👉 funny business 👈

Adult Tickle/Fluffy blog, /m purist tk doodles go here ✌️

[silly-feeling]

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 👍

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

[silly-feeling]

Fairweather visiting Noddy's domain 🎭 Noddy's part of the funhouse is like a big pillow fort!

[silly-feeling]

Sometimes I forget that sunshine/raincloud ship dynamics are not actually tickle specific

but like what do you MEAN your sunshine isn't tickling their insufferable emo boyfriend ⁉️😤

[mill-icious]

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 💙

[Part 1] [Part 2]

🔞 Minors and ageless blogs: DNI please 🔞

[silly-feeling]

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 🥴

Dubcon & a little suggestive

---

“Don’t you fuckin' dare!”

The pub was busy, raucous, and we were tucked into a small booth in the back corner, but that fact didn’t 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.

“Calm down, nobody’s paying attention to a tiny little thing like you,” I admonished him gently, taking a sip of my drink. “No need to get so embarrassed…”

He glared up at me, furious and mortified.

“You’re such a fucking bitch—”

I cut him off, pinching his little hip firmly but gently— he was so small and fragile.

“Hey! You think that sort of talk is going to help your situation?” I didn’t 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 didn’t seem to care. He’d wear himself out with useless thrashing if it meant not admitting I’d bested him.

Case in point, he responded to my warning by jabbing his heel into my thigh.

“Fuck off, let me go!” 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.

“Not until you’ve repaid me for what you stole, Gob,” I said softly in his big batty ear, and I felt a shiver run through him. “You remember our deal, don’t you? Until I’ve decided you’ve paid off your debt, you’re my little tickle toy to do with as I please.”

His breathing hitched, and for a split second he froze— presumably in utter, paralyzing mortification at being reminded of the full scope of his predicament.

“Not here,” He blurted, his voice betraying a little bit of his desperation. “Fuck’s sake, not in front of all of these people—”

“Aw, why not?” I readied a hand over his naked tummy, and he tried to thrash away. “You hear everybody laughing and carrying on? You’ll blend right in.”

“I swear, if you touch me— I’ll— when I get free—”

“You’ll do what, little Gob?” I teased him, softly tracing my fingertip around his soft belly. “Are you gonna beat me up? Gonna teach me to mind you, little Gob?”

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.

“Aww, nothing to say now?” I took another sip of my drink, lackadaisically wandered my finger around to his side. His body jerked away.

“I’ll— I’m gonna k-kill you,” He seethed, squeezing his eyes shut and grimacing.

“Will you, now? I guess that gives me a little more incentive to keep you as my helpless little plaything forever, now doesn’t it?”

With that I increased my fingers’ 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 couldn’t help but grin; in spite of his harsh words, he was so cute.

My big clumsy orc hands did a serviceable job, but they weren’t the most effective tools for tickling his tiny delicate little goblin body; earlier, in the solitude of the forest, I’d had the time and space to stretch him out over the spokes of my caravan’s 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.

I’d fantasized about taking a cute little prisoner for years, never thought I’d actually find myself in a position to follow through.

I was a reformed orc, you see; abandoned my peoples’ 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 ‘good’ to make off with. I’d caught him red-handed— or, rather deep purple handed, as he’d emptied a bottle of my most expensive indigo ink all over the caravan floor— and was initially overcome with rage.

He was unapologetic, disrespectful, foolishly antagonistic. Taunted me— “I don’t have any money to pay it off anyways, lady, so looks like you’re shit out of luck!”

Surely no reasonable person would blame me for letting my inner barbarian re-emerge, tying him up, keeping him for my own.

It didn’t take him long to realize that he was in over his head, that he’d robbed the wrong traveller. Perhaps he’d expected that as a lady— orc or not— I’d 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. I’d 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 didn’t hate it; the fouler he acted, the more I wanted to punish him. If he’d 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 didn’t seem to notice or care, but that evidently didn’t 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 late— or, rather, early— and the pub began to quiet down.

He panted in a heap on my lap, too exhausted to thrash or wriggle or rebel anymore.

“There, now that wasn’t so bad now was it?” I stroked his wild black hair, and he cracked open one kohl smeared eye just to glare at me. “Oh, my… If my eyes don’t deceive me you may have even liked it just a smidgen…”

“Ah, shut up,” He muttered.

