"Hyperticklish" Parts 1 through 4

[Sablesword]

I've posted this over on the TMF, but I haven't posted it here before. It's my attempt at a longer tickling saga.

Feedback would be greatly appreciated.

Hyperticklish
by Sablesword

Part 1

“I understand that you’re taking off this evening to be captured by pirates,” Maestro Roberts said to his pupil.

Princess Cecilia – Her Highness Melanie Cecilia Heather Kimiko DuCord – nodded gracefully. “Yes Maestro,” she told her tutor, “The shuttle is scheduled for takeoff at five o’clock.” She was slightly taller than the Maestro, and much more slender. Her skin was flawless and fair; she was one of the paler of the Thousand Princesses of Lorane.

“Well then,” the short Maestro said. “In that case we should run through a final check. In reverse order, I think. First, Your Highness, please prepare yourself for the auction block.” He gestured at the platform, a mockup of the block from which Princess Cecilia would be sold when she reached Torbago.

“Yes Maestro,” Cecilia acknowledged the command. She stepped back and began to gracefully strip. The shoes first, followed by the cream-and-gold gown that came off in a faint rustle of expensive fabric. Then, standing in her underthings, she removed the fastenings holding her amber-brown hair in its braided wreath about her head. Shaken out, it fell halfway to her waist. The underthings went next, one at a time until she stood nude and barefoot on the carpet. At this point, a floating servebot darted forward to fasten shackles on her ankles. Thus bound, she ascended the platform with mincing steps – the only sort that the short plaststeel chain would allow. Standing on the exact center of the platform, she placed her hands behind her neck, and displayed herself to the critically admiring Maestro.

“Excellent, Your Highness,” he said at last. “And now the stocks, if you please.” The servebot released the shackles, and Cecilia jumped down to put her clothes back on. Except for her shoes and stockings. These remained on the carpet as she stepped to the other object in the room: A reclining chair.

The energy-stocks at the foot of the chair gripped Cecilia’s ankles with a gentle but unbreakable forcefield. Similar restraints at the sides of the chair grasped her wrists. A readout projected itself where the Maestro, standing at the foot of the chair, could easily see it, and a shelf deployed, presenting a selection of firm and soft instruments. The Maestro chose a stick with a fuzzy ball at the end, and began to tickle the nude and helpless feet that stuck out so invitingly before his face.

Cecilia’s giggle came at once, clear and musical. The Maestro picked up a feather with his other hand and tickled both feet at once, applying swift strokes up and down and back and forth, making Princess Cecilia squirm and laugh.

Maestro Roberts continued the tickling for only two or three minutes then turned to examine the readouts. “Excellent,” he nodded, and killed the energy-stocks that held the Princess captive. She stood and recovered her shoes and stockings, and then stood still to let the servebots neaten her clothing and repair the ravages done to her hair. Once they finished restoring Cecilia’s original regal appearance, the Maestro bowed deeply to her, making the gesture appear graceful despite his short roundness. “Your Highness, may I wish you the best fortune possible on your upcoming journey.”

“I’ll miss you too, you old fussbudget,” Cecilia answered softly.

#​

On board the DuCord space yacht, Princess Cecilia watched her homeworld of Lorane shrink from a globe to a dot of light. She might return in four or five years, but not sooner. Not until after the period of her capture, enslavement, and betrothal.

Of course, she could have refused this trip; she could order the yacht back to the spaceport even now. The idea didn’t even occur to her, however. It was her duty to go forth and be captured by pirates with all that was to follow. If she didn’t, she would lose all chance of a high marriage appropriate to one of the Thousand Princesses. And her brother Alvin would likewise be cut dead by society, losing his chance for a high marriage as well. And the Royal House of DuCord, one of the thousand royal houses of Lorane, would come to an end.

She left the tiny observation deck for her equally tiny cabin, and inserted a favorite book into her reader. It would be some hours before the pirates appeared to take her away.

#​

“Ah, space yacht DuCord Royale, this is the pirate ship Merryweather,” the voice came over the comm. “You are under our guns, so unless you want to be blown into dust-bunnies, you will cut your drive and prepare to be boarded.”

“Right on time,” the captain commented. “Nice to deal with a professional.” He keyed the comm. “Pirate ship Merryweather, this is the space yacht DuCord Royal. We acknowledge and will comply.” He released the switch and ordered. “Go ahead and kill the drive.”

A few minutes later, the door of Princess Cecilia’s cabin slid open. The woman who stood there, dressed in a space-rated skinsuit with the helmet removed, looked somewhat weather-beaten and somewhat plain. “Princess Melanie Cecilia Heather Kimiko DuCord?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m Princess Cecilia.”

“I’m First Mate Bonner of the good ship Merryweather. And you are our prisoner. Shoes and stockings first, please.”

Cecilia nodded acknowledgement of the command. It took only a few seconds before she stood barefoot on the deck of her cabin. At that point Bonner lost her struggle to keep from grinning. She proffered a pair of low-power scissors. “Now for the clothes. Do you want to do the honors, or shall I?”

“You, please.” Cecilia raised her arms to give Bonner access. The other woman quickly reduced Cecilia’s clothing to artistic rags. “You do that well,” Cecilia commented.

“I’ve practiced. This piracy gig isn’t our usual business, but it pays well. Well enough to want to get it right.” Her grin came back. “You’re worth a hell of a lot of credits to us, Your Highness.”

Bonner then cuffed Cecilia’s hands behind her back, and escorted her off the yacht and onto the bridge of the Merryweather. Cecilia came to a halt there, standing barefoot before a tall thin man. Three others – two men and a woman – stood to the side, and Bonner joined them. Like the others, the thin man wore spacer-alls, but unlike the others his were half-covered with round patches embroidered with witty sayings. Cecilia got the impression that this suit wasn’t his everyday wear.

