you in less than half an hour,” the princess gloated, having pulled away from his nipple. “You have got to pull it together, though, or I can’t stop. Then again, I don’t want you to tell me anything today.Or tomorrow. Or next month. Go ahead and try, though.”
She leaned in again while she tickled his armpits with all of her fingers, deftly crawling up and down, up and down, while he struggled to slow his breath enough to stop laughing. If he could, would she really stop all the poking?
She lowered her voice so he could barely hear her over his own yowling; her five-legged spider hands were creeping up his bicep muscles, now incredibly sensitive to her touches. And down again, the anticipation of their arrival in his ticklish pits causing his body to shake. He wanted to be angry but could only find laughter in his belly.
“I just want you to squeal. You little pig. Every day for the rest of our lives.” She pressed into the space where his armpit became ribcage, with creeping, slow finger walking, each touch radiating from her fingertips so that the skin an inch on either side vibrated with ticklish sensations. Jaxton squealed again and again as she poked, paused, poked again causing his whole body to convulse in wave after wave; he barely caught himself before he tried to beg her to give him a break. Beg?! It had been minutes!
Corporal Jaxton had not experienced anything close to this in his entire life. Her fingers worked over the top half of his torso without stopping - and all he wanted was a second to catch his breath. She only paused long enough for him to inhale half a break before tickling it back out of him again, and as long as her fingers touched him his body could only press the air out.
Ultimately, he was unable to stay quiet for the required length of time to slow the tickling until he was so exhausted that he simply could not make any more noise. The fingers finally ceased, after how long he did not know, and he felt his head spin. He felt as if he might lose consciousness. His body ached from the strain of partially dangling and the heaving laughter.
His break did not last long. The princess - no, she was right. Queen now - was moving, and he guessed based on her breathing that she had sat before him. This would put her face between his dangling, shackled feet and eye level to his exposed crotch and ass. He focused on pulling air into his lungs around the sobbing aftershock of intense, prolonged laughter.
“Guards, come.”
She gave no other command but he felt hands on his bare feet, yanking his toes backwards to pull the skin of his soles tight. Jaxton swallowed carefully, his breath just beginning to slow when the fingernails began to claw and drag at his heels. His muscles jumped from being startled but he found the tickling to be completely bearable and was briefly relieved. The nails tickled up until his arches, gently.
“Remember, Piggy, if you squeal I will attack you.” There was malicious delight in her voice. Jaxton was grateful that his feet did not seem to be particularly sensitive to tickles. She twirled her nails in circles closer to the balls of his feet and the tickling sensation began to return. Jaxton cursed in his mind but was still. “Kitch kitch kitch, I bet this piggy has ticklish piggy toes,” the queen teased as her servants adjusted their hold on his shackled feet so that the toes were pulled back but accessible.
His feet twitched involuntarily as she tickled the undersides of his toes, relentlessly and for longer than Jaxton believed he could hold out. But he did; although it tickled, it was not like his ribs and armpits. She then took her time tracing a single finger up the insides of his ankles and over his knees. He refused to wiggle away, although he almost lost as she rubbed her nails over his kneecaps, back, over again, and back.
She worked her tickling way downward to lightly tap and drag her nails on insides of his thighs. Up toward the knee. Back down to the softest part of the insides of his thighs. His skin crawled as her hands climbed away from his knees. The hairs on his legs stood on edge and his penis filled a little more.
Without warning, her fingernails rapidly, lightly tickled his ball sack and ass from under the chair. His body convulsed with the sudden intense waves of ticklish sensations as he tried to lift himself out of the chair, and a scream poured into the gag, muffled but hysterical. The guards dropped his feet, which flapped about wildly, the toes spreading as his body strained. “RRRRRRRAAAAAAHHHHHHUHUHUHUHHHHHHUHUHHHH! EERRRRRRHURRRHURRRRRHURRRR ungh ungh!!”
“Oh my what a ticklish little bottom this piggy has. Go ahead piggy, run away! Go go go!” The queen tormented him as his ass and balls swayed desperately; this was worse than his ribcage. The light tickles became sharp, ticklish pinches that sent unbearable jolts into his penis and up his body so that he felt as if lightning storms were rolling electrically across the plane of sensitive skin between his ass and balls. His body strained to get away from the sensations.
