Hi. I'm an artist who likes to draw/write cutesy tickle stuff sometimes. I only care about cartoons, I don't like irl stuff.
This is a sideblog. This blog will mostly be OC stuff, I'm not regularly in many fandoms.
I don't do roleplaying and stuff. I'm just here to blog about my little guys đ
I am an adult, so minors please do not try to interact with me. If I see a minor in my notifications I block on sight!
Tags:
Silly Talkin - Text posts
Silly Scribbles - Art posts
Silly Answers - Responses to asks
Silly Words - My writing
Silly Tears - Sometimes I do sappy crying art, that goes here
Tickle Art - All of my tickle art will have this tag!
Others Art - Art Reblogs, can be drawn or written
NSFT WARNING - I don't post NSFW often, but when I do I will tag it
My OCs - Art and info about my OCs... may not cover everything
More about my OCs:
Silly Coworkers - About a situationship between 2 office workers.
Silly Monsters - 4 tickle monsters living together in captivity, under the watchful eye of a wizard scientist!
More about the Monsters: Risio | Mirt | Peet | Greary
Our little victim has waited long enough. How about a reward for their patience?
Steve agreed to use feather garlands to trace the pentagram, not only to be safe and avoid any potential summoning, but also to provide some cute ticklish bonds for his lovely plaything who's really too squirmy for their own good đ
Here's part of the little ficlet I wrote about my OrcxGoblin couple... I usually don't do public humiliation stuff but idk for some reason I was compelled to write this đ„Ž
Dubcon & a little suggestive
---
âDonât you fuckin' dare!â
The pub was busy, raucous, and we were tucked into a small booth in the back corner, but that fact didnât appear to placate him at all. His usually green skin was bright red to the tips of his long floppy ears, and he squirmed and thrashed on my lap.
The rope binding his arms still held tight.
âCalm down, nobodyâs paying attention to a tiny little thing like you,â I admonished him gently, taking a sip of my drink. âNo need to get so embarrassedâŠâ
He glared up at me, furious and mortified.
âYouâre such a fucking bitchââ
I cut him off, pinching his little hip firmly but gentlyâ he was so small and fragile.
âHey! You think that sort of talk is going to help your situation?â I didnât have to expend much energy to hold him in place, even with his thrashing; the difference in sheer size and strength between orcs and goblins was simply indomitable. He knew that, of course, had to, but he was such a little fireball that he didnât seem to care. Heâd wear himself out with useless thrashing if it meant not admitting Iâd bested him.
Case in point, he responded to my warning by jabbing his heel into my thigh.
âFuck off, let me go!â He barked, his harsh voice nevertheless nearly drowned out by the din of the pub.
I smiled, bowed my head down closer to his red little face.
âNot until youâve repaid me for what you stole, Gob,â I said softly in his big batty ear, and I felt a shiver run through him. âYou remember our deal, donât you? Until Iâve decided youâve paid off your debt, youâre my little tickle toy to do with as I please.â
His breathing hitched, and for a split second he frozeâ presumably in utter, paralyzing mortification at being reminded of the full scope of his predicament.
âNot here,â He blurted, his voice betraying a little bit of his desperation. âFuckâs sake, not in front of all of these peopleââ
âAw, why not?â I readied a hand over his naked tummy, and he tried to thrash away. âYou hear everybody laughing and carrying on? Youâll blend right in.â
âI swear, if you touch meâ Iâllâ when I get freeââ
âYouâll do what, little Gob?â I teased him, softly tracing my fingertip around his soft belly. âAre you gonna beat me up? Gonna teach me to mind you, little Gob?â
His face scrunched up, somehow getting even redder as he held his breath, tried to resist the urge to smile.
A group at a table nearby erupted into whooping and hollering, loud animated conversation about who knows what.
âAww, nothing to say now?â I took another sip of my drink, lackadaisically wandered my finger around to his side. His body jerked away.
âIâllâ Iâm gonna k-kill you,â He seethed, squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing.
âWill you, now? I guess that gives me a little more incentive to keep you as my helpless little plaything forever, now doesnât it?â
With that I increased my fingersâ lazy wanderings to a quick scribbling, one hand on either side of his little belly, and his resolve instantly broke. His flailing and loud screechy laughter drew a bit of attention at first, but quickly blended into the surrounding din.
I couldnât help but grin; in spite of his harsh words, he was so cute.