“I’m Captain Manning, Your Highness,” the thin man introduced himself. Welcome aboard the Merryweather. You understand that you’ll be staying as our guest, for a time.”

“Yes.” Princess Cecilia hesitated. She’d prepared three different things to say, at this moment, and couldn’t choose between the icy, the fiery, and the ironic. And then the excitement of the moment was suddenly too much for her. She launched into a string of curses, bad words directed at the pirate captain standing before her. It wasn’t as polished as the fiery speech she’d prepared, but the delivery was much more heartfelt.

Captain Manning cocked his head in appreciation. Bonner frowned, and Cecilia felt a sudden fear that she’d gone too far. But then the man next to Bonner nudged her. “Pay me, May.” Bonner sourly pulled out an old-style coin and handed it over. Cecilia, her nerves stretched too far, giggled.

“You’ll need to save both the curses and the giggles for later,” Captain Manning advised her dryly. “And now let me introduce my crew. My First Mate May Bonner you’ve already met.”

The man next to Bonner turned out to be Chief Engineer Kurt, her husband. The man who looked like a goateed shadow of Captain Manning was Engineering Assistant Frank Wotusu. And the petite woman was Power Specialist Ming MacArthur. “She’s especially glad to see you here since you’ll be relieving her of her job,” the Captain commented.

“Yes, I know.”

“Excellent.” He checked his chrono, his energy suddenly reminding her of Maestro Rogers. “You’ll have 30 minutes to get settled in your cabin before we drag you to the Catalyst Room. May, since you started this, will you show our royal guest to her cabin?”

The cabin, while small, was still larger than the one on the DuCord Royale. “You get a private head and shower,” May Bonner told Cecilia, “since we can’t let you wander the decks at random. Private bunk too. The terminal’s buggered, of course, to keep you from hacking your way into trouble, but it’s good for light entertainment. Storage here. You’ll be wearing these prisoner-orange things: Harem pants and a tunic. And this restraint belt. How much the belt gets used will depend. You also get your own servebot, mostly for your royal hair. I couldn’t deal with the hassle myself, wearing it that long, but you’re not to cut it. It’ll be a quarter of your price, by itself.”

“I expect it will be,” Cecilia answered coolly.

“Hey, I didn’t make your crazy rules, and neither did you. We just have to live with them, OK?”

Cecilia warmed her expression with a smile “All right.”

“Good girl, Your Highness. Now meals will be brought on a tray, at first. Later we can maybe work something out. For the moment though you have,” she checked her chrono, “fifteen minutes to change and freshen up. Then I take you to the Catalyst Room. Be sure to be properly dressed. Any questions?”

“Do I get shoes?” Cecilia looked pointedly down at her bare feet, and at the deck shoes that Bonner wore.

“Good question. The answer is no. The Captain figures that you won’t have shoes on Torbago, so you might as well get use to going barefoot now.”

Cecilia made a graceful gesture, conceding the point.

“You do that well,” Bonner commented. “Fifteen minutes.” She left the cabin, and Cecilia heard the click-clunk as the exterior lock on the door engaged.

End of Part 1

 

[Sablesword]

Part 2

Hyperticklish, Part 2

In the promised fifteen minutes, the admittance buzzer sounded. “Enter,” Cecilia called, just as if she had the power to deny permission. She was dressed, as instructed in the prisoner-orange outfit, with her hair put up in a tight and sturdy coil. She’d received training for when and how to be prompt, as well as for when and how to be royally late, at least when it came to simple clothing such as this.

She heard the click-clunk of the exterior lock disengaging, but the door didn’t slide open. Instead, after a few moments, her terminal lit up to show the face of Kurt Bonner. “Your Highness,” he told her. “Please place your hands behind your back, wrists against the restraint belt.” Cecilia complied and felt the belt activate, straps unrolling from the belt to wrap around her wrists and pin them in place. They felt like standard restraint straps, operating on the same principle as the cuffs she had worn when she had been brought on board. They’d hold her wrists in a loose grip most of the time, tightening if she tried to struggle and relaxing when she gave in. And they would not release unless they received a signal from an authorized control unit at least two meters away. So even if a prisoner managed to obtain a remote, she would be unable to free herself.

The terminal went dark and the door slid open. “Thank you, Your Highness,” Kurt told her in the flesh. “And now we’re wanted in the Catalyst Room.”

“Yes, Sir,” Cecilia answered.

Kurt guided her down the passageway, a hand resting lightly on her shoulder. “Don’t worry about it; you’re permitted to get things wrong the first time or two. And in case May didn’t tell you: SOP whenever we come for you is to place your hands behind your back, for the restraint belt. Whether we use it or not will depend, but you’re always to give us that option.”

“All right Sir, I’ll remember that.”

“And call me Kurt, please. Or ‘Sir Kurt’ – I once read somewhere that pirates were the social equivalent of knights, to their captives, and I’ve always wanted to be a knight.”

Cecilia heard the smile in his voice and relaxed a bit. “That isn’t exactly how that custom worked,” she said, “but it will be as you please, Sir Kurt.”

The trip to the Catalyst Room wasn’t all that short; even a small star-freighter had hundreds of meters of passageway. The deck surface wasn’t the livetex shag of the royal quarters, or even the short-pile livetex carpet of the royal yacht. Rather it was a more utilitarian surface, with a woven surface texture like old-fashioned canvas and a very slight give. And it was warm. Overall, it wasn’t the best surface to make a barefoot captive walk on, but it was also far from the worst. Cecilia smiled slightly, remembering past encounters with cold stone tile.

