A story written as part of a commission trade with Quillsman from DeviantArt.
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As far as Ingtyn was concerned, an infiltration into another nation’s capital was a serious affair. After all, the demonic hordes that constituted the Gargalisma Empire’s standing army were strong enough that all of the rest of the known races joining hands to fight them off together had barely proven enough to hold their ground. It made sense to the battle hardened dwarven warrior that a mission sending less than half a dozen select individuals to strike directly at the Demon Queen herself would be nothing short of suicide for anyone who wasn’t operating at the utmost peak of their focus and discipline. Evidently though, she was the only one in her party who thought so.
Ingtyn Ironfinder took pride in her professionalism. “Fast, Certain, Reliable” had been how she’d advertised herself back when she’d been adventuring alone and she would deck anyone who tried to make her drop it now. Anybody who wanted to make certain that the job got done was told to look out for a 120 cm tall dwarven woman with shoulder length braided brown hair and draconic tattoos running down her arm. She wasn’t the prettiest, being at best “handsome, considering the circumstances”, but Ingtyn was willing to settle for being reliable. A part of her had always hoped that anyone who saw her masterwork plate armor and mythril sword from behind would be confident that she’d be able to find a way out no matter how sticky the situation got.
The dwarf winced hearing a burst of feminine laughter behind her. She stopped peeking around the corner at the next hallway they’d need to traverse in favor of shooting the three women following her a glare. None of the others seemed to be taking this seriously. They couldn’t even be bothered to take cover for gods’ sake, instead casually strolling down the hallway chatting amongst themselves like they were out on a weekend shopping spree.
“Will you please focus? We’re on a mission here,” Ingtyn hissed at them just loudly enough for her voice to carry. It irritated her that only one of them had the good grace to look ashamed at her admonishment.
“Aw, don’t get so upset, Boss,” Ghorza called back without the slightest regard for where they were. The fact that the amazonian half-orc rogue didn’t even have her daggers out, instead keeping her fingers casually laced behind her head, was especially grating. “We’ve whipped Empy and her precious Uggo before. She’s never put up anything we couldn’t put back down. There’s no reason we can’t handle her again.” Ingtyn cranked up her glare to the third most withering she could.
“Yes, you’re right. This isn’t our first run in with Demon Queen Empyrean and Dark Goddess Ugrogeth. That’s the problem. She’ll remember how we fight. No doubt she’s set up countermeasures against us this time.”
“I think what Empyrean is going to remember most is the lashing Ammy gave her bare behind last time.” The comment came from the group’s mage, Lolkhe Firetalons, who accompanied it with a snicker. As far as Ingtyn’s standards of professionalism went, Lolkhe was at least above Ghorza for this mission. The mage had the good sense to keep one of her magical wands clutched in one hand and the great dragon wings sprouting out of her back folded out of everyone else’s way. Her free hand was positioned at the Bag of Holding on her waist in case she ever needed to reach in for one of the myriad magical items contained inside. That didn’t excuse the fact that she was laughing and cracking jokes in the middle of enemy territory though. “I didn’t know our little Ammy was into that sort of thing!” she joked with a playful nudge at the angel-winged woman walking at her side.
“I was only disciplining her as the church had taught me.” A slight blush was making its way across Amaliel Lightsong’s face and she seemed to be having some trouble looking anyone in the eye at the moment. Ingtyn always had to remind herself that Amaliel, like many Aasimar, was a member of the Church of the Guiding Light. In her case, she’d chosen to become a holy warrior purging evil from the world as a paladin rather than remain cloistered in the abbey as a priestess. Such raunchy jokes never went across well with her. The angel-winged, silver-haired beauty was more than a bit of a stick in the mud most of the time, but at the moment the Dwarven warrior was grateful for her reserved nature. Amaliel was the only one of the three who seemed to be paying any attention to her surroundings. In spite of the other two’s best efforts, the Aasimar was remaining relatively quiet while actively looking around for signs of trap or ambush.
Which wasn’t to say that the angel didn’t have a more wild side to her. Ingtyn heavily suspected that their paladin was a bit more into BDSM than she was willing to admit. The Dwarf remembered the incident Lolkhe was referring to better than she liked. The last time they’d foiled Empyrean’s plans at summoning her Goddess, Amaliel had declared that a simple defeat wasn’t enough to teach her a lesson. She had forcibly bound the black-winged Demon Queen’s hands behind her back with a length of rope, wrestled her into laying stomach down across her lap, pulled off her captive’s panties, and proceeded to give the fallen angel a bare bottom spanking of epic proportions. No amount of ale had been able to help Ingtyn forget the look of aroused euphoria that had come across Amaliel’s face as she’d spanked Empyrean until the angelic queen of demonkind had been too choked with tears of pain and humiliation to intelligibly beg her to stop anymore.
“Ohhhh? If I’d known the church was that kinky, I’d have joined up long ago! Can I request you to ‘discipline’ me for being a naughty girl if I show up, Ammy?” The raucous laughter that followed the quip was the final straw for Ingtyn. She drew herself up to her full 120 cm height intent on scolding her party members for treating their mission so lightly.
Said tonguelashing never had a chance to leave her throat. A small pinprick of light had formed a few meters above the ground in the middle of the adventuring party. None of them had enough time to do much more than register that it was there before it suddenly exploded. Ingtyn wasn’t fast enough in shielding her eyes with her arms to prevent her vision from going white from the ensuing blast of blinding light. The cries of shock and pain made her vaguely aware through her own eye-searing pain that none of her companions had been any more fortunate.
Whoever had launched the surprise attack was relentless in taking advantage of their opening. Less than a second passed between the blinding light and Ingtyn feeling something impact her breastplate to send her tumbling backwards. Except instead of crashing onto the cold stone beneath like she would’ve normally expected, Ingtyn found herself falling. It took several seconds of plunging through thin air before she felt her back slam into something.
The dwarven woman rolled onto her hands and knees with a cough. She was having trouble breathing. The blow had left a dent in her breastplate that was in turn applying pressure to her sternum. On the bright side, whoever had attacked them wasn’t continuing to chase her down. Ingtyn was too seasoned a warrior to let the opportunity pass. She fumbled around blindly to undo the leather straps holding together her breastplate. Taking off her armor to leave her in just a thin jerkin and relatively lightly armored leggings certainly wasn’t ideal when they were under attack, but then again neither was letting herself suffocate to death from allowing the heavy armor to continue compressing her ribcage.
Something was wrong though. Ingtyn was still recovering from the blinding flash, but all of her other senses were screaming at her that something was off. She couldn’t hear any sounds of her companions fighting. Rather than the hard stone they’d been walking across before, the sensation under her knees was more akin to kneeling in sand. The experienced warrior rubbed the dancing molts of light out of her eyes with her forearms.
Regaining her vision confirmed her worst fears. Ingtyn wasn’t in the Demon Queen’s castle anymore. While she’d been in a stone hallway barely a minute ago, she now found herself in the middle of a grand colosseum’s arena. A groan escaped her lips. She suspected that her attacker hadn’t just knocked her down, they’d launched her through a portal to another location entirely. It was a foul tactic to be sure. Ingtyn was confident she could come up with a strategy to beat anything that came within arm’s reach. There wasn’t much she could do if they’d sent her too far away to get back in the fight. It was such a nasty trick that she was going to have to write it down for later after she got back.
But first, she’d have to beat down everything in her way. Ingtyn wasn’t alone in the arena. A pure white humanoid figure resembling a mannequin was standing holding an ax a dozen or so meters away from her. A score more were forming a wide ring around both of them. Ingtyn balled her hands into fists and took a guard stance. Her enchanted mythril sword had vanished out of her hand at some point while she’d been falling, but that was alright. This entire situation was leaving her in a sour mood. Getting to punch something would make for some decent stress relief.
Ingtyn had been expecting the group of mannequins to converge on her together. The one holding the ax rushing her alone had also been a possibility a bit lower down the scale. What she hadn’t been anticipating at all was for her opponent to toss its weapon to her with a jerk of its arm. The dwarven woman raised an eyebrow at the ax clattering to a stop right at her feet.
“Fight.” Though it had no features with which to talk, the words came echoing out of the mannequin that had thrown her the weapon.
“What sort of daft fool gives their opponent their weapon?” Ingtyn asked aloud. Not that she was about to turn down the offer of making killing them easier. The experienced warrior hooked the ax handle under her foot and kicked it up to grab out of the air. In the same smooth motion, Ingtyn leaned forward to launch herself into a sprint straight at the mannequin in front of her. While short and stubby, her dwarven legs were powerful enough close the distance in less than a second to bring the ax blade crashing down on her opponent’s shoulder.
At least, that’s how she’d expected it to play out. The ax blade had come within centimeters of contact when the mannequin’s features began to change. Its body roiled and shifted, splitting in half to allow the blow to harmlessly pass through it before reforming into its humanoid shape. Ingtyn didn’t have time to draw her weapon back to defend herself before one of the mannequin’s hands darted forward to squeeze her side in a pincer grip. The dwarven woman let out a yelp of surprise and jumped back out of range.
“Don’t run. Fight,” the booming voice of the mannequin echoed out again. Ingtyn rubbed her side. She hadn’t expected it to do that. Her side still tinged with the little electric ticklish sensations. She grimaced while readying her ax again. The proud dwarven warrior wasn’t going to let something as inconsequential as a quick tickle dissuade her from chopping their heads off in retaliation. Once again, she charged at her opponent.
This time, she was better prepared for her charge to fail. The horizontal swing that was supposed to bisect the mannequin at the waist went sailing through thin air thanks to the thing unnaturally warping backwards to throw its hips out of reach. The dwarven woman braced herself seeing the hands lash out to slip inside the space between her arms and ribs. She grit her teeth feeling the fingers dig into her armpits and begin wiggling around inside. The ticklish jolts the fingers extracted weren’t nearly so bad that she couldn’t power through to reverse the course of her ax and bring it screaming back in to collide with her assailant’s ribcage in an upward stroke.
Ingtyn had been hoping that the mannequin wouldn’t be able to attack and morph itself out of the way of her counter at the same time. That didn’t prove to be the case. Instead of changing shape to avoid the blow, the shapeshifter bent to the side and hardened itself, all while continuing to dig its fingers into Ingtyn’s armpits. Ingtyn’s ax glanced harmlessly off its side to go sailing up into the air.
A giggle escaped the dwarven woman’s lips. Her armpits weren’t as ticklish as her sides, but they were still sensitive enough that she couldn’t hold in her laughter through a sustained attack like this. The momentum of her swing had carried her arms above her head following the ax. Her opponent’s fingers went wild scrabbling against the fabric of her jerkin all over her armpits for a few seconds before diving down to dig into her stomach.
The dwarven woman backpedaled trying to escape the tickles again. She wasn’t so lucky this time. The mannequin pursued her to continue tapping its fingers all over her tummy. Her stomach proved to be a gold mine under its fingers. Ingtyn’s giggles were growing heavier by the second.
“Don’t run. Fight!” the mannequin commanded again.
“Fuhuck you! Stohop ticklihing mehehe!” Ingtyn cried. She needed to put space between her and her attacker. The ax wasn’t doing her much good when it was pressing in close like this. The dwarf continued to backpedal until she ran straight until she ran into one of the mannequins in the circle behind her. She glanced back in shock feeling a pair of hands wrap around her shoulder. In her desperation to get away from the tickling fingers, she’d completely forgotten that they were there.
“Let me go!” she yelled, but it wasn’t like they were about to start listening to her now. The one that had its hands around her shoulders began to wrestle her to the ground. Ingtyn did what she could to struggle out of its grasp. A powerful twist of her hips nearly allowed her to break free, but a second set of hands grabbed onto her arm. The mannequin off to the side had joined in on restraining her. More and more hands were grabbing at the dwarf’s limbs until she was wrestled into laying spread eagle on the ground with featureless mannequins pinning down her limbs. Hands were grabbing at her jerkin to drag it over her head. More still reached in to snap open the bra containing her C-cup breasts beneath, leaving Ingtyn suddenly topless .
“You ran. Punish.” The one she’d originally been fighting was advancing forward with wiggling fingers.
“Get away from me you freaks!” Ingtyn did her best to kick and struggle against the multitude of hands holding her down. It was pointless though. There were too many keeping her from escaping the hands making their way down to her exposed stomach.
“My my… I thought you’d last a little longer than that, Ingtyn Ironfinder.” Ingtyn’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets with surprise. A form had materialized out of thin air behind the mannequins holding her down. It was an incredibly beautiful angel with black wings and silver hair flowing down to the small of her back. She wore a shoulderless, backless, high low dress that started just high enough to cover her D-cup breasts going down to barely reach her thighs. The dresses’ hem falling around her legs looked like they’d been torn up on purpose, like its designer had been hellbent on making “sexilly tattered” a term. A pair of black lace nylons covered her long legs up leaving just the barest amount of flesh between her leggings and dress to tantalize the eyes. Ingtyn only knew of one non-prostitute angel who walked around on the daily dressed in such a provocative manner: Empyrean Lightsbane, the Demon Queen.
“You!” was all Ingtyn managed to spit out before screwing her mouth shut. It was proving hard to come up with a biting insult when a pair of wiggling fingers had just made contact with her exposed stomach. She’d needed to grit her teeth from giggling like an idiot in front of the woman she had been sent to subdue. Empyrean gave her a mocking grin at her plight.
“Tickles, doesn’t it?” the angelic Demon Queen cooed. “Don’t worry if it doesn’t tickle badly enough yet. These children are designed to learn as they go. I’m certain they’ll have you laughing up a storm in no time.” Empyrean reached out one of her slender hands to give the tickling mannequin an almost loving rub on the head.
Ingtyn couldn’t suppress a yelp. True to Empyrean’s words, the mannequin’s flailing fingers were growing more refined with each stroke. Every time it made contact with a spot on her stomach that made her jump, it would focus one of its hands on experimenting with it. Currently, her tormentor was rubbing the thumb of one hand into a bad spot halfway between her belly button and side while the other wiggled its fingers all across her tummy in search of another place to exploit. Ingtyn felt like she was about to explode. Her laughter was building up inside of her to almost critical levels. If it tickled any more than this then not even a dwarf as strong willed as she would be able to control herself.
The tipping point came from the dwarven woman feeling her heavy boots get yanked off. At first she ignored it. Years of walking across the continent fighting demons had left her feet a solid block of calluses. There was no way in her mind that her feet would be ticklish. Which is why it completely caught her off-guard when she felt 20 fingers drag their way up the pliable, baby soft flesh of her soles.
“Whahat’s goIHING ONHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!?” Ingtyn shrieked with surprise. She couldn’t understand what was happening. She knew her feet better than anyone else. It’d been years since she’d felt much of anything at all from her soles whether it be when barefoot or wearing boots. But all the same, the fingers tickled like crazy. All 20 were slowly making trips up her feet from the heels to the tips of her toes. Every time they’d stop to knead her arches with their fingerpads or trace back and forth across the balls of her feet sent shocks of ticklish sensations traveling up their legs. It tickled too much for her to contain any longer. The helpless dwarven woman broke out into deep guffaws of laughter from the combined stomach and foot tickling.
“Aw, did you think you’d be safe down there?” Empyrean giggled with delight over Ingstyn’s distress. Her smile took a nasty turn looking down on her victim. “You’re so silly. You’re in Tickle Hell now! This entire sub-dimension was built by Ugrogeth herself for the express purpose of making you suffer. You’re ticklish where she says you’re ticklish. You’ll laugh when she commands you to laugh. Did you really think something as small as a few calluses would protect you from the torments of the Demon Goddess of Tickling?”
When the mannequins had claimed they were going to punish her, Ingtyn felt like they might have been underselling what they had planned for her. An additional pair of hands joined in to start poking at Ingtyn’s bare C-cups. Her struggling redoubled feeling a set of hands begin stroking at each of her jiggling mounds. They’d poke around for a while, change over to stroking around the circumference of her breasts, then reach up to gently tease her stiffening nipples with light flicks and roll them between their fingers before going back to either poking or stroking. Ingtyn didn’t have much experience with someone touching her breasts. There hadn’t been much of a place for sexual encounters in her life. Learning that lightly teasing her breasts like that was almost as bad as the stomach tickling was just as nasty a shock as the foot tickling had been. There was no way she could’ve mentally prepared herself for being tortured like this. Howls of laughter poured out of her mouth as the quintet of mannequins continued to abuse her most ticklish spots without the slightest hint of mercy.
The utter helplessness of the situation was causing nasty memories to resurface for Ingtyn. It brought her back to the days when she was a young dwarf stepping out of the mountain for the first time. Back then she’d been so weak and pathetic that her feet had hurt before she’d even gotten halfway down and had nearly met her end at the fangs of a single wolf. She tried to drown it all out by focusing on something else, but every ticklish jolt coming from her breasts, stomach, and feet drove the helplessness in further.
The mannequins continued to gang tickle Ingtyn for another 15 minutes before suddenly letting go of her. The dwarven woman was left wheezing for breath in the sand trying to recover from her ordeal. Her tormentors had no intention of waiting though. Ingtyn opened her eyes at the dull sound of the ax being dropped into the sand by her side.
“Fight,” the mannequin commanded. The warrior scrambled to her feet. Now that the torture had stopped, the helplessness she’d been feeling was being converted into anger. Being stripped and tickled like that, being treated like a helpless little newbie who couldn’t take care of herself, had been humiliating. That humiliation was refining her anger into a crystal clear desire for violence. What she wanted more than ever was to cover up Empyrean’s annoying little smirk by burying her ax directly into her jaw.
Ingtyn grabbed the ax off the ground and charged at the mannequin again. Her ax cut through the air as fast as she could swing it, wildly hacking away at any body part that looked even remotely within reach. She didn’t care about placing her blows anymore. All she wanted to do was hit the blasted thing at this point. It didn’t matter if it was no more than a scratch, she just needed something to make contact. She could work out a strategy on how to deal with the monster’s shapeshifting abilities after she’d figured out its limitations.
Not even that managed to get the momentum in Ingtyn’s favor. If anything, it was getting worse by the minute. It was almost as if the mannequin was adapting to dealing with her attacks at the same time it was learning how to tickle her. It would twist its body out of the way, harden itself to deflect her blows, and retaliate after each attempt with a quick tickle at the dwarf’s naked upper body. Ingtyn was having trouble breathing. As time went on, the mannequin was dodging more efficiently, retaliating faster, and more accurately striking at her most ticklish spots. Ingtyn could focus on her anger enough to power through it at first, but as time went on the tickles grew too intense for her to ignore. It was difficult to catch her breath from her own assault when she was forced to constantly splutter and giggle after each swing.
A discomfort was growing inside Ingtyn. All of those memories of when she’d been too inexperienced to be trusted with delivering a message to the nearby town wouldn’t stop resurfacing. This was all too unerringly like when she’d just started out. Facing a foe she had the nagging feeling she would be able to handle if she just knew what was going on. The wild hacking away without any real plan in mind. Even the rush of sensations from her newly-soften soles in the sand brought back memories of her days as a greenhorn. It was like she hadn’t grown at all this entire time…
Having the fight go increasingly in her opponent’s favor was converting her discomfort into doubt. No matter how hard the dwarf tried to analyze her opponent, she didn’t seem to be getting any closer to forming a strategy for beating it. A nagging little voice in her head was starting to ask how she could possibly hope to beat an enemy who changed its entire form to negate her every attack. The building doubt caused her to begin to hesitate in her wild assault.
“Fight. Fight!” The mannequin didn’t take kindly to Ingtyn’s swings slowing down. It pushed forward to punish her for her hesitation with a barrage of quick pokes, prods, and squeezes. Ingtyn wasn’t entirely certain how she was supposed to gather up the strength to keep hold of the ax when fingers were diving into vibrate inside the depths of her pits. It was all she could do to slam her arms down in an attempt to pin the hands down, but with them already wedged in it wasn’t like even that was doing her much good. The dwarf was left doing an awkward little dance trying to keep her arms down to protect her armpits and ribs from further attacks while trying to use her forearms to ward off the fingers scratching at her tummy, teasing her breasts, and squeezing her sides. After a couple minutes of trying to stand her ground, Ingtyn made the mistake of stumbling backwards a couple steps.
“You ran. Punish.” The mannequin’s accusation seemed to be serving as a command to the others around it. Despite Ingtyn still being a couple meters away, they lurched forward to grab her and once again wrestle her to the ground. The last thing the dwarven woman saw before they’d converged on her enough to block out everything else was Empyrean nearly doubled over with laughter. Seeing the Demon Queen clutching her stomach and laughing like her torment was the funniest thing she’d ever seen caused a pit to form in Ingtyn’s stomach.
She wasn’t given any time to dwell on that though. She couldn’t believe the mannequins had figured out how to make this punishment session even more torturous than the last. They seemed to have all sprouted long nails in the last few minutes that they were proving to be disturbingly adept with. The foot torture had been too much for her to handle before. Feeling her toes be held apart so they could gently tease the hyper-sensitive sides of each digit was nothing short of pure torture. When her toes weren’t under attack, they were being seized by additional hands to immobilize her soles so the nails could incessantly vibrate against, tease, and rake against every last millimeter of her helpless soles.
That alone tickled badly enough to send Ingtyn into hysterical howls of laughter, but her tormentors weren’t going to be satisfied with just that level of suffering. Entire handfuls of her stomach were being kneaded in the name of mining for belly-aching guffaws. Hands were lifting up her breasts so more nails could feel around the undersides for sensitive spots. When they found an area that made the dwarf arch her back with a scream, they stayed there to relentlessly abuse it while more hands came in to resume the stroking and prodding around the rest of her breasts that had proved to be so effective before.
The last of Ingtyn’s willpower snapped like a twig under the overwhelming torture. Empyrean had told her before that she was in Tickle Hell now and the dwarf could think of no better moniker for it at the moment. The tickles had taken complete control of her body. She uncontrollably spasmed and thrashed in the sand under her tormentors while letting out screams that would’ve impressed a banshee. She couldn’t stand being tickled for another second and the mannequins weren’t going to let up for at least an hour.
Ingtyn was left an exhausted, sweat covered mess on the ground when she was finally released again. She winced with fear hearing the ax be dropped next to her again.
“Fight.” The command no longer incited either derision or anger in Ingtyn. The only thing she felt now was fear. The dwarven warrior gazed up at the featureless mannequin in terror.
“Please… no. No more.I yield. I yield!” she begged. She couldn’t even bring herself to get up off the ground, much less touch the ax or attempt to fend off her tormentors again. The idea of being forced to fight only to be punished like that again was too terrible a fate for her to consider anymore.
“Ah, is little Ingtyn Ironfinder scared of getting tickled again?” Empyrean practically danced her way across the arena to leer down at her. “What, don’t think you can win anymore? What was it that you said to me last time? ‘If I can reach it, I can kill it’ or something like that? Where’s your bravado this time?”
“I can’t take this! You win. Just let me go. Please!” Ingtyn desperately begged up at her. The sheer look of delight on Empyrean’s face caused her to shrink away.
“I thought the rules were obvious. Fighting is the only way to keep from getting tickled. Did you really think it was going to stop if you refused to get up? Don’t worry, I’m certain they’ll let you go if you agree to challenge them again.”
Ingtyn screamed with terror seeing the mannequins begin to converge on her again. She wasn’t fast enough in scrambling back to her feet to prevent the dozens of hands from descending to pin her down again. Empyrean couldn’t see what was happening. She didn’t need to. The pair of armored leggings and panties being tossed aside followed a few seconds later by ear-splitting screams told her all she needed to know.
Empyrean stretched her arms with a sigh of relief. With a wave of her hand, she summoned a portal leading back to her castle. Her presence had never been required here. She’d just wanted to watch the very Ingtyn Ironfinder who had orchestrated her defeat last time be mentally broken. It helped cement the idea in her mind that she’d finally won. There wasn’t much point to sticking around now that she’d gotten her fill of that. Goddess Ugrogeth was nothing if not thorough. Anyone trapped in one of her Tickle Hells had nothing to look forward to but an eternity of tickle torture. Ingtyn’s torment had only just begun and Empyrean was content with trusting that it wasn’t ever going to end.
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Every alarm bell in Lolkhe's head was going off at full volume at the moment. The dragonkin woman was experienced enough as a spellcaster to have been able to detect the several teleportation portals that had sprung into existence around herself and her friends. It would’ve been a nice little accomplishment she could pat herself on the back over if it weren’t spoiled by the fact that it hadn’t done jack squat in helping her avoid getting tossed through one anyways. Their opponent’s attack had been a little too well executed for her to react. Barely any time had passed in between being blinded, feeling the portals form, and the enemy’s follow up fireball sending her flying through one.