My big clumsy orc hands did a serviceable job, but they werenât the most effective tools for tickling his tiny delicate little goblin body; earlier, in the solitude of the forest, Iâd had the time and space to stretch him out over the spokes of my caravanâs wheel, tickle every inch of his sensitive body with the help of my wide selection of quill pens. The soft plumes for especially fragile spots like his tender armpits, the sharp tips for the callused soles of his feet.
Iâd fantasized about taking a cute little prisoner for years, never thought Iâd actually find myself in a position to follow through.
I was a reformed orc, you see; abandoned my peoplesâ brutish reputation as pillaging barbarians. No, I was a respectable distributor of stationery and related goods. Paper and ink, in large quantities, are actually quite heavy. Require someone with muscle or magic or machinery.
To cut a long, annoying story short, while attempting to rob me the goblin managed to destroy about a quarter of my inventory. Callously, seemingly just out of frustration that I had nothing âgoodâ to make off with. Iâd caught him red-handedâ or, rather deep purple handed, as heâd emptied a bottle of my most expensive indigo ink all over the caravan floorâ and was initially overcome with rage.
He was unapologetic, disrespectful, foolishly antagonistic. Taunted meâ âI donât have any money to pay it off anyways, lady, so looks like youâre shit out of luck!â
Surely no reasonable person would blame me for letting my inner barbarian re-emerge, tying him up, keeping him for my own.
It didnât take him long to realize that he was in over his head, that heâd robbed the wrong traveller. Perhaps heâd expected that as a ladyâ orc or notâ Iâd go easy on him.
I suppose, in a way, I was. A crueler Orc may have just eaten him.
That had been nearly a week ago, and in a way I was surprised he still had so much spunk in him. Iâd already tickled him to tears four or five times, reduced him to a begging, sobbing puddle, but as soon as he was allowed to sleep and eat he seemed reinvigorated to be an annoying little pill once more.
In truth I didnât hate it; the fouler he acted, the more I wanted to punish him. If heâd sadly resigned himself to his fate, I may start feeling badly for him.
I tickled him ruthlessly for a while in the back of the pub, not letting up even as his eyes got soggy with laughter-induced tears and his babbling gradually transformed from furious profanity to broken pleading. I had the barmaid refill my drink once, chortled to myself at the way he buried his laughing face in my clothing in a pitiful attempt to hide his shame from her.
She didnât seem to notice or care, but that evidently didnât matter to him.
I let my fingers wander between his belly, his sides, his back and his ribs. As soon as he seemed to acclimate to one spot I knew to quickly switch to another; at this point I nearly had it down to a science, knew exactly how to make him scream and wheeze and thrash for as long as I needed.
I only finally relented when it started to get lateâ or, rather, earlyâ and the pub began to quiet down.
He panted in a heap on my lap, too exhausted to thrash or wriggle or rebel anymore.
âThere, now that wasnât so bad now was it?â I stroked his wild black hair, and he cracked open one kohl smeared eye just to glare at me. âOh, my⊠If my eyes donât deceive me you may have even liked it just a smidgenâŠâ
Oh my God I didn't know you were that fast with answers (đ anon btw)
Um ok so I might be dating myself here but I only can recall two ones that a friend of mine back in the day loved so much
One was of a Character called Wilson From Don't Starve (I think that's his name??)
And the other was of there favorite fallout companion Nick Valentine (weird ass names lol but idk)
Those two characters were like, their absolute two highest favs back then.
if you can find them I'd love to send them to them a recent post again, there having a rough time right now
I think this actually wasn't me! Maybe another artist with a similar art style? I'm not very familiar with those characters and I definitely didn't do any tk art of them đ
Sorry anon, maybe someone else from back in the day might remember who you're thinking of?
Oh the og creator of that Junkrat art đđđ
Saw someone reblog it and it led me to here
Amazing to see you again there, though I do have a question: are you going to repost any of your other old sketches on that blog?
If I remeber correctly, there were some other tk peices you made that really tickled (heheh) my fancy way back when.
If you can remember anything in particular I can try to hunt it down! Unfortunately all my digital art from that time is on my external hard drive and it's a mess in there đ
I probably won't repost anything that was explicit though (mostly because that kind of thing tends to get nuked from tumblr anyways)
Omg omg OMG YOU MADE THE JUNKRAT TICKLE ART THAT I WAS OBSESSED WITH ALL THROUGHOUT MIDDLE SCHOOL?