Jaxton still could not find his anger, but was distantly surprised to realize he felt as if he could cry. Tears were leaking from his eyes into the blindfold fabric from the strain of his laughter but a small wave of the desire to sob, another feeling he had not had since he was a small child, welled up in his chest. It all sounded the same to the new queen, who happily plucked the wrinkled skin of his scrotum while humming. She crawled her poking fingernails over his ass again and again, delighting in how he twisted himself away from her hands.
“Are you ready for what comes next, Jaxton?” His addled brain muddled its way through that sentence just in time to feel her jam her index finger and thumb into the pressed creases on either side of his penis and balls. She dug into the soft crevice and pinched roughly.
Corporal Jaxton had a split second to wish he would pass out before the tickling jolted through his body, arching his back and ripping a hilarious cry from deep in his belly. His penis stood up immediately and he could feel the head of it begin to slap against his belly where he was folded over it into the chair.
“EEEAHHHHHHUHHHUHHHHMMMMMMFFFFFFFFFOOHOHOHOHHHHMOOOOHHHOHO,” he howled, finally devolving into sobbing laughter. He may have wondered if the queen could tell the difference through the gag if he was able to form any thoughts. She alternated between pinch-tickling his ball sack, now right up to where it met his turgid penis, down and under it and then pulling it forward to scratch at the sensitive back. He sobbed and squealed, shaking his knees and pulling on his arms. Each of her hands took one ball and tickled it all over, front to back and underneath, poking while she teased him verbally about what a sensitive man he was.
Jaxton understood, finally, being tortured. He felt as if his body were on fire; he was unable to control even something as simple as his own breathing. After all he had endured he could not believe that being tickled would rip him open so thoroughly and he hated every second he was forced to laugh.
The queen began to dig her wiggling claws into his round ass cheeks, walking them to his lower back and the lower sides of his torso from under the chair while Jaxton’s body managed to locate previously untapped stores of energy to lend to his hilarity. She tickled and poked at his body where it was bent in half in the chair, the sides of his stomach muscles with wide pinches and sang, “Tickly tickly boy, what a happy prisoner! Try to calm down, Corporal, we have so much fun left for the day. AH kitchy kitchy kitchy - AHH kitchy kitchy!!” She pulled her hands back on the, “AH” and attacked with random, rapid muscle-deep pinching while he cackled and struggled into the gag. His whole body tense painfully for the onslaught with every impending “kitcky”.
“I can’t believe how ticklish you are! If only your soldiers could see you! AHHH kitchy kitchy kitchy!” He again began to cry around the laughter, the thought of his men seeing this humiliating scene far from any outcome he had ever imagined when he agreed to his mission so long ago.
When he was again so breathless he could not make a sound and desperately tried to lapse into unconsciousness, the queen again stopped her ministrations. She ordered the two guards to give Jaxton water and to adjust his bondage. They removed the gag and yanked back his head while he gasped for air, and after a few moments poured water into his open mouth - he choked and gagged on several bellyfulls of air and water. He then felt the shackles on his ankles released from the chair and, to his intense dismay and utter horror, they lifted him from of the chair hole and quickly drew his ankles backwards toward his shoulders. The shackles were locked into either side of the back of the chair while he dangled from the ceiling.
This exposed everything sensitive and private to him, including his swollen penis and, now, his winking asshole; his pits were still accessible, and his feet were upturned on either side of his head and arms. Relieved of his gag, Jaxton struggled to keep from sobbing at the thought of what could be done to him like this; he still could not see anything. The room was quiet but for his breathing and the water trickling in the hot spring; his breath eventually calmed, and even his penis began to soften while his body recovered its needed oxygen.
Although he knew it was coming he was unprepared for the feeling of tickling fingers again on his ballsack. He pressed his lips together and took a long, slow breath.
“Ah, ah, ah, Corporal. I can see that someone is enjoying this as much as I am.” She was speaking of his half-erect penis and as she spoke, walked two fingers from each hand over his balls and up his staff. It grew as she touched it despite his desperate attempts to calm it. She walked the fingers back down again, and back up; it did not tickle, but it was electric and titillating. Chills began to radiate from his crotch and he recalled how sensitive they left him in their wake.
“I know a secret about big strapping men and the little demons they keep in their trousers,” the queen said while she touched him. She grabbed his erect member and rubbed one finger around the leaky little hole at the top while he put everything he had into keeping his breathing even despite the involuntary muscle spasms jolting him. “The happier your demon is, Corporal, the more ticklish you become. I cannot wait to see the show I am sure this gigantic manhood will put on after hours and hours of attention.”