The Catalyst Room had three couches, each one similar to the recliner that Cecilia had sat in for her last session with her tutor. But these couches looked sturdier, less elegant and more functional. They were not simulators to allow a tutor to tune a princess’s musical laughter and map her ticklishness. They were real, with metallic cones overhead to collect the mirth-energies released by their occupants.

The mirth energies from the Catalyst Room could be piped to the hyperdrive as “live mirth” to greatly increase the drive’s performance via some little-understood process. With all three chairs piping live mirth to the drive the Merryweather could, in theory, cut the usual two-week hyperspace jump down to under a day. In practice however, the mirth energies were usually stored in special capacitors, or “cans.” This “canned laughter” produced a smaller performance boost than live mirth, but also put much less strain on the system. Normally the Merryweather would make a jump in five to seven days – which was still over twice as fast as the larger starships that did without Catalyst technology.

In addition to the three couches, the Catalyst room held equipment racks along one wall and a workstation wedged into one corner. Frank Wotusu sat at this station, dressed in the same plain spacer-alls and deckshoes as Sir Kurt. Ming MacArthur was in the room as well, sitting on the edge of one of the couches. Unlike the two male crewmembers, she was barefoot, and wore short pants and a blouse of jewel-toned fabric. It was, Cecilia realized, a mass-produced knock-off of one of her custom-made outfits. Former outfits, she corrected the thought. She had left her wardrobe behind, and from now one would only have such clothing as her captors deemed fit to give her.

“We’ve all received knighthoods, at least for the duration,” Kurt announced. “I told you that pirates were the equivalent of knights to their captives. You’re Sir Frank, and you’re Sir Ming.”

“Dame Ming,” the crew-woman corrected him.

“Dame Ming, then. And you’re both relieved.”

“Thank you, Sir Kurt,” Frank said. He stood up and threw an ironic salute. “Dame Ming, if you would care for an escort?”

“Certainly, Sir Frank.” The two linked arms and walked – swished – out of the room in a deliberate parody of courtly manners.

Kurt shook his head. Stepping back out of the two-meter zone, he released Cecilia’s wrists from the restraint belt. “Take the center couch, Your Highness.” She did so, and was quickly rendered helpless, her feet in energy-stocks, and her hands above her head in another set of energy restraints. Kurt brought out a portable ticklebot and a set of manual devices from the equipment rack, and set them up. “Manual calibration first,” he told her cheerfully as he selected a feather and began to apply it to her right sole.

Princess Cecilia started giggling as soon as she felt the feather surveying her naked foot. She produced further musical giggling, squirming slightly, as the gentle tickling took in both feet, locating all the most sensitive lines and spots. The sensation was much like that her tutor had inflicted on her, but this time would not be like the brief tickles of her tutoring, or even the longer endurance tests she had occasionally been subjected to. Always before, in the back of her mind, was the knowledge that she could make the tickling stop if she pleaded for a full five minutes. Now, however, she was truly a captive, and her captors would simply keep tickling her. And she would be completely helpless and unable to do a single thing about it.

She squirmed and giggled some more, as she saw – and felt – Sir Kurt switch to an implement with a one-centimeter ball at the end. She felt the tickling sensations as it repeated the feather’s survey of her bare soles. She knew that it was just a preliminary, a “manual calibration” as Sir Kurt had said. She knew that the couch was recording her reactions, feeding the results into the ticklebot that sat inert to the side. She let herself enjoy the current gentle tickling, her feelings tinged with only a touch of apprehension. Once the real tickling began, she knew, her perception would be of nine parts ecstasy to one part of agony – the ideal proportions for a Princess of Lorane.

Those proportions were the result of training as much as genetics, but Princess Cecilia was confident that they would hold. They hadn’t ever slipped during the last two years of her tutoring, except for the one time when her conditioning had been deliberately tested. In that session, when her subconscious mind had noticed the ecstasy ratio slipping, it had triggered hysteria, making Cecilia fight franticly against her bonds and beg shamelessly for the tickling to end. And it did end, after five eternal minutes. More importantly, though, the agony increase was arrested during those five minutes, preventing Cecilia from falling into a helltickle.

The probing tickle-survey stopped, and Princess Cecilia felt her heart pound in anticipation of her first real tickling. She took a calming breath, and watched as Sir Kurt punched some numbers into the inert ticklebot at his side. The tickling machine continued to sit there for a moment, and Cecilia knew it was digesting the tickle-survey’s results. Then the indicator lights blinked on, and the ‘bot rose on its countergravity. Sir Kurt stepped back and repeated a hoary quip, one whose origins were lost in the mists of time: “And now, Your Highness, we will discuss the location of the hidden rebel base.”

Cecilia groaned at the ancient joke as Sir Kurt grinned at her. Then she squeaked as the ticklebot suddenly sprouted a dozen implements. She watched the devices spin and wiggle and slowly wave back and forth as the ‘bot extended them toward her helpless soles. She felt them make contact, and once again Princess Cecilia began to laugh.

It was indeed a “real” tickling that the ‘bot inflicted on Cecilia’s helpless bare feet. A richer tickling than any she had experienced in her tutoring. It made her feet feel supremely present. And alive. And sensitive. The touch of the various brushes, air jets, and slippery-firm probes was irresistible, and Cecilia squirmed and twisted, pulling helplessly against the stocks that held her hands over her head and struggling uselessly to free her feet from the stocks at the foot of her couch. Musical laughter poured out from her. She couldn’t stop it, not with a dozen devices tickling the spaces between her toes, and across the balls of her feet, and up and down her instep and in tiny circles on her heel. She felt them applied individually and in combinations, exploiting the tickle-map that Sir Kurt had explored with his “manual calibration.”