[silly-feeling]

Doodled some of the little fantasy characters I've been writing about lately... 🫣

Bratty rotten nasty little goblin thief x Sweet respectable orc saleswoman who he antagonizes to the point that she just snaps and kidnaps him 🤷

[guppygiggles]

cuddle puddle 💙

[silly-feeling]

Oh my God I didn't know you were that fast with answers (👀 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 😭

Sorry anon, maybe someone else from back in the day might remember who you're thinking of?

[silly-feeling]

Oh the og creator of that Junkrat art 👀👀👀

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 😖

I probably won't repost anything that was explicit though (mostly because that kind of thing tends to get nuked from tumblr anyways)

[silly-feeling]

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! 😳 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 😌 🫡

[silly-feeling]

For some reason recently I've had the idea of tickle tag on the brain 🙈

Or I guess any sort of playful "hunting someone down and activating their prey instincts so by the time I Get Them™ they're like actually panicking a little" scenario. I'm gonna getcha

[silly-feeling]

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 😝

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

[silly-feeling]

I inexplicably started playing Overw*tch again recently so here's a (c)ooold throwback (probably from like 2016/2017?)

[silly-feeling]

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

[lolgamorph]

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

[silly-feeling]

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 🫣

I know writing isn't my creative strong suit but it's my go-to junkfood 😔 I love to just write a couple paragraphs about some characters I just made up doing. Things™. to eachother

[silly-feeling]

from one goosebarbi enjoyer to another …… 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? 🫣 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. 🥴

___

Mother Gooseberry always found her little Bambino charming, but from certain angles, when the low light of the courtyard hit him just right… she couldn’t 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.

“Jesus Christ!” He exclaimed, let out a relieved breath. “One of these days I’m gonna have an itchy fuckin’ trigger finger, woman!”

Gooseberry wasn’t worried, as usual; Franco’s threats weren’t entirely empty, but they were empty enough towards her that she felt comfortable gently testing him.

“I couldn’t help myself! The little baby looked so cute, mother couldn’t keep her hands to herself.”

“I’d keeps that trigger finger under control if I was you,” Futterman barked from where he rested on Franco’s hip. “You hit my daughter with 1 fuckin’ incisor and you’re getting a hole where your guts used to be!”

“Keep your fuckin’ hat on, doc. I’m not tryin’ to shoot nobody but some rats, alright?” Franco sighed, leaned back slightly into Gooseberry’s bosoms. “Oh, mommy. You showed up just in time, baby’s startin’ to get a little fussy.”

“Oh? Does baby need a little cheering up? Hmm?” Gooseberry cooed eagerly, gently tickling Franco’s 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 it— perhaps even enjoy it, though he would never admit as much. He squirmed, but notably squirmed against her instead of away.

“Wait, fuck, not that…” He tried to growl through choked giggles, halfheartedly gripping her wrist but making little effort to wrestle her away.

“Aww, is baby feeling a little ticklish?”

“Seriously, fuckin’—” In spite of his words, Franco was anything but serious. He clutched onto doctor Futterman’s feathery body, twisted and fidgeted and buried his face in Gooseberry’s shoulder, snorting and sputtering.

Mother Gooseberry loved seeing her baby happy.

___

“If you ever fuckin’ try that again, you’re losing your fuckin fingers!” Franco panted, red-faced, muscles still quivering with exertion and nerves still tingling. Mother Gooseberry just looked at him with a disappointed pout.

“Franco! You wouldn’t try to hurt mother over a little thing like that…” She insisted, her tone a childish mumble.

“Fuckin’ try me,” Franco grumbled, reloading his Lupara.

Mother Gooseberry sighed dejectedly.

“If her baby really hates it so much, mother won’t tickle him anymore,” Franco seemed almost surprised at her compliance; usually a direct threat would only invite immediate corrective action. “It’s such a shame, baby is so darling when he laughs…”

Franco just clammed up for once, but Gooseberry swore she saw a hint of regret in his furrowed brow.

“Fuckin’… stiff.” Franco muttered, glancing at Gooseberry. He’d been stretching, arms over his head, suspiciously unguarded. His cheeks were red.

“Aw. Baby needs a new mattress.” 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 suddenly— 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.

“My feet are fuckin’ killin’ me…” Franco sat on a bench in the Orphanage, foot propped up on his other knee. He’d 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 didn’t dare risk accidentally tickling his feet. She hadn’t tried that yet, but feet were an awfully common place to be ticklish.

“Poor little baby,” She put on her most tender, sympathetic, motherly voice. “You take a rest for awhile, darling. Put your tired feet up, let mother handle those nasty little pests.”