Not being under attack anymore was small consolation. Lolkhe had helped Ingtyn plan out enough battles to understand that if the other side’s strategy was to teleport them elsewhere, whatever was waiting on the other side was undoubtedly worse than wherever they’d been before. The idea that being in the Demon Queen’s own castle was less of a threat than the wooden birdcage she found herself in wasn’t a comforting one. The cage was barely wider around than her shoulders and covered with a heavy cloth, leaving her awkwardly standing with her feet together and her wings folded as tightly behind her back as she could.
The dragonkin woman really wished she could find her Bag of Holding. Having the dozens of magical items she’d made over the years on hand would’ve made her a lot more confident that she’d be able to handle whatever was waiting on the other side of the cloth. Unfortunately, it looked like her beloved pouch and wand hadn’t made the trip through the portal with her. She was going to have to make do with just her own magical aptitude for now.
Under most circumstances, Lolkhe Firetalons would’ve been content with that alone. Not only was Lolke a well-respected magical researcher in the creation of enchanted items, she was fortunate enough to have been born into a family that could trace its ancestry back to an ancient and powerful dragon. The effects of its lineage were still apparent. Even over a dozen generations down the line, every member of her family had a pair of dragon wings sprouting out of their backs, a few scales growing across their skin, and were gifted with immense magical power. Lolkhe in particular had also been blessed with being an elegant beauty with an angular face, perfectly formed D-cup breasts, and wide hips leading into graceful legs.
Reminding herself that she was strong even without her tools helped calm Lolkhe down a little. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. A low droning noise picking up outside the cage set her on edge again. The dragonkin didn’t have to wait long to find out what the source of the noise was. The heavy cloth around the cage was suddenly pulled off to allow her to see what was waiting outside.
Lolkhe’s face blanched. Of all the possibilities that had been flitting through her head, being surrounded by hordes of demons had been one of the ones she’d felt she was least equipped to deal with at the moment. A rough count put there at over a hundred demon women milling out on the bleachers in front of her and, with the curtain on her cage now pulled aside, every single one of them was now leering at her.
“Ladies of demonkind!” a voice boomed out. Glancing up, Lolkhe saw a bat winged succubus dressed in a showgirls skirt made of feathers, bright red lingerie, and veritable curtain of jewelry dangling off her clothes standing in a box at the top of the bleachers. The succubi was shouting into a megaphone to help her voice carry far enough for everyone in the audience to hear. “Thank you for coming out tonight! Girls, we have got a show for you. Before you stands none other than Lolkhe Firetalons, the mage who helped humiliate our esteemed Queen earlier this year!” The bleachers erupted in boos over Lolkhe’s introduction. The dragonkin mage rolled her eyes.
“Oh, I’m about to do a lot worse than just humiliate the lot of you,” she muttered under her breath. Now that the initial shock had worn off, her trepidation over the unknown was being replaced with anger. To think a bunch of low level succubi like these could treat someone like her as a stage show. She was going to teach them all a lesson in respect one third degree burn at a time.
“Humiliation is what she gave, so humiliation is what she’s gonna get! Everyone please turn your eyes to the lovely assistant in front of you.” Lolkhe glanced around. She’d been so caught off guard by the crowd of succubi that she hadn’t taken much stock of her surroundings. Her cage and the wooden platform it stood on were an island atop a tank filled with a suspicious blue liquid. As Lolkhe looked around, a succubi dressed similarly to the announcer climbed onto the edge. With a cheerful wave at the crowd, she dove straight into the blue liquid only to emerge a few seconds later stark naked. The impossibly sexy demon woman climbed back onto the edge of the tank to pose and flaunt her body to the crowd’s hoots of enjoyment and dog whistles.
“As you can see, the tank is filled with a special magical liquid designed to disintegrate any fabric it touches. But wait, there’s more!” A trio of additional succubi showgirls emerged to lead the naked one over to a large cross positioned at the front of the stage. To Lolkhe’s increasing horror, she watched them bind their naked comrade to the cross with lengths of rope before diving in to begin abusing her helpless body with wiggling fingers. The bound succubus immediately broke out shrieking with laughter feeling their long nails skittering all over her buxom chest, slipping in between her legs to knead her inner thighs, and stroke across the lengths of her soles. “Anybody who falls into the tank will be punished by spending the rest of eternity as a tickling slave. No breaks! No mercy! NOTHING but an eternity of having her naked body at the mercy of the ticklers handpicked by the Queen herself as the cruelest in the land!”
Lolkhe’s mind went blank with shock. This was all too much for her to process. She watched with horror as the succubus was wheeled backstage. The only thing that disturbed her more than the fact that her agonized screams of laughter didn’t stop even after she was led out of sight was when they were suddenly cut off with a loud slam, almost as if she’d been led to some dungeon backstage for further torture. The crowd, on the other hand, was going wild. The succubi sitting on the bleachers were all stomping their feet and excitedly shouting at the top of the lungs.
“Now, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Let the games… BEGIN!” the announcer shouted over the roar of the crowd. A trio of winged succubi launched off from around the stage to fly around the top of the cage trapping Lolkhe. Two of them grabbed the wooden cage to carry it off. Lolkhe readied a fireball, fully preparing to start blasting away at anything that both moved and had more skin showing the clothing, when something made her stop. The third succubus was holding an item that made the mage pause.
It was her Bag of Holding. The showgirl succubus was holding her precious bag filled with all the magical items she’d need to fight her way out of here. As Lolkhe watched, the succubus undid the latch on the bag and upended it right above her. The dragonkin woman panicked. Fireball all but forgotten, she hastily stuck her arms out in an attempt to catch all of the wands, rings, necklaces, bangles, and other associated equipment she’d spent the last several years painstakingly enchanting. She grabbed what she could out of the air to hold them safely against her chest while watching with despair as the vast majority fell into the clothes destroying liquid around her.
She didn’t get much time to lament seeing years of work be so casually destroyed. Lolkhe let out a squeal feeling something pointy lightly trace against the back of her knee. The unexpected ticklish jolts almost made her legs buckle under her. Lolkhe twisted her upper body around in a panic only to find one of the assistants grinning at her. After depositing the cage behind them, the showgirl had flown back around to harass her. She was hovering around Lolkhe’s knees using one hand to lift up the hem of her robes while putting the pointed nails on the other to use giving the sensitive flesh on the back of her knees a quick tickle.
“Go away! Leave me alone,” Lolkhe yelled at her. Her shout only seemed to embolden her tormentor. The succubi slipped her hand inside of the dragonkin’s robe, but instead of continuing to work on her knees allowed both of her hands to wander up a little to rest on her victim’s inner thighs. The dragonkin woman let out a gasp feeling all 10 slender fingers gently squeeze. The sex demon clearly had plenty of experience handling another woman’s thighs. Each squeeze was perfectly moderated to both lightly tickle and send little jolts traveling up her leg that left the young woman’s crotch growing uncomfortably hot.
Lolkhe didn’t know what to do in this situation. There were too many things that she wanted to protect at the moment for her to make a decision on how to escape. Her wings weren’t strong enough to carry her all the way across the tank from a standing jump, much less one interrupted by a pair of effeminate hands doing a better job working over her thighs than any other person she’d brought to bed before. The magical items she had clutched to her chest were too precious for her to casually throw away in the name of escaping. She also didn’t want to fall into the fabric dissolving liquid all around her. Her pride wouldn’t allow her the option of getting naked in front of a large crowd like a common stripper. But at the same time, it wasn’t like she had many other options on hand. The platform she stood on was barely large enough to hold her when she stayed perfectly still. Lashing out with her foot in an attempt at driving off the succubus toying with her legs very much ran the risk of losing her balance and falling into the liquid below. Every option immediately available to her presented the risk of losing something she cared about.
Which ultimately led to Lolkhe doing nothing at all. The dragonkin woman was left awkwardly twisting her body to and fro while doing her best to suppress the small gasps the probing hands were trying to make slip between her clenched teeth. She could only awkwardly shuffle her feet around trying to escape the succubus continuing to lovingly squeeze, knead, and lightly tickle her inner thighs. The crowd loved it. Lolkhe’s ears were burning hearing them jeer at her. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that this would all prove to be some horrible nightmare the next time she opened them.
“W-what?” Lolkhe spluttered. She’d just felt something wet sprinkle across her neck and shoulders. Her eyes sprang open to reveal that the other showgirls weren’t content to sit around. One of them had flown in to hover by her side. As Lolkhe watched, the succubus dipped her slender fingers into the clothes destroying liquid before reaching up to lightly dribble the substance on her shoulders. The fabric of her robes was breaking apart right before her eyes to reveal her bare shoulder. A splash in front of her caused Lolkhe’s head to snap back around. The third showgirl had cupped her hands together to gather up as much of the liquid as she could and was flying straight at her.
“Oh, I guess Ms. Firetalons is the type of girl who likes to put on a show!” the announcer taunted. Lolkhe’s cheeks were burning with embarrassment now. She could hear the crowd growing excited all around her. Having the liquid thrown at her from the front had made her worried for the pile of magical items she was holding. The dragonkin woman had twisted to the side at the last second so the liquid had instead been splashed onto her side. The bare skin of her side and a good portion of her back was now on display for the entire crowd from her ribs down to her waist. To make matters worse, the liquid had also eaten away at the lacy white lingerie she’d had on underneath. Both of her bra and panties were quite literally hanging on by a few threads each.
“Oh Gohohds! Stop! Stohop ihihit!” Lolkhe cried. Her succubi tormentors weren’t going to let that amount of bare skin go unused. The one who’d been dribbling water on her shoulder flew around to dig her nails into the exposed flesh of her ribcage. Having those thin fingers prying at the vulnerable spaces between each rib tickled too much for Lolkhe’ to hold back her giggling anymore. She did her best to twist away from the hands, but the showgirls were too well trained to let her escape. The one at her side easily followed her around no matter how quickly she turned away. Her other hand soon joined in to begin working up the length of Lolkhe’s side. She would form her hand into a pincer grip, pinch a section of flesh, and lightly shake it. At the same time, her coworker, still at their victim’s legs, decided it was time to be more evil than loving. She began to squeeze the tender thighs in front of her more aggressively, loving watching the poor girl’s legs nearly buckle under the surge of ticklish sensations.
Lolkhe’s giggles had grown into a steady stream of laughter. She was nearly doubled with laughter trying to draw in her wings in a protective shell between herself and her tormentors, but the third of the showgirls wasn’t going to stand for it. Whenever she tried to wrap her wings around herself she’d feel a set of hands slip into the hole in her robes that allowed her wings out and dig into the flesh around the base of her wings. The millions of little nerve endings in her back that were supposed to help make minute adjustments in flight were now serving as another avenue for the demons to tickle her with. Every time the dragonkin tried to move her wings to protect herself, the hands would stroke against the hyper-sensitive spot between her wings until she straightened them back out again.
“Don’t fall just yet. The fun’s only just begun,” one of the succubi purred into her ear. Lolkhe did her best to drown her out in favor of fumbling with the pile of enchanted items she was holding. This damnable tickling was too distracting. It was getting difficult to stay on her feet. Gathering up the concentration for a spell was out of the question at this point. Her salvation lay in finding something, anything, in magical items she was holding that could help her out now. Sorting through a large pile like this while she was still holding it would’ve been difficult under the best of circumstances, but she eventually managed to feel around for something that felt like the handle of a wand. She grasped onto it like it was the rope leading her out of this horrid game and activated it with a flick of her wrist.
“We’ve got a live one here, girls. Ms. Firetalons really doesn’t seem too happy with the tickling she’s receiving, so she’s gone ahead and summoned some feathers to make it worse!” the announcer’s voice boomed across the stage. The laughter from the crowd would’ve been downright mortifying for Lolkhe if she hadn’t been too distracted by the swarm of eagle feathers that had spewed out of the tip of the wand to listen. The succubus who had been working over her side had floated back a little with a smirk to watch the dozens of feathers get to work brushing every available bit of exposed skin. Some of them were putting their stiff plumes to work stroking up and down while others were poking, scratching, and scribbling in random patterns with their quills.
Lolkhe let out a shriek of laughter. The cocktail of panic and tickles was destroying her ability to think clearly. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember enchanting any of her wands to do something like this. The small part of her that was still able to think clearly had the suspicion that the demons had reprogrammed all of her items to help torment her, but the rest of her was getting desperate. She blindly flailed around for something else, hoping that the next one would have what she needed.
“STOP! STOHOHOP IT! GEHET AWAY FROHOHOM MEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!” Lolkhe howled with laughter. The ring she’d grabbed next had burst like a popped water balloon the moment she’d held it in front of her. The remaining items she’d had clutched to her chest had served as a shield for her upper body at the cost of a good number of them getting eaten away. The rest of her robes hadn’t been so lucky. Everywhere from her stomach downward had gotten drenched. Lolkhe wanted to crawl into a hole and die of shame. The liquid had completely destroyed the remains of her robes and panties. Her bare pussy was now on display for everyone to see.
The only thing matching Lolkhe’s hysterical laughter at this point was the cheers of the demonic audience. The third showgirl had abandoned forcing her to keep her wings straight in favor of floating down to tease her stomach and pussy. She was floating behind Lolkhe and reaching around to give the audience the show of her nails dancing all over the dragonkin’s front. Her nails would skitter all over her toned stomach on a journey down from the bottom of her ribcage. Once she reached Lolkhe’s pantiline, her touch would change to lightly scratching at her groin. The fact that having her thighs played with this entire time had left the dragonkin’s pussy soaking wet didn’t go unnoticed. Her planned trip up to working over Lolkhe’s stomach was canceled in favor of setting the tips of all 10 nails to work teasing her pink folds.
The succubus who had been kneading her thighs was also growing a bit bored of only having one area to play with. The bare behind right in front of her was looking mighty tempting. Her hands wandered up the back of her victim’s thighs up to her bare tushy. Lolkhe’s butt was nice and soft to the touch. The succubus delighted in sending her nails tapping all over them to watch the two pale cheeks jiggle under her touch. From there, her nails briefly wiggled on the undersides where legs and rump met before dragging her nails up across the expanse of flesh on their way to her waistline. Finally, the succubus scratched her ways one finger’s width at a time down the sides before resuming her work squeezing the handfuls of Lolkhe’s inner thighs again.
Tears of shame and humiliation were streaming down Lolkhe’s cheeks while she screamed with laughter. She hated it. She hated every last bit of it. She hated being reduced to a helpless, laughing little girl like this by a few feathers and a pair of women tickling her. She hated how her own body betrayed her by unconsciously bucking her hips into the fingers toying with her groin no matter how much she was hating being touched there. And most of all, she hated that there was an entire audience of demons eating up her humiliation for entertainment.
She could vaguely hear the crowd chanting now. “Fall! Fall! Fall! Fall!” the demonic women in the bleachers called while stamping their in unison. Lolkhe almost lost her footing when the platform under her suddenly shook. She looked down through her tears of shame to see the one succubus who wasn’t tickling her floating in the clothes dissolving liquid with her hands placed on the platform.
“STOOHOP IT! YOHOU’LL BEHE TIHICKLEHED TOOHEHEHEHE!” Lolkhe pleaded.
“Oh yes… An eternity under Ugrogeth’s fingers. I could only dream of being so richly rewarded before,” the now-naked succubus cooed. Lolkhe stared at the demon with shock. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. What she was going through now was nothing short of a living hell for her and this woman wanted to suffer even worse?
Lolkhe could hardly tell what was going on anymore. It tickled too much for her to form a plan. All she could do was continue to howl and shriek with laughter and try to keep her footing as best she could through the platform getting increasingly violently shaken. What thoughts weren’t being overwhelmed by the tickles were under attack by the complete and utter humiliation she felt over being toyed with like this.
“YOU’RE CRAHAHAZY! YOU’RE AHAHALLL CRAHEHEHEZY!” she screamed. Finally, one particularly strong shake of the platform caused the iron grip she had on her magical items finally let go. Lolkhe watched with despair as the last proof of her efforts fell into the liquid below and dissolved into increasingly smaller particles before her eyes.
The dragonkin snapped. All of the shame, humiliation, and panic she’d been feeling transformed itself into sheer rage. Her anger was enough for her to power through the tickling and sexual stimulation with a giant blast of raw magical energy. The succubi and feathers tickling her were all sent tumbling into the tank around them.
“Die! Die die DIE DIE! ALL OF YOU BURN!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. The dragonkin mage formed a giant fireball in front of her, pouring all of the power she had left in her body into making the glowing ball of death swell up to being nearly as large as she was. There was nothing she wanted more at this moment than to watch every last demon in the bleachers in front of her burn up just like her precious items had.
Unfortunately, she never got the chance.
“Counterspell,” the succubus in the announcer’s box calmly stated. A bolt of blue lightning arced from the box to collide with Lolkhe’s fireball. She could feel the tightly woven magic that kept the flames under control come apart under her very fingers. The last thing the dragonkin saw before her own spell exploded on her was the announcer condescendingly sneering down at her.
The blast sent Lolkhe flying back into the tank. She hit the liquid with enough force to send her plunging down to the bottom of the tank before gently floating back up to the top. The mage was too stunned by her own blast to struggle when a trio of naked succubi fished her naked body out of the tank. They dragged her over to the front of the stage where she was bound into a chair that bound her arms above her head via a length of rope attached to a pole and spread her legs wide open in stocks.
“No… No more… Let me go…” Lolkhe pitifully gasped. The moment she was bound, her succubi tormentors set to work. One was standing behind her giving her the best breast massage she was ever going to feel. Another was kneeling between her legs with her face buried in her crotch. The demon’s unnaturally prehensile tongue would lap at her clit before exploring deep within her spread pussy. Lolkhe didn’t have the slightest bit of control over her own body anymore. Her mind wanted to struggle and resist. Her back, on the other hand, was arching to push her D-cups deeper into those fingers. Her hips wanted nothing more than to feel that tongue come back around to her aching clit again. Even her lungs wouldn’t listen to her anymore. Any protests she was trying to say couldn’t get around her gasps and moans.
The explosive orgasm was the last straw needed to break Lolkhe’s will. At the same time her body spasmed from the waves of pleasure surging through her, her eyes fluttered, and her toes curled in delight, the last bit of defiance in the dragonkin woman was crushed by shame. She couldn’t believe that she’d just allowed hundreds of demons to watch her climax in public. As the orgasm subsided, tears leaked out of Lolkhe’s eyes. Broken tears of humiliation streamed down her face as she began to sob in misery.
“Aw, it looks like our star for today has a bad case of the unhappies,” the announcer taunted. “Ladies, would you be so good as to put a smile on her face?”
Lolkhe’s sobs were interrupted by a hair-raising scream of agony. The powerful orgasm had pushed the sensitivity of her body to a whole new level. Her breasts and pussy in particular were on fire. The slightest touch of the showgirls’ nails on her privates drowned out anything else she was able to focus on. The fingers squeezing the tops of her thighs now tickled exponentially more than before she’d been made to cum. Each time her tormentors shook a handful of the soft flesh sent bolts of ticklish lightning straight up her body to squeeze her lungs of every last scream she had in her.
Combine that with the breast and pussy tickling, and Lolkhe was truly in Tickle Hell now. A set of the enchanted feathers had been salvaged. A pair were currently at work stroking against her engorged nipples and a third fluttered around the lips of her spread open pussy. Each stroke made her body grow a little bit hotter with unwilling arousal. At the same time, one of the succubi was doing her best to make up for not getting to play with Lolkhe’s D-cups or armpits up until now. The naked demon was vibrating her fingers inside the depths of the dragonkin’s armpits before playing the rib counting game on her way down to scratch at the sides and undersides of Lolkhe’s breasts.
In between the two succubi and the feathers it tickled so much that the only things coming out of Lolkhe’s mouth at this point were agonized wails of laughter, but there was a third succubus who wasn’t about to pass up on her last chance to be a tickler before her upcoming eternity as the Demon Goddess of Tickling’s latest tickle toy. She kneeled down at Lolkhe’s bound feet and popped the big toe of her right foot into her mouth. The succubus’ impossibly flexible tongue snaked around the digit, lapping at the ultra-sensitive space between her toes more effectively than any other race could’ve managed. Her nails kept the rest of the foot preoccupied. Their sharp tips traveled all over from the balls of her feet down to her heels.
The only thing Lolkhe was aware of anymore was how badly it tickled. The proud dragonkin mage was capable of little more than animalistically screaming in agony at this point. Nothing, not the crowd in front of her or the taunts of the announcer, was as important as the need to get in enough air to scream again. When the succubi stumbled across particularly sensitive spots across her body, not even that remained true. Lolkhe would lapse into bouts of silent laughter for extended periods of time because of the need to laugh so hard her body wasn’t capable of producing the sound.
It was during these bouts of silent laughter that her tormentors began to plan out the cruel game they would force her to play next.
“Maybe we could break her into walking around on all 4s like a dog. We could even get a collar for her.”
“Nah, I think we’ll get there by just continuing to tickle her like this. I doubt that’d be all too interesting a show.”
“How about making her a public slave? We could do something like tie her up on a street corner and tell her the only way she’ll ever get to cum is by begging everyone she sees to tickle her. Then whoever takes over for us can keep her on the edge until she cracks. ”
“Oh! I like that one.” The trio of naked succubi all shared a smile. They understood that they were going to spend the rest of eternity being tortured just like this, but they weren’t worried. All of them were masochistic enough to look forward to it. They wouldn’t have volunteered for this role if they weren’t. What they wanted most of all right now was to make certain that Lolkhe Firetalons would continue to be tortured after they were gone. What would truly allow them to enjoy their stay in Tickle Hell would be the assurance that the dragonkin’s torment wouldn’t end until her mind had been too thoroughly destroyed by the endless rounds of torture to be anything other than their goddess’ tickle toy.
—--
If there was a member of the party who felt responsible for the ambush, it’d be Ghorza. The half-orc had always taken it upon herself to scout ahead for the rest of the group. Ingtyn wasn’t bad at it per se, but she’d never quite gotten the knack of finding good vantage points for surveying the area. There was a nagging little voice in the back of Ghorza’s mind whispering that they wouldn’t be in so much trouble right now if she’d been keeping a weather eye open from the rafters instead of cracking jokes with Lolkhe and Amaliel on the ground.
Thanks to that, Ghorza had panicked when the blinding ball of light had formed in front of them. She hadn’t even had the presence of mind to draw her daggers. Some wild flailing with her arms hadn’t done her much good in warding off the gust of wind that had carried her off her feet. Feeling her body slam into what felt like a hollow wooden floor instead of the hard castle stone made her heart sink. Getting up to survey her situation didn’t help in that regard. Ghorza glumly stared at the bamboo forest stretching out past the roughly lashed together platform she was standing on. She wasn’t certain how she’d gotten here, but she couldn’t help but feel like it could’ve been avoided if she’d been a bit better.
The only thing about her new location that really put off Ghorza was that she couldn’t see the floor when she looked over the edge of her platform. There was a mass of vines covering the forest floor below her so thick that she couldn’t see a single centimeter of solid ground no matter where she looked. Something about the vines made her uneasy. It was hard to see from up here, but she could’ve sworn that they were slowly rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern, almost as if they were some giant sleeping beast instead of a mass of plant matter.
Looking over her surroundings helped Ghorza perk up a little. The bamboo shoots around her were growing closely enough together that she could easily see herself swinging from one stalk to the next without ever having to find out what was going on below her. Ghorza had always been good at climbing. Back when she was a thief just trying to fence enough to make a living, scaling the walls of manors had been her specialty.
Not many who saw Ghorza would think that the nearly two meter tall half-orc was a thief by trade. When most thought “professional thief” they tended to imagine some little halfling or a lithe elf rather than a well-endowed amazonian half-orc like her. In return, Ghorza thought most people were idiots. She’d been on enough heists to know that raw physical strength was the best boon she could’ve had. Robbing a mark was so much easier when she could easily scale a manor’s walls, carry twice as much as the next thief, and outright walk out of the location carrying the safe out and skipping the hassle of having to pick the lock on the spot had led to her having a consistently high success rate. The sheer amount she brought back from each heist went a long way in ensuring that she was among the best earners in the guild, but Ghorza was always one to go the extra mile that sort of thing. It paid dividends, quite literally in her case, for her to get into the habit of dressing in a midriff baring tank top and tight shorts. After all, the guild’s fence came up to roughly her chest and had a track record of giving her a better cut the more of her DD-cup breasts he got to see whenever she dropped by.