Over her laughter, Princess Cecilia heard Sir Kurt speaking over at the workstation. “Bridge? Catalyst. We have live mirth.”

After what seemed like an eon, the initial intense tickling subsided. Princess Cecilia could catch her breath, but was not allowed to relax. She could feel the ticklebot lick out with an occasional, sudden touch, making her squirm and giggle once again. This period of semi-rest, Cecilia knew, would keep her from becoming desensitized. Not that there seemed to be much danger of that, at the moment. Her feet still felt supremely vulnerable, as the energy stocks held them immobile before the idling ‘bot.

She saw Sir Kurt rise from his station and pull another ticklebot from the storage rack. At first she though that he was going to set two ‘bots to tickle her two feet, but his actual plan proved much more… interesting.

He pulled Cecilia’s tunic up, exposing her midriff, and she suddenly realized just why she had been given the tunic instead of the more usual set of spacer-alls. Just why Power Specialist Dame Ming wore that jewel-toned blouse. And just why her arms had been pinned over her head instead of at her sides.

“Yes, Your Highness,” Sir Kurt confirmed. “Here on the Merryweather we do bellies as well as feet.” He fingers then began dancing lightly across her belly, performing his “manual calibration,” forcing more musical giggles from her. She felt his hands skillfully inflict light tickles along her sides, and a wiggling forefinger explore her bellybutton. Her wiggling did nothing to prevent him from discovering the most ticklish areas of her now-naked midriff, just as they had failed to stop his earlier tickle-survey of her bare feet. Nor did the occasional strokes that the first ‘bot, still working on her feet, serve to distract her.

She shivered with anticipation when Sir Kurt stepped back to the workstation, for now it would be the ticklebots’ turn. Two ‘bots at once…

The first ‘bot picked up its pace, and Princess Cecilia laughed helplessly as it worked new variations of its original tickles over the soles of her feet. Toes, insteps, balls, heels – no part was neglected. And now the second ‘bot rose over her now-vulnerable midriff and extended feathers and brushes and squirming rubbery tentacles to apply a belly-tickle that matched the stimulation being applied to her feet. Cecilia laughed and writhed and squirmed helplessly as the mostly-pleasant tickling, tinted with just enough torment to make it poignant, extracted her mirth.

Over the next two hours, the ticklebots would often slow down and occasionally stop – but never both at once. The tickling might become slow and lazy, but it never ended. And Cecilia underwent intense tickle-bouts as well, during that shift. Sometimes she felt the ‘bots apply their tickling in synchronization: Feet-belly-feet-belly. Sometimes they would both apply intense tickles at once, making her howl and convulse. By the time Sir Kurt finally released her, she was sweat-soaked, tear-stained, and exhausted. And pleased. She was Her Highness Melanie Cecilia Heather Kimiko DuCord, one of the Thousand Princesses of Lorane, and now a pirate captive. And she had just come through her first real tickling.

End of Part 2

 

[Sablesword]

Part 3

Hyperticklish, part 3

Cecilia ate luncheon at the Captain’s table. This was no special distinction, however, since the Merryweather had only one table in its mess.

Breakfast that morning had been brought on a tray by May Bonner, who had asked her “Are you a morning or an evening person?”

Cecilia had answered immediately. “I’m definitely an evening person.”

“Alright then, luncheon will be at one PM ship time – we don’t use military time here on the Merryweather. And you’ll have until then to recover from last night’s initiation. You can blame Frank and Ming for that,” she added. “They let the cans run low, knowing you’d be here to refill them.” And then the other woman had departed, leaving Cecilia locked in her cabin until Ming MacArthur arrived to escort her to the galley.

All five of the pirate crew were at the lunch, answering the little questions that had somehow been overlooked in Princess Cecilia’s tutoring. “Who is keeping watch?” Cecilia asked.

“Diana,” Captain Manning answered her. “The ship’s computer. The Model Regs call for at least one crewmember to always be awake, but the Merryweather is too small to need someone always on watch.”

“Sir Frank and I are night-owls,” Dame Ming said. “We get up at the crack of noon and go to bed in the wee hours. Sir Kurt and Dame May – “ The first mate snorted at the title. “ – are disgusting morning people, so they get up in the wee hours and go to bed early. And our Captain is the ship’s cat.”

Cecilia looked a question.

“I’m awake at noon and midnight,” Captain Manning explained. “And then catnap in the morning and evening. You said that you were an evening person, Your Highness, so you’ll slot easily into,” the Captain grinned at the title, “Dame Ming’s position – afternoon and evening shifts.”

At this point, a voice spoke, its feminine tone engineered to mark it as computer-originated. “Captain, Diana here. I’ve detected sensor anomalies. I’m declaring Yellow Alert.” A yellow light began to flash overhead. Kurt and May Bonner rose from their chairs.

“We’re on it,” Sir Kurt said, and he and his wife left the galley. The yellow light stopped flashing.

“Nothing to worry about,” Captain Manning soothed. “Diana just wants her virtual hand held. Sir and Dame Bonner,” another flash of smile at the titles, “have her set to overreact slightly.”

Cecilia took the hint and smoothed the worry from her face. She turned to Dame Ming. Like the princess, the Power Specialist was dressed today in harem pants and tunic. And barefoot, a contrast to the spacer-alls and deckshoes of the other crewmembers. Unlike the captive princess, however, her clothing was multicolored pastels rather than solid prisoner-orange, and her ankle was not tethered to her chair.

“Dame Ming,” Princess Cecilia asked, “Why are you called a ‘power specialist’ rather than a ‘catalyst specialist’?”