KYAAA THAT IS SO AMAZING TO FIND OUT FOR ME!
it's weird to say sure but you don't know how much I craved any Lee!Junkart art around that time, it still has my whole heart to this very day and OMG TO KNOW IVE BEEN FOLLWING THE ARTIST THIS WHOLE TIME?!?!?
Brain. EXPLOSION!
Thank you for feeding a very hungry Lee Junkie enjoyer for all those years
Don't talk like that anon you're gonna make me try to draw Junkrat getting tickled again lol
I'm honestly so surprised so many people seem to remember this pic in particular! đł I guess a lot more people than I thought really wanted to wreck him lol
I'm glad I could provide for the Junkrat Junkies đ đ«Ą
For some reason recently I've had the idea of tickle tag on the brain đ
Or I guess any sort of playful "hunting someone down and activating their prey instincts so by the time I Get Themâą they're like actually panicking a little" scenario. I'm gonna getcha
I can't tell if I'm extremely flattered or a little embarrassed to know that people actually remember me from my original blog/old tickle art đ
I was definitely trying too hard to lean into being a nsfw blog back then... evidently it took me a while to accept that I'm just into tickling and any truly "kinky" content is sorta incidental
Watched a video essay about that blood money game and okay yeah I get it now I get why you people were so ravenous to tickle the living daylights out of that little fella
no bondage tickling with a willing lee and only indulging them with tickles so long as they can keep their arms above their head, and/or their toes spread, their legs apart, ect ect just leaving their sensitive spots exposed
Unfortunately I have actually been quite industrious lately but all I've been able to do is write little short self-indulgent fantasy snippets so I'm too shyyyy to post any of ittt đ«Ł
I know writing isn't my creative strong suit but it's my go-to junkfood đ I love to just write a couple paragraphs about some characters I just made up doing. Thingsâą. to eachother
from one goosebarbi enjoyer to another âŠâŠ i will owe u my life if u post ur fics
Hmm... maybe I'll just compile a bunch of little ficlets in one post here? 𫣠In honor of mother's day?
These are all... pretty rough, definitely not totally in character. I will also warn that some of these are pretty explicit and some don't heavily feature tickling (and will definitely feature other more ship-specific kinks like MDLB, humiliation and spanking) so my usual followers may not want to read.
I wrote a LOT about them (and this isn't even close to all of it) so this will be pretty long. đ„Ž
___
Mother Gooseberry always found her little Bambino charming, but from certain angles, when the low light of the courtyard hit him just right⊠she couldnât help herself.
She gently looped her arms around his waist from behind, and she could feel him flinch with surprise. He whipped his head around, and for a second his eyes were wild with rage.
âJesus Christ!â He exclaimed, let out a relieved breath. âOne of these days Iâm gonna have an itchy fuckinâ trigger finger, woman!â
Gooseberry wasnât worried, as usual; Francoâs threats werenât entirely empty, but they were empty enough towards her that she felt comfortable gently testing him.
âI couldnât help myself! The little baby looked so cute, mother couldnât keep her hands to herself.â
âIâd keeps that trigger finger under control if I was you,â Futterman barked from where he rested on Francoâs hip. âYou hit my daughter with 1 fuckinâ incisor and youâre getting a hole where your guts used to be!â
âKeep your fuckinâ hat on, doc. Iâm not tryinâ to shoot nobody but some rats, alright?â Franco sighed, leaned back slightly into Gooseberryâs bosoms. âOh, mommy. You showed up just in time, babyâs startinâ to get a little fussy.â
âOh? Does baby need a little cheering up? Hmm?â Gooseberry cooed eagerly, gently tickling Francoâs tummy as she hugged him. At first Franco had resented being tickled, but as Mother Gooseberry did it more and more he seemed to accept itâ perhaps even enjoy it, though he would never admit as much. He squirmed, but notably squirmed against her instead of away.
âWait, fuck, not thatâŠâ He tried to growl through choked giggles, halfheartedly gripping her wrist but making little effort to wrestle her away.
âAww, is baby feeling a little ticklish?â
âSeriously, fuckinâââ In spite of his words, Franco was anything but serious. He clutched onto doctor Futtermanâs feathery body, twisted and fidgeted and buried his face in Gooseberryâs shoulder, snorting and sputtering.
Mother Gooseberry loved seeing her baby happy.