Ghorza was just about to put that strength to use. A platform similar to the one she was standing on now had caught her eye. It was a couple dozen meters above her head and nearly twice that away, but she was confident that her expertise in climbing would allow her to make her way across the bamboo to check it out. She had just grabbed on to one of the nearby stocks of bamboo when a noise interrupted her.
“Atten-shun!” a sultry voice called out behind her. Ghorza whipped around at the noise to see a squad of women floating in midair around her platform. For some reason, all of them were dressed in what she could only describe as a parody of a typical city guard uniform while doing salutes sloppy enough to make a hardened drill sergeant cry. They had the trademark leather, chainmail, and helmets, but they were in a form factor wholly useless for serving as protection. The half-orc thief highly doubted they’d get much protection out of armor shaped like bikini tops, form fitting belly shirts, booty shorts, and micro skirts that didn’t do the bare minimum to hide that they were all either wearing thongs or going commando underneath.
Ghorza drew her daggers out of their sheaths. All of the scantily clad women had leathery wings sprouting out of their backs. It was bad enough that they were dressed in a stripper’s variant of guard cosplay, having them all be demons on top could only mean one thing: Trouble. Ghorza didn’t have the most confidence in her abilities in a straight up brawl, but she had zero intentions of letting herself be taken out without dragging at least a couple of these wannabe guardswomen down with her.
“Sergeant!” a succubi at the front snapped off in what she probably imagined was a smart manner. “Give the cutpurse her loot.” Much to Ghorza’s surprise, instead of attacking her like she’d imagined, one of the demons came forward holding an ornate vase nearly the size of the half-orc’s upper body. The vase was carefully placed in the middle of the bamboo platform before the succubus retreated back to the group.
“What’s this about?” Ghorza couldn’t help but ask. She eyed the vase suspiciously and made no attempt to touch it. For all she knew, it was booby trapped to explode if she got too close.
“That is a gift from Her Majesty. Be grateful she’s seen fit to give something so precious to a mortal like you!” the succubus in front rattled off. The thief narrowed her eyes. It was difficult to believe that Empyrean would think to give her of all people a gift. The succubus guardswoman ignored her. “Our Queen has instructed us that we are to open a portal back to the palace if you manage to bring this vase to the platform over yonder.” The salute was dropped in favor of pointing at the platform off in the distance.
“Great. Wonderful. What’s the catch?” This was all too convenient. A trip back to trouncing Empy again and a nice vase as a take home prize on top? There was no way the Demon Queen was that nice.
“The catch, cutpurse, is that we’ve also been ordered to get in your way.” A chill ran down Ghorza’s spine. Up until now, the dozen or so succubi had all been staring off into the distance above her head. Now they were all leering down at her in a way that brought the unsettling image to mind of a group of cats staring at a trapped mouse. Their leader had dropped the pseudo-official sounding talk in favor of a voice positively dripping with venom. “We’ve been promised that we’ll get to keep you all to ourselves if we can keep you from ever succeeding.”
Ghorza glanced uncertainly back and forth between the vase before her and the succubi. None of them made a move. The half-orc thief wondered if she should bother with the pretense of playing along. After all, there was no way for her to figure out if they were telling the truth or not.
“If you don’t want to play our game, then we can probably find some more… enjoyable ways to spend our time together.” The wicked smile on the lead succubus’ face sealed the deal. Ghorza enjoyed a getting into bed with a nubile young woman as much as the next red-blooded adventurer, but she had no intentions of ever finding out what awaited her if she ended up at a sex demon’s mercy. Her daggers were placed back in their sheathes so a free hand could grab the rim of the vase. A grimace formed on her face. It really was quite a bulky piece of pottery. The idea of trying to climb through the bamboo stalks while holding it was an intimidating prospect.
Intimidating, but not impossible for someone like Ghorza. The amazonian thief hugged the large vase against her side with one hand and used the other to grab onto the nearest pole. Launching off the platform, Ghorza swung around using the bamboo as a pivot until one of her feet could hook onto another plant. Many of the other members of the Thieves’ Guild back home would’ve gone green with envy watching her kick off the bamboo stalk she was holding while smoothly transferring the vase between her hands to allow her to grab onto her next perch.
It vaguely occurred to the thief as she continued to launch herself across the vegetation that there was no way this could be a naturally formed forest. Amaliel and Ghorza had once gone to a botanical garden that had a bamboo thicket exhibit. It had been so densely clumped together that neither of them were certain they’d be able to squeeze their way through. This place was almost perfectly spaced out with every plant comfortably within reach without crowding. It reminded her more of the climbing poles she’d watched monks use to practice their balance with than any woods she’d ever laid eyes on.
Which made the little circular copse stand out all the more. Ghorza swung her way over and wedged herself in the middle. A quick slash of her knife cut down a pair of stalks inside to serve as footholds. The way they were spaced reminded her uncomfortably of prison cell bars, but on the plus side that meant she could glance between to take stock of her situation. She’d barely gotten settled when she heard a voice speak up behind her.
“What’s wrong? You’re not gonna reach the end if you stop.” Ghorza nearly lost her balance jumping with fright. She twisted around as much as she could to see who was speaking. Seeing the group of scantily clad demons staring at her owlishly from the opposite side of the ring suddenly made her resting point feel nigh on claustrophobic.
“Just taking a quick break,” Ghorza said nervously. The bright smile that came across the lead succubi’s face was nearly as unsettling to her as the wicked one from before. Her demonic squad was slowly fanning out around them to surround the trees to cover every direction outside of the main entrance. No matter how Ghorza craned her head around, she couldn’t keep an eye on all of them at once.
“Oh! That’s good. We’re just here to give you a little motivation to keep moving.” Ghorza felt something poke her in the behind. She spun around to see one of the guardswoman succubi smirking at her impishly. One of her arms had snaked between the stalks of bamboo and still had its index finger extended.
“Whahat are youho doihing?” The thief couldn’t suppress her giggles when something slim squeezed her ribcage on the opposite side. The guardswomen were taking turns reaching over to tickle her whenever her back was turned. Ghorza would spin around to look at one of them for digging her fingers into her rib cage only to feel another set of hands scrape at her bottom through the thin fabric of her shorts or prod her hips on the other side. It was belatedly occurring to her that the copse of trees she was resting in was a trap. The claustrophobia of being inside the ring of bamboo stalks was getting cranked up to 11 with the realization that it was a small enough enclosure that she would always be in arm’s reach of someone on the outside.
“I just told you, didn’t I? It’s motivation! We figured it’d give a little extra incentive for you to make it to the goal as soon as possible if it meant it’d get us to stop tickling you.” Giggles were steadily pouring out of Ghorza’s mouth at this point. The succubi were growing bolder with each quick tickle. There were now two pairs of hands poking, prodding, and scratching away at her butt. Her ribs on both ends were being subjected to a game of getting quickly tickled on one side to make her jerk the other direction only to run straight into another set of awaiting hands. In between her precarious position standing on top of two thin poles and her hands being occupied by the large vase, Ghorza couldn’t do anything to fight back. The thief was left helplessly giggling as her tormentors continued to toy with her.
Eventually, it became too much for the half orc to stand anymore. Ghorza leapt out of the exit of the ring for the nearest bamboo stalk. She swung as quickly as she could from one pole to the next, hoping that if she moved quickly enough she’d put some distance between her and the demons. That didn’t seem to be the case though. No matter how quickly Ghorza moved forward, she was still hampered by the awkwardness of needing to carry the large vase as she went. The succubi, on the other hand, were free to fly through the forest as they pleased. It didn’t take long for them to chase her down again.
Ghorza’s splutters and gasps filled the forest. Trying to juggle the vase while swinging between the poles was difficult enough. Having to do so when the demons were taking turns poking and prodding her all over. Every time she grabbed another stalk of bamboo she’d feel slim fingers wiggle against her behind through her shorts, poke her sides, or stroke across the sides of her breasts on their way through the lengths of their ribs. The last in particular was making things difficult for her. The ticklish jolts that came from her ribs and breasts simultaneously made her arms go weak and filled her with the urge to bring them down to ward off the hands.
Having a pair of succubi come in to tag team both sides of her ribs at once killed the last of the half-orc’s forward momentum. Having 10 fingers sink into her ribs on each side, each finger perfectly placed into the sensitive area between the bones, and begin to vigorously knead caused her to let out a shriek of laughter. The thief couldn’t find the concentration to keep going through it. Ghorza was left clinging onto the latest bamboo stalk with one hand and foot in a desperate attempt at keeping herself from falling while the other was holding onto the vase with the tips of her fingers.
“Stohohop! Gohoho awahahay!” Ghorza cried in between stomach aching bouts of laughter. Hearing her shrieks of laughter excited the rest of the succubi guardswomen into joining in on the fun. The two working over her ribs redoubled their efforts to dig in for maximum effect. Tears of laughter were starting to form in Ghorza’s eyes from how much it tickled. She looked around desperately through her blurred vision. She was so close. There were less than a score of bamboo stalks in between herself and the goal now. All she had to do was power through the tickles in one last burst and she’d be free.
The rest of the succubi caught up before she could get the chance. She could barely keep her foothold on the pole thanks to a set of hands gently teasing the back of her knees. Another had flown between her legs to slip her hands up the amazonian woman’s shorts and dig her fingers into the space where her thighs met her groin. As a killing blow, the leader of the demons had flown up to look Ghorza in the eye with an evil glint in her eye. Having those hands slip into her armpits to quickly shake inside the depths of her pits was the final straw.
It was too much for Ghorza to handle. There were too many fingers poking at too many places for her to even focus on how she was being tickled anymore. All she could do for the next minute or so was cry with laughter until she could feel her grip weaken too much to support her anymore. The half-orc thief tumbled from her perch on the bamboo down into the mass of vines below.
The succubi all stopped to high five each other to look down with pleased expressions. The vines had begun to extend upwards as Ghorza fell. She didn’t so much fall into the vines as they snatched her out of the air. Only a few seconds had passed for the plants to wrap around her wrists, ankles, and waist before more rose up to begin stroking every bit of exposed skin available.
Ghorza was in full blown hysterics now. The vines had a rough, bumpy texture to them that allowed them to tickle without having to emulate the demons’ dexterity. Rather than fine movements, the plants would place themselves against a length of skin and begin to saw back and forth. Several long vines were wrapped around her stomach to cover both sides and her tummy in long strokes, each of them moving in opposing directions at various different speeds. More still were wrapped around her thighs and knees .Ghorza had to endure the ticklish little explosions the bumps left all across the entirety of her stomach, sides, and legs.
The combined result of the vines working over all of that sensitive skins simultaneously was nothing short of pure agony for the sensitive thief. Ghorza arched her back with a scream of agony, which unfortunately only served to push the vines in harder to tickle her more. Her hands tugged as hard as they could at the vines binding her. She’d have given anything in the world to be able to reach her daggers and cut away at the offending vines right now, but their grip was too strong. The tough fibers of the plant rendered her completely helpless to do anything other than scream, hysterically laugh, and thrash in a futile attempt at escaping the tickling that was coming from all over at once.
Mercy finally came when Ghorza was too exhausted by the intense tickling to struggle anymore. The succubi watched their victim suffer until her struggling began to slow before swooping down to snatch her out of the vines. A pair carried her back to the starting platform where the thief was unceremoniously deposited with the vase being placed next to her a short while later.
“Ready to have another go?” the leader of the succubi guardswomen asked with a mocking smile.
“G-go away! Leave me alone already!” Ghorza was in no mental state to take the taunt lying down. The half-orc hastily scrambled to her feet and drew her daggers. Her blades cut through the air as she wildly swung at her tormentors. The succubi were forced to scramble out of the way of her last-ditch assault. One didn’t prove to be as lucky as her companions. The succubus hissed with pain when one of the blades made contact to form a shallow cut across her unprotected stomach.
Ghorza wasn’t given an opportunity to follow up on her successful attack. Something slammed into her back to knock her face down onto the platform. Her daggers flew out of her hands from the impact to tumble over the edge into the mass of vines below. She craned her head to see the demonic squad leader looking down at her with an uncharacteristically serious expression on her face.
“Helsha, are you okay?” the squad leader barked out, never taking her eyes off Ghorza.
“I’m fine. She just caught me by surprise. I’ll heal it off in a second,” the succubus who’d been cut called back.
“That was my fault. I should’ve had her punished enough that she couldn’t fight back at all.” Ghorza felt a chill run down her spine seeing the smirk begin to form again on the leader’s face. “Let’s rectify that, shall we girls?”
She’d barely gotten a few minutes to catch her breath and Ghorza was already laughing her head off again. The succubi had dogpiled on top of her at their leader’s command. Her tank top had been pulled off and bra undone to leave her topless before one of the wannabe troopers had sat on her arms. The demon’s long nails were tracing around the outer edge of her armpits for extended periods of time before diving in to scratch at the depths of her pits to extract titters and squeals out of the helpless half-orc.
At the same time, Ghorza’s shorts, boots, and socks had been pulled off and her legs spread wide open. Lying face down as she was, the pink panties she had underneath were barely any protection from a pair of succubi going to town on her juicy rump. 20 nails were skittering all over her jiggling behind. They’d wiggle against the crevice where her behind met her legs before making a trip poking, scratching, and shaking all around her rump. Ghorza hadn’t really internalized until then just how ticklish her butt truly was. Her head occasionally flew back to let out a hearty shriek of laughter whenever the demons’ nails traveled a spot on the side of her rump that caused shocks to travel up her sides.
Just because the tickling was already too much for her to take didn’t mean the succubi were about to give up on their first opportunity to play with her feet. The pair that had sat on her calves to hold her legs still were faced backwards so they could scrabble their nails all over the soles in front of them. Ghorza’s long toes were being pressed into the wooden platform by their weight, unfortunately causing them to scrunch up, but the wide soles still left them plenty of space to play with. Her scrunched up arches, heels, and the balls of her feet were more than sensitive enough for them to enjoy themselves tracing their nails inside each wrinkle. Whenever they felt like changing things up, the demons would reach behind them to tease the exposed backsides of their victim’s knees and enjoy feeling the thief’s legs kick under them.
It was hands down the most horrible punishment Ghorza had endured yet. Hysterical howls of laughter streamed out between her lips. Tears of agony were now freely running down her face while her hands scrabbled against the wooden platform in a maddened attempt at grabbing onto anything that could possibly save her. The succubi had learned their lesson this time; they had no intention of stopping until she was too exhausted to defy them again. Ghorza screams of laughter echoed between the bamboo for over an hour before they finally gave her a break. By the time they got off of her, Ghorza was left an exhausted, wheezing wreck covered in sweat and tears.
“Don’t think it’s over yet, cutpurse. I still have to pay you back for injuring one of my troops.” The leader of the succubi had Ghorza flipped onto her back where she straddled the exhausted half-orc’s legs. One of her hands stroked the amazonian thief’s crotch through her panties. Despite her exhaustion, Ghorza bucked her hips. Her undergarments had begun to vibrate at the demon’s touch.
Ghorza’s hands reached down to pull off her panties the moment the succubus leader got off of her. To her horror, the undergarments wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she tried to push them down her legs. There was nothing she could do to prevent her own clothes from continuing to pleasure her
“You’re free to try all you like, but I’d get a move on if I were you. If you cum while still on this platform, we’ll take it as permission to start tickling you again.” The threat motivated the thief to scramble to her feet. Ghorza looked towards the goal platform in despair. She hadn’t been good enough to make it when she’d been fresh. As exhausted as she was and with her pussy being constantly stimulated like this, it was difficult to even stand now. Her vision was already blurring with the building pleasure. How in heaven's name was she supposed to make it now?
The last bit of Ghorza’s determination to not let the demons win managed to dredge up enough focus to grab the vase again. The thief launched herself off the platform and began swinging between the bamboo stalks as quickly as she could. Her only hope now was to outrun her tormentors and make it to the goal before the sexual stimulation took the last of her concentration away.
Unlike before, the demons weren’t content to let Ghorza make some progress before beginning to harass her. They began to converge on her the moment her feet left the platform. Ghorza’s laughter once again rang out as they exploited her ticklish ribs, sides, waist, butt, and legs. The thief wasn’t entirely aware of what was going on anymore. In between her cursed panties pleasuring her loins and the constant tickle attacks all over her body, she was so overstimulated that she could barely focus on grabbing the next stalk of bamboo in front of her. It was a testament to her extensive training that Ghorza was able to continue to carry the large pot across the bamboo forest through the ticklish torment.
The building pleasure was impossible to ignore though. Her entire body was on fire. Ghorza quickly swung over to the little thicket she’d used as a resting point before. She barely had enough time to wedge herself in the middle before the orgasm ripped through her body. The amazon’s eyes rolled back into her head feeling the waves of pleasure surge through her. Ghorza was so focused on keeping a hold of the bamboo around her that she didn’t notice that the vase had slipped from between her weakened fingers. The half-orc leaned back with a moan, completely unaware of the object falling into the mass of vines below her.
After she’d recovered enough to feel like she could start moving again, the thief reached a trembling hand to the nearest bamboo pole. In her orgasmic haze, she didn’t even register that the succubi had stopped attempting to tickle her. The entire squad of demonic guardswomen watched in silence as she shakily clambered her way across the final stretch of the forest to roll onto the end goal platform with the last of her strength.
“I did it… I can’t believe I made it…” A sense of relief washed over Ghorza. She couldn’t believe she’d actually made it. It’d felt impossible, but she’d somehow managed to overcome the utter hell the demons had put her through to make it all the way to the goal.
“No you didn’t.” Ghorza looked up through bleary eyes at the succubi leader. The demon’s amused grin didn’t even faze her anymore.
“Yes I did. I made it to the platform! I won. You have to let me go now.”
“No, the rules were that you had to carry the vase all the way to the goal. You made it, but the vase is still back there.” The thief followed the demon’s outstretched finger to the mass of vines below. She could barely make out the vase bobbing up and down on the top of the sea of plant matter. Her orgasm befuddled mind could barely register what was happening.
Ghorza had barely managed to piece together that she was being instructed to go back and retrieve the vase when she felt the sole of a boot plant itself on her side. With a shove of her leg, the demonic squad leader rolled her off the platform. Ghorza stared up in shock at the smirking face tauntingly waving goodbye at her.
She hadn’t believed it was possible, but Ghorza’s second time in the grasp of the vines was incomparably worse than the first. Not only did she have more bare skin for the bumpy skin to press against, her body’s sensitivity was at its peak thanks to her recent orgasm. Ghorza couldn’t even laugh when the wriggling plants grabbed onto her lims. The only thing that came out of her mouth for the next several hours were screams.
The vines had wrapped around her wrists to pull her arms taut over her head. Two long strips had formed long oval conveyor belts against her sides. Everywhere from her armpits down to her waist was under assault by the rough skin spinning in a circle against the hyper-sensitive flesh all along her sides. Her feet had long tentacles scrubbing away at her soles while the back of her knees, butt, and thighs were being subjected to yet more snaking their way all over her body.
Another set of finds had wound their way around her DD-cup breasts. Each of her melons were being squeezed and kneaded and, when combined with her vibrating panties, forced her to orgasm even through the intense tickling across her entire body. Ghorza had never experienced such a horrible orgasm before. The forced pleasure was mixing with the tickling to form something more terrible than the sum of its parts. The tickling before had been the worst punishment Ghorza had ever experienced. This mixture of pleasure and full body tickles was nothing short of a living hell.
When the succubi fished Ghorza out of the vines several hours later, the half-orc was too broken to struggle. They deposited her limp body on the platform where she stared vacantly at the scantily-clad demons surrounding her. Eventually, her blank expression was broken by tears beginning to stream down her face. Ghorza’s body was soon wracked with sobs. For the first time, the forest wasn’t being filled with her screams of forced mirth, but by her wails of misery.
“What’s wrong? You’re never gonna escape if you just sit there and cry,” the succubus leader taunted. Ghorza shrank away from the demon. The only thing she felt when she saw the sex demon at this point was terror at the prospect of wiggling fingers.
“No… No no no. No more. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t tickle me again,” Ghorza begged. Her hips subconsciously bucked. Her cursed panties hadn’t stopped vibrating against her overstimulated pussy even after all these hours of torment.
“Oh no, I couldn’t do that.” Ghorza’s body arched from the umpteenth mind-destroying orgasm of the day pounded its way through her. “If you cum on this platform, then we have to tickle you. Those’re the rules. Who would we be as guardswomen if we didn’t enforce the rules?”
Ghorza screamed with terror seeing the squad of demons pounce on her again. This time, it would be several days before they’d allow her to stop screaming.
—--
For most of the party, taking down the Demon Queen was just an extension of their usual job. Lolkhe and Ghorza had both admitted to Amaliel that as far as they were concerned, Empyrean wasn’t much more than a scaled up version of the cult leaders, bandit warlords, and corrupt nobles that’d risen up over the years only to be slapped down by their merry band. Ingtyn had never said as much out loud, but it was pretty clear that there wasn’t anything personal about their running battle against the demonic hordes either. It was different when it came to Amaliel. The angelic young woman wanted to thwart Empyrean and her goddess Ugrogeth not just as an adventurer looking for a big payout, but also as a form of taking responsibility as an Aasimar.
Amaliel felt that since she and Empyrean were both members of the winged angelic race, it was her duty to correct the fallen angel’s devilish ambitions. The Guiding Light had always taught her that discipline had to be enforced whenever a member of the congregation wandered off the correct path. Typically that called for an impassioned sermon reminding the angel in question of the joy that came from working alongside the rest of the community, but Amaliel’s own proclivities lead to a more liberal interpretation of corrective action.
On a certain level, Amaliel could empathize with the Demon Queen when it came to the joy of dominating other women. She’d heard rumors that Empyrean had been cast out of the Church of the Guiding Light thanks to her personal hobby of tickle torturing the other female members of the congregation against their wills. It had been discovered that the soon-to-become Demon Queen had been kidnapping the other priestesses and subjecting them to such traumatizing lengths of tickling that slightly wiggling her fingers was all it took to bring her victims to heel. Many of the other Aasimar had been aghast to hear about what she’d done. Amaliel felt she didn’t have much room to stand on for condemning her. The only real difference between them as far as the paladin could tell was that she was better at hiding it. After all, some of her fondest memories of the past several decades was bringing her own brand of discipline to bear on some of the younger priestesses. Remembering how those defiant faces had transformed into meek, tear-streaked compliance from her hand continuing to strike their bare behinds never failed to bring a smile to her face. Getting to break a fellow Aasimar as powerful and beautiful as Empyrean into submission, and have the populace at large cheer her for it to boot, was the capstone of her career thus far.
With that said, just because Amaliel shared Empyrean’s zeal for domination didn’t mean she necessarily appreciated being on the receiving side. Quite the opposite in fact. Feeling something hard clasp around her wrists and ankles within a second of the bright flash exploding in front of her eyes had caused the paladin to freeze up with shock. No matter how much she’d strained against whatever was grabbing her, she hadn’t been able to prevent herself from being dragged backwards until she’d tripped into what’d felt like a pit that had formed in the floor behind her. A few seconds of falling had ended with her back colliding with something soft. The silver-haired paladin had managed to blink the dancing lights out of her vision to find herself in a dimly lit room with a little too much velvet red upholstery and incense for her to be comfortable. Attempting to get up revealed that the manacles that had locked around her limbs were still very much present and were keeping her stretched out spread eagle on a large couple’s bed.
“Oh my, Chasan. It looks like we have a visitor,” a sultry voice purred.
“So we do, Harahel! A gift from Her Majesty herself, from the looks of it. Shall we keep her entertained?” a second one responded. This one practically had honey dripping from every word.
“It’d be rude of us not to. We wouldn’t want her to feel left out.”
Amaliel craned her head up. Any hopes she had of escaping before any demons showed up were dashed by the sight of a pair of black-winged angels sitting on a nearby couch. Her sudden entrance had evidently interrupted them in the middle of getting intimate. Both women had the trademark divine beauty of their race and neither was wearing much more than a garter belt with stockings and a tiny pair of panties underneath. A few experimental tugs at her cuffs didn’t get Amaliel free before the two fallen angels could get untangled from each other and cross the room over to her.
“I wouldn’t want to disturb you two. Please go back to whatever you were doing. I can take care of myself,” Amaliel said. Having both of the angels leering down at her from the foot of the bed was making her nervous.