“Tradition,” Ming answered. “Before the development of Catalyst systems, a ship’s power reactor needed a lot of babying, so a power specialist crewmember had to watch over them all the time. It still works that way in the big ships without a Catalyst Room,” she added, waving her fork to indicate those other ships Out There. “So the first ticklees in the first Catalyst Rooms were Power Specialists transferred from engineering. The old title somehow stuck, rather than a new one being invented.”

“The new title would have been ‘tickle slave,’ “ Frank put in. “Somehow those well-paid, high-status power-room specialists didn’t want to use it.”

“I’m a ‘tickle slave’ on the Merryweather, however,” Princess Cecilia said. “Am I not?”

“That’s right,” Captain Manning grinned – very cat-like, Cecilia thought. “That’s how you’re listed in the ship’s database. It will save no end of trouble when we reach Torbago. A friend of mine, Captain Hook, once made the mistake of listing her captive princess as a ‘Power Specialist’ rather than as a ‘Tickle Slave.’ So when she reached Torbago, she –” He was interrupted by a chime. “Galley,” he said into the air. “Captain here. What is it?”

“Captain? Bridge,” May’s voice came from the air. “We’ve just passed through a squall – and there’s a storm coming. I’m sending to your remote, but I recommend that we rig two chairs of live mirth.”

The Captain frowned, and pulled out his remote. “What do the cans look like?”

“Captain? Engineering,” Kurt’s voice broke in. “That first squall was a young storm by itself, and it drained our cans more than I like. I’m sending my own link to your remote, but I concur with the Bridge’s recommendation. We should both get Dame Ming and Her Highness to the Catalyst room.”

Captain Manning frowned some more at his remote. “Agreed,” he said at last. “Dame May, you stay on the bridge. I’ll be in the Catalyst Room. Out.” He looked up and gave his catlike grin again, only slightly crooked. “It looks like I’m a liar. We do have something to worry about.” He held up his thumb and forefinger, close together. “Only a little something, though. Dame Ming, it looks like you’re not getting your vacation after all.” He rapped the table and stood. “To the Catalyst Room, everyone.”

Ming and Frank hurried out. Captain Manning took time to bind Princess Cecilia’s wrists behind her and to put her in an ankle-leash. The crew of the Merryweather might joke about being pirates, Cecilia thought, but they seemed to take securing their captive seriously enough. Since her capture, she had always been in bonds of one sort or another, or else locked in her cabin.

The Captain also insisted that she stop at the head on the way to the Catalyst Room. Princess Cecilia took what seemed to her like an embarrassingly long time, but Captain Manning waved away her attempt to apologize. “Never turn down a chance when going on duty,” he told her. “I’m sure Dame Ming didn’t.”

With the various delays, Cecilia heard Dame Ming laughing uproariously even before she entered the Catalyst Room. On entering the room, she saw her squirming in the right-most couch; wrists and ankles held in place by the familiar energy stocks. Her tunic had been removed, revealing a bikini-bra of some sheer material, and two tickle-bots busily buffed her feet. Her soles wrinkled as her toes clenched and unclenched, but could not escape the spinning wooly stimulation. Then one of the ‘bots rose up and forward and extended white-gloved mechanical fingers to delicately tease the skin in and around her belly button.

Sir Frank sat at the workstation watching with a huge smile plastered on his face. “General Announcement, Catalyst Room,” he said into the comm system. “We have live mirth.” He glanced over at the Captain, who nodded, his hand on Cecilia’s shoulder. “And we will have two chairs, shortly,” he added.

The Captain lay Princess Cecilia in the center couch, not hurrying, but not wasting any time. The energy stocks fastened their soft and unbreakable grip on her ankles. Her tunic was removed, and she blushed – unlike Dame Ming, she did not wear a bra underneath. Now her wrists were pinned by the second pair of stocks, over her head. Two ticklebots moved into position. The one floating over her belly deployed its dozen devices but did not touch her – yet. The one floating before the helpless soles of her feet began to apply light, flicking strokes, varying the location with each touch: Left foot, right foot, instep, at the base of the toes…

Princess Cecilia exploded. The situation had already wound her tight with excitement and anticipation, and she had expected the ticklebots to dig in heartily into her sensitive flesh. To administer a tickling similar to that being inflicted on Dame Ming, who writhed and howled with a vigor to match that of the artificial fingers that now vigorously tickled her sides and her soles. But the ‘bot attending to Cecilia’s feet had a different program. It’s flicking touches sent bolts of tickle-sensation all the way up her legs. Cecilia bucked wildly, arching her body, giving a continuous squeal that peaked with each touch. Then, out of breath, she lay back and gasped for air, only to stiffen and squeak as the semi-regular strokes continued. She eyed the wiggling appendages of the second ‘bot, fearing and hoping that they would soon come into play as well.

At last, they did. They began a light flickering dance over her nude upper body, similar to that of the first ‘bot. But then her feet were suddenly subjected to a tickle-touch by a dozen implements that covered every square centimeter of bare skin. Flexing and clenching her toes brought no relief from the remorseless tickling. Tears of mirth started leaking from Cecilia’s eyes as she laughed.

The belly ‘bot then changed to a slow lazy tickle-caress, while the foot ‘bot went inactive and fell away. Blinking, Princess Cecilia saw Captain Manning walk over to her. “M-manual heeheehee calibration?” she managed to gasp.

“No.” He gave another of his cat-smiles. “Captain’s privilege.” His fingers danced over her soles, forcing more musical laughter from her as human intuition replaced robotic relentlessness in the tickle-stimulation of her feet.

The Captain’s technique passed quickly between soft and firm and back again. Cecilia felt fingers wiggling up and down her feet, from her toes to her heels in an unpredictable pattern. They never paused, never concentrated on any one spot. Cecilia felt them move over and past the most sensitively ticklish spots, giving each of them a brief flare rather than intense treatment – and leaving them extra sensitive when they returned.