___
âIf you ever fuckinâ try that again, youâre losing your fuckin fingers!â Franco panted, red-faced, muscles still quivering with exertion and nerves still tingling. Mother Gooseberry just looked at him with a disappointed pout.
âFranco! You wouldnât try to hurt mother over a little thing like thatâŠâ She insisted, her tone a childish mumble.
âFuckinâ try me,â Franco grumbled, reloading his Lupara.
Mother Gooseberry sighed dejectedly.
âIf her baby really hates it so much, mother wonât tickle him anymore,â Franco seemed almost surprised at her compliance; usually a direct threat would only invite immediate corrective action. âItâs such a shame, baby is so darling when he laughsâŠâ
Franco just clammed up for once, but Gooseberry swore she saw a hint of regret in his furrowed brow.
âFuckinâ⊠stiff.â Franco muttered, glancing at Gooseberry. Heâd been stretching, arms over his head, suspiciously unguarded. His cheeks were red.
âAw. Baby needs a new mattress.â Gooseberry cooed sympathetically. Usually she would offer to rub his back for him, but she wanted to make a point of respecting his boundaries. No touching him suddenlyâ that might tickle. He was so sensitive.
"Perhaps, if you ask very very nicely, those nice scientists will get you a softer one!"
She just walked past him down the toy factory hall, left him standing there awkwardly.
âMy feet are fuckinâ killinâ meâŠâ Franco sat on a bench in the Orphanage, foot propped up on his other knee. Heâd taken off his shoe to massage his feet, revealing the thin indigo socks underneath; one of his toes had worn a hole in the fabric and poked out cutely.
Gooseberry wanted to coo comfortingly to him, take his foot into her lap and give him a foot rub. She empathized with his pain; they were on their feet all day, were barely given a chance to sit down between trials.
But she didnât dare risk accidentally tickling his feet. She hadnât tried that yet, but feet were an awfully common place to be ticklish.
âPoor little baby,â She put on her most tender, sympathetic, motherly voice. âYou take a rest for awhile, darling. Put your tired feet up, let mother handle those nasty little pests.â
âWhatâs he got to complain about? He ainât wearing heels!â Futterman groused.
âOh, doctor daddy⊠you arenât walking at all.â
âIf I could, Iâd walk far away from you and your rancid fucking breath!â
âDaddy!â
Gooseberry wandered off, bickering with her hand puppet. Franco sighed, pouted, went about putting his shoe back on.
âWhat fuckinâ gives?â
Gooseberry put a hand to her bosom in shock.
âMy, what foul languageâŠâ
Franco looked angry, sheepish, and hurt all at once. He jabbed an accusatory finger at her, face red and sour.
âYouâve been downright fuckinâ frigid. Babies need love anâ affection, you know.â
Hearing that broke her heart a little. She hated to leave her baby feeling neglected. It had been an awfully long timeâ 4 or 5 sleeps, at leastâ since Gooseberry had touched him at all. But she knew she had to be respectfulâ earn back babyâs trust.
âMy daughterâs tryinâ to keep all her fuckinâ fingers, you fucking dope!â Futterman interjected before Gooseberry could respond.
âIâm just trying to be nice⊠Iâd hate to upset my baby, but it looks like Iâve upset him anywaysâŠâ Gooseberry sounded distraught, but it wasât entirely sincere. Francoâs face still softened.
âChrist, youâre still worried about that?â He groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead. âI was justâ Forget about that, alright? Iâd never shoot you, ma.â
âItâs not that,â Mother Gooseberry pouted, fiddling with the ratty feathers on Doctor Futtermanâs body. âMother doesnât want to upset her baby by playing too rough.â Franco seemed taken aback, a little suspicious.
âSince when do you give a shit about that?â
âMother is trying to be better for her precious baby boy.â
Franco huffed, averted his eyes and bit his lip. He hesitated.
âForget about what I said, alright?â He snapped, as if forcing the words out before he thought better of it. âI was justâ donât listen to me when I say that sorta stuff. Mother knows best, right?â
Gooseberry sniffled.
âSo baby doesnât mind when mother tickles him?â
Franco grimaced.
âEh, it mightâve grown on me.â
That sentiment hung in the air for a few seconds, and the silence was thick.
Gooseberry giggled to herself, remorse dropped from her voice like a lead weight.
âRight as always, daddy,â She chirped. âAwww, somebody was playing hard to get⊠how darling!â
Franco was frozen in confusion for a moment, face reddening.
