Shove a feather boa inside your robot partner during maintenance and watch them giggle and cum themselves stupid for the next few hours over the feeling of hundreds of feathers being wriggled around by their cooling system. Make ur robot beg for you to just get it out and then pull so slowly at one end and see how many orgasms you can get it to do just from pulling it out of the crevices
Addressed to the citizenry in and surrounding Forchfaut Academy of the Mystical Arts:
Of all the vicious monsters, cunning bastards, and sin-soaked depravities that listlessly roam the Nine Circles of Hell, few are as infamous as the Succubi. Any Academy-trained summoner has heard the whispered rumors of some inexperienced classmate or another, given over to the raucous urges of youth and filled with a shocking lack of preservation instinct, initiating the necessary rituals to summon a Succubus for a wild, hedonistic evening, only for the ritual to predictably go horribly wrong and the summoner to never be seen again. Or, perhaps, the more widely known tale of some desperate drunken fellow, down on his luck and driven to the taverns out of loneliness, encountering some breathtakingly beautiful horned maiden and disappearing forever into the night. Despite the clear and present risks these tales teach, it seems there ever remains a progression of lost souls marching directly into the jaws of Hell, with giggling Succubi leading the charge. So, in the interest of the public, it may be best to offer some education on the nature of these things as best understood by an actual learned demonologist (such as myself), starting with one of the more insidious varieties of these accursed fiends:
The Feather Succubus:
A very common belief is that succubi (sometimes known as “incubi;” the difference is largely linguistic in nature and anatomically arbitrary) will magically appear in or can somehow shapeshift into whatever form is most appealing to its victim. This belief is largely unsupported in the academic field. Although some demons are quite skilled at illusions and shapeshifting, it seems that succubi simply have many, many subspecies and variations fine-tuned to appeal to almost any mortal desire that could manifest. As these vile creatures rise from the clogging currents of Lust that roar through the upper circles, there is likely a variation of succubus for any sort of mortal pleasure. It is hardly a secret that succubi feed on the sin of Lust and thus are particularly apt at stirring the passions and carnal wants of us on the mortal plane. Few represent this better than the Feather Succubus, with its persuasion for gentle, titillating pleasure rather than anything of substance.
The general build of succubi is not dissimilar to other demonic kin of equitable rank, though a touch larger than most builds you would find on the mortal plane. Shapes and colors tend to vary wildly otherwise, with colors ranging from natural to dazzling. Some succubi sport neutral colors ranging closer to human skin, while others are bright, eye-catching shades of red, blue, or even green. All sport the telltale signs of demonic influence, that being bright eyes, dark, twisted horns (that grow ever-longer with the demon’s age), and disproportionate limbs. Feather succubi share these common traits with others of their ilk, but here the similarities end.
What sets feather succubi apart are, of course, the feathers. Feather succubi are covered near head to toe in an extremely delicate layer of what some demonologists classify as fur, fuzz, or bristles, but are more commonly referred to as feathers, despite marked anatomical differences from the avian variety. This soft material grows out of the demon’s skin and often covers its entire body, including the face, the palms of hands, bottoms of feet, and even its horns and tail. The texture of this material has been described as “horrifyingly soft” by those familiar with these creatures, and the feather succubus uses this fact with terrifying efficiency. Its entire body is essentially a delicate, animate feather. Imagine the rough, firm pleasures typically associated and desired with Lust replaced with frighteningly gentle, feather-light touches, stoking fires unending and unquenched; the perfect environment for a succubus to feed. Thus, these succubi hone their abilities to titillate and tease to truly monstrous heights, abusing this touch to glide across mortal flesh in the most arousing fashion, often mixing their attentions with targeted and witty tickling in order to drive the very nerves into a frenzy. The toughest warriors have been reduced to mewling puddles under such a touch, and even the most hard-faced, strait-laced of mortals have been found cackling their Lust away under their tender mercies.