His toes flexed on either side of his head and he licked his lips. The queen pulled the skin back from his penis head and used the slippery liquid there to gently pinch two fingers and a thumb up and down the head. Up and down. He couldn’t help groaning - it was the briefest, jolting tickle followed by two full seconds of erotic ecstasy and Jaxton could not reconcile the two.
“Oh Corporal, what I can see of your face struggling to act like you will not break over, and and over again truly warms my heart. How do you like my attention, hmm? Just wait and see. What a big, strapping man no wonder you have so many sons! I wonder, are any of those men as ticklish as their father?” She began to stroke him, gently at first and then firmer and more rapidly; he tried to ignore the sensation but he was so broken down from the hours of laughter that he could not find one calm place in his mind. As his body reacted, so did she, bringing him to the edge and then slowing down; and again, and again. She kissed his testicles and rubbed his ass while his toes curled with wave after wave of sexual pleasure. Jaxton let out an involuntary moan and knew that he was finished.
An earth-shattering orgasm welled up and crashed out of him, his mouth opening to cry out with a masculine groan that was immediately interrupted by peals of squealing, high pitched belly laughing. The twin guards pulled his toes backwards and began to bite the bottoms of his upturned feet; it was stiff biting, not the gnawing that the queen used on his nipple. And it was devastating.
“UNNGGHHH … MmmmwwwaaaAAAAAAAAAAHHAAAAHAAAAHAAA….EEEE *cough* *gasp* No no no NO NO AAAHAHAH” - they started in the middle of his arches, down to the heels which were still less sensitive, and then back toward his toes. He began to beg as they reached the balls of his feet, their chomping teeth zapping his legs with tickling that went straight into the bone. He squealed, desperate to clench his toes while they dragged pointy teeth over the taut, red skin where his toes began. They took all five toes from each food into their mouths and bit and slurped the stems and in between while tracing stubby fingers up and down his tightened, hairy calf muscles and Jaxton lost his mind. “BWWAAAHAHAHAAAAA….AAAAHAHA...Ungh ungh unghgghhhmrrrraaaaAAWWWHAHAHAHANOOO!!!”
As they each only needed one hand to hold a foot, and their mouths to torment his toes, the guards tickled and prodded up and down his stretched, straining arms; they pinched and poked into his armpits and he shook his head, crying “OhGOOOOAAAHHHAHAHDDSAAAAAAANOOO NOT NOAAAHAA!!!”
The light, bearable tickling from before was a distant memory as he was newly sensitized by his rip-roaring climax. The queen allowed the guards a few minutes before she, too, joined in. She began to tickle his ass and balls again, over his softening penis, under his legs to his belly and ribs, back out to the backs of his knees; she pinched and squeezed the back of his quad muscles, which flexed and shook while he laughed and laughed. He thrashed when she again poked and pinched into the crevices on either side of his penis, wedged in between his thighs. Meanwhile the guards had turned their heads and were each grinding one struggling big toe in their molar teeth like jerky.
The queen sang while Jaxton did his best to turn himself inside out: “Kitchy kitchy Corporal! What wonderful fireworks! I think you hit the ceiling you silly boy! Getcha getcha, we are gonna getcha! How do you like those teeth, hmm? And you thought you were going to get off easy. Ha! Tickle tickle, how about these pits again hmm? Gitchy gitchy gitchy gitchy AHHH Gitchy gitchy, ah gitchy gitchy!
“NOOOOAAAHAASTAAAAHHHSTAAHHHAHAHAHA” he cried, his face twisting into sobs in between boughts of forced, hilarious laughter. “RRRAAWWWHAHAAAWWWHA Ungh UnnggghhhawwwWWWAAAHHH!!” The queen grabbed his penis again and pulled the skin back, exposing his shiny, spent head; she began to tug on it, this time rubbing the shiny head with her thumb. Jaxton exploded with renewed hysterical vigor, the head of his penis tickling so badly that his hands began to flail around involuntarily in their shackles above his head. He screamed bloody murder. The guards clawed and grabbed at his hairy armpits; they put their big mouths against his ribcage and nibbled and bit his sides.
“STAHPSTAHPSTAHPICAHHHAHAHAHNCAAAAAHAHANTAHHHHISURRENDERRR!” he cried, shaking his red face back and forth. She tickled his penis mercilessly while his pits and ribs were gnawed and nibbled.
The queen laughed. “There is no surrender, darling.” She pinched his penis head while he screamed and laughed until he orgasmed once more and then passed out.
End of Part I