âAw, fuck youâŠâ He moaned. âYou leave me all cold and lonesome all this time for that?!â He likely didnât intend for it to come out as such a needy whine, but it certainly got Gooseberryâs attention.
âAw, come here now, my little gosling,â She sang, closing in on him with wiggling fingers. âLet mother make up for lost timeâŠâ
___
For a reagent, being approached by Franco Barbi with Mother Gooseberry close behind was dire. Being in this situation with a half-recharged stun rig and nothing but batteries in their pockets was a nightmare.
âThere you are, mommy,â Franco leered at the poor unarmed reagent as he closed in on her. âWhyâre you hiding? Iâm just a poor little baby. Nothinâ to be scared of.â She understood why his nickname was Lupa; his eyes were hungry and predatory, like a wild animal.
Sheâd liked to think that in a situation like this sheâd think up some sort of clever escape maneuver, but her mind went totally blank. All she could do was watch in terror, back away and prepare herself to be filled with holes. Hope she could survive long enough to find a roll of bandages.
What happened next caught her so off guard that she remained frozen in her tracks, was unable to tear her eyes away.
Evidently Franco Barbi had been unaware of Mother Gooseberryâs presence behind him. It wasnât terribly surprising; Mother Gooseberry had a way of sneaking up on people.
When Gooseberry pounced on him from behind, Francoâs hunter act dropped away immediately and he yelped, spasming and firing his gun aimlessly into the ceiling.
The reagent jumped along with him, partially at the gunshot and partially at his scream.
âThere he is! Mother caught you~â Gooseberry cheered playfully, hanging on him like a clingy teenage girlfriend. âYou know what that meeeeeans~â
âWhaâ Ma! Bad fuckinâ timing!â He snapped, but before he could object too much Gooseberry started digging around in his clothing.
âTickle tickle tickle~ Whoâs motherâs silly little man?â
Franco barely held out for a second before sputtering with laughter.
The reagentâs frenzied brain couldnât comprehend what she was witnessing for a few moments; it seemed like there was no way this could be happening. In the middle of a trial. In the hallway of the toy factory. Franco Barbi. Mother Gooseberry. Right in front of her.
Franco babbled something through his laughter, but she couldnât understand it. Maybe something in Italian. He struggled to push and wriggle away from her, but she had him tangled up and at her mercy.
Eerily, as the two prime assets struggled playfully the Doctor Futterman puppet addressed the reagent directly, turning on Gooseberryâs wrist to look at her.
âAh, get outta here,â He barked, sounding unusually exasperated and defeated. âYouâre lucky my daughterâs got herself a little crush and her poor old father canât do nothin' about it.â
The reagent couldnât believe what she was hearing, couldnât help but be morbidly fascinated by the uncharacteristically childish antics going on right in front of her face. She was also, in the back of her mind, impressed that Gooseberry could wrangle a grown man and be such a convincing ventriloquist at the same time.
But after a second of hesitation she scrambled off into the darkness. Her rig clicked as it finally recharged.
___
Franco Barbi fumbled with his jacket nervously, trying to pass it off as a casual gesture but as transparent as always. His oversized forehead glistened with anxious perspiration in the low light.
It shouldâve been no surprise to anyone that sexual encounters made il bambino nervousâ Heâd had so many mortifying sexual failures that the thought of actually trying to achieve an erection made his palms sweat. His blustering refusal to admit to his impotence felt good in the moment, but when it was put to the test he wished heâd never made any mention of it at all.
It was a bit of a comfort knowing that Gooseberry had no interest in using his cock. She got her kicks in other ways. The pressure should have been off, but his anxiety lingered nonetheless.
It wasnât all bad, though; his nervousness was almost matched in excitement. He was jittery, hoped it wasnât obvious how much he was quivering.
If Mother Gooseberry noticed, she didnât show it.
She followed Franco into the room, looked up and down the hallway, and locked the door neatly behind her. She hummed quietly to herself, and all of her motions were graceful but exaggerated.
The room theyâd picked was small and sparse, with only a few child-sized beds and a chair inside. But it was one of the few rooms with only 1 accessible door, which was preferable for private interactions.
âNow then, Mister Francoââ She announced sweetly, a little too loudly for Francoâs tastes. She had a habit of projecting, even in situations where doing so wasnât advantageous.