“Oh no, we insist. It’d reflect poorly on Her Majesty if we were poor hosts,” said the one named Chasan with a smile. Even by the standards of Aasimar, Chasan was a sculpted beauty with olive tanned skin. Amaliel didn’t know where to look. Every bit of exposed skin before her was flawless from her flowing blonde hair around her gentle-looking rounded face to her waist and hips that didn’t have an ounce of excess fat. Her perfectly rounded, exposed DD-cup breasts in particular made Amaliel gulp involuntarily. The bound paladin felt a blush creep onto her cheeks. She’d always been taught that it was rude to stare, but Chasan’s melons had a slight sheen of sweat and nipples engorged with arousal that were making it difficult for Amaliel to keep her gaze from involuntarily drifting downward. If there was anything that unnerved her about the black-winged angel, it was that Chasan’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her gentle allure was spoiled by the impression that her gaze didn’t have the slightest bit of warmth in them.
“Maybe she’s the type who prefers to watch, Chasan,” Harahel chimed in. “I certainly couldn’t think of a sweeter form of neglect play than being tied up and made to watch a pair of girls make love together without me.” The image the teasing brought to mind caused Amaliel’s blush to deepen. Harahel was no less beautiful than her companion. With hair as black as her wings and skin almost the same tint as fresh snow, the fallen angel had an ephemeral appearance that had Amaliel wonder if her hand would simply pass through if she tried to touch her. Imagining Harahel grinding her D-cup breasts against Chasan’s while the two kissed caused Amaliel to feel a rush of shame. She’d always prided herself on not being as swayed by a flash of bare skin and a well rehearsed smile as her companions, but here she was getting aroused fantasizing about watching demons have sex in front of her.
Amaliel was shaken out of her fantasies feeling the bed shake under her. Harahel had hopped onto the bed and was crawling towards her on her hands and knees. Amaliel instinctively shied away as much as her bondage would allow her. She wished she could bring her wings out to drive the fallen angel away, but the way her arms were bound off to the side left her white plumes pinned to the bed under her arms.
“Aw, look how scared she is, Chasan!” Harahel giggled. It wasn’t a happy giggle. Amaliel was used to the giggles of children and angels laughing at a funny joke. This one had the coldness of a predator to it that was replacing her budding arousal with fear.
“That wouldn’t do! She’s a guest, Harahel. Her happiness is our number one priority.” Amaliel had been so focused on Harahel’s approach that she was caught off guard feeling her boots get yanked off. Her eyes swiveled back just in time to watch Chasan begin to peel the underlying socks off. Attempting to scrunch her toes as tightly as possible around the thin fabric didn’t do much to prevent her feet being laid bare with a sharp tug.
“Maybe she’d like us to pay a little more attention to her… here,” Harahel purred. Amaliel bucked and gasped, her blush returning. Harahel’s slim hand had slipped under her breastplate to give her chest a playful squeeze.
“No, no, Harahel. We need to set the mood first. It’s so much more fun to play doctor when the girl already has a smile on her face.” Chasan’s nails gently poked at the soles of Amaliel’s exposed feet. The helpless paladin stiffened at the lingering tingling sensations. Her mind was going wild remembering why Empyrean had been excommunicated from the church. Surely these two couldn’t be thinking of…
“You’re right, Chasan. Except now that you’re asking, I can’t remember any good jokes for the life of me. We’ll have to think of some other method to coax a smile out of her.” Amaliel’s fears were confirmed feeling Harahel’s hand slip down from her breast to snake her slim fingers in between the bones of her rib cage. The pads of her fingers dug into the soft skin a little and began to gently rub. Amaliel couldn’t stop her body from jumping a little from the small stream of jolts the touch sent rattling through her chest. Her face was set in a stony grim expression with the effort of trying to prevent herself from giggling while her upper body tried to twist away from her tormentor’s touch.
“Hrm, you may be on to something, but her face is so grim now. I think you’ll need a little assistance in this.” Chasan’s words were accompanied by her nails coming back for another attack on Amaliel’s helpless feet. The sharp tips were slowly scratching their way in horizontal trips. They started at the base of her toes, teasing the skin underneath for a few seconds before moving over sideways half a finger’s width. Whenever her hands made it across to the opposite edge of the foot, Chasan would simply bring her fingers down a centimeter or so before resuming her finger’s travel in the opposite direction.
Amaliel was having more difficulty trying to not react with each second. The slowness of Chasan’s teasing was downright maddening. She was being wound up like a spring with anticipation at the same time the light tickling made her feet jerk in an attempt to evade the nails. At the same time, Harahel had brought her second hand into play. Rather than teasing the ribs on her other side, the fallen angel was dragging her nails all over her stomach. The hand had tunneled in under her armor to lay with its palm flat against Amaliel’s toned stomach. Its fingers were slightly flexed so the tips of her long nails left ticklish little explosions in their wake as the hand snaked its way across the flesh beneath. Amaliel’s stomach jumped from a sharp intake of breath every time the nails came dangerously close to her bellybutton.
The variety of sensations was too much for the bound paladin to prepare herself against. Seconds after Chasan was done teasing a sensitive portion of her foot she’d be caught off guard by Harahel’s hand swerving towards her bellybutton. While she was focusing on that, the other hand would give her ribs a squeeze that sent a disrupting jolt straight to her lungs. Amaliel’s body was beginning to tremble from the strain of shutting it all out. Her hands were tugged at the chains of her manacles with increased urgency every time the tickling made her flinch, and the teasing was making her flinch more frequently with every passing minute.
“It’s so cute watching her try not to smile. The way her mouth twitches like she thinks she can hold it back is adorable.”
“Just a little bit more. I’m sure she’s impatient to get to the fun part. How about we ramp it up a little?” Even though Amaliel had warning, she wasn’t able to stop her body from jumping when the angels kicked up the intensity of their tickling a notch. One of Chasan’s hands had left her foot in favor of grabbing her toes. Her toes were forcibly spread apart so the other hand could scratch at the hyper-sensitive skin in between. Not only was this spot revealed to be more sensitive than anywhere else on her feet, Chasan had stepped up the intensity from light teasing to a frenetic wiggling. The jump was too much for Amaliel to brace against. Her stony expression broke into a wide smile. All of the pent up giggling she’d been trying to hold back this entire time came bursting out in a stream of laughter.
‘
The bound angel’s distress was compounded by Harahel digging in a few seconds later. The fallen angel wasn’t content to tease around her bellybutton anymore. One of her nails had slipped inside and was vibrating against the inner walls. Amaliel screeched and bucked her hips in an attempt to dislodge the finger, but Harahel wasn’t about to let her escape. She stopped briefly to pull off Amaliel’s chest piece then pinned her down by straddling her hips and grinding her butt into her victim’s thighs. Amaliel had never felt so helpless when the finger returned. It tickled too much for her to stop the laughter anymore. Her tormentors were holding her down too strongly for her to escape the tickles. All she could do was do her best to endure the ticklish sensations pounding into her chest and groin as they spent the next 20 minutes forcibly extracting laughter out of her lungs.
“That’s much better. Look how big her grin is now,” Chasan taunted when they finally gave her a break. Amaliel wheezed, gratefully taking in lungfuls of air. Her face hurt from smiling too much. Even after the hands drew away, she couldn’t get the big, miserable smile on her face to stop. Her stomach ached from continuously laughing without a break this entire time. Amaliel felt that she should be happy that they’d given her a chance to recover, but the only thing she felt was fear. She knew the smiles on her tormentor’s faces too well to feel anything else looking at them. They reminded her too much of the expression she herself had sported whenever one of the younger priestesses had broken down crying from her spanking before she was even halfway done with them.
“Why so scared, little angel? After all we’ve done to help you smile too,” Harahel taunted.
“It’s said that sadists are the first to get scared when left at someone else’s mercy. They know what it’s like to have power over someone too well to be ignorant of what’s going to happen to them. Is our guest perhaps a bit naughtier than a paladin is supposed to be?” Amaliel gulped. There was nothing alluring about her angelic captors anymore. Their teasing was taking a decidedly nasty tone to it. Even the pretense of friendliness in their expressions had fallen away for naked joy at her terror.
“Maybe she’d be a little happier if we helped her get more comfortable, Chasan. I can’t imagine having to lie in bulky armor is good for relaxing.”
“No!” Amaliel cried. Her heart had leapt into her throat. All of her efforts to keep the fallen angels from grabbing her chestplate and leggings by thrashing against her bondage with all her might were in vain. They didn’t need to get a firm grip on her clothes to get them off. Harahel and Chasan’s hands glowed with magical power. Every bit of fabric that came near the sadistic fallen angels’ hands disintegrated into little strands of fiber. Within a minute, Amaliel’s armor and the underwear underneath had been broken apart to leave her lying naked on the bed.
“Look how aroused she is, Chasan! Maybe our guest is more of a masochist than she’s willing to let on.” Amaliel’s face burned with shame. While her mind was screaming in anguish, her body was practically begging for it to continue, just a little nicer this time. Every ticklish bolt of suffering had headed straight towards her groin first and gone up to squeeze the laughter out of her chest second. Despite how horrible it had felt, Amaliel had been left painfully turned on by the experience. Her chest ached, yearning for her tormentors to pay attention to her there. Her loins were sopping wet with arousal and had spent the last 15 minutes desperate that the hand abusing her bellybutton would make a trip a little bit lower.
Harahel’s hand reached out to give Amaliel’s exposed breast a playful squeeze. Both she and Chasan started with surprise when Amaliel broke out squealing with laughter. “Nohoho! Stohop ihit!” the bound angel cried, her chest arching at the unexpectedly ticklish touch. The fallen angels shared a glance. Chasan clambered onto the bed to crawl her way in between Amaliel’s legs. After getting comfortable, her long nails reached out to light scratch around the exposed groin in front of her. Amaliel’s arousal was pushing the sensitivity of her privates to a whole new level. Having those sharp tips tease around the pink folds of her womanhood caused her to let out a shriek and violently buck her hips this time. The two fallen angels shared a grin. They had never planned on being nice to their new toy and finding these latest ticklish spots was opening up all sorts of avenues for being mean.
The black-winged angels picked up a few of the white plumes that had fallen off of Amaliel’s wings during her earlier struggling. Infusing the stiff feathers with a little bit of their magical energy turned them a pitch black. Chasan and Harahel shared a nod before letting go of their newly cursed implements. Instead of falling to the bed, the feathers hung in midair for a second before floating over to Amaliel. Two of the feathers flew over to begin stroking her stiffened nipples. They would teasingly dance their tips around the edge of her swollen areola, drag the length against her stiffened peaks, and brush back and forth across her nipples. The other pair made their way down to stimulate the helpless angel’s pussy. They would stroke all over her sopping wet folds with brief trips up to her clit just long enough to make her hips.
“Whahat are you dohoihihing!?” Amaliel cried. The helpless paladin couldn’t stop herself from alternating between tittering and gasping. Each stroke against her privates tickled and pleasured in equal measure. Her body couldn’t figure out if it wanted to shy away from the torturous tickles or lean in in the hopes that it would bring her to climax that much faster.
“What do you think we’re doing? We’re helping you cum, of course!”
“We have yet to meet a girl we couldn’t push over the edge with feather play.”
“Wehell, stop ithehehe!” Amaliel yelled. She only realized her mistake after watching her tormentors share an evil grin.
“If you insist!” they said in unison. And with that came the nails again. Amaliel burst out into laughter when the two fallen angels dove in with wiggling fingers to assist the feathers in working over her privates. Harahel was stroking, poking, squeezing, and kneading her breasts. In all of her decades, Amaliel never would’ve guessed that her breasts were the most ticklish part of her body. Each touch on her jiggling globes was a line straight to twisting the air out of her lungs in ear-splitting shrieks. Her back was burrowing into the mattress beneath in an attempt to escape only to involuntarily arch her back with a scream whenever her tormentor returned to rub a bad spot on the side of her breasts with her finger pads.
Her torment was compounded by Chasan making certain her lower body didn’t get any rest. The sadistic blonde was namely focused on tracing the tips of her nails in unpredictable patterns all over her groin. Amaliel was left guessing whether the next second was going to be the nails tracing over her aching pussy lips alongside the feathers or going up to wiggle against her pantiline. Maybe some thigh squeezes were in order instead, Chasan contrasting the lighter teasing by randomly grabbing big handfuls of the soft flesh of her inner thighs for some kneading. If that wasn’t bad enough, Chasan would occasionally lunge her hands up to squeeze Amaliel’s hips or reach under to goose her behind. Not being able to tell where the tickles would come from next deepened Amaliel’s feelings of vulnerability, which in turn made every ticklish stroke across her body more intense.
It was torture, plain and simple. Having her privates tickled was simultaneously making her mind go blank with arousal at the same time that it tickled too much for her to focus on anything else. A steady stream of laughter poured out of her mouth and she desperately thrashed to escape. All it did was excite her tormentors into tickling her harder. Her every twist and turn to shake off the fingers further brought out the sadistic instincts of the fallen angels. They picked up the pace of their fingers to punish her harder. Within minutes, Amaliel was reduced to hysterics. Loud shrieks of laughter accented her hysterical peals of laughter with increasing frequency as her building arousal pushed her to be more ticklish than she had known was possible.
“Our guest is so happy now, Harahel. Look at how much she’s laughing now.”
“I’m impressed, Chasan. My stomach would be killing me if I laughed for even half this long. But she just keeps going!”
“STOHOHOP!” Amaliel screamed in between bouts of laughter. “STOHOP IHIHIT! LEHET MEHEHE GO! I’LL DO ANHETHINGHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!”
“Anything? Aaaanything?” Chasan emphasized her question by focusing purely on pussy tickling.
“YEHES! ANYHEHEHTHING! JUST STHOHOHOP!”
“Beg,” Harahel ordered. A sadistic glint was in her eyes. “Beg us to make you cum.”
“NOOOOO!” Amaliel screamed. Her mind was being torn to shreds from being edged by the feathers and fingers while constantly denied release by the tickle torture, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to say it.
“Fine by us. We’ll just keep tickling you then.”
Hanging on by her pride was all well and good, but the combined tickling and edging was pure torture. Harahel and Chasan were relentless in continuing to exploit her ticklish breasts, pussy, thighs, and hips for another half an hour. Amaliel’s laughter was bordering on screams now. Her will to resist was being battered into submission by the unending waves of tickles. She hadn’t been able to stand a second more of the tickles for the past 20 minutes. Each surge of ticklish sensations from the myriad fingers and feathers abusing her bare skin pounding down to her aching pussy, every time her chest screamed out in agony from being tickled too hard to breathe, eroded the last dregs of her pride keeping her from cracking.
Eventually, it was too much. The tickles simply wouldn’t stop. Amaliel was half out of her mind with the need to cum. The last bastions of her pride crumbled in the face of her unfulfilled desire and need for the torture to end.
“FUHUCK MEHEHEHEHE!” The bound angel screamed at the top of her lungs. “Please! Juhust fuhUCK ME ALREAHADY! PLEASE LET MEHE CUHUHUM!”
“What do you say, Chasan? She wants to cum.”
“Of course! All I have to do is touch her here, right?” Chasan abandoned all of her groin, hip, and thigh tickling to focus exclusively on scratching the tips of her nails against Amaliel’s engorged pink folds.
“Fuhuhuck! Stop! Stop stohop stohohOHOHOP IHIHIHIT!”
“Our guest doesn’t seem too happy. Are you certain you’re doing it properly?”
“Of course! There doesn’t exist a girl in this world who I can’t make cum with my fingers.” The two fallen angels cackled with glee over Amaliel’s distress. Their fingers focused purely on applying their nails to her erogenous zones to maximize her torment. The bound angel’s screams and pleas for them to allow her to climax continued to reverberate throughout the room for several more minutes. Amaliel was well past the point where anything mattered past getting it all to stop. Her pride had been completely shattered under the merciless torment, leaving only a helpless girl pleading for mercy from a pair of women who wanted nothing more in the world to make her life a living hell.
The most horrible part of it all, Amaliel soon discovered, was that her tormentors were actually pushing her closer to orgasm. The ceaseless attention of the combined nails and fingers on her erogenous zones was inching her closer to climax almost infinitesimally more than the horrible tickling was denying it. Amaliel’s screams were slowly being replaced with moans. After nearly 15 minutes, the paladin’s mind went blank when her body tipped over the edge into the most explosive orgasm she’d ever experienced.
But the tickling didn’t stop. In fact, it grew worse. Harahel and Chasan were having so much fun playing with their toy that they’d stopped paying attention to how aroused they’d made her. Both of them reacted quickly to Amaliel’s body suddenly spasming under their fingers. Their hands leapt straight to squeezing her thighs and wiggling inside the depths of her armpits. Amaliel let out a scream so loud that it left both of their ears ringing. Any normal bed would’ve snapped in two under how violently her body was thrashing.
If Amaliel had been capable of conscious thought anymore, she would’ve told herself to stop thinking that it wasn't possible for the tickling to grow worse. The two fallen angels were following her body around to deny her the smallest instance of getting to enjoy finally being allowed to cum. The waves of pleasure from her orgasm were mixing with the intense tickling to form a new sensation her mind couldn’t figure out how to process. The only consensus her brain could come to was that it was well and truly unbearable. Amaliel screamed like a woman possessed for the following minutes of having her orgasm ruined and post-orgasm sensitivity punished.
When the tickling finally stopped a little over 10 minutes later and the feathers were all removed, Amaliel didn’t beg or scream. Her giggles eventually died down to be replaced by a hiccup. Her eyes scrunched tight, only for a few tears to leak out regardless. The room that had once been filled with her peals of laughter was soon filled with the sound of her breaking down sobbing. It was simply too much. The combined orgasm and tickling had been too severe. Her spirit was now well and truly broken. The two fallen angels both looked at their crying guest before sharing a glance.
They’d found the game they wanted to play.
“Aw, don’t cry little angel. We’ll make it all feel better.” Harahel singsonged. Chasan had extended her index finger and was lightly tracing a complex pattern on Amaliel’s groin along her pantiline.
“Do you know what always cheers me up when I’m feeling down? Having Harahel bend me over the table, lift my leg up, and go to town on me with a strap on. A few orgasms later and all the blues have simply flown away.” Amaliel’s body seized up with horror at the implication of what they were about to do to her. Her head twisted around look at where Chasan was touching. A pit formed in her stomach seeing a complex magical rune emit a faint pink glow below her navel.
“By the light, no. Please. No. Anything but that…” The angel wasn’t able to gather the strength through her fear to get her pleading above a soft whisper. Harahel and Chasan’s grins down at her couldn’t have looked more twisted as they continued their teasing.
“We figured that since you were begging to cum so much earlier, you couldn’t possibly be satisfied only having one!” Chasan gently patted the magical rune. “This baby should help with that. Once you start to cum, it’ll make certain you never stop.”
The evil angels began to massage Amaliel’s privates again. They started off gently at first, but grew firmer over time to extract unwilling gasps and moans out of their victim. When Amaliel attempted to squirm away they sat on her limbs to pin her down.
“No! Please! No more! Stop already. By the light, please stop!”
Tears of terror were streaming down Amaliel’s face as she begged. She would’ve happily done anything and everything, debased herself and performed every perverted act her tormentors could imagine, in exchange for not being made to orgasm while under the cursed sexual magic. Her pleas fell on deaf ears. The beautiful fallen angels continued to stimulate her with every sign of glee at her terror.
“Aw, look at how adorable she is,” Harahel cooed. “We aren’t even halfway through her first day and she’s crying this much!”
There was no way for the bound paladin to prevent her body from being toyed with until she was brought to another explosive orgasm under her tormentors’ skillful fingers. True to their word, her orgasm was almost immediately followed up by another. Barely seconds had passed since she’d experienced the height of one climax before the rune inscribed on her groin activated to make her cum again.
Amaliel couldn’t think anymore. The sheer levels of agony she was experiencing drove out everything else. Chasan and Harahel had dove in for the kill. They’d placed the feathers back to work stimulating her nipples and pussy before joining in with wiggling fingers. Harahel was skittering her nails all over her jiggling breasts with the occasional foray down to her armpits and ribs for the sake of a bit of variety. Chasan was getting her fill of Amaliel’s thighs. Her hands were groping all over the sides and tops, wiggling against where her groin met her legs, and going up to goose her hips or pay her bellybutton another visit. The only thing Amaliel was capable of doing anymore was incoherently screaming like an animal. Any trace of sanity had been driven out of her face by the irrepressible need to form the most crazed smile her face could produce.
“How long did you set her to keep cumming for anyways, Chasan? I wanted to see if she’s so scared of orgasms after this that we can get her to eat us out by touching her pussy again.”
“About 3 minutes.” Chasan took a look at the magical sex rune again and blinked with surprise. “Ah, I tell a lie. I messed up and inscribed 30 instead.” Both angels shared a laugh over her mistake. They didn’t have any plans on stopping their games now or until the end of time. Neither of them were against allowing their fun to continue on a little longer than expected.
—--
Empyrean leaned back on her heels with a sigh of contentment. The four mirrors arranged on the wall in front of didn’t show her reflection, instead displaying a dwarf, half-orc, dragonkin, and aasimar all howling with laughter.
“And you thought it would fail. I told you, didn’t I? To get the best results, you have to put in the work yourself.” The black-winged demon queen was speaking to a separate mirror to her side. As opposed to the ones displaying the adventuring party’s continuing torture being framed in white, this one had a frame forged out of onyx. Its surface was equally dark. If one squinted hard enough, they would almost be able to make out the outline of a curvaceous woman wearing a dress sitting on a throne in its depths.
If the onlooker gazed at the mirror long enough for their eyes to adapt to its supernatural gloom, they would invariably notice the squirming figures in the background behind the throne. Rows upon rows of naked female bodies were standing with their arms above their heads. Each of them had their mouths wide open in silent screams while their bodies spasmed uncontrollably under the influence of disembodied hands, feathers, brushes of all types, and tongues stimulated their bare skin. The lines of women stretched on endlessly into the distance forming an endless expanse of squirming flesh.
Empyrean stood watching the black mirror for a while, almost as if she could hear something on the other side of it. A smirk formed on her face.
“Don’t worry, we’re almost there. Just a few more girls and you’ll be free. And once you are…” The demon queen plucked one of the jet black feathers off of her own wings and dragged up her exposed side around her dress. The fallen angel shivered with delight at the tingles its passage left. “I’ll be waiting right at the front, just for you.”
The Demon Queen wasn’t content with just sentencing Ingtyn and her party to an eternity of ticklish torment. Nothing would satisfy her short of Ugrogeth breaking free from her prison to turn this entire world into a living tickle hell. The demonic hordes would sweep across the land trapping every non-demonic woman alive in a mind-destroying nightmare of laughter and orgasms until the end of time.
Which, of course, included Empyrean herself. As an aasimar she was no more exempt from the ticklish fate she had planned for the world as any other woman, even if she was the one responsible for setting them all free. It was actually what she wanted most of all. The deal she had struck with Ugrogeth had been the goddess’ freedom in return for Empyrean becoming her personal tickling slave for all eternity. Empyrean had spent centuries chasing the absolute pinnacle of ticklish torment. She had practiced against the vulnerable flesh of every woman she could capture and observed with fascination as Ugrogeth’s own demons drove their victims into insanity. What she wanted most of all now was to learn first hand just how horribly it would tickle to be under the fingers of the Demon Goddess of Tickling herself.
Empyrean Lightsbane turned on her heel and strode down the hall. She hummed a tuneless song as she went, fantasizing about what the world would look like after she’d won. Countless mirrors stretched before her. The walls of the hallway stretched on longer and higher than the eye could see, each available bit of free space being taken up by a mirror. Each and every mirror contained the image of a naked woman being ceaselessly gang tickled by the demons living within. The only interruption was a doorway a little ways down that Empyrean used to exit the hallway.
The Demon Queen had been so caught up daydreaming that she hadn’t noticed that the black mirror hadn’t followed after her. The mirror slowly rotated where it floated, taking in the sight of the innumerable scenes of torment around it. If Empyrean had stayed in the room for just a few seconds longer, she would’ve heard a small clinking sound like a coin had been dropped on the floor.