“What’s he got to complain about? He ain’t wearing heels!” Futterman groused.

“Oh, doctor daddy… you aren’t walking at all.”

“If I could, I’d walk far away from you and your rancid fucking breath!”

“Daddy!”

Gooseberry wandered off, bickering with her hand puppet. Franco sighed, pouted, went about putting his shoe back on.

“What fuckin’ gives?”

Gooseberry put a hand to her bosom in shock.

“My, what foul language…”

Franco looked angry, sheepish, and hurt all at once. He jabbed an accusatory finger at her, face red and sour.

“You’ve been downright fuckin’ frigid. Babies need love an’ affection, you know.”

Hearing that broke her heart a little. She hated to leave her baby feeling neglected. It had been an awfully long time— 4 or 5 sleeps, at least— since Gooseberry had touched him at all. But she knew she had to be respectful— earn back baby’s trust.

“My daughter’s tryin’ to keep all her fuckin’ fingers, you fucking dope!” Futterman interjected before Gooseberry could respond.

“I’m just trying to be nice… I’d hate to upset my baby, but it looks like I’ve upset him anyways…” Gooseberry sounded distraught, but it was’t entirely sincere. Franco’s face still softened.

“Christ, you’re still worried about that?” He groaned, slapping a hand to his forehead. “I was just— Forget about that, alright? I’d never shoot you, ma.”

“It’s not that,” Mother Gooseberry pouted, fiddling with the ratty feathers on Doctor Futterman’s body. “Mother doesn’t want to upset her baby by playing too rough.” Franco seemed taken aback, a little suspicious.

“Since when do you give a shit about that?”

“Mother is trying to be better for her precious baby boy.”

Franco huffed, averted his eyes and bit his lip. He hesitated.

“Forget about what I said, alright?” He snapped, as if forcing the words out before he thought better of it. “I was just— don’t listen to me when I say that sorta stuff. Mother knows best, right?”

Gooseberry sniffled.

“So baby doesn’t mind when mother tickles him?”

Franco grimaced.

“Eh, it might’ve grown on me.”

That sentiment hung in the air for a few seconds, and the silence was thick.

“I fucking tolds you, Phyllis,” Futterman finally grumbled, smugly triumphant. “He wants it. Fuckin’ perv.”

Gooseberry giggled to herself, remorse dropped from her voice like a lead weight.

“Right as always, daddy,” She chirped. “Awww, somebody was playing hard to get… how darling!”

Franco was frozen in confusion for a moment, face reddening.

“Aw, fuck you…” He moaned. “You leave me all cold and lonesome all this time for that?!” He likely didn’t intend for it to come out as such a needy whine, but it certainly got Gooseberry’s attention.

“Aw, come here now, my little gosling,” She sang, closing in on him with wiggling fingers. “Let mother make up for lost time…” ___

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.

“There you are, mommy,” Franco leered at the poor unarmed reagent as he closed in on her. “Why’re you hiding? I’m just a poor little baby. Nothin’ to be scared of.” She understood why his nickname was Lupa; his eyes were hungry and predatory, like a wild animal.

She’d liked to think that in a situation like this she’d 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 Gooseberry’s presence behind him. It wasn’t terribly surprising; Mother Gooseberry had a way of sneaking up on people.

When Gooseberry pounced on him from behind, Franco’s 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.

“There he is! Mother caught you~” Gooseberry cheered playfully, hanging on him like a clingy teenage girlfriend. “You know what that meeeeeans~”

“Wha— Ma! Bad fuckin’ timing!” He snapped, but before he could object too much Gooseberry started digging around in his clothing.

“Tickle tickle tickle~ Who’s mother’s silly little man?”

Franco barely held out for a second before sputtering with laughter.

The reagent’s frenzied brain couldn’t 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 couldn’t 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 Gooseberry’s wrist to look at her.

“Ah, get outta here,” He barked, sounding unusually exasperated and defeated. “You’re lucky my daughter’s got herself a little crush and her poor old father can’t do nothin' about it.”

The reagent couldn’t believe what she was hearing, couldn’t 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 should’ve been no surprise to anyone that sexual encounters made il bambino nervous— He’d 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 he’d 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 wasn’t all bad, though; his nervousness was almost matched in excitement. He was jittery, hoped it wasn’t obvious how much he was quivering.

If Mother Gooseberry noticed, she didn’t 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 they’d 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.