âYou gotta fuckinâ yell? Jesus, womanâŠâ
Gooseberry shot him a stern look, made a point of not reducing her speaking volume as she replied.
âLanguage!â She snapped. âLittle boys mustnât try to tell mother what to do. Understood?â
Franco sighed. Starting a pissing match with her wouldnât lead him in the direction he wanted.
âYes, maâam.â He grumbled with a pout. As if a flip were switched inside her, Gooseberryâs cheery demeanor was back.
âWonderful! Now thenââ she smiled warmly, âMother makes time for all of her little goslings. What can I help you with, dear?â
âAnd makes it snappy. We gots a busy schedule,â Futterman, as usual, was insistent upon making his presence known. He was even louder.
Franco was immediately irritated at the suggestion that he would be rushed; if he was getting off, he knew it would take almost an hour of foreplay. Besides, there were no intruders lurking aroundâ what could she possibly have to do besides wandering around and closing doors?
âAh,â He tried to hide the schoolboy nervousness he could hear creeping into his voice, âYou know that discipline you were talkinâ about? I think I need it. I think I need it right now.â
Mother Gooseberry smiled coolly, tilted her head.
âOh, dear, but youâre doing wonderfully!â She cooed, to Francoâs embarrassment. Heâd hoped sheâd immediately go along with it, but it was looking like heâd have to beg.
âOh, please,â Futterman quacked mean-spiritedly. âIâd tell you not to give the kid a big head but Iâd be too fuckinâ late! Ha-ha Ha-ha!â
âDoctor daddy, heâs doing a fine job!â Gooseberry insisted, then turned her attention back to Franco. âWhy in the world should I punish a good little boy like you?â
Franco felt his collar get hotter than usual, tugged at it.
âIâve been real bad, mommy,â He spat out quickly, before he could think better of it. âIâve been takinâ stuff from people. Body parts. All kindsâa body parts. And I havenât even been askinâ first.â
âOh dear,â Mother Gooseberry didnât sound particularly perturbed by his admission, obviously. âThat is a rather naughty thing to do, Mister Franco! You really ought to ask first. Itâs only polite. If youâre worried they wonât say yes, why, you can just kill them! Dead people are quite agreeable.â
âBaby needs motherâs firm hand,â He whimpered; just thinking about it got him excited, and he could feel the nervousness draining out of him alongside his self-respect. He sat down on the closest bed, thankfully the only bed in the room not occupied by a child-shaped mannequin. He doubted that having to shove one of her children off the bed would help put mother in the mood.
âYes⊠yes, I think a spanking may be in order, young man!â She suggested eagerly, feigning parental reluctance to physical punishment. âYou leave me no choiceâŠâ
âJesus! You know, thereâs times I wish I wasnât attached to you, Phyllis,â Futterman was as difficult as usual, but at least Gooseberry seemed receptive. âDonât tell me youâre gonna drop everything for this pansy-assââ
âNow daddy, a mother must properly discipline her children if she expects them to grow up right.â She sat beside Franco on the bed, brazenly looped a finger under his bow tie and pulled him closer to her with a harsh yank.
Mother Gooseberry had a way of controlling him that was unlike anyone else heâd ever dealt with. Usually Franco Barbi wouldnât just let somebody push him aroundâ and if he did, it was only with the understanding that he was still in charge, simply play-acting at being cowed.
Gooseberry was not apprehensive. She was not intimidated by his bluffs or his violence or even his Lupara. She did not hesitate. She did what she wanted with him, when she wanted. His facade of confidence was no match for the genuine confidence that came to her so naturally. He wilted like a flower in her palm.
The only person in his life that came close was his own fatherâ The only other person he perceived as entirely indomitable.
âTry not to cry this time. Youâre getting a little big for that.â
Franco was hit with a wave of shame, and his cheeks flushed hot.
âI donâtâ I wasnât gonna.â He averted his eyes defensively.
âGood boy,â Gooseberry let go of his tie. âNow drop your trousers for mother.â
Franco gasped, bit his lip.
âLittle boy,â Mother Gooseberry scolded gently in a sing-song tone. âIf naughty little boys donât help her keep count, mother will have to start aaaaall the way over from the beginning.â
Franco was distracted, on the cusp of losing track himself.
âAh⊠t-twenty two!â He whimpered. âMommyâŠâ
âVery good,â Mother Gooseberryâs voice was sickeningly sweet, but carried the constant threat of cruelty. âMother wouldnât want to bruise up this tender little bottom any more than she has to.â She squeezed his red asscheek gently, and he bit down hard on his lip to resist moaning. Compared to the sharpness of her slaps the gentle squeeze was a comfort.