A crack had formed across the mirror’s surface and the faint echoes of laughter were leaking through to fill the hall…
----------
As far as Ingtyn was concerned, an infiltration into another nation’s capital was a serious affair. After all, the demonic hordes that constituted the Gargalisma Empire’s standing army were strong enough that all of the rest of the known races joining hands to fight them off together had barely proven enough to hold their ground. It made sense to the battle hardened dwarven warrior that a mission sending less than half a dozen select individuals to strike directly at the Demon Queen herself would be nothing short of suicide for anyone who wasn’t operating at the utmost peak of their focus and discipline. Evidently though, she was the only one in her party who thought so.
Ingtyn Ironfinder took pride in her professionalism. “Fast, Certain, Reliable” had been how she’d advertised herself back when she’d been adventuring alone and she would deck anyone who tried to make her drop it now. Anybody who wanted to make certain that the job got done was told to look out for a 120 cm tall dwarven woman with shoulder length braided brown hair and draconic tattoos running down her arm. She wasn’t the prettiest, being at best “handsome, considering the circumstances”, but Ingtyn was willing to settle for being reliable. A part of her had always hoped that anyone who saw her masterwork plate armor and mythril sword from behind would be confident that she’d be able to find a way out no matter how sticky the situation got.
The dwarf winced hearing a burst of feminine laughter behind her. She stopped peeking around the corner at the next hallway they’d need to traverse in favor of shooting the three women following her a glare. None of the others seemed to be taking this seriously. They couldn’t even be bothered to take cover for gods’ sake, instead casually strolling down the hallway chatting amongst themselves like they were out on a weekend shopping spree.
“Will you please focus? We’re on a mission here,” Ingtyn hissed at them just loudly enough for her voice to carry. It irritated her that only one of them had the good grace to look ashamed at her admonishment.
“Aw, don’t get so upset, Boss,” Ghorza called back without the slightest regard for where they were. The fact that the amazonian half-orc rogue didn’t even have her daggers out, instead keeping her fingers casually laced behind her head, was especially grating. “We’ve whipped Empy and her precious Uggo before. She’s never put up anything we couldn’t put back down. There’s no reason we can’t handle her again.” Ingtyn cranked up her glare to the third most withering she could.
“Yes, you’re right. This isn’t our first run in with Demon Queen Empyrean and Dark Goddess Ugrogeth. That’s the problem. She’ll remember how we fight. No doubt she’s set up countermeasures against us this time.”
“I think what Empyrean is going to remember most is the lashing Ammy gave her bare behind last time.” The comment came from the group’s mage, Lolkhe Firetalons, who accompanied it with a snicker. As far as Ingtyn’s standards of professionalism went, Lolkhe was at least above Ghorza for this mission. The mage had the good sense to keep one of her magical wands clutched in one hand and the great dragon wings sprouting out of her back folded out of everyone else’s way. Her free hand was positioned at the Bag of Holding on her waist in case she ever needed to reach in for one of the myriad magical items contained inside. That didn’t excuse the fact that she was laughing and cracking jokes in the middle of enemy territory though. “I didn’t know our little Ammy was into that sort of thing!” she joked with a playful nudge at the angel-winged woman walking at her side.
“I was only disciplining her as the church had taught me.” A slight blush was making its way across Amaliel Lightsong’s face and she seemed to be having some trouble looking anyone in the eye at the moment. Ingtyn always had to remind herself that Amaliel, like many Aasimar, was a member of the Church of the Guiding Light. In her case, she’d chosen to become a holy warrior purging evil from the world as a paladin rather than remain cloistered in the abbey as a priestess. Such raunchy jokes never went across well with her. The angel-winged, silver-haired beauty was more than a bit of a stick in the mud most of the time, but at the moment the Dwarven warrior was grateful for her reserved nature. Amaliel was the only one of the three who seemed to be paying any attention to her surroundings. In spite of the other two’s best efforts, the Aasimar was remaining relatively quiet while actively looking around for signs of trap or ambush.
Which wasn’t to say that the angel didn’t have a more wild side to her. Ingtyn heavily suspected that their paladin was a bit more into BDSM than she was willing to admit. The Dwarf remembered the incident Lolkhe was referring to better than she liked. The last time they’d foiled Empyrean’s plans at summoning her Goddess, Amaliel had declared that a simple defeat wasn’t enough to teach her a lesson. She had forcibly bound the black-winged Demon Queen’s hands behind her back with a length of rope, wrestled her into laying stomach down across her lap, pulled off her captive’s panties, and proceeded to give the fallen angel a bare bottom spanking of epic proportions. No amount of ale had been able to help Ingtyn forget the look of aroused euphoria that had come across Amaliel’s face as she’d spanked Empyrean until the angelic queen of demonkind had been too choked with tears of pain and humiliation to intelligibly beg her to stop anymore.
“Ohhhh? If I’d known the church was that kinky, I’d have joined up long ago! Can I request you to ‘discipline’ me for being a naughty girl if I show up, Ammy?” The raucous laughter that followed the quip was the final straw for Ingtyn. She drew herself up to her full 120 cm height intent on scolding her party members for treating their mission so lightly.
Said tonguelashing never had a chance to leave her throat. A small pinprick of light had formed a few meters above the ground in the middle of the adventuring party. None of them had enough time to do much more than register that it was there before it suddenly exploded. Ingtyn wasn’t fast enough in shielding her eyes with her arms to prevent her vision from going white from the ensuing blast of blinding light. The cries of shock and pain made her vaguely aware through her own eye-searing pain that none of her companions had been any more fortunate.
Whoever had launched the surprise attack was relentless in taking advantage of their opening. Less than a second passed between the blinding light and Ingtyn feeling something impact her breastplate to send her tumbling backwards. Except instead of crashing onto the cold stone beneath like she would’ve normally expected, Ingtyn found herself falling. It took several seconds of plunging through thin air before she felt her back slam into something.
The dwarven woman rolled onto her hands and knees with a cough. She was having trouble breathing. The blow had left a dent in her breastplate that was in turn applying pressure to her sternum. On the bright side, whoever had attacked them wasn’t continuing to chase her down. Ingtyn was too seasoned a warrior to let the opportunity pass. She fumbled around blindly to undo the leather straps holding together her breastplate. Taking off her armor to leave her in just a thin jerkin and relatively lightly armored leggings certainly wasn’t ideal when they were under attack, but then again neither was letting herself suffocate to death from allowing the heavy armor to continue compressing her ribcage.
Something was wrong though. Ingtyn was still recovering from the blinding flash, but all of her other senses were screaming at her that something was off. She couldn’t hear any sounds of her companions fighting. Rather than the hard stone they’d been walking across before, the sensation under her knees was more akin to kneeling in sand. The experienced warrior rubbed the dancing molts of light out of her eyes with her forearms.
Regaining her vision confirmed her worst fears. Ingtyn wasn’t in the Demon Queen’s castle anymore. While she’d been in a stone hallway barely a minute ago, she now found herself in the middle of a grand colosseum’s arena. A groan escaped her lips. She suspected that her attacker hadn’t just knocked her down, they’d launched her through a portal to another location entirely. It was a foul tactic to be sure. Ingtyn was confident she could come up with a strategy to beat anything that came within arm’s reach. There wasn’t much she could do if they’d sent her too far away to get back in the fight. It was such a nasty trick that she was going to have to write it down for later after she got back.
But first, she’d have to beat down everything in her way. Ingtyn wasn’t alone in the arena. A pure white humanoid figure resembling a mannequin was standing holding an ax a dozen or so meters away from her. A score more were forming a wide ring around both of them. Ingtyn balled her hands into fists and took a guard stance. Her enchanted mythril sword had vanished out of her hand at some point while she’d been falling, but that was alright. This entire situation was leaving her in a sour mood. Getting to punch something would make for some decent stress relief.
Ingtyn had been expecting the group of mannequins to converge on her together. The one holding the ax rushing her alone had also been a possibility a bit lower down the scale. What she hadn’t been anticipating at all was for her opponent to toss its weapon to her with a jerk of its arm. The dwarven woman raised an eyebrow at the ax clattering to a stop right at her feet.
“Fight.” Though it had no features with which to talk, the words came echoing out of the mannequin that had thrown her the weapon.
“What sort of daft fool gives their opponent their weapon?” Ingtyn asked aloud. Not that she was about to turn down the offer of making killing them easier. The experienced warrior hooked the ax handle under her foot and kicked it up to grab out of the air. In the same smooth motion, Ingtyn leaned forward to launch herself into a sprint straight at the mannequin in front of her. While short and stubby, her dwarven legs were powerful enough close the distance in less than a second to bring the ax blade crashing down on her opponent’s shoulder.
At least, that’s how she’d expected it to play out. The ax blade had come within centimeters of contact when the mannequin’s features began to change. Its body roiled and shifted, splitting in half to allow the blow to harmlessly pass through it before reforming into its humanoid shape. Ingtyn didn’t have time to draw her weapon back to defend herself before one of the mannequin’s hands darted forward to squeeze her side in a pincer grip. The dwarven woman let out a yelp of surprise and jumped back out of range.
“Don’t run. Fight,” the booming voice of the mannequin echoed out again. Ingtyn rubbed her side. She hadn’t expected it to do that. Her side still tinged with the little electric ticklish sensations. She grimaced while readying her ax again. The proud dwarven warrior wasn’t going to let something as inconsequential as a quick tickle dissuade her from chopping their heads off in retaliation. Once again, she charged at her opponent.
This time, she was better prepared for her charge to fail. The horizontal swing that was supposed to bisect the mannequin at the waist went sailing through thin air thanks to the thing unnaturally warping backwards to throw its hips out of reach. The dwarven woman braced herself seeing the hands lash out to slip inside the space between her arms and ribs. She grit her teeth feeling the fingers dig into her armpits and begin wiggling around inside. The ticklish jolts the fingers extracted weren’t nearly so bad that she couldn’t power through to reverse the course of her ax and bring it screaming back in to collide with her assailant’s ribcage in an upward stroke.
Ingtyn had been hoping that the mannequin wouldn’t be able to attack and morph itself out of the way of her counter at the same time. That didn’t prove to be the case. Instead of changing shape to avoid the blow, the shapeshifter bent to the side and hardened itself, all while continuing to dig its fingers into Ingtyn’s armpits. Ingtyn’s ax glanced harmlessly off its side to go sailing up into the air.
A giggle escaped the dwarven woman’s lips. Her armpits weren’t as ticklish as her sides, but they were still sensitive enough that she couldn’t hold in her laughter through a sustained attack like this. The momentum of her swing had carried her arms above her head following the ax. Her opponent’s fingers went wild scrabbling against the fabric of her jerkin all over her armpits for a few seconds before diving down to dig into her stomach.
The dwarven woman backpedaled trying to escape the tickles again. She wasn’t so lucky this time. The mannequin pursued her to continue tapping its fingers all over her tummy. Her stomach proved to be a gold mine under its fingers. Ingtyn’s giggles were growing heavier by the second.
“Don’t run. Fight!” the mannequin commanded again.
“Fuhuck you! Stohop ticklihing mehehe!” Ingtyn cried. She needed to put space between her and her attacker. The ax wasn’t doing her much good when it was pressing in close like this. The dwarf continued to backpedal until she ran straight until she ran into one of the mannequins in the circle behind her. She glanced back in shock feeling a pair of hands wrap around her shoulder. In her desperation to get away from the tickling fingers, she’d completely forgotten that they were there.
“Let me go!” she yelled, but it wasn’t like they were about to start listening to her now. The one that had its hands around her shoulders began to wrestle her to the ground. Ingtyn did what she could to struggle out of its grasp. A powerful twist of her hips nearly allowed her to break free, but a second set of hands grabbed onto her arm. The mannequin off to the side had joined in on restraining her. More and more hands were grabbing at the dwarf’s limbs until she was wrestled into laying spread eagle on the ground with featureless mannequins pinning down her limbs. Hands were grabbing at her jerkin to drag it over her head. More still reached in to snap open the bra containing her C-cup breasts beneath, leaving Ingtyn suddenly topless .
“You ran. Punish.” The one she’d originally been fighting was advancing forward with wiggling fingers.
“Get away from me you freaks!” Ingtyn did her best to kick and struggle against the multitude of hands holding her down. It was pointless though. There were too many keeping her from escaping the hands making their way down to her exposed stomach.
“My my… I thought you’d last a little longer than that, Ingtyn Ironfinder.” Ingtyn’s eyes nearly popped out of their sockets with surprise. A form had materialized out of thin air behind the mannequins holding her down. It was an incredibly beautiful angel with black wings and silver hair flowing down to the small of her back. She wore a shoulderless, backless, high low dress that started just high enough to cover her D-cup breasts going down to barely reach her thighs. The dresses’ hem falling around her legs looked like they’d been torn up on purpose, like its designer had been hellbent on making “sexilly tattered” a term. A pair of black lace nylons covered her long legs up leaving just the barest amount of flesh between her leggings and dress to tantalize the eyes. Ingtyn only knew of one non-prostitute angel who walked around on the daily dressed in such a provocative manner: Empyrean Lightsbane, the Demon Queen.
“You!” was all Ingtyn managed to spit out before screwing her mouth shut. It was proving hard to come up with a biting insult when a pair of wiggling fingers had just made contact with her exposed stomach. She’d needed to grit her teeth from giggling like an idiot in front of the woman she had been sent to subdue. Empyrean gave her a mocking grin at her plight.
“Tickles, doesn’t it?” the angelic Demon Queen cooed. “Don’t worry if it doesn’t tickle badly enough yet. These children are designed to learn as they go. I’m certain they’ll have you laughing up a storm in no time.” Empyrean reached out one of her slender hands to give the tickling mannequin an almost loving rub on the head.
Ingtyn couldn’t suppress a yelp. True to Empyrean’s words, the mannequin’s flailing fingers were growing more refined with each stroke. Every time it made contact with a spot on her stomach that made her jump, it would focus one of its hands on experimenting with it. Currently, her tormentor was rubbing the thumb of one hand into a bad spot halfway between her belly button and side while the other wiggled its fingers all across her tummy in search of another place to exploit. Ingtyn felt like she was about to explode. Her laughter was building up inside of her to almost critical levels. If it tickled any more than this then not even a dwarf as strong willed as she would be able to control herself.
The tipping point came from the dwarven woman feeling her heavy boots get yanked off. At first she ignored it. Years of walking across the continent fighting demons had left her feet a solid block of calluses. There was no way in her mind that her feet would be ticklish. Which is why it completely caught her off-guard when she felt 20 fingers drag their way up the pliable, baby soft flesh of her soles.
“Whahat’s goIHING ONHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!?” Ingtyn shrieked with surprise. She couldn’t understand what was happening. She knew her feet better than anyone else. It’d been years since she’d felt much of anything at all from her soles whether it be when barefoot or wearing boots. But all the same, the fingers tickled like crazy. All 20 were slowly making trips up her feet from the heels to the tips of her toes. Every time they’d stop to knead her arches with their fingerpads or trace back and forth across the balls of her feet sent shocks of ticklish sensations traveling up their legs. It tickled too much for her to contain any longer. The helpless dwarven woman broke out into deep guffaws of laughter from the combined stomach and foot tickling.
“Aw, did you think you’d be safe down there?” Empyrean giggled with delight over Ingstyn’s distress. Her smile took a nasty turn looking down on her victim. “You’re so silly. You’re in Tickle Hell now! This entire sub-dimension was built by Ugrogeth herself for the express purpose of making you suffer. You’re ticklish where she says you’re ticklish. You’ll laugh when she commands you to laugh. Did you really think something as small as a few calluses would protect you from the torments of the Demon Goddess of Tickling?”
When the mannequins had claimed they were going to punish her, Ingtyn felt like they might have been underselling what they had planned for her. An additional pair of hands joined in to start poking at Ingtyn’s bare C-cups. Her struggling redoubled feeling a set of hands begin stroking at each of her jiggling mounds. They’d poke around for a while, change over to stroking around the circumference of her breasts, then reach up to gently tease her stiffening nipples with light flicks and roll them between their fingers before going back to either poking or stroking. Ingtyn didn’t have much experience with someone touching her breasts. There hadn’t been much of a place for sexual encounters in her life. Learning that lightly teasing her breasts like that was almost as bad as the stomach tickling was just as nasty a shock as the foot tickling had been. There was no way she could’ve mentally prepared herself for being tortured like this. Howls of laughter poured out of her mouth as the quintet of mannequins continued to abuse her most ticklish spots without the slightest hint of mercy.
The utter helplessness of the situation was causing nasty memories to resurface for Ingtyn. It brought her back to the days when she was a young dwarf stepping out of the mountain for the first time. Back then she’d been so weak and pathetic that her feet had hurt before she’d even gotten halfway down and had nearly met her end at the fangs of a single wolf. She tried to drown it all out by focusing on something else, but every ticklish jolt coming from her breasts, stomach, and feet drove the helplessness in further.
The mannequins continued to gang tickle Ingtyn for another 15 minutes before suddenly letting go of her. The dwarven woman was left wheezing for breath in the sand trying to recover from her ordeal. Her tormentors had no intention of waiting though. Ingtyn opened her eyes at the dull sound of the ax being dropped into the sand by her side.
“Fight,” the mannequin commanded. The warrior scrambled to her feet. Now that the torture had stopped, the helplessness she’d been feeling was being converted into anger. Being stripped and tickled like that, being treated like a helpless little newbie who couldn’t take care of herself, had been humiliating. That humiliation was refining her anger into a crystal clear desire for violence. What she wanted more than ever was to cover up Empyrean’s annoying little smirk by burying her ax directly into her jaw.
Ingtyn grabbed the ax off the ground and charged at the mannequin again. Her ax cut through the air as fast as she could swing it, wildly hacking away at any body part that looked even remotely within reach. She didn’t care about placing her blows anymore. All she wanted to do was hit the blasted thing at this point. It didn’t matter if it was no more than a scratch, she just needed something to make contact. She could work out a strategy on how to deal with the monster’s shapeshifting abilities after she’d figured out its limitations.
Not even that managed to get the momentum in Ingtyn’s favor. If anything, it was getting worse by the minute. It was almost as if the mannequin was adapting to dealing with her attacks at the same time it was learning how to tickle her. It would twist its body out of the way, harden itself to deflect her blows, and retaliate after each attempt with a quick tickle at the dwarf’s naked upper body. Ingtyn was having trouble breathing. As time went on, the mannequin was dodging more efficiently, retaliating faster, and more accurately striking at her most ticklish spots. Ingtyn could focus on her anger enough to power through it at first, but as time went on the tickles grew too intense for her to ignore. It was difficult to catch her breath from her own assault when she was forced to constantly splutter and giggle after each swing.
A discomfort was growing inside Ingtyn. All of those memories of when she’d been too inexperienced to be trusted with delivering a message to the nearby town wouldn’t stop resurfacing. This was all too unerringly like when she’d just started out. Facing a foe she had the nagging feeling she would be able to handle if she just knew what was going on. The wild hacking away without any real plan in mind. Even the rush of sensations from her newly-soften soles in the sand brought back memories of her days as a greenhorn. It was like she hadn’t grown at all this entire time…
Having the fight go increasingly in her opponent’s favor was converting her discomfort into doubt. No matter how hard the dwarf tried to analyze her opponent, she didn’t seem to be getting any closer to forming a strategy for beating it. A nagging little voice in her head was starting to ask how she could possibly hope to beat an enemy who changed its entire form to negate her every attack. The building doubt caused her to begin to hesitate in her wild assault.
“Fight. Fight!” The mannequin didn’t take kindly to Ingtyn’s swings slowing down. It pushed forward to punish her for her hesitation with a barrage of quick pokes, prods, and squeezes. Ingtyn wasn’t entirely certain how she was supposed to gather up the strength to keep hold of the ax when fingers were diving into vibrate inside the depths of her pits. It was all she could do to slam her arms down in an attempt to pin the hands down, but with them already wedged in it wasn’t like even that was doing her much good. The dwarf was left doing an awkward little dance trying to keep her arms down to protect her armpits and ribs from further attacks while trying to use her forearms to ward off the fingers scratching at her tummy, teasing her breasts, and squeezing her sides. After a couple minutes of trying to stand her ground, Ingtyn made the mistake of stumbling backwards a couple steps.
“You ran. Punish.” The mannequin’s accusation seemed to be serving as a command to the others around it. Despite Ingtyn still being a couple meters away, they lurched forward to grab her and once again wrestle her to the ground. The last thing the dwarven woman saw before they’d converged on her enough to block out everything else was Empyrean nearly doubled over with laughter. Seeing the Demon Queen clutching her stomach and laughing like her torment was the funniest thing she’d ever seen caused a pit to form in Ingtyn’s stomach.
She wasn’t given any time to dwell on that though. She couldn’t believe the mannequins had figured out how to make this punishment session even more torturous than the last. They seemed to have all sprouted long nails in the last few minutes that they were proving to be disturbingly adept with. The foot torture had been too much for her to handle before. Feeling her toes be held apart so they could gently tease the hyper-sensitive sides of each digit was nothing short of pure torture. When her toes weren’t under attack, they were being seized by additional hands to immobilize her soles so the nails could incessantly vibrate against, tease, and rake against every last millimeter of her helpless soles.
That alone tickled badly enough to send Ingtyn into hysterical howls of laughter, but her tormentors weren’t going to be satisfied with just that level of suffering. Entire handfuls of her stomach were being kneaded in the name of mining for belly-aching guffaws. Hands were lifting up her breasts so more nails could feel around the undersides for sensitive spots. When they found an area that made the dwarf arch her back with a scream, they stayed there to relentlessly abuse it while more hands came in to resume the stroking and prodding around the rest of her breasts that had proved to be so effective before.
The last of Ingtyn’s willpower snapped like a twig under the overwhelming torture. Empyrean had told her before that she was in Tickle Hell now and the dwarf could think of no better moniker for it at the moment. The tickles had taken complete control of her body. She uncontrollably spasmed and thrashed in the sand under her tormentors while letting out screams that would’ve impressed a banshee. She couldn’t stand being tickled for another second and the mannequins weren’t going to let up for at least an hour.
Ingtyn was left an exhausted, sweat covered mess on the ground when she was finally released again. She winced with fear hearing the ax be dropped next to her again.
“Fight.” The command no longer incited either derision or anger in Ingtyn. The only thing she felt now was fear. The dwarven warrior gazed up at the featureless mannequin in terror.
“Please… no. No more.I yield. I yield!” she begged. She couldn’t even bring herself to get up off the ground, much less touch the ax or attempt to fend off her tormentors again. The idea of being forced to fight only to be punished like that again was too terrible a fate for her to consider anymore.
“Ah, is little Ingtyn Ironfinder scared of getting tickled again?” Empyrean practically danced her way across the arena to leer down at her. “What, don’t think you can win anymore? What was it that you said to me last time? ‘If I can reach it, I can kill it’ or something like that? Where’s your bravado this time?”
“I can’t take this! You win. Just let me go. Please!” Ingtyn desperately begged up at her. The sheer look of delight on Empyrean’s face caused her to shrink away.
“I thought the rules were obvious. Fighting is the only way to keep from getting tickled. Did you really think it was going to stop if you refused to get up? Don’t worry, I’m certain they’ll let you go if you agree to challenge them again.”
Ingtyn screamed with terror seeing the mannequins begin to converge on her again. She wasn’t fast enough in scrambling back to her feet to prevent the dozens of hands from descending to pin her down again. Empyrean couldn’t see what was happening. She didn’t need to. The pair of armored leggings and panties being tossed aside followed a few seconds later by ear-splitting screams told her all she needed to know.
Empyrean stretched her arms with a sigh of relief. With a wave of her hand, she summoned a portal leading back to her castle. Her presence had never been required here. She’d just wanted to watch the very Ingtyn Ironfinder who had orchestrated her defeat last time be mentally broken. It helped cement the idea in her mind that she’d finally won. There wasn’t much point to sticking around now that she’d gotten her fill of that. Goddess Ugrogeth was nothing if not thorough. Anyone trapped in one of her Tickle Hells had nothing to look forward to but an eternity of tickle torture. Ingtyn’s torment had only just begun and Empyrean was content with trusting that it wasn’t ever going to end.
—--
Every alarm bell in Lolkhe's head was going off at full volume at the moment. The dragonkin woman was experienced enough as a spellcaster to have been able to detect the several teleportation portals that had sprung into existence around herself and her friends. It would’ve been a nice little accomplishment she could pat herself on the back over if it weren’t spoiled by the fact that it hadn’t done jack squat in helping her avoid getting tossed through one anyways. Their opponent’s attack had been a little too well executed for her to react. Barely any time had passed in between being blinded, feeling the portals form, and the enemy’s follow up fireball sending her flying through one.