At length Captain Manning halted, and the belly-bot drew away. Cecilia gasped for breath. In the next couch, Dame Ming still giggled and squirmed under the tickling touch of the two ‘bots stimulating her. The laughter they produced reminded Cecilia that her own respite was only a temporary thing.

Captain Manning took over the station chair, allowing Sir Frank to give his personal attention to Dame Ming. He selected a feather-bundle tipped with downy feathers and applied it with confident expertise to Ming’s exposed soles. Ming howled. Cecilia watched wide-eyed as the other woman dissolved into shrieks of laughter. The Princess knew Sir Frank to be an expert tickler, but she still could not understand just how such a soft and gentle touch could produce such extreme results.

Then she found out.

Dame Ming was given her own rest period, and Sir Frank turned his attention to Princess Cecilia. Specifically, to her nude soles – which suddenly had all of Cecilia’s attention as well. The feather’s kiss, when it came, was exquisitely soft, wonderfully gentle – and it tickled diabolically. Cecilia strained as hard as she could against the energy bonds, laughing wildly, suddenly desperate to escape. Not that escape was possible, of course. The forces holding her in place could not be overcome even if she were ten times stronger. And so she had no choice but to endure the unendurable tickling of her helpless feet.

At last the feathering came to an end; another short rest break before the tickle-bots came into play once more. Their firm, inexorable mechanical tickling kept Cecilia asquirm and giggling until the energy bonds released her at the end of the watch.

Princess Cecilia, lying limp and sweat-soaked on the couch wondered muzzily how Dame Ming could possibly stand up and stagger over to fetch herself a bottle of electrolytes. The other woman had been tickled as much as she had, although certainly not more than she had. Cecilia could still feel the pleasure-surges echoing under her skin, and, more faintly, the crackle of agony. Even in this aftermath, she maintained the properly regal ten to one ratio of ecstasy to torment.

Pride drove Princess Cecilia to swing her legs over and sit up on the edge of the couch. She let Captain Manning pull her tunic back on, then placed her wrists behind her back for binding. The Captain raised an eyebrow at that, but stepped back to use his remote, fastening her wrists to the restraint belt. He then traded the remote for a bottle and made her drink down an entire liter of electrolyte before carrying her back to her cabin. He poured her into her bunk with a command to rest until her next shift.
End of part 3

 

[Sablesword]

Part 4

Hyperticklish, part 4

A nap, a shower, and a bowl of old-fashioned hot-and-sour soup left Cecilia feeling mostly recovered when Dame Ming arrived to escort her to the Catalyst Room. Once again, she let her hands be bound behind her for the barefoot march through the ship.

When she sat in the couch, Sir Frank fastened her ankles in place in the energy stocks but left her hands free. He handed her a reader. “This will be a lazy watch, Your Highness. That last storm left us ahead of schedule, and with clear ether on the sensors. In fact, we should be coming out of hyper by midnight. So you‘ll only be called on occasionally this time – not for constant live mirth like you were last watch” He gave her right foot a quick tickle as he stepped back to his station.

As Sir Frank promised, this watch went by with very little tickling. Once or twice an hour he would have her place her hands in the upper stocks of the couch. One of the ticklebots would then take the reader, while the other tickled her feet for a minute or so. Then her hands would be released once more, the reader returned, and the ‘bots deactivated.

Princess Cecilia found it difficult to concentrate on her reader after the first one-minute tickle. She couldn’t put out of her mind the hope-fear-hope that Sir Frank would tell her to place her hands above her head again, in preparation for the ‘bots activating for another session. When that second session did come, inflicting its involuntary giggles and squirming on her, she found that she could make herself relax afterwards by an act of will.

The last session of the watch was a bit longer, but Princess Cecilia caught herself feeling disappointed at its briefness. Don’t be silly she told herself as Frank released her from the couch and bound her hands behind her once more for the trip back to her prison-cabin.

“We’ll be coming out of hyper later tonight, or early tomorrow,” Frank told her just before he locked her in her cabin. “You’ll have a two-day break before we start dragging you back to the Catalyst Room again.”

And so it proved. The next day Cecilia spent locked in her cabin, as the crew of the Merryweather took care of all the little maintenance jobs that had been delayed while the ship was in hyper. That evening, however, Sir Frank and Dame Ming let her out for an exercise session, and the next morning Dame May brought her a set of exercise clothing. This all-white outfit consisted of a comfortably-soft long-sleeved shirt, and pair of pants, a new restraint belt – and a pair of flat-soled shoes. “At least they’re not orange,” Cecilia said as she pulled them on.

“Don’t get any ideas,” Dame May warned. She gestured, and Cecilia obediently placed her hands behind her back for binding and let herself be escorted down the corridor.

“Ideas?” the princess asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

Dame May snorted in amusement. “Get that gleam out of your eye. We’re in deep space, and we’re not letting you run around without precautions. For example, those shoes don’t just seal, they lock.”

“They do?”

“Try them.” Dame May stepped back and used her remote to release Cecilia’s wrists. The princess bent down and tested the shoe-straps.

“They do!”

“They work on the same principal as your restraint belt,” Dame May explained. “They also have an anti-tamper mechanism, so don’t fiddle with them too much. In fact, your whole outfit there is laced with security systems. You won’t want to tick off any of your keepers or leave the gym without permission. Well,” she amended, “You might want to, but you won’t get very far.”

“Why not, Dame May?” Cecilia asked politely.

A new voice spoke from the hatchway. “Because of this.” Sir Kurt pointed his own remote at Princess Cecilia and pressed a button.