âWhat a cute little baby,â She cooed, spanked him again.
âTwenty three,â Franco gasped raggedly, but his mind was clouding with arousal. He knew heâd be getting lost in the sensation again within just a few more spanks.
It felt good to let his mind go. Have just a short time where the only thing he had to worry about was remembering his numbers.
He was just a stupid, innocent little baby in a big, cruel world.
âTweâ twenty fourâŠâ He winced in embarrassment as a quiet moan slipped out after his words.
âEnough fucking whimpering!â Futterman barked, and a wave of shame trickled through him. âFucking pathetic!â
âOh, daddy, let the poor little baby cry,â Gooseberry rushed to his defense as always, but in a way that also made his face burn. âHis little bum must be so soreâŠâ
âIâmâ Iâm not cryinâ,â He panted. âSpank me, mommy, I deserve itâŠâ
âOh, what a brave little boy you are,â Gooseberry gave him another slap, and this time he made sure not to let a peep slip out.
âTwenty five,â He grunted through gritted teeth.
âGood boy!â Gooseberry cheered sweetly. âYouâre already a whole quarter of the way done. Doesnât that make you happy?â
Franco took a shaky breath. âHappyâ wasnât the word he would use; it was an odd mixture of dread and blissful anticipation. He was already so muddled with arousal, so desperateâ the idea of being teased for that much longer made him feel frustrated and hopeless.
But he also wanted it to go on forever.
âMm.â He groaned.
âAnswer your mother, little baby! Arenât you happy?â Gooseberry pressed, and when Franco didnât answer quickly enough she dug her fingers into his side. He was jolted into clear-minded hysteria, squirmed and barked out a laugh against his will.
âThere we go, thereâs a happy little smile. Coochie coochie coo! What a little cutie!â
âFuck! Stop!â Franco cackled, trying to push her hand away. In his struggle heâd rolled onto his side, and even in his panic couldnât ignore that his weak erection was no longer hidden amongst the bedsheets.
Thankfully for him, she stopped after just a few seconds.
âLanguage!â She sang, rolling him back onto his belly to proceed with his punishment. Franco steamed with embarrassment as he caught his breath. It was over as quickly as it had started, but it left him wide eyed and disoriented, heart pounding. He hadnât agreed to her tickling him, but he knew better than to complain. Besides, it hadnât killed his boner. If anything, the indignity of it made matters worse.
âNow where were weâŠâ
She dutifully slapped his ass again, and the contrast between the two sensations was surprisingly intoxicating. His brain was on high alert and erotically bleary all at once, in a horny panic.
âAhem?â Gooseberry prompted.
âUh, ahâ Tw-twenty⊠twentyâŠâ He felt comically stupid all of a sudden. âFuck! A quarter⊠Twenty six.â
âStupid fucks had to counts on his fucking fingers!â Futterman jeered knowingly. âWhatâs wrong, kid? Somethinâ gots you a little flustered?â
Franco furrowed his brow, feeling his cheeks tingle with embarrassment.
âItâs nothinâ,â He forced the words out quickly, desperate for them not to be interrupted by a hitching breath or voice crack. Mother Gooseberry tittered to herself, spanked him again.
âTwenty seven. Twenty seven.â He bit down on his thumb to stifle another moan. He was very tempted to suck his thumb; somehow he felt like that would make the whole situation even more hedonistic.
He would save it for later. When he needed it.
âTwenty⊠eightâŠâ
Her spanks were not quite as hard as they had been on previous occasions. Sheâd really beat his ass with all her might in the past, left him limping for days. He wasnât sure if she was letting up out of a sense of mercy or because she knew it was going to tease him.
âTwennynine...â
âSeventy,â Franco barely croaked out. âMommy, please, baby needs reliefâŠâ His face was red and damp with tears and sweat, and though he looked miserable he was awash in ecstasy.
Mother Gooseberry was clearly feeling the effects of the extended spanking herself; her pace had sped up after 50, and her spanks were becoming heavy and impatient.
âOnly thirty more, my dear,â She reassured him shakily, caressing his red asscheek. âMy goodness, youâre probably making a mess of the bed by nowâŠâ
The bed had already been a mess before theyâd even arrived, but it certainly wasnât faring well now; Franco had left a sizable slick spot on the sheets.