The horrors, unfortunately, do not end here. This penchant for softness dominates these creatures in every fashion, inside and out. Even the creatures’ tongues, long and narrow like others of their ilk, are covered in soft, waving bristles, far unlike the textured tongues of a typical succubus. These bristles, made of living tissue, wave and roil at the demon’s whim and maintain their delicate structure regardless of moisture. This same tissue covers the insides of the creature's mouth, throat, crotch, inner thighs, and even along and inside sexual organs.
The resulting creature can affect carnage on a mortal’s nervous system that can be, quite frankly, difficult to write about, so I will refer to a colleague of mine’s reports on this matter. A relatively recent incident involving Academy officers and an encounter with feather succubi was attended by resident demonologist Dr. Alexander Vangard, and I will quote heavily from his written report of the incident below:
“We eventually tracked them down to the maintenance alley behind the dueling arena,” Dr. Vangard writes, describing the incident. “Wasn’t hard to find them once we were close; the air was suffocating with all the ambient Sin. That, and the screaming, if you could even call it that. Short little bursts of sound that could be mistaken for demonic itself, quickly cut off with much weaker, strained laughter. We found the two specimen huddled in a corner next to the equipment bin, wrapped around the victim: a larger, orcish fellow that I think was on the security team. I’ve never seen a humanoid’s face contorted like his was. Gods, it’s going to haunt me. Twisted into a leering grin, face stained and wrecked with tears, and the eyes. Gods almighty the fellow’s eyes. The man was completely naked, as you’d expect, though we never located what was left of his clothes. No signs of a struggle, at least in terms of marks, bruises, or even a scratch mark, though what can you expect? Even the damn things’ claws are soft and brush-like. The poor guy was twisted between the two things, and they were all over him, draped lazily and tangled into his limbs so that light fingertips could play across his torso and hips. They were positioned almost so that their whole bodies could come into contact with the idiot, their thighs pushing his apart, bodies wedged into his underarms. Must have tickled obscenely, judging by his frantic look. As soon as he saw us, he let out another screech, almost certainly begging for help, but the giggling fiends silenced him with gentle kisses into his armpits. Whatever damnable fucking stuff that coats their mouths must be awful, because he went from screaming to absolute silence, wheezing and going limp in their arms. The things “rewarded” him for the reaction by giggling and cooing and petting him all over, which lead to more wheezing cackles, which lead to more kisses, which… yeah, it went on for a while. We were not really sure how to proceed from there; we couldn’t exactly risk getting in there to grab the things without coming into contact with their skin, which, you’ll forgive me for saying so, no fucking thank you. Spells we tried to conjure just fizzled and died on their skin. And they watched us the entire time, snickering, making HIM watch us, making him wheeze and whimper and moan and… Gods.”
“We eventually concluded we had to stick to protocol,” Dr. Vangard continues, a bit later in his report. “Contain, observe, and record. We set up the standard perimeter, got out the recording equipment. You could tell the poor guy gave up at that point. The screaming stopped. And he just… laughed. Moaned. All sorts of unearthly noises. The things were palming all over him, looking at us with those eyes, knowing we were watching. One of them leered over at ME, like it knew I was the one in charge, wouldn’t stop looking into my eyes, started mouthing at the orc’s chest, slipping down… I could almost FEEL it crawling against my skin, imagining how those fucked up tendrils must feel, dancing across your body. Something nobody talks about in these reports is that their feathers don’t just float listlessly in the wind, they MOVE. They writhe. It makes their entire forms shimmer and wave. They make it look seductive. Makes me feel terribly sick, even writing about it now. Anyways, this roiling, flowing, living feather just kissed down this guy’s body. He either couldn’t move or didn’t bother, we couldn’t determine. It’s eyes never left mine when it got to the guy’s cock. Let its tongue roll out. The tongues look worse. Black as sin, covered in something that moves and flails. Whatever it is must be… awful. Because as soon as it touched this guy’s cock, he leapt like he’d been shocked. Finally shouted something coherent. Some garbled, girlish “Please!” Couldn’t tell if that was aimed at us or them. If it was for them, I’m sure he regretted it, because as soon as the demon put his cock in its mouth, his entire body went limp. And he started crying. Biggest guy I’d ever seen, crying like a baby. Was it relief? Despair? Or maybe it just tickled that badly. God’s prayer, I hope I never find out.”