“Now then, Mister Franco—” She announced sweetly, a little too loudly for Franco’s tastes. She had a habit of projecting, even in situations where doing so wasn’t advantageous.

“You gotta fuckin’ yell? Jesus, woman…”

Gooseberry shot him a stern look, made a point of not reducing her speaking volume as she replied.

“Language!” She snapped. “Little boys mustn’t try to tell mother what to do. Understood?”

Franco sighed. Starting a pissing match with her wouldn’t lead him in the direction he wanted.

“Yes, ma’am.” He grumbled with a pout. As if a flip were switched inside her, Gooseberry’s cheery demeanor was back.

“Wonderful! Now then—” she smiled warmly, “Mother makes time for all of her little goslings. What can I help you with, dear?”

“And makes it snappy. We gots a busy schedule,” 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 around— what could she possibly have to do besides wandering around and closing doors?

“Ah,” He tried to hide the schoolboy nervousness he could hear creeping into his voice, “You know that discipline you were talkin’ about? I think I need it. I think I need it right now.”

Mother Gooseberry smiled coolly, tilted her head.

“Oh, dear, but you’re doing wonderfully!” She cooed, to Franco’s embarrassment. He’d hoped she’d immediately go along with it, but it was looking like he’d have to beg.

“Oh, please,” Futterman quacked mean-spiritedly. “I’d tell you not to give the kid a big head but I’d be too fuckin’ late! Ha-ha Ha-ha!”

“Doctor daddy, he’s doing a fine job!” Gooseberry insisted, then turned her attention back to Franco. “Why in the world should I punish a good little boy like you?”

Franco felt his collar get hotter than usual, tugged at it.

“I’ve been real bad, mommy,” He spat out quickly, before he could think better of it. “I’ve been takin’ stuff from people. Body parts. All kinds’a body parts. And I haven’t even been askin’ first.”

“Oh dear,” Mother Gooseberry didn’t sound particularly perturbed by his admission, obviously. “That is a rather naughty thing to do, Mister Franco! You really ought to ask first. It’s only polite. If you’re worried they won’t say yes, why, you can just kill them! Dead people are quite agreeable.”

“Baby needs mother’s firm hand,” 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.

“Yes… yes, I think a spanking may be in order, young man!” She suggested eagerly, feigning parental reluctance to physical punishment. “You leave me no choice…”

“Jesus! You know, there’s times I wish I wasn’t attached to you, Phyllis,” Futterman was as difficult as usual, but at least Gooseberry seemed receptive. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna drop everything for this pansy-ass—”

“Now daddy, a mother must properly discipline her children if she expects them to grow up right.” 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 he’d ever dealt with. Usually Franco Barbi wouldn’t just let somebody push him around— 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 father— The only other person he perceived as entirely indomitable.

“Try not to cry this time. You’re getting a little big for that.”

Franco was hit with a wave of shame, and his cheeks flushed hot.

“I don’t— I wasn’t gonna.” He averted his eyes defensively.

“Good boy,” Gooseberry let go of his tie. “Now drop your trousers for mother.”

Franco gasped, bit his lip.

“Little boy,” Mother Gooseberry scolded gently in a sing-song tone. “If naughty little boys don’t help her keep count, mother will have to start aaaaall the way over from the beginning.”

Franco was distracted, on the cusp of losing track himself.

“Ah… t-twenty two!” He whimpered. “Mommy…”

“Very good,” Mother Gooseberry’s voice was sickeningly sweet, but carried the constant threat of cruelty. “Mother wouldn’t want to bruise up this tender little bottom any more than she has to.” 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.

“What a cute little baby,” She cooed, spanked him again.

“Twenty three,” Franco gasped raggedly, but his mind was clouding with arousal. He knew he’d 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.

“Twe— twenty four…” He winced in embarrassment as a quiet moan slipped out after his words.

“Enough fucking whimpering!” Futterman barked, and a wave of shame trickled through him. “Fucking pathetic!”

“Oh, daddy, let the poor little baby cry,” Gooseberry rushed to his defense as always, but in a way that also made his face burn. “His little bum must be so sore…”

“I’m— I’m not cryin’,” He panted. “Spank me, mommy, I deserve it…”

“Oh, what a brave little boy you are,” Gooseberry gave him another slap, and this time he made sure not to let a peep slip out.

“Twenty five,” He grunted through gritted teeth.

“Good boy!” Gooseberry cheered sweetly. “You’re already a whole quarter of the way done. Doesn’t that make you happy?”