Gooseberry spanked him yet again, and he was far past the point of hiding his moans and whimpers.
âS-s-seventy one,â He whimpered, clutching the bedsheets and burying his wet face in them. âMommy⊠Oh, Mommy, I donât think Iâm gonna make it to 100âŠâ
âNow, Franco, we⊠we mustnât be impatient,â Gooseberry seemed to be trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him. âImagine the sense of⊠accomplishment youâll feel!â
Another.
âSeven⊠Seventy two. Fuck.â
âPhyllis, youâre goings too fucking slow!â Futterman finally interjected. Heâd been quiet for a while, but even he seemed frustrated with their pace. âWail on his little pansy ass, already! Make him fucking hurt, goddamn it!â Gooseberry gasped.
âOh, dear⊠youâre right, daddy!â She sounded manic. âKeep pace with me now baby! Mommaâs going to go fast!â
Franco barely had time to ready himself before she started in on him.
âSeventy three⊠se⊠four⊠seventy five⊠seventy six⊠seventy sevenâ fuckâ seventy eight, seventy nine⊠eightyâŠâ He was trying to restrain himself from bucking into the mattress, but the force of the fast slaps ground his hips into the sheets. He could feel himself getting close.
âMommy⊠Iâm gonna be a bad boy, I canât help myself,â he breathed.
âDonât you dare!â She scolded harshly. âNaughty, dirty little brat! Mother will give you 100 whacks whether you like it or not!â
She spanked him rapidly another ten times, and he didnât even bother counting anymore. He just moaned with every smack, moaned out loud like a whore.
He was nearly there. It seemed ridiculous, but the promise of reaching 100 was getting him more and more excited. Closer and closer.
âJust ten more! Ready, my little gosling?â She didnât wait for him to ready himself, and now she was the one counting: âOne! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven, eight, nine⊠One hundred!â
Franco felt the orgasm hit him around the count of eight, but it was still coursing through him by the time 100 came around. He bucked into the mattress as waves of pleasure engulfed him, and the springs squeaked loudly.
It seemed a little ridiculous to be spanked for almost an hour straight just for a few seconds of intense pleasure, but time was no object to him anymore. Time spent on foreplay was time spent not participating in Murkoffâs stupid charadeâ as far as he cared, that meant cumming his brains out to spankings was something people ought to be praising him for.
He and Mother Gooseberry both panted in the aftermathâ not only was it the familiar warm afterglow of orgasm, but there was also sort of a non-sexual relief of tension as well. It was as if they both hadnât realized just how intense their game had become.
Franco never knew how much she got from these rendezvous; she was certainly panting as if sheâd come, seemed satisfied. But he never noticed her touching herselfâ had the pleasure of spanking him really been enough?
It was an arousing thought, but at the end of the day he didnât really care. As long as he got his.
She rubbed his tenderized ass meat, let her hand slide up to his lower back and down to his pale thighs. As if she were claiming it as her own conquered land.
âSee?â She chirped unsteadily. âDonât you feel better now?â
Franco groaned.
âCuddle me, mommy,â He whimpered, exhaustion in his voice. âBaby needs a cuddle.â There was barely enough room on the tiny bed for one of them, let alone both. But he needed it so badly.
Usually, in the rare cases that he managed to cum during a sexual encounter, he wanted nothing to do with whatever whore had been servicing him afterwards. They never caredâ they wanted nothing to do with him either, wanted to take the money and run as soon as their service was technically rendered.
They soured his afterglow, so if they stuck around too long they had to be disposed of.
But he and Mother Gooseberry understood each other. Somehow, despite her age, her weight, her leathery bald head and crude fleshy mask, she didnât disgust him. Not a bit.
He felt edgy, vulnerable. Needed confirmation that mommy loved him.
She hesitated for a moment, but quietly reclined on the sliver of filthy bed beside him. She was larger than he was, heavier, and the mattress gave a pained screech as she added her weight to it.
âOh, my little darling⊠of course,â She whispered as she wrapped her arms around him, hoisted him partially onto her body. âBut only for a few minutes. Mother has things to do. Besides, we know Mister Francoâs bad cuddling habits.â
He wanted to argue, insist that heâd never cut her open out of sheer pragmatism, but he was quickly dozing off and couldnât muster the energy. He sleepily placed his pacifier in his mouth, fell asleep in her arms.