Cecilia found herself floating, the Merryweather’s artificial gravity no longer affecting her. And then she felt a thousand electric feathers race across the soles of her feet. She shrieked and giggled at this new tickling, one that was less rounded and sharper than that inflicted by a purely physical touch. Kicking and twisting in mid-air, she found her struggles did not affect the tickling in the slightest. It stopped only when Sir Kurt pressed his remote again.

“You shouldn’t waste mirth like that,” Dame May chided her husband. Cecilia drifted down to the deck as the ship’s artificial gravity slowly took hold once more. She lay there, gasping more in shock than breathlessness, and listened to Sir Kurt’s answer:

“She had to know. Better she find out now than the first time she tries a real caper.” He looked down on her. “So you see, Your Highness, you had better behave yourself. You’ll be good now, right?”

“I’ll be good, Sir Kurt,” Princess Cecilia said. She took his offered hand, and stood up with its help.

Dame May frowned at her. “You’re going to try something, if only to test the system.”

“So what if she does?” Sir Kurt asked.

“It wastes mirth.”

“So what if it does?” he echoed himself. “We can afford to spill a little mirth. Especially since Her Highness here is an extra supply in the first place. I’ll watch over her so you can get in your own aerobics – and that way it won’t be your fault if we waste a little mirth.” He then turned and gave Cecilia a slight bow. “As for you, Your Highness, I recommend starting with the elliptical.”

It was a good workout, Cecilia admitted to herself. The equipment was hardly up to royal standards, but it functioned well enough. It felt good to stretch, and work out kinks, to shed some sweat and draw some fatigue in a way that didn’t involve squirming under the feather. That would return soon enough. Sir Kurt and Dame May both spoke of the jump to hyper scheduled for just past noon tomorrow, the second jump of this journey. Cecilia herself would of course be strapped down in the Catalyst Room for this.

In the meantime, Sir Kurt watched Princess Cecilia closely as she went through her exercise period. She considered the ploy of not resisting when the time came for him to escort her back to her cabin. It was a million-to-one against her getting more than five meters before he stopped her. But on the other hand, he’d be disappointed if she didn’t try. For that matter, she’d be disappointed too: If she surrendered meekly, her chances of getting away were exactly zero, and sometimes million-to-one shots paid off.

Thus when the exercise period ended, and Cecilia had finished the cool-down, she made a sudden dash down the corridor. Or started to, anyway. The million-to-one odds didn’t pay off this time, and Cecilia found herself floating. She looked down at the deck, floating in the air for a full second before the electric feathers struck.

They were an illusion, of course. Virtual feathers. Neural stimulators sandwiched in the soles of her exercise shoes performed the actual tickling. It just felt like a thousand electric feathers racing madly up and down her soles. Across her insteps. Over her heels and the balls of her feet and the pads of her toes. And between her toes. Every square millimeter of skin received its dose of tickling. Nor was there any escape, no matter how hard she kicked or twisted or pulled at her shoes. The shoes could not be removed; the tickling could not be avoided. What’s more, Sir Kurt didn’t release her after a few seconds - not this time. She was vaguely aware of Dame May’s protesting at the waste of mirth as Sir Kurt lassoed her and towed her like a writhing, giggling balloon back to her cabin.

“You were warned, Your Highness,” Sir Kurt said when the tickling ended at last and she sank to the deck of her cabin.

“Yes I was, Sir Kurt,” she admitted, sitting on the deck looking up at him. He triggered the release code, and she pulled the shoes off. Her servebot took them and delivered them to Sir Kurt. “It wasn’t bad,” she told him. “They gave the same ratio as the Catalyst Room.”

“The ideal ratio of ten-to-one, you mean?”


“Yes. The shoes were very close to ten-to-one. It’s just that they were... were...”

“A shock?”

“Exactly. A shock.”

A slow smile spread over Sir Kurt’s face. “Well then, Your Highness. Maybe you won’t mind going barefoot again for a while.” The smile broadened. “It’s not like you have a choice.”

“No, but I could wish for some shoes without those security devices built in, Sir Kurt.”


“I’m afraid not, Your Highness. We’ll be making the second jump tomorrow, and you’ll be needed in the Catalyst Room. Until then, amuse yourself.” He stepped out the door, and Princess Cecilia could hear the lock engage.

#​

Early the next afternoon, Princess Cecilia entered the Catalyst Room barefoot once more, wearing the orange prisoner-outfit, and with her hands bound behind her. Dame May delivered her to Sir Frank, and the two crewmembers placed her in the center couch. Once the energy-stocks were activated, the first mate gave Sir Frank and Princess Cecilia a cordial nod and left.

Sir Frank activated a pair of ticklebots and took his station. The Merryweather had entered hyper a little over an hour ago, the engines catalyzed by canned laughter. Now Cecilia watched as the ticklebots rose and positioned themselves by her bare feet, and extended wiggling manipulators to recharge the cans. The furry tickle-tips made contact with the soles held helpless before them, and Cecilia began to giggle and squirm. “General Announcement, Catalyst Room,” she heard Sir Frank say. “We have live mirth.”

The tickling continued. Cecilia’s squirming and laughter continued. It was a pure foot-tickling this time, with one ‘bot concentrating on each sole. The sensations produced were familiar; almost comforting in their physicality, even though they made her squeak and twist. Up and down, back and forth, round and round in a semi-random pattern that forced mirth from her to be collected and sent to the engine room.

After a time, the tickling paused, with the ‘bots drawing back and going on standby but not deactivating. Sir Frank stood. “The cans are full now, Your Highness, so you can take a break. I’ll get you a reader again, if you li–”

His last word was chopped in half by the sudden hooting of an alarm. He sat back down abruptly, peering intently at the workstation display. Cecilia saw him mouth bad words. His fingers stabbed down and the two ticklebots surged forward again. This time their tickling was frenzied, and Cecilia exploded with laughter. “Hahahaheheeheeheehee! Oh heeheeheeheehahaha!”