Not being under attack anymore was small consolation. Lolkhe had helped Ingtyn plan out enough battles to understand that if the other side’s strategy was to teleport them elsewhere, whatever was waiting on the other side was undoubtedly worse than wherever they’d been before. The idea that being in the Demon Queen’s own castle was less of a threat than the wooden birdcage she found herself in wasn’t a comforting one. The cage was barely wider around than her shoulders and covered with a heavy cloth, leaving her awkwardly standing with her feet together and her wings folded as tightly behind her back as she could.
The dragonkin woman really wished she could find her Bag of Holding. Having the dozens of magical items she’d made over the years on hand would’ve made her a lot more confident that she’d be able to handle whatever was waiting on the other side of the cloth. Unfortunately, it looked like her beloved pouch and wand hadn’t made the trip through the portal with her. She was going to have to make do with just her own magical aptitude for now.
Under most circumstances, Lolkhe Firetalons would’ve been content with that alone. Not only was Lolke a well-respected magical researcher in the creation of enchanted items, she was fortunate enough to have been born into a family that could trace its ancestry back to an ancient and powerful dragon. The effects of its lineage were still apparent. Even over a dozen generations down the line, every member of her family had a pair of dragon wings sprouting out of their backs, a few scales growing across their skin, and were gifted with immense magical power. Lolkhe in particular had also been blessed with being an elegant beauty with an angular face, perfectly formed D-cup breasts, and wide hips leading into graceful legs.
Reminding herself that she was strong even without her tools helped calm Lolkhe down a little. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long. A low droning noise picking up outside the cage set her on edge again. The dragonkin didn’t have to wait long to find out what the source of the noise was. The heavy cloth around the cage was suddenly pulled off to allow her to see what was waiting outside.
Lolkhe’s face blanched. Of all the possibilities that had been flitting through her head, being surrounded by hordes of demons had been one of the ones she’d felt she was least equipped to deal with at the moment. A rough count put there at over a hundred demon women milling out on the bleachers in front of her and, with the curtain on her cage now pulled aside, every single one of them was now leering at her.
“Ladies of demonkind!” a voice boomed out. Glancing up, Lolkhe saw a bat winged succubus dressed in a showgirls skirt made of feathers, bright red lingerie, and veritable curtain of jewelry dangling off her clothes standing in a box at the top of the bleachers. The succubi was shouting into a megaphone to help her voice carry far enough for everyone in the audience to hear. “Thank you for coming out tonight! Girls, we have got a show for you. Before you stands none other than Lolkhe Firetalons, the mage who helped humiliate our esteemed Queen earlier this year!” The bleachers erupted in boos over Lolkhe’s introduction. The dragonkin mage rolled her eyes.
“Oh, I’m about to do a lot worse than just humiliate the lot of you,” she muttered under her breath. Now that the initial shock had worn off, her trepidation over the unknown was being replaced with anger. To think a bunch of low level succubi like these could treat someone like her as a stage show. She was going to teach them all a lesson in respect one third degree burn at a time.
“Humiliation is what she gave, so humiliation is what she’s gonna get! Everyone please turn your eyes to the lovely assistant in front of you.” Lolkhe glanced around. She’d been so caught off guard by the crowd of succubi that she hadn’t taken much stock of her surroundings. Her cage and the wooden platform it stood on were an island atop a tank filled with a suspicious blue liquid. As Lolkhe looked around, a succubi dressed similarly to the announcer climbed onto the edge. With a cheerful wave at the crowd, she dove straight into the blue liquid only to emerge a few seconds later stark naked. The impossibly sexy demon woman climbed back onto the edge of the tank to pose and flaunt her body to the crowd’s hoots of enjoyment and dog whistles.
“As you can see, the tank is filled with a special magical liquid designed to disintegrate any fabric it touches. But wait, there’s more!” A trio of additional succubi showgirls emerged to lead the naked one over to a large cross positioned at the front of the stage. To Lolkhe’s increasing horror, she watched them bind their naked comrade to the cross with lengths of rope before diving in to begin abusing her helpless body with wiggling fingers. The bound succubus immediately broke out shrieking with laughter feeling their long nails skittering all over her buxom chest, slipping in between her legs to knead her inner thighs, and stroke across the lengths of her soles. “Anybody who falls into the tank will be punished by spending the rest of eternity as a tickling slave. No breaks! No mercy! NOTHING but an eternity of having her naked body at the mercy of the ticklers handpicked by the Queen herself as the cruelest in the land!”
Lolkhe’s mind went blank with shock. This was all too much for her to process. She watched with horror as the succubus was wheeled backstage. The only thing that disturbed her more than the fact that her agonized screams of laughter didn’t stop even after she was led out of sight was when they were suddenly cut off with a loud slam, almost as if she’d been led to some dungeon backstage for further torture. The crowd, on the other hand, was going wild. The succubi sitting on the bleachers were all stomping their feet and excitedly shouting at the top of the lungs.
“Now, the moment you’ve been waiting for. Let the games… BEGIN!” the announcer shouted over the roar of the crowd. A trio of winged succubi launched off from around the stage to fly around the top of the cage trapping Lolkhe. Two of them grabbed the wooden cage to carry it off. Lolkhe readied a fireball, fully preparing to start blasting away at anything that both moved and had more skin showing the clothing, when something made her stop. The third succubus was holding an item that made the mage pause.
It was her Bag of Holding. The showgirl succubus was holding her precious bag filled with all the magical items she’d need to fight her way out of here. As Lolkhe watched, the succubus undid the latch on the bag and upended it right above her. The dragonkin woman panicked. Fireball all but forgotten, she hastily stuck her arms out in an attempt to catch all of the wands, rings, necklaces, bangles, and other associated equipment she’d spent the last several years painstakingly enchanting. She grabbed what she could out of the air to hold them safely against her chest while watching with despair as the vast majority fell into the clothes destroying liquid around her.
She didn’t get much time to lament seeing years of work be so casually destroyed. Lolkhe let out a squeal feeling something pointy lightly trace against the back of her knee. The unexpected ticklish jolts almost made her legs buckle under her. Lolkhe twisted her upper body around in a panic only to find one of the assistants grinning at her. After depositing the cage behind them, the showgirl had flown back around to harass her. She was hovering around Lolkhe’s knees using one hand to lift up the hem of her robes while putting the pointed nails on the other to use giving the sensitive flesh on the back of her knees a quick tickle.
“Go away! Leave me alone,” Lolkhe yelled at her. Her shout only seemed to embolden her tormentor. The succubi slipped her hand inside of the dragonkin’s robe, but instead of continuing to work on her knees allowed both of her hands to wander up a little to rest on her victim’s inner thighs. The dragonkin woman let out a gasp feeling all 10 slender fingers gently squeeze. The sex demon clearly had plenty of experience handling another woman’s thighs. Each squeeze was perfectly moderated to both lightly tickle and send little jolts traveling up her leg that left the young woman’s crotch growing uncomfortably hot.
Lolkhe didn’t know what to do in this situation. There were too many things that she wanted to protect at the moment for her to make a decision on how to escape. Her wings weren’t strong enough to carry her all the way across the tank from a standing jump, much less one interrupted by a pair of effeminate hands doing a better job working over her thighs than any other person she’d brought to bed before. The magical items she had clutched to her chest were too precious for her to casually throw away in the name of escaping. She also didn’t want to fall into the fabric dissolving liquid all around her. Her pride wouldn’t allow her the option of getting naked in front of a large crowd like a common stripper. But at the same time, it wasn’t like she had many other options on hand. The platform she stood on was barely large enough to hold her when she stayed perfectly still. Lashing out with her foot in an attempt at driving off the succubus toying with her legs very much ran the risk of losing her balance and falling into the liquid below. Every option immediately available to her presented the risk of losing something she cared about.
Which ultimately led to Lolkhe doing nothing at all. The dragonkin woman was left awkwardly twisting her body to and fro while doing her best to suppress the small gasps the probing hands were trying to make slip between her clenched teeth. She could only awkwardly shuffle her feet around trying to escape the succubus continuing to lovingly squeeze, knead, and lightly tickle her inner thighs. The crowd loved it. Lolkhe’s ears were burning hearing them jeer at her. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that this would all prove to be some horrible nightmare the next time she opened them.
“W-what?” Lolkhe spluttered. She’d just felt something wet sprinkle across her neck and shoulders. Her eyes sprang open to reveal that the other showgirls weren’t content to sit around. One of them had flown in to hover by her side. As Lolkhe watched, the succubus dipped her slender fingers into the clothes destroying liquid before reaching up to lightly dribble the substance on her shoulders. The fabric of her robes was breaking apart right before her eyes to reveal her bare shoulder. A splash in front of her caused Lolkhe’s head to snap back around. The third showgirl had cupped her hands together to gather up as much of the liquid as she could and was flying straight at her.
“Oh, I guess Ms. Firetalons is the type of girl who likes to put on a show!” the announcer taunted. Lolkhe’s cheeks were burning with embarrassment now. She could hear the crowd growing excited all around her. Having the liquid thrown at her from the front had made her worried for the pile of magical items she was holding. The dragonkin woman had twisted to the side at the last second so the liquid had instead been splashed onto her side. The bare skin of her side and a good portion of her back was now on display for the entire crowd from her ribs down to her waist. To make matters worse, the liquid had also eaten away at the lacy white lingerie she’d had on underneath. Both of her bra and panties were quite literally hanging on by a few threads each.
“Oh Gohohds! Stop! Stohop ihihit!” Lolkhe cried. Her succubi tormentors weren’t going to let that amount of bare skin go unused. The one who’d been dribbling water on her shoulder flew around to dig her nails into the exposed flesh of her ribcage. Having those thin fingers prying at the vulnerable spaces between each rib tickled too much for Lolkhe’ to hold back her giggling anymore. She did her best to twist away from the hands, but the showgirls were too well trained to let her escape. The one at her side easily followed her around no matter how quickly she turned away. Her other hand soon joined in to begin working up the length of Lolkhe’s side. She would form her hand into a pincer grip, pinch a section of flesh, and lightly shake it. At the same time, her coworker, still at their victim’s legs, decided it was time to be more evil than loving. She began to squeeze the tender thighs in front of her more aggressively, loving watching the poor girl’s legs nearly buckle under the surge of ticklish sensations.
Lolkhe’s giggles had grown into a steady stream of laughter. She was nearly doubled with laughter trying to draw in her wings in a protective shell between herself and her tormentors, but the third of the showgirls wasn’t going to stand for it. Whenever she tried to wrap her wings around herself she’d feel a set of hands slip into the hole in her robes that allowed her wings out and dig into the flesh around the base of her wings. The millions of little nerve endings in her back that were supposed to help make minute adjustments in flight were now serving as another avenue for the demons to tickle her with. Every time the dragonkin tried to move her wings to protect herself, the hands would stroke against the hyper-sensitive spot between her wings until she straightened them back out again.
“Don’t fall just yet. The fun’s only just begun,” one of the succubi purred into her ear. Lolkhe did her best to drown her out in favor of fumbling with the pile of enchanted items she was holding. This damnable tickling was too distracting. It was getting difficult to stay on her feet. Gathering up the concentration for a spell was out of the question at this point. Her salvation lay in finding something, anything, in magical items she was holding that could help her out now. Sorting through a large pile like this while she was still holding it would’ve been difficult under the best of circumstances, but she eventually managed to feel around for something that felt like the handle of a wand. She grasped onto it like it was the rope leading her out of this horrid game and activated it with a flick of her wrist.
“We’ve got a live one here, girls. Ms. Firetalons really doesn’t seem too happy with the tickling she’s receiving, so she’s gone ahead and summoned some feathers to make it worse!” the announcer’s voice boomed across the stage. The laughter from the crowd would’ve been downright mortifying for Lolkhe if she hadn’t been too distracted by the swarm of eagle feathers that had spewed out of the tip of the wand to listen. The succubus who had been working over her side had floated back a little with a smirk to watch the dozens of feathers get to work brushing every available bit of exposed skin. Some of them were putting their stiff plumes to work stroking up and down while others were poking, scratching, and scribbling in random patterns with their quills.
Lolkhe let out a shriek of laughter. The cocktail of panic and tickles was destroying her ability to think clearly. For the life of her, she couldn’t remember enchanting any of her wands to do something like this. The small part of her that was still able to think clearly had the suspicion that the demons had reprogrammed all of her items to help torment her, but the rest of her was getting desperate. She blindly flailed around for something else, hoping that the next one would have what she needed.
“STOP! STOHOHOP IT! GEHET AWAY FROHOHOM MEHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!” Lolkhe howled with laughter. The ring she’d grabbed next had burst like a popped water balloon the moment she’d held it in front of her. The remaining items she’d had clutched to her chest had served as a shield for her upper body at the cost of a good number of them getting eaten away. The rest of her robes hadn’t been so lucky. Everywhere from her stomach downward had gotten drenched. Lolkhe wanted to crawl into a hole and die of shame. The liquid had completely destroyed the remains of her robes and panties. Her bare pussy was now on display for everyone to see.
The only thing matching Lolkhe’s hysterical laughter at this point was the cheers of the demonic audience. The third showgirl had abandoned forcing her to keep her wings straight in favor of floating down to tease her stomach and pussy. She was floating behind Lolkhe and reaching around to give the audience the show of her nails dancing all over the dragonkin’s front. Her nails would skitter all over her toned stomach on a journey down from the bottom of her ribcage. Once she reached Lolkhe’s pantiline, her touch would change to lightly scratching at her groin. The fact that having her thighs played with this entire time had left the dragonkin’s pussy soaking wet didn’t go unnoticed. Her planned trip up to working over Lolkhe’s stomach was canceled in favor of setting the tips of all 10 nails to work teasing her pink folds.
The succubus who had been kneading her thighs was also growing a bit bored of only having one area to play with. The bare behind right in front of her was looking mighty tempting. Her hands wandered up the back of her victim’s thighs up to her bare tushy. Lolkhe’s butt was nice and soft to the touch. The succubus delighted in sending her nails tapping all over them to watch the two pale cheeks jiggle under her touch. From there, her nails briefly wiggled on the undersides where legs and rump met before dragging her nails up across the expanse of flesh on their way to her waistline. Finally, the succubus scratched her ways one finger’s width at a time down the sides before resuming her work squeezing the handfuls of Lolkhe’s inner thighs again.
Tears of shame and humiliation were streaming down Lolkhe’s cheeks while she screamed with laughter. She hated it. She hated every last bit of it. She hated being reduced to a helpless, laughing little girl like this by a few feathers and a pair of women tickling her. She hated how her own body betrayed her by unconsciously bucking her hips into the fingers toying with her groin no matter how much she was hating being touched there. And most of all, she hated that there was an entire audience of demons eating up her humiliation for entertainment.
She could vaguely hear the crowd chanting now. “Fall! Fall! Fall! Fall!” the demonic women in the bleachers called while stamping their in unison. Lolkhe almost lost her footing when the platform under her suddenly shook. She looked down through her tears of shame to see the one succubus who wasn’t tickling her floating in the clothes dissolving liquid with her hands placed on the platform.
“STOOHOP IT! YOHOU’LL BEHE TIHICKLEHED TOOHEHEHEHE!” Lolkhe pleaded.
“Oh yes… An eternity under Ugrogeth’s fingers. I could only dream of being so richly rewarded before,” the now-naked succubus cooed. Lolkhe stared at the demon with shock. She could hardly believe what she was hearing. What she was going through now was nothing short of a living hell for her and this woman wanted to suffer even worse?
Lolkhe could hardly tell what was going on anymore. It tickled too much for her to form a plan. All she could do was continue to howl and shriek with laughter and try to keep her footing as best she could through the platform getting increasingly violently shaken. What thoughts weren’t being overwhelmed by the tickles were under attack by the complete and utter humiliation she felt over being toyed with like this.
“YOU’RE CRAHAHAZY! YOU’RE AHAHALLL CRAHEHEHEZY!” she screamed. Finally, one particularly strong shake of the platform caused the iron grip she had on her magical items finally let go. Lolkhe watched with despair as the last proof of her efforts fell into the liquid below and dissolved into increasingly smaller particles before her eyes.
The dragonkin snapped. All of the shame, humiliation, and panic she’d been feeling transformed itself into sheer rage. Her anger was enough for her to power through the tickling and sexual stimulation with a giant blast of raw magical energy. The succubi and feathers tickling her were all sent tumbling into the tank around them.
“Die! Die die DIE DIE! ALL OF YOU BURN!” she screamed at the top of her lungs. The dragonkin mage formed a giant fireball in front of her, pouring all of the power she had left in her body into making the glowing ball of death swell up to being nearly as large as she was. There was nothing she wanted more at this moment than to watch every last demon in the bleachers in front of her burn up just like her precious items had.
Unfortunately, she never got the chance.
“Counterspell,” the succubus in the announcer’s box calmly stated. A bolt of blue lightning arced from the box to collide with Lolkhe’s fireball. She could feel the tightly woven magic that kept the flames under control come apart under her very fingers. The last thing the dragonkin saw before her own spell exploded on her was the announcer condescendingly sneering down at her.
The blast sent Lolkhe flying back into the tank. She hit the liquid with enough force to send her plunging down to the bottom of the tank before gently floating back up to the top. The mage was too stunned by her own blast to struggle when a trio of naked succubi fished her naked body out of the tank. They dragged her over to the front of the stage where she was bound into a chair that bound her arms above her head via a length of rope attached to a pole and spread her legs wide open in stocks.
“No… No more… Let me go…” Lolkhe pitifully gasped. The moment she was bound, her succubi tormentors set to work. One was standing behind her giving her the best breast massage she was ever going to feel. Another was kneeling between her legs with her face buried in her crotch. The demon’s unnaturally prehensile tongue would lap at her clit before exploring deep within her spread pussy. Lolkhe didn’t have the slightest bit of control over her own body anymore. Her mind wanted to struggle and resist. Her back, on the other hand, was arching to push her D-cups deeper into those fingers. Her hips wanted nothing more than to feel that tongue come back around to her aching clit again. Even her lungs wouldn’t listen to her anymore. Any protests she was trying to say couldn’t get around her gasps and moans.
The explosive orgasm was the last straw needed to break Lolkhe’s will. At the same time her body spasmed from the waves of pleasure surging through her, her eyes fluttered, and her toes curled in delight, the last bit of defiance in the dragonkin woman was crushed by shame. She couldn’t believe that she’d just allowed hundreds of demons to watch her climax in public. As the orgasm subsided, tears leaked out of Lolkhe’s eyes. Broken tears of humiliation streamed down her face as she began to sob in misery.
“Aw, it looks like our star for today has a bad case of the unhappies,” the announcer taunted. “Ladies, would you be so good as to put a smile on her face?”
Lolkhe’s sobs were interrupted by a hair-raising scream of agony. The powerful orgasm had pushed the sensitivity of her body to a whole new level. Her breasts and pussy in particular were on fire. The slightest touch of the showgirls’ nails on her privates drowned out anything else she was able to focus on. The fingers squeezing the tops of her thighs now tickled exponentially more than before she’d been made to cum. Each time her tormentors shook a handful of the soft flesh sent bolts of ticklish lightning straight up her body to squeeze her lungs of every last scream she had in her.
Combine that with the breast and pussy tickling, and Lolkhe was truly in Tickle Hell now. A set of the enchanted feathers had been salvaged. A pair were currently at work stroking against her engorged nipples and a third fluttered around the lips of her spread open pussy. Each stroke made her body grow a little bit hotter with unwilling arousal. At the same time, one of the succubi was doing her best to make up for not getting to play with Lolkhe’s D-cups or armpits up until now. The naked demon was vibrating her fingers inside the depths of the dragonkin’s armpits before playing the rib counting game on her way down to scratch at the sides and undersides of Lolkhe’s breasts.
In between the two succubi and the feathers it tickled so much that the only things coming out of Lolkhe’s mouth at this point were agonized wails of laughter, but there was a third succubus who wasn’t about to pass up on her last chance to be a tickler before her upcoming eternity as the Demon Goddess of Tickling’s latest tickle toy. She kneeled down at Lolkhe’s bound feet and popped the big toe of her right foot into her mouth. The succubus’ impossibly flexible tongue snaked around the digit, lapping at the ultra-sensitive space between her toes more effectively than any other race could’ve managed. Her nails kept the rest of the foot preoccupied. Their sharp tips traveled all over from the balls of her feet down to her heels.
The only thing Lolkhe was aware of anymore was how badly it tickled. The proud dragonkin mage was capable of little more than animalistically screaming in agony at this point. Nothing, not the crowd in front of her or the taunts of the announcer, was as important as the need to get in enough air to scream again. When the succubi stumbled across particularly sensitive spots across her body, not even that remained true. Lolkhe would lapse into bouts of silent laughter for extended periods of time because of the need to laugh so hard her body wasn’t capable of producing the sound.
It was during these bouts of silent laughter that her tormentors began to plan out the cruel game they would force her to play next.
“Maybe we could break her into walking around on all 4s like a dog. We could even get a collar for her.”
“Nah, I think we’ll get there by just continuing to tickle her like this. I doubt that’d be all too interesting a show.”
“How about making her a public slave? We could do something like tie her up on a street corner and tell her the only way she’ll ever get to cum is by begging everyone she sees to tickle her. Then whoever takes over for us can keep her on the edge until she cracks. ”
“Oh! I like that one.” The trio of naked succubi all shared a smile. They understood that they were going to spend the rest of eternity being tortured just like this, but they weren’t worried. All of them were masochistic enough to look forward to it. They wouldn’t have volunteered for this role if they weren’t. What they wanted most of all right now was to make certain that Lolkhe Firetalons would continue to be tortured after they were gone. What would truly allow them to enjoy their stay in Tickle Hell would be the assurance that the dragonkin’s torment wouldn’t end until her mind had been too thoroughly destroyed by the endless rounds of torture to be anything other than their goddess’ tickle toy.
—--
If there was a member of the party who felt responsible for the ambush, it’d be Ghorza. The half-orc had always taken it upon herself to scout ahead for the rest of the group. Ingtyn wasn’t bad at it per se, but she’d never quite gotten the knack of finding good vantage points for surveying the area. There was a nagging little voice in the back of Ghorza’s mind whispering that they wouldn’t be in so much trouble right now if she’d been keeping a weather eye open from the rafters instead of cracking jokes with Lolkhe and Amaliel on the ground.
Thanks to that, Ghorza had panicked when the blinding ball of light had formed in front of them. She hadn’t even had the presence of mind to draw her daggers. Some wild flailing with her arms hadn’t done her much good in warding off the gust of wind that had carried her off her feet. Feeling her body slam into what felt like a hollow wooden floor instead of the hard castle stone made her heart sink. Getting up to survey her situation didn’t help in that regard. Ghorza glumly stared at the bamboo forest stretching out past the roughly lashed together platform she was standing on. She wasn’t certain how she’d gotten here, but she couldn’t help but feel like it could’ve been avoided if she’d been a bit better.
The only thing about her new location that really put off Ghorza was that she couldn’t see the floor when she looked over the edge of her platform. There was a mass of vines covering the forest floor below her so thick that she couldn’t see a single centimeter of solid ground no matter where she looked. Something about the vines made her uneasy. It was hard to see from up here, but she could’ve sworn that they were slowly rising and falling in a rhythmic pattern, almost as if they were some giant sleeping beast instead of a mass of plant matter.
Looking over her surroundings helped Ghorza perk up a little. The bamboo shoots around her were growing closely enough together that she could easily see herself swinging from one stalk to the next without ever having to find out what was going on below her. Ghorza had always been good at climbing. Back when she was a thief just trying to fence enough to make a living, scaling the walls of manors had been her specialty.
Not many who saw Ghorza would think that the nearly two meter tall half-orc was a thief by trade. When most thought “professional thief” they tended to imagine some little halfling or a lithe elf rather than a well-endowed amazonian half-orc like her. In return, Ghorza thought most people were idiots. She’d been on enough heists to know that raw physical strength was the best boon she could’ve had. Robbing a mark was so much easier when she could easily scale a manor’s walls, carry twice as much as the next thief, and outright walk out of the location carrying the safe out and skipping the hassle of having to pick the lock on the spot had led to her having a consistently high success rate. The sheer amount she brought back from each heist went a long way in ensuring that she was among the best earners in the guild, but Ghorza was always one to go the extra mile that sort of thing. It paid dividends, quite literally in her case, for her to get into the habit of dressing in a midriff baring tank top and tight shorts. After all, the guild’s fence came up to roughly her chest and had a track record of giving her a better cut the more of her DD-cup breasts he got to see whenever she dropped by.