Franco took a shaky breath. ‘Happy’ wasn’t the word he would use; it was an odd mixture of dread and blissful anticipation. He was already so muddled with arousal, so desperate— the idea of being teased for that much longer made him feel frustrated and hopeless.

But he also wanted it to go on forever.

“Mm.” He groaned.

“Answer your mother, little baby! Aren’t you happy?” Gooseberry pressed, and when Franco didn’t 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.

“There we go, there’s a happy little smile. Coochie coochie coo! What a little cutie!”

“Fuck! Stop!” Franco cackled, trying to push her hand away. In his struggle he’d rolled onto his side, and even in his panic couldn’t ignore that his weak erection was no longer hidden amongst the bedsheets.

Thankfully for him, she stopped after just a few seconds.

“Language!” 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 hadn’t agreed to her tickling him, but he knew better than to complain. Besides, it hadn’t killed his boner. If anything, the indignity of it made matters worse.

“Now where were we…”

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.

“Ahem?” Gooseberry prompted.

“Uh, ah— Tw-twenty… twenty…” He felt comically stupid all of a sudden. “Fuck! A quarter… Twenty six.”

“Stupid fucks had to counts on his fucking fingers!” Futterman jeered knowingly. “What’s wrong, kid? Somethin’ gots you a little flustered?”

Franco furrowed his brow, feeling his cheeks tingle with embarrassment.

“It’s nothin’,” 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.

“Twenty seven. Twenty seven.” 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.

“Twenty… eight…”

Her spanks were not quite as hard as they had been on previous occasions. She’d really beat his ass with all her might in the past, left him limping for days. He wasn’t sure if she was letting up out of a sense of mercy or because she knew it was going to tease him.

“Twennynine...”

“Seventy,” Franco barely croaked out. “Mommy, please, baby needs relief…” 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.

“Only thirty more, my dear,” She reassured him shakily, caressing his red asscheek. “My goodness, you’re probably making a mess of the bed by now…”

The bed had already been a mess before they’d even arrived, but it certainly wasn’t 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.

“S-s-seventy one,” He whimpered, clutching the bedsheets and burying his wet face in them. “Mommy… Oh, Mommy, I don’t think I’m gonna make it to 100…”

“Now, Franco, we… we mustn’t be impatient,” Gooseberry seemed to be trying to convince herself as much as she was trying to convince him. “Imagine the sense of… accomplishment you’ll feel!”

Another.

“Seven… Seventy two. Fuck.”

“Phyllis, you’re goings too fucking slow!” Futterman finally interjected. He’d been quiet for a while, but even he seemed frustrated with their pace. “Wail on his little pansy ass, already! Make him fucking hurt, goddamn it!” Gooseberry gasped.

“Oh, dear… you’re right, daddy!” She sounded manic. “Keep pace with me now baby! Momma’s going to go fast!”

Franco barely had time to ready himself before she started in on him.

“Seventy three… se… four… seventy five… seventy six… seventy seven— fuck— seventy eight, seventy nine… eighty…” 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.

“Mommy… I’m gonna be a bad boy, I can’t help myself,” he breathed.

“Don’t you dare!” She scolded harshly. “Naughty, dirty little brat! Mother will give you 100 whacks whether you like it or not!”

She spanked him rapidly another ten times, and he didn’t 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.

“Just ten more! Ready, my little gosling?” She didn’t wait for him to ready himself, and now she was the one counting: “One! Two! Three! Four! Five! Six! Seven, eight, nine… One hundred!”

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 Murkoff’s stupid charade— 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 aftermath— 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 hadn’t realized just how intense their game had become.

Franco never knew how much she got from these rendezvous; she was certainly panting as if she’d come, seemed satisfied. But he never noticed her touching herself— had the pleasure of spanking him really been enough?

It was an arousing thought, but at the end of the day he didn’t 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.

“See?” She chirped unsteadily. “Don’t you feel better now?”

Franco groaned.

“Cuddle me, mommy,” He whimpered, exhaustion in his voice. “Baby needs a cuddle.” 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 cared— 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 didn’t 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.

“Oh, my little darling… of course,” She whispered as she wrapped her arms around him, hoisted him partially onto her body. “But only for a few minutes. Mother has things to do. Besides, we know Mister Franco’s bad cuddling habits.”

He wanted to argue, insist that he’d never cut her open out of sheer pragmatism, but he was quickly dozing off and couldn’t muster the energy. He sleepily placed his pacifier in his mouth, fell asleep in her arms.