And in the background Diane, the Merryweather’s computer voice, announced “Emergency. Can rupture. Emergency. Engine Failure Sixty Percent. Emergency. Can rupture...”

“Ming!” Sir Frank called into the comm. “Beat feet to the Catalyst Room!”

“General announcement, Bridge,” the captain’s voice came out of the air. “Ming, May, both of you get to the Catalyst Room. We’re going to need three feeds of live mirth. Frank, do your best until they get there.”

“Aye-aye Captain!” Sir Frank shouted, still furiously working his keyboard. Cecilia felt the energy stocks holding her ankles shift. Now they grabbed her toes as well. Before they were able to clench and squirm, even if they were too far apart to cover each other. But with this new configuration, they were held rigidly in place, toes spread for maximum vulnerability to the ‘bots tickle implements. I didn’t know the stocks could do that. Cecilia though.

Then the wave of tickling hit, washing over soles that seemed to grow to twice their normal size and three times their normal sensitivity. Tears ran down her cheeks as the laughter poured out of her. The tickling continued to inflict one part agony for every ten parts pleasure, but this time the tickle implements spun and wiggled and twisted with implacable vigor. They ran over her soles and between her toes, up and down from her heels to her insteps and the balls of her feet and the pads of her toes. And back and forth, across her soles as well. “Heeheehahahaha oh hahahaheeheheheeheeheeeeee!” Cecilia laughed, eyes screwed shut, squirming in her bonds.

More male shouts, unintelligible over her own giggling. Then a badly needed rest break. Cecilia gasped for breath, and finally noticed the two women strapped into couches on either side. Dame Ming was to her right, giggling wildly as a ‘bot feathered her feet and another pair wiggled rubbery fingers over her nude upper body. To Cecilia’s left, Dame May shuddered and squirmed, giving out little squeaking noises as two bots ran rotating brushes over her soles and a third applied a feathery touch in and around her belly button.

And now Sir Frank was pulling off her blouse, leaving her topless and exposed to a third tickle bot that hovered over her. The two by her feet rose and advanced once more, and the tickling began anew.

It lasted for hours – and seemed to last for eons. The Catalyst Room was filled with the giggles and shrieks of laughter from the three women, except for the all-too-brief rest periods when two of the women howled with mirth while the third gasped for breath. Each woman had three ticklebots attending to her, applying dozens of implements in patterns mathematically designed to drive her wild. The ‘bots tickling Cecilia alternated their focus: One would apply an upper-body tickling - ribs and belly and around and around her breasts - while the other two would apply lazy gentle strokes to her soles. Then the focus would shift: The belly-bot would give lazy strokes around her belly-button while the two ‘bots at her feet applied themselves so as to make Cecilia feel as if ninety percent of her being was in her soles - and that it was all being tickled unbearably. Not agonizingly - the ten to one pleasure to torment ratio still held even under these extreme circumstances - but with such intensity that Cecilia was sure she had temporarily lost her sanity.

Even so, the relentless ticklebots weren’t enough. Sir Frank came around to apply the occasional human touch. Here he would tickle an instep. There he would wiggle fingers up and down helpless torsos. Elsewhere he would gently tease an exposed belly. Thus it was that pairs of feminine eyes would occasionally open wide in shock, taking in Sir Frank’s application of his own tickling style in addition to what the ticklebots were doing to the helpless feminine bodies.

Sir Frank was applying a bit of silk to the soles of Princess Cecilia’s feet when the Merryweather emerged into normal space. “Ooooh heeeheeheehee,” she giggled, unable to do more than twitch weakly after hours of tickling, but still responding to the soft tickle-touch on her helpless soles. Still feeding much needed mirth into the failing engines. He picked up a feather, but before he could apply it a single word ended the desperate triple-tickle session.

“Emergence,” Captain Manning’s voice announced. The Merryweather had survived, and was now back in normal space.

End of Part 4 - to be continued

 

[LonelyKimiko]

I forgot to comment on this the first time I saw it. Fantastic story Again Sable . You have some really original ideas in your stuff, and it's both an interesting read and it does the job nicely .
I like the name of the Lee by the way ^_^ .

 

[Sablesword]

Thanks for your comment!

I ought to have mentioned, the "Hyperticklish" series was inspired by "The Voyage Out" series by munchausen over at the TMF, and by "Galley Slave" by Strelnikov, also over at the TMF. In particular I've borrowed the idea of "mirth energy" from munchausen and given it my own particular take.

And of course the "tickling shoes" idea was borrowed too. (That one's a neat concept that needs to be used more, IMO.)

What I try to do is not just come up with original ideas, but to borrow lots of good ideas from lots of different places (like names for characters ) and then cook them together to make a story-stew of my own recipe.

 

[LonelyKimiko]

Well you did a very good job on this one .

 

[yatsabel1]

Very nice. I like the writing style. I like the tickling background and the bondage parts. I personally like a story with tickling over a tickling story if you know what I mean. Some very interesting concepts your managing. Keep it up!

 

[Sablesword]

Part 5 is here: http://www.tickletheater.com/showthread.php?t=28562

 

[maxamum_sumthin1]

very, very nice. i found the very first bit rather confusing, however my queries were answered in the later parts of the story - which were exectuded perfectly. very very, nice i hope that i get to read part soon

 

[Sablesword]

As I noted above, part 5 is finished and posted.

Part 6 has the first (rough) draft finished, but needs a rewrite/polish/spellcheck pass or two before it's ready to be posted.

(Part 6 has also turned out to be longish and chock full of f/m - good for the f/m fans, but not so much for the "not a fan of f/m" people.)