Ghorza was just about to put that strength to use. A platform similar to the one she was standing on now had caught her eye. It was a couple dozen meters above her head and nearly twice that away, but she was confident that her expertise in climbing would allow her to make her way across the bamboo to check it out. She had just grabbed on to one of the nearby stocks of bamboo when a noise interrupted her.
“Atten-shun!” a sultry voice called out behind her. Ghorza whipped around at the noise to see a squad of women floating in midair around her platform. For some reason, all of them were dressed in what she could only describe as a parody of a typical city guard uniform while doing salutes sloppy enough to make a hardened drill sergeant cry. They had the trademark leather, chainmail, and helmets, but they were in a form factor wholly useless for serving as protection. The half-orc thief highly doubted they’d get much protection out of armor shaped like bikini tops, form fitting belly shirts, booty shorts, and micro skirts that didn’t do the bare minimum to hide that they were all either wearing thongs or going commando underneath.
Ghorza drew her daggers out of their sheaths. All of the scantily clad women had leathery wings sprouting out of their backs. It was bad enough that they were dressed in a stripper’s variant of guard cosplay, having them all be demons on top could only mean one thing: Trouble. Ghorza didn’t have the most confidence in her abilities in a straight up brawl, but she had zero intentions of letting herself be taken out without dragging at least a couple of these wannabe guardswomen down with her.
“Sergeant!” a succubi at the front snapped off in what she probably imagined was a smart manner. “Give the cutpurse her loot.” Much to Ghorza’s surprise, instead of attacking her like she’d imagined, one of the demons came forward holding an ornate vase nearly the size of the half-orc’s upper body. The vase was carefully placed in the middle of the bamboo platform before the succubus retreated back to the group.
“What’s this about?” Ghorza couldn’t help but ask. She eyed the vase suspiciously and made no attempt to touch it. For all she knew, it was booby trapped to explode if she got too close.
“That is a gift from Her Majesty. Be grateful she’s seen fit to give something so precious to a mortal like you!” the succubus in front rattled off. The thief narrowed her eyes. It was difficult to believe that Empyrean would think to give her of all people a gift. The succubus guardswoman ignored her. “Our Queen has instructed us that we are to open a portal back to the palace if you manage to bring this vase to the platform over yonder.” The salute was dropped in favor of pointing at the platform off in the distance.
“Great. Wonderful. What’s the catch?” This was all too convenient. A trip back to trouncing Empy again and a nice vase as a take home prize on top? There was no way the Demon Queen was that nice.
“The catch, cutpurse, is that we’ve also been ordered to get in your way.” A chill ran down Ghorza’s spine. Up until now, the dozen or so succubi had all been staring off into the distance above her head. Now they were all leering down at her in a way that brought the unsettling image to mind of a group of cats staring at a trapped mouse. Their leader had dropped the pseudo-official sounding talk in favor of a voice positively dripping with venom. “We’ve been promised that we’ll get to keep you all to ourselves if we can keep you from ever succeeding.”
Ghorza glanced uncertainly back and forth between the vase before her and the succubi. None of them made a move. The half-orc thief wondered if she should bother with the pretense of playing along. After all, there was no way for her to figure out if they were telling the truth or not.
“If you don’t want to play our game, then we can probably find some more… enjoyable ways to spend our time together.” The wicked smile on the lead succubus’ face sealed the deal. Ghorza enjoyed a getting into bed with a nubile young woman as much as the next red-blooded adventurer, but she had no intentions of ever finding out what awaited her if she ended up at a sex demon’s mercy. Her daggers were placed back in their sheathes so a free hand could grab the rim of the vase. A grimace formed on her face. It really was quite a bulky piece of pottery. The idea of trying to climb through the bamboo stalks while holding it was an intimidating prospect.
Intimidating, but not impossible for someone like Ghorza. The amazonian thief hugged the large vase against her side with one hand and used the other to grab onto the nearest pole. Launching off the platform, Ghorza swung around using the bamboo as a pivot until one of her feet could hook onto another plant. Many of the other members of the Thieves’ Guild back home would’ve gone green with envy watching her kick off the bamboo stalk she was holding while smoothly transferring the vase between her hands to allow her to grab onto her next perch.
It vaguely occurred to the thief as she continued to launch herself across the vegetation that there was no way this could be a naturally formed forest. Amaliel and Ghorza had once gone to a botanical garden that had a bamboo thicket exhibit. It had been so densely clumped together that neither of them were certain they’d be able to squeeze their way through. This place was almost perfectly spaced out with every plant comfortably within reach without crowding. It reminded her more of the climbing poles she’d watched monks use to practice their balance with than any woods she’d ever laid eyes on.
Which made the little circular copse stand out all the more. Ghorza swung her way over and wedged herself in the middle. A quick slash of her knife cut down a pair of stalks inside to serve as footholds. The way they were spaced reminded her uncomfortably of prison cell bars, but on the plus side that meant she could glance between to take stock of her situation. She’d barely gotten settled when she heard a voice speak up behind her.
“What’s wrong? You’re not gonna reach the end if you stop.” Ghorza nearly lost her balance jumping with fright. She twisted around as much as she could to see who was speaking. Seeing the group of scantily clad demons staring at her owlishly from the opposite side of the ring suddenly made her resting point feel nigh on claustrophobic.
“Just taking a quick break,” Ghorza said nervously. The bright smile that came across the lead succubi’s face was nearly as unsettling to her as the wicked one from before. Her demonic squad was slowly fanning out around them to surround the trees to cover every direction outside of the main entrance. No matter how Ghorza craned her head around, she couldn’t keep an eye on all of them at once.
“Oh! That’s good. We’re just here to give you a little motivation to keep moving.” Ghorza felt something poke her in the behind. She spun around to see one of the guardswoman succubi smirking at her impishly. One of her arms had snaked between the stalks of bamboo and still had its index finger extended.
“Whahat are youho doihing?” The thief couldn’t suppress her giggles when something slim squeezed her ribcage on the opposite side. The guardswomen were taking turns reaching over to tickle her whenever her back was turned. Ghorza would spin around to look at one of them for digging her fingers into her rib cage only to feel another set of hands scrape at her bottom through the thin fabric of her shorts or prod her hips on the other side. It was belatedly occurring to her that the copse of trees she was resting in was a trap. The claustrophobia of being inside the ring of bamboo stalks was getting cranked up to 11 with the realization that it was a small enough enclosure that she would always be in arm’s reach of someone on the outside.
“I just told you, didn’t I? It’s motivation! We figured it’d give a little extra incentive for you to make it to the goal as soon as possible if it meant it’d get us to stop tickling you.” Giggles were steadily pouring out of Ghorza’s mouth at this point. The succubi were growing bolder with each quick tickle. There were now two pairs of hands poking, prodding, and scratching away at her butt. Her ribs on both ends were being subjected to a game of getting quickly tickled on one side to make her jerk the other direction only to run straight into another set of awaiting hands. In between her precarious position standing on top of two thin poles and her hands being occupied by the large vase, Ghorza couldn’t do anything to fight back. The thief was left helplessly giggling as her tormentors continued to toy with her.
Eventually, it became too much for the half orc to stand anymore. Ghorza leapt out of the exit of the ring for the nearest bamboo stalk. She swung as quickly as she could from one pole to the next, hoping that if she moved quickly enough she’d put some distance between her and the demons. That didn’t seem to be the case though. No matter how quickly Ghorza moved forward, she was still hampered by the awkwardness of needing to carry the large vase as she went. The succubi, on the other hand, were free to fly through the forest as they pleased. It didn’t take long for them to chase her down again.
Ghorza’s splutters and gasps filled the forest. Trying to juggle the vase while swinging between the poles was difficult enough. Having to do so when the demons were taking turns poking and prodding her all over. Every time she grabbed another stalk of bamboo she’d feel slim fingers wiggle against her behind through her shorts, poke her sides, or stroke across the sides of her breasts on their way through the lengths of their ribs. The last in particular was making things difficult for her. The ticklish jolts that came from her ribs and breasts simultaneously made her arms go weak and filled her with the urge to bring them down to ward off the hands.
Having a pair of succubi come in to tag team both sides of her ribs at once killed the last of the half-orc’s forward momentum. Having 10 fingers sink into her ribs on each side, each finger perfectly placed into the sensitive area between the bones, and begin to vigorously knead caused her to let out a shriek of laughter. The thief couldn’t find the concentration to keep going through it. Ghorza was left clinging onto the latest bamboo stalk with one hand and foot in a desperate attempt at keeping herself from falling while the other was holding onto the vase with the tips of her fingers.
“Stohohop! Gohoho awahahay!” Ghorza cried in between stomach aching bouts of laughter. Hearing her shrieks of laughter excited the rest of the succubi guardswomen into joining in on the fun. The two working over her ribs redoubled their efforts to dig in for maximum effect. Tears of laughter were starting to form in Ghorza’s eyes from how much it tickled. She looked around desperately through her blurred vision. She was so close. There were less than a score of bamboo stalks in between herself and the goal now. All she had to do was power through the tickles in one last burst and she’d be free.
The rest of the succubi caught up before she could get the chance. She could barely keep her foothold on the pole thanks to a set of hands gently teasing the back of her knees. Another had flown between her legs to slip her hands up the amazonian woman’s shorts and dig her fingers into the space where her thighs met her groin. As a killing blow, the leader of the demons had flown up to look Ghorza in the eye with an evil glint in her eye. Having those hands slip into her armpits to quickly shake inside the depths of her pits was the final straw.
It was too much for Ghorza to handle. There were too many fingers poking at too many places for her to even focus on how she was being tickled anymore. All she could do for the next minute or so was cry with laughter until she could feel her grip weaken too much to support her anymore. The half-orc thief tumbled from her perch on the bamboo down into the mass of vines below.
The succubi all stopped to high five each other to look down with pleased expressions. The vines had begun to extend upwards as Ghorza fell. She didn’t so much fall into the vines as they snatched her out of the air. Only a few seconds had passed for the plants to wrap around her wrists, ankles, and waist before more rose up to begin stroking every bit of exposed skin available.
Ghorza was in full blown hysterics now. The vines had a rough, bumpy texture to them that allowed them to tickle without having to emulate the demons’ dexterity. Rather than fine movements, the plants would place themselves against a length of skin and begin to saw back and forth. Several long vines were wrapped around her stomach to cover both sides and her tummy in long strokes, each of them moving in opposing directions at various different speeds. More still were wrapped around her thighs and knees .Ghorza had to endure the ticklish little explosions the bumps left all across the entirety of her stomach, sides, and legs.
The combined result of the vines working over all of that sensitive skins simultaneously was nothing short of pure agony for the sensitive thief. Ghorza arched her back with a scream of agony, which unfortunately only served to push the vines in harder to tickle her more. Her hands tugged as hard as they could at the vines binding her. She’d have given anything in the world to be able to reach her daggers and cut away at the offending vines right now, but their grip was too strong. The tough fibers of the plant rendered her completely helpless to do anything other than scream, hysterically laugh, and thrash in a futile attempt at escaping the tickling that was coming from all over at once.
Mercy finally came when Ghorza was too exhausted by the intense tickling to struggle anymore. The succubi watched their victim suffer until her struggling began to slow before swooping down to snatch her out of the vines. A pair carried her back to the starting platform where the thief was unceremoniously deposited with the vase being placed next to her a short while later.
“Ready to have another go?” the leader of the succubi guardswomen asked with a mocking smile.
“G-go away! Leave me alone already!” Ghorza was in no mental state to take the taunt lying down. The half-orc hastily scrambled to her feet and drew her daggers. Her blades cut through the air as she wildly swung at her tormentors. The succubi were forced to scramble out of the way of her last-ditch assault. One didn’t prove to be as lucky as her companions. The succubus hissed with pain when one of the blades made contact to form a shallow cut across her unprotected stomach.
Ghorza wasn’t given an opportunity to follow up on her successful attack. Something slammed into her back to knock her face down onto the platform. Her daggers flew out of her hands from the impact to tumble over the edge into the mass of vines below. She craned her head to see the demonic squad leader looking down at her with an uncharacteristically serious expression on her face.
“Helsha, are you okay?” the squad leader barked out, never taking her eyes off Ghorza.
“I’m fine. She just caught me by surprise. I’ll heal it off in a second,” the succubus who’d been cut called back.
“That was my fault. I should’ve had her punished enough that she couldn’t fight back at all.” Ghorza felt a chill run down her spine seeing the smirk begin to form again on the leader’s face. “Let’s rectify that, shall we girls?”
She’d barely gotten a few minutes to catch her breath and Ghorza was already laughing her head off again. The succubi had dogpiled on top of her at their leader’s command. Her tank top had been pulled off and bra undone to leave her topless before one of the wannabe troopers had sat on her arms. The demon’s long nails were tracing around the outer edge of her armpits for extended periods of time before diving in to scratch at the depths of her pits to extract titters and squeals out of the helpless half-orc.
At the same time, Ghorza’s shorts, boots, and socks had been pulled off and her legs spread wide open. Lying face down as she was, the pink panties she had underneath were barely any protection from a pair of succubi going to town on her juicy rump. 20 nails were skittering all over her jiggling behind. They’d wiggle against the crevice where her behind met her legs before making a trip poking, scratching, and shaking all around her rump. Ghorza hadn’t really internalized until then just how ticklish her butt truly was. Her head occasionally flew back to let out a hearty shriek of laughter whenever the demons’ nails traveled a spot on the side of her rump that caused shocks to travel up her sides.
Just because the tickling was already too much for her to take didn’t mean the succubi were about to give up on their first opportunity to play with her feet. The pair that had sat on her calves to hold her legs still were faced backwards so they could scrabble their nails all over the soles in front of them. Ghorza’s long toes were being pressed into the wooden platform by their weight, unfortunately causing them to scrunch up, but the wide soles still left them plenty of space to play with. Her scrunched up arches, heels, and the balls of her feet were more than sensitive enough for them to enjoy themselves tracing their nails inside each wrinkle. Whenever they felt like changing things up, the demons would reach behind them to tease the exposed backsides of their victim’s knees and enjoy feeling the thief’s legs kick under them.
It was hands down the most horrible punishment Ghorza had endured yet. Hysterical howls of laughter streamed out between her lips. Tears of agony were now freely running down her face while her hands scrabbled against the wooden platform in a maddened attempt at grabbing onto anything that could possibly save her. The succubi had learned their lesson this time; they had no intention of stopping until she was too exhausted to defy them again. Ghorza screams of laughter echoed between the bamboo for over an hour before they finally gave her a break. By the time they got off of her, Ghorza was left an exhausted, wheezing wreck covered in sweat and tears.
“Don’t think it’s over yet, cutpurse. I still have to pay you back for injuring one of my troops.” The leader of the succubi had Ghorza flipped onto her back where she straddled the exhausted half-orc’s legs. One of her hands stroked the amazonian thief’s crotch through her panties. Despite her exhaustion, Ghorza bucked her hips. Her undergarments had begun to vibrate at the demon’s touch.
Ghorza’s hands reached down to pull off her panties the moment the succubus leader got off of her. To her horror, the undergarments wouldn’t budge no matter how hard she tried to push them down her legs. There was nothing she could do to prevent her own clothes from continuing to pleasure her
“You’re free to try all you like, but I’d get a move on if I were you. If you cum while still on this platform, we’ll take it as permission to start tickling you again.” The threat motivated the thief to scramble to her feet. Ghorza looked towards the goal platform in despair. She hadn’t been good enough to make it when she’d been fresh. As exhausted as she was and with her pussy being constantly stimulated like this, it was difficult to even stand now. Her vision was already blurring with the building pleasure. How in heaven's name was she supposed to make it now?
The last bit of Ghorza’s determination to not let the demons win managed to dredge up enough focus to grab the vase again. The thief launched herself off the platform and began swinging between the bamboo stalks as quickly as she could. Her only hope now was to outrun her tormentors and make it to the goal before the sexual stimulation took the last of her concentration away.
Unlike before, the demons weren’t content to let Ghorza make some progress before beginning to harass her. They began to converge on her the moment her feet left the platform. Ghorza’s laughter once again rang out as they exploited her ticklish ribs, sides, waist, butt, and legs. The thief wasn’t entirely aware of what was going on anymore. In between her cursed panties pleasuring her loins and the constant tickle attacks all over her body, she was so overstimulated that she could barely focus on grabbing the next stalk of bamboo in front of her. It was a testament to her extensive training that Ghorza was able to continue to carry the large pot across the bamboo forest through the ticklish torment.
The building pleasure was impossible to ignore though. Her entire body was on fire. Ghorza quickly swung over to the little thicket she’d used as a resting point before. She barely had enough time to wedge herself in the middle before the orgasm ripped through her body. The amazon’s eyes rolled back into her head feeling the waves of pleasure surge through her. Ghorza was so focused on keeping a hold of the bamboo around her that she didn’t notice that the vase had slipped from between her weakened fingers. The half-orc leaned back with a moan, completely unaware of the object falling into the mass of vines below her.
After she’d recovered enough to feel like she could start moving again, the thief reached a trembling hand to the nearest bamboo pole. In her orgasmic haze, she didn’t even register that the succubi had stopped attempting to tickle her. The entire squad of demonic guardswomen watched in silence as she shakily clambered her way across the final stretch of the forest to roll onto the end goal platform with the last of her strength.
“I did it… I can’t believe I made it…” A sense of relief washed over Ghorza. She couldn’t believe she’d actually made it. It’d felt impossible, but she’d somehow managed to overcome the utter hell the demons had put her through to make it all the way to the goal.
“No you didn’t.” Ghorza looked up through bleary eyes at the succubi leader. The demon’s amused grin didn’t even faze her anymore.
“Yes I did. I made it to the platform! I won. You have to let me go now.”
“No, the rules were that you had to carry the vase all the way to the goal. You made it, but the vase is still back there.” The thief followed the demon’s outstretched finger to the mass of vines below. She could barely make out the vase bobbing up and down on the top of the sea of plant matter. Her orgasm befuddled mind could barely register what was happening.
Ghorza had barely managed to piece together that she was being instructed to go back and retrieve the vase when she felt the sole of a boot plant itself on her side. With a shove of her leg, the demonic squad leader rolled her off the platform. Ghorza stared up in shock at the smirking face tauntingly waving goodbye at her.
She hadn’t believed it was possible, but Ghorza’s second time in the grasp of the vines was incomparably worse than the first. Not only did she have more bare skin for the bumpy skin to press against, her body’s sensitivity was at its peak thanks to her recent orgasm. Ghorza couldn’t even laugh when the wriggling plants grabbed onto her lims. The only thing that came out of her mouth for the next several hours were screams.
The vines had wrapped around her wrists to pull her arms taut over her head. Two long strips had formed long oval conveyor belts against her sides. Everywhere from her armpits down to her waist was under assault by the rough skin spinning in a circle against the hyper-sensitive flesh all along her sides. Her feet had long tentacles scrubbing away at her soles while the back of her knees, butt, and thighs were being subjected to yet more snaking their way all over her body.
Another set of finds had wound their way around her DD-cup breasts. Each of her melons were being squeezed and kneaded and, when combined with her vibrating panties, forced her to orgasm even through the intense tickling across her entire body. Ghorza had never experienced such a horrible orgasm before. The forced pleasure was mixing with the tickling to form something more terrible than the sum of its parts. The tickling before had been the worst punishment Ghorza had ever experienced. This mixture of pleasure and full body tickles was nothing short of a living hell.
When the succubi fished Ghorza out of the vines several hours later, the half-orc was too broken to struggle. They deposited her limp body on the platform where she stared vacantly at the scantily-clad demons surrounding her. Eventually, her blank expression was broken by tears beginning to stream down her face. Ghorza’s body was soon wracked with sobs. For the first time, the forest wasn’t being filled with her screams of forced mirth, but by her wails of misery.
“What’s wrong? You’re never gonna escape if you just sit there and cry,” the succubus leader taunted. Ghorza shrank away from the demon. The only thing she felt when she saw the sex demon at this point was terror at the prospect of wiggling fingers.
“No… No no no. No more. I’ll do anything you want, just don’t tickle me again,” Ghorza begged. Her hips subconsciously bucked. Her cursed panties hadn’t stopped vibrating against her overstimulated pussy even after all these hours of torment.
“Oh no, I couldn’t do that.” Ghorza’s body arched from the umpteenth mind-destroying orgasm of the day pounded its way through her. “If you cum on this platform, then we have to tickle you. Those’re the rules. Who would we be as guardswomen if we didn’t enforce the rules?”
Ghorza screamed with terror seeing the squad of demons pounce on her again. This time, it would be several days before they’d allow her to stop screaming.
—--
For most of the party, taking down the Demon Queen was just an extension of their usual job. Lolkhe and Ghorza had both admitted to Amaliel that as far as they were concerned, Empyrean wasn’t much more than a scaled up version of the cult leaders, bandit warlords, and corrupt nobles that’d risen up over the years only to be slapped down by their merry band. Ingtyn had never said as much out loud, but it was pretty clear that there wasn’t anything personal about their running battle against the demonic hordes either. It was different when it came to Amaliel. The angelic young woman wanted to thwart Empyrean and her goddess Ugrogeth not just as an adventurer looking for a big payout, but also as a form of taking responsibility as an Aasimar.
Amaliel felt that since she and Empyrean were both members of the winged angelic race, it was her duty to correct the fallen angel’s devilish ambitions. The Guiding Light had always taught her that discipline had to be enforced whenever a member of the congregation wandered off the correct path. Typically that called for an impassioned sermon reminding the angel in question of the joy that came from working alongside the rest of the community, but Amaliel’s own proclivities lead to a more liberal interpretation of corrective action.
On a certain level, Amaliel could empathize with the Demon Queen when it came to the joy of dominating other women. She’d heard rumors that Empyrean had been cast out of the Church of the Guiding Light thanks to her personal hobby of tickle torturing the other female members of the congregation against their wills. It had been discovered that the soon-to-become Demon Queen had been kidnapping the other priestesses and subjecting them to such traumatizing lengths of tickling that slightly wiggling her fingers was all it took to bring her victims to heel. Many of the other Aasimar had been aghast to hear about what she’d done. Amaliel felt she didn’t have much room to stand on for condemning her. The only real difference between them as far as the paladin could tell was that she was better at hiding it. After all, some of her fondest memories of the past several decades was bringing her own brand of discipline to bear on some of the younger priestesses. Remembering how those defiant faces had transformed into meek, tear-streaked compliance from her hand continuing to strike their bare behinds never failed to bring a smile to her face. Getting to break a fellow Aasimar as powerful and beautiful as Empyrean into submission, and have the populace at large cheer her for it to boot, was the capstone of her career thus far.
With that said, just because Amaliel shared Empyrean’s zeal for domination didn’t mean she necessarily appreciated being on the receiving side. Quite the opposite in fact. Feeling something hard clasp around her wrists and ankles within a second of the bright flash exploding in front of her eyes had caused the paladin to freeze up with shock. No matter how much she’d strained against whatever was grabbing her, she hadn’t been able to prevent herself from being dragged backwards until she’d tripped into what’d felt like a pit that had formed in the floor behind her. A few seconds of falling had ended with her back colliding with something soft. The silver-haired paladin had managed to blink the dancing lights out of her vision to find herself in a dimly lit room with a little too much velvet red upholstery and incense for her to be comfortable. Attempting to get up revealed that the manacles that had locked around her limbs were still very much present and were keeping her stretched out spread eagle on a large couple’s bed.
“Oh my, Chasan. It looks like we have a visitor,” a sultry voice purred.
“So we do, Harahel! A gift from Her Majesty herself, from the looks of it. Shall we keep her entertained?” a second one responded. This one practically had honey dripping from every word.
“It’d be rude of us not to. We wouldn’t want her to feel left out.”
Amaliel craned her head up. Any hopes she had of escaping before any demons showed up were dashed by the sight of a pair of black-winged angels sitting on a nearby couch. Her sudden entrance had evidently interrupted them in the middle of getting intimate. Both women had the trademark divine beauty of their race and neither was wearing much more than a garter belt with stockings and a tiny pair of panties underneath. A few experimental tugs at her cuffs didn’t get Amaliel free before the two fallen angels could get untangled from each other and cross the room over to her.
“I wouldn’t want to disturb you two. Please go back to whatever you were doing. I can take care of myself,” Amaliel said. Having both of the angels leering down at her from the foot of the bed was making her nervous.
“Oh no, we insist. It’d reflect poorly on Her Majesty if we were poor hosts,” said the one named Chasan with a smile. Even by the standards of Aasimar, Chasan was a sculpted beauty with olive tanned skin. Amaliel didn’t know where to look. Every bit of exposed skin before her was flawless from her flowing blonde hair around her gentle-looking rounded face to her waist and hips that didn’t have an ounce of excess fat. Her perfectly rounded, exposed DD-cup breasts in particular made Amaliel gulp involuntarily. The bound paladin felt a blush creep onto her cheeks. She’d always been taught that it was rude to stare, but Chasan’s melons had a slight sheen of sweat and nipples engorged with arousal that were making it difficult for Amaliel to keep her gaze from involuntarily drifting downward. If there was anything that unnerved her about the black-winged angel, it was that Chasan’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her gentle allure was spoiled by the impression that her gaze didn’t have the slightest bit of warmth in them.
“Maybe she’s the type who prefers to watch, Chasan,” Harahel chimed in. “I certainly couldn’t think of a sweeter form of neglect play than being tied up and made to watch a pair of girls make love together without me.” The image the teasing brought to mind caused Amaliel’s blush to deepen. Harahel was no less beautiful than her companion. With hair as black as her wings and skin almost the same tint as fresh snow, the fallen angel had an ephemeral appearance that had Amaliel wonder if her hand would simply pass through if she tried to touch her. Imagining Harahel grinding her D-cup breasts against Chasan’s while the two kissed caused Amaliel to feel a rush of shame. She’d always prided herself on not being as swayed by a flash of bare skin and a well rehearsed smile as her companions, but here she was getting aroused fantasizing about watching demons have sex in front of her.
Amaliel was shaken out of her fantasies feeling the bed shake under her. Harahel had hopped onto the bed and was crawling towards her on her hands and knees. Amaliel instinctively shied away as much as her bondage would allow her. She wished she could bring her wings out to drive the fallen angel away, but the way her arms were bound off to the side left her white plumes pinned to the bed under her arms.
“Aw, look how scared she is, Chasan!” Harahel giggled. It wasn’t a happy giggle. Amaliel was used to the giggles of children and angels laughing at a funny joke. This one had the coldness of a predator to it that was replacing her budding arousal with fear.
“That wouldn’t do! She’s a guest, Harahel. Her happiness is our number one priority.” Amaliel had been so focused on Harahel’s approach that she was caught off guard feeling her boots get yanked off. Her eyes swiveled back just in time to watch Chasan begin to peel the underlying socks off. Attempting to scrunch her toes as tightly as possible around the thin fabric didn’t do much to prevent her feet being laid bare with a sharp tug.
“Maybe she’d like us to pay a little more attention to her… here,” Harahel purred. Amaliel bucked and gasped, her blush returning. Harahel’s slim hand had slipped under her breastplate to give her chest a playful squeeze.
“No, no, Harahel. We need to set the mood first. It’s so much more fun to play doctor when the girl already has a smile on her face.” Chasan’s nails gently poked at the soles of Amaliel’s exposed feet. The helpless paladin stiffened at the lingering tingling sensations. Her mind was going wild remembering why Empyrean had been excommunicated from the church. Surely these two couldn’t be thinking of…
“You’re right, Chasan. Except now that you’re asking, I can’t remember any good jokes for the life of me. We’ll have to think of some other method to coax a smile out of her.” Amaliel’s fears were confirmed feeling Harahel’s hand slip down from her breast to snake her slim fingers in between the bones of her rib cage. The pads of her fingers dug into the soft skin a little and began to gently rub. Amaliel couldn’t stop her body from jumping a little from the small stream of jolts the touch sent rattling through her chest. Her face was set in a stony grim expression with the effort of trying to prevent herself from giggling while her upper body tried to twist away from her tormentor’s touch.
“Hrm, you may be on to something, but her face is so grim now. I think you’ll need a little assistance in this.” Chasan’s words were accompanied by her nails coming back for another attack on Amaliel’s helpless feet. The sharp tips were slowly scratching their way in horizontal trips. They started at the base of her toes, teasing the skin underneath for a few seconds before moving over sideways half a finger’s width. Whenever her hands made it across to the opposite edge of the foot, Chasan would simply bring her fingers down a centimeter or so before resuming her finger’s travel in the opposite direction.
Amaliel was having more difficulty trying to not react with each second. The slowness of Chasan’s teasing was downright maddening. She was being wound up like a spring with anticipation at the same time the light tickling made her feet jerk in an attempt to evade the nails. At the same time, Harahel had brought her second hand into play. Rather than teasing the ribs on her other side, the fallen angel was dragging her nails all over her stomach. The hand had tunneled in under her armor to lay with its palm flat against Amaliel’s toned stomach. Its fingers were slightly flexed so the tips of her long nails left ticklish little explosions in their wake as the hand snaked its way across the flesh beneath. Amaliel’s stomach jumped from a sharp intake of breath every time the nails came dangerously close to her bellybutton.
The variety of sensations was too much for the bound paladin to prepare herself against. Seconds after Chasan was done teasing a sensitive portion of her foot she’d be caught off guard by Harahel’s hand swerving towards her bellybutton. While she was focusing on that, the other hand would give her ribs a squeeze that sent a disrupting jolt straight to her lungs. Amaliel’s body was beginning to tremble from the strain of shutting it all out. Her hands were tugged at the chains of her manacles with increased urgency every time the tickling made her flinch, and the teasing was making her flinch more frequently with every passing minute.
“It’s so cute watching her try not to smile. The way her mouth twitches like she thinks she can hold it back is adorable.”
“Just a little bit more. I’m sure she’s impatient to get to the fun part. How about we ramp it up a little?” Even though Amaliel had warning, she wasn’t able to stop her body from jumping when the angels kicked up the intensity of their tickling a notch. One of Chasan’s hands had left her foot in favor of grabbing her toes. Her toes were forcibly spread apart so the other hand could scratch at the hyper-sensitive skin in between. Not only was this spot revealed to be more sensitive than anywhere else on her feet, Chasan had stepped up the intensity from light teasing to a frenetic wiggling. The jump was too much for Amaliel to brace against. Her stony expression broke into a wide smile. All of the pent up giggling she’d been trying to hold back this entire time came bursting out in a stream of laughter.
‘
The bound angel’s distress was compounded by Harahel digging in a few seconds later. The fallen angel wasn’t content to tease around her bellybutton anymore. One of her nails had slipped inside and was vibrating against the inner walls. Amaliel screeched and bucked her hips in an attempt to dislodge the finger, but Harahel wasn’t about to let her escape. She stopped briefly to pull off Amaliel’s chest piece then pinned her down by straddling her hips and grinding her butt into her victim’s thighs. Amaliel had never felt so helpless when the finger returned. It tickled too much for her to stop the laughter anymore. Her tormentors were holding her down too strongly for her to escape the tickles. All she could do was do her best to endure the ticklish sensations pounding into her chest and groin as they spent the next 20 minutes forcibly extracting laughter out of her lungs.
“That’s much better. Look how big her grin is now,” Chasan taunted when they finally gave her a break. Amaliel wheezed, gratefully taking in lungfuls of air. Her face hurt from smiling too much. Even after the hands drew away, she couldn’t get the big, miserable smile on her face to stop. Her stomach ached from continuously laughing without a break this entire time. Amaliel felt that she should be happy that they’d given her a chance to recover, but the only thing she felt was fear. She knew the smiles on her tormentor’s faces too well to feel anything else looking at them. They reminded her too much of the expression she herself had sported whenever one of the younger priestesses had broken down crying from her spanking before she was even halfway done with them.
“Why so scared, little angel? After all we’ve done to help you smile too,” Harahel taunted.
“It’s said that sadists are the first to get scared when left at someone else’s mercy. They know what it’s like to have power over someone too well to be ignorant of what’s going to happen to them. Is our guest perhaps a bit naughtier than a paladin is supposed to be?” Amaliel gulped. There was nothing alluring about her angelic captors anymore. Their teasing was taking a decidedly nasty tone to it. Even the pretense of friendliness in their expressions had fallen away for naked joy at her terror.
“Maybe she’d be a little happier if we helped her get more comfortable, Chasan. I can’t imagine having to lie in bulky armor is good for relaxing.”
“No!” Amaliel cried. Her heart had leapt into her throat. All of her efforts to keep the fallen angels from grabbing her chestplate and leggings by thrashing against her bondage with all her might were in vain. They didn’t need to get a firm grip on her clothes to get them off. Harahel and Chasan’s hands glowed with magical power. Every bit of fabric that came near the sadistic fallen angels’ hands disintegrated into little strands of fiber. Within a minute, Amaliel’s armor and the underwear underneath had been broken apart to leave her lying naked on the bed.
“Look how aroused she is, Chasan! Maybe our guest is more of a masochist than she’s willing to let on.” Amaliel’s face burned with shame. While her mind was screaming in anguish, her body was practically begging for it to continue, just a little nicer this time. Every ticklish bolt of suffering had headed straight towards her groin first and gone up to squeeze the laughter out of her chest second. Despite how horrible it had felt, Amaliel had been left painfully turned on by the experience. Her chest ached, yearning for her tormentors to pay attention to her there. Her loins were sopping wet with arousal and had spent the last 15 minutes desperate that the hand abusing her bellybutton would make a trip a little bit lower.
Harahel’s hand reached out to give Amaliel’s exposed breast a playful squeeze. Both she and Chasan started with surprise when Amaliel broke out squealing with laughter. “Nohoho! Stohop ihit!” the bound angel cried, her chest arching at the unexpectedly ticklish touch. The fallen angels shared a glance. Chasan clambered onto the bed to crawl her way in between Amaliel’s legs. After getting comfortable, her long nails reached out to light scratch around the exposed groin in front of her. Amaliel’s arousal was pushing the sensitivity of her privates to a whole new level. Having those sharp tips tease around the pink folds of her womanhood caused her to let out a shriek and violently buck her hips this time. The two fallen angels shared a grin. They had never planned on being nice to their new toy and finding these latest ticklish spots was opening up all sorts of avenues for being mean.
The black-winged angels picked up a few of the white plumes that had fallen off of Amaliel’s wings during her earlier struggling. Infusing the stiff feathers with a little bit of their magical energy turned them a pitch black. Chasan and Harahel shared a nod before letting go of their newly cursed implements. Instead of falling to the bed, the feathers hung in midair for a second before floating over to Amaliel. Two of the feathers flew over to begin stroking her stiffened nipples. They would teasingly dance their tips around the edge of her swollen areola, drag the length against her stiffened peaks, and brush back and forth across her nipples. The other pair made their way down to stimulate the helpless angel’s pussy. They would stroke all over her sopping wet folds with brief trips up to her clit just long enough to make her hips.
“Whahat are you dohoihihing!?” Amaliel cried. The helpless paladin couldn’t stop herself from alternating between tittering and gasping. Each stroke against her privates tickled and pleasured in equal measure. Her body couldn’t figure out if it wanted to shy away from the torturous tickles or lean in in the hopes that it would bring her to climax that much faster.
“What do you think we’re doing? We’re helping you cum, of course!”
“We have yet to meet a girl we couldn’t push over the edge with feather play.”
“Wehell, stop ithehehe!” Amaliel yelled. She only realized her mistake after watching her tormentors share an evil grin.
“If you insist!” they said in unison. And with that came the nails again. Amaliel burst out into laughter when the two fallen angels dove in with wiggling fingers to assist the feathers in working over her privates. Harahel was stroking, poking, squeezing, and kneading her breasts. In all of her decades, Amaliel never would’ve guessed that her breasts were the most ticklish part of her body. Each touch on her jiggling globes was a line straight to twisting the air out of her lungs in ear-splitting shrieks. Her back was burrowing into the mattress beneath in an attempt to escape only to involuntarily arch her back with a scream whenever her tormentor returned to rub a bad spot on the side of her breasts with her finger pads.
Her torment was compounded by Chasan making certain her lower body didn’t get any rest. The sadistic blonde was namely focused on tracing the tips of her nails in unpredictable patterns all over her groin. Amaliel was left guessing whether the next second was going to be the nails tracing over her aching pussy lips alongside the feathers or going up to wiggle against her pantiline. Maybe some thigh squeezes were in order instead, Chasan contrasting the lighter teasing by randomly grabbing big handfuls of the soft flesh of her inner thighs for some kneading. If that wasn’t bad enough, Chasan would occasionally lunge her hands up to squeeze Amaliel’s hips or reach under to goose her behind. Not being able to tell where the tickles would come from next deepened Amaliel’s feelings of vulnerability, which in turn made every ticklish stroke across her body more intense.
It was torture, plain and simple. Having her privates tickled was simultaneously making her mind go blank with arousal at the same time that it tickled too much for her to focus on anything else. A steady stream of laughter poured out of her mouth and she desperately thrashed to escape. All it did was excite her tormentors into tickling her harder. Her every twist and turn to shake off the fingers further brought out the sadistic instincts of the fallen angels. They picked up the pace of their fingers to punish her harder. Within minutes, Amaliel was reduced to hysterics. Loud shrieks of laughter accented her hysterical peals of laughter with increasing frequency as her building arousal pushed her to be more ticklish than she had known was possible.
“Our guest is so happy now, Harahel. Look at how much she’s laughing now.”
“I’m impressed, Chasan. My stomach would be killing me if I laughed for even half this long. But she just keeps going!”
“STOHOHOP!” Amaliel screamed in between bouts of laughter. “STOHOP IHIHIT! LEHET MEHEHE GO! I’LL DO ANHETHINGHEHEHEHAHAHAHA!”
“Anything? Aaaanything?” Chasan emphasized her question by focusing purely on pussy tickling.
“YEHES! ANYHEHEHTHING! JUST STHOHOHOP!”
“Beg,” Harahel ordered. A sadistic glint was in her eyes. “Beg us to make you cum.”
“NOOOOO!” Amaliel screamed. Her mind was being torn to shreds from being edged by the feathers and fingers while constantly denied release by the tickle torture, but her pride wouldn’t allow her to say it.
“Fine by us. We’ll just keep tickling you then.”
Hanging on by her pride was all well and good, but the combined tickling and edging was pure torture. Harahel and Chasan were relentless in continuing to exploit her ticklish breasts, pussy, thighs, and hips for another half an hour. Amaliel’s laughter was bordering on screams now. Her will to resist was being battered into submission by the unending waves of tickles. She hadn’t been able to stand a second more of the tickles for the past 20 minutes. Each surge of ticklish sensations from the myriad fingers and feathers abusing her bare skin pounding down to her aching pussy, every time her chest screamed out in agony from being tickled too hard to breathe, eroded the last dregs of her pride keeping her from cracking.
Eventually, it was too much. The tickles simply wouldn’t stop. Amaliel was half out of her mind with the need to cum. The last bastions of her pride crumbled in the face of her unfulfilled desire and need for the torture to end.
“FUHUCK MEHEHEHEHE!” The bound angel screamed at the top of her lungs. “Please! Juhust fuhUCK ME ALREAHADY! PLEASE LET MEHE CUHUHUM!”
“What do you say, Chasan? She wants to cum.”
“Of course! All I have to do is touch her here, right?” Chasan abandoned all of her groin, hip, and thigh tickling to focus exclusively on scratching the tips of her nails against Amaliel’s engorged pink folds.
“Fuhuhuck! Stop! Stop stohop stohohOHOHOP IHIHIHIT!”
“Our guest doesn’t seem too happy. Are you certain you’re doing it properly?”
“Of course! There doesn’t exist a girl in this world who I can’t make cum with my fingers.” The two fallen angels cackled with glee over Amaliel’s distress. Their fingers focused purely on applying their nails to her erogenous zones to maximize her torment. The bound angel’s screams and pleas for them to allow her to climax continued to reverberate throughout the room for several more minutes. Amaliel was well past the point where anything mattered past getting it all to stop. Her pride had been completely shattered under the merciless torment, leaving only a helpless girl pleading for mercy from a pair of women who wanted nothing more in the world to make her life a living hell.
The most horrible part of it all, Amaliel soon discovered, was that her tormentors were actually pushing her closer to orgasm. The ceaseless attention of the combined nails and fingers on her erogenous zones was inching her closer to climax almost infinitesimally more than the horrible tickling was denying it. Amaliel’s screams were slowly being replaced with moans. After nearly 15 minutes, the paladin’s mind went blank when her body tipped over the edge into the most explosive orgasm she’d ever experienced.
But the tickling didn’t stop. In fact, it grew worse. Harahel and Chasan were having so much fun playing with their toy that they’d stopped paying attention to how aroused they’d made her. Both of them reacted quickly to Amaliel’s body suddenly spasming under their fingers. Their hands leapt straight to squeezing her thighs and wiggling inside the depths of her armpits. Amaliel let out a scream so loud that it left both of their ears ringing. Any normal bed would’ve snapped in two under how violently her body was thrashing.
If Amaliel had been capable of conscious thought anymore, she would’ve told herself to stop thinking that it wasn't possible for the tickling to grow worse. The two fallen angels were following her body around to deny her the smallest instance of getting to enjoy finally being allowed to cum. The waves of pleasure from her orgasm were mixing with the intense tickling to form a new sensation her mind couldn’t figure out how to process. The only consensus her brain could come to was that it was well and truly unbearable. Amaliel screamed like a woman possessed for the following minutes of having her orgasm ruined and post-orgasm sensitivity punished.
When the tickling finally stopped a little over 10 minutes later and the feathers were all removed, Amaliel didn’t beg or scream. Her giggles eventually died down to be replaced by a hiccup. Her eyes scrunched tight, only for a few tears to leak out regardless. The room that had once been filled with her peals of laughter was soon filled with the sound of her breaking down sobbing. It was simply too much. The combined orgasm and tickling had been too severe. Her spirit was now well and truly broken. The two fallen angels both looked at their crying guest before sharing a glance.
They’d found the game they wanted to play.
“Aw, don’t cry little angel. We’ll make it all feel better.” Harahel singsonged. Chasan had extended her index finger and was lightly tracing a complex pattern on Amaliel’s groin along her pantiline.
“Do you know what always cheers me up when I’m feeling down? Having Harahel bend me over the table, lift my leg up, and go to town on me with a strap on. A few orgasms later and all the blues have simply flown away.” Amaliel’s body seized up with horror at the implication of what they were about to do to her. Her head twisted around look at where Chasan was touching. A pit formed in her stomach seeing a complex magical rune emit a faint pink glow below her navel.
“By the light, no. Please. No. Anything but that…” The angel wasn’t able to gather the strength through her fear to get her pleading above a soft whisper. Harahel and Chasan’s grins down at her couldn’t have looked more twisted as they continued their teasing.
“We figured that since you were begging to cum so much earlier, you couldn’t possibly be satisfied only having one!” Chasan gently patted the magical rune. “This baby should help with that. Once you start to cum, it’ll make certain you never stop.”
The evil angels began to massage Amaliel’s privates again. They started off gently at first, but grew firmer over time to extract unwilling gasps and moans out of their victim. When Amaliel attempted to squirm away they sat on her limbs to pin her down.
“No! Please! No more! Stop already. By the light, please stop!”
Tears of terror were streaming down Amaliel’s face as she begged. She would’ve happily done anything and everything, debased herself and performed every perverted act her tormentors could imagine, in exchange for not being made to orgasm while under the cursed sexual magic. Her pleas fell on deaf ears. The beautiful fallen angels continued to stimulate her with every sign of glee at her terror.
“Aw, look at how adorable she is,” Harahel cooed. “We aren’t even halfway through her first day and she’s crying this much!”
There was no way for the bound paladin to prevent her body from being toyed with until she was brought to another explosive orgasm under her tormentors’ skillful fingers. True to their word, her orgasm was almost immediately followed up by another. Barely seconds had passed since she’d experienced the height of one climax before the rune inscribed on her groin activated to make her cum again.
Amaliel couldn’t think anymore. The sheer levels of agony she was experiencing drove out everything else. Chasan and Harahel had dove in for the kill. They’d placed the feathers back to work stimulating her nipples and pussy before joining in with wiggling fingers. Harahel was skittering her nails all over her jiggling breasts with the occasional foray down to her armpits and ribs for the sake of a bit of variety. Chasan was getting her fill of Amaliel’s thighs. Her hands were groping all over the sides and tops, wiggling against where her groin met her legs, and going up to goose her hips or pay her bellybutton another visit. The only thing Amaliel was capable of doing anymore was incoherently screaming like an animal. Any trace of sanity had been driven out of her face by the irrepressible need to form the most crazed smile her face could produce.
“How long did you set her to keep cumming for anyways, Chasan? I wanted to see if she’s so scared of orgasms after this that we can get her to eat us out by touching her pussy again.”
“About 3 minutes.” Chasan took a look at the magical sex rune again and blinked with surprise. “Ah, I tell a lie. I messed up and inscribed 30 instead.” Both angels shared a laugh over her mistake. They didn’t have any plans on stopping their games now or until the end of time. Neither of them were against allowing their fun to continue on a little longer than expected.
—--
Empyrean leaned back on her heels with a sigh of contentment. The four mirrors arranged on the wall in front of didn’t show her reflection, instead displaying a dwarf, half-orc, dragonkin, and aasimar all howling with laughter.
“And you thought it would fail. I told you, didn’t I? To get the best results, you have to put in the work yourself.” The black-winged demon queen was speaking to a separate mirror to her side. As opposed to the ones displaying the adventuring party’s continuing torture being framed in white, this one had a frame forged out of onyx. Its surface was equally dark. If one squinted hard enough, they would almost be able to make out the outline of a curvaceous woman wearing a dress sitting on a throne in its depths.
If the onlooker gazed at the mirror long enough for their eyes to adapt to its supernatural gloom, they would invariably notice the squirming figures in the background behind the throne. Rows upon rows of naked female bodies were standing with their arms above their heads. Each of them had their mouths wide open in silent screams while their bodies spasmed uncontrollably under the influence of disembodied hands, feathers, brushes of all types, and tongues stimulated their bare skin. The lines of women stretched on endlessly into the distance forming an endless expanse of squirming flesh.
Empyrean stood watching the black mirror for a while, almost as if she could hear something on the other side of it. A smirk formed on her face.
“Don’t worry, we’re almost there. Just a few more girls and you’ll be free. And once you are…” The demon queen plucked one of the jet black feathers off of her own wings and dragged up her exposed side around her dress. The fallen angel shivered with delight at the tingles its passage left. “I’ll be waiting right at the front, just for you.”
The Demon Queen wasn’t content with just sentencing Ingtyn and her party to an eternity of ticklish torment. Nothing would satisfy her short of Ugrogeth breaking free from her prison to turn this entire world into a living tickle hell. The demonic hordes would sweep across the land trapping every non-demonic woman alive in a mind-destroying nightmare of laughter and orgasms until the end of time.
Which, of course, included Empyrean herself. As an aasimar she was no more exempt from the ticklish fate she had planned for the world as any other woman, even if she was the one responsible for setting them all free. It was actually what she wanted most of all. The deal she had struck with Ugrogeth had been the goddess’ freedom in return for Empyrean becoming her personal tickling slave for all eternity. Empyrean had spent centuries chasing the absolute pinnacle of ticklish torment. She had practiced against the vulnerable flesh of every woman she could capture and observed with fascination as Ugrogeth’s own demons drove their victims into insanity. What she wanted most of all now was to learn first hand just how horribly it would tickle to be under the fingers of the Demon Goddess of Tickling herself.
Empyrean Lightsbane turned on her heel and strode down the hall. She hummed a tuneless song as she went, fantasizing about what the world would look like after she’d won. Countless mirrors stretched before her. The walls of the hallway stretched on longer and higher than the eye could see, each available bit of free space being taken up by a mirror. Each and every mirror contained the image of a naked woman being ceaselessly gang tickled by the demons living within. The only interruption was a doorway a little ways down that Empyrean used to exit the hallway.
The Demon Queen had been so caught up daydreaming that she hadn’t noticed that the black mirror hadn’t followed after her. The mirror slowly rotated where it floated, taking in the sight of the innumerable scenes of torment around it. If Empyrean had stayed in the room for just a few seconds longer, she would’ve heard a small clinking sound like a coin had been dropped on the floor.
A crack had formed across the mirror’s surface and the faint echoes of laughter were leaking through to fill the hall…
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