Dr. Vangard’s report continues for some time, but largely follows a most horrid and, unfortunately for the victim, never ending cycle. The feather succubus, once its victim has been reduced to a giggling, whimpering wreck, has complete control to do whatever it likes, and that is, of course, more tickling. Pinning the victim against a wall, the ground, or whatever might be handy, a rhythm develops of sharp, fluttery tickling interrupted by long, slow strokes of near pleasure, back to wiggling fingers and gasping laughter, back to desperate pleas and gasps of the tortured. This cycle is only broken when, hours or even days later, the victim, shuddering and broken, is claimed by the beast and dragged down into the deepest pits of Hell, body, mind, and soul, where it is rather unlikely such torments will ever cease.
“They didn’t get bored for another four hours.” Dr. Vangard’s report concludes. “They finally opened the portal just before daybreak. By then, the guy didn’t even have the brains left to scream. He just let them tug him through, giggling along with them, as they dragged him to Hell.”
Dr. Vangard filed an official resignation two days later. To my knowledge, he has begun studies in an unrelated field. We thank him for his service to the Academy and look forward to supporting his work in the future.
This cautionary tale, like many others, is meant to warn you of a simple truth that must be understood before engaging in any summoning activity: do NOT engage with demons, under any circumstances! Even the experts among us in the demonology field will only engage in such risky rituals after months or even years of careful planning, a network of failsafes and contingencies, fellow experts on hand to assist should any aspect of the ritual go wrong, and only for research and studying purposes. NEVER attempt to summon ANY demonic creature alone, and under no circumstances should you let such creatures touch you or even speak to you, lest you be dragged down into that ever-cackling rancid pit below.
For the general public, the dangers are much less pronounced than for those skilled in summoning arts; however, should you encounter a creature fitting any of the descriptions above, or know of anyone who intends to consort with such beings, do not hesitate to inform an Academy officer as soon as possible so that the proper inquiries can be made.
With that, dear citizens, stay safe, stay informed, and I will hopefully have no further reason to write to you on this matter. Do take care.
- Professor Adelaine Vortis, Director of Demonology at Forchfaut Academy of the Mystical Arts
That being said. Run a feather in the creases of my thighs. Over my stretch marks that just so happen to run over the most sensitive parts of my arms and sides. Over the teeth marks my pyjama pants leave in my lower tummy and oh, what, lower? I guess if you *really* want to, there's uh. There's nothing down there though, wait-
OK but what if he sits behind me and forces me to hold a feather duster by putting his hand over mine and guiding it between my legs while he teases me about being so good and putting on a show for him and every time I try and pull away it just. Moves it more
Oh God now I need a feather/tickling Klaine fic omg omg how hot. Like yeah, starts all innocent and sweet and Kurt figures out Blaine isn't LAUGHING anymore from being tickled, he's just starting to moan and Kurt's like. Holy shit. I think I found a kink. And omg please write this?!?!
Because of the whole weird klaine and their bird kink, now I want a fic of one of them tickling the other with a feather and enjoying it a little too much
Well yes you see that’s how it starts.
Feather tips in armpits and behind the knee and over the belly, and Blaine giggling and thrashing and Kurt determined to find every little spot and their legs tangled and then they’re rolling around and Kurt feels Blaine hard against his leg and he kind of knows already that Blaine has a thing because the feathers had been his originally and Kurt is learning to be perceptive about these things now and so he tickles it down and over Blaine’s erection with a sly little “You could have just asked, you know,” and Blaine whimpers “You don’t think it’s weird?”
And then like an hour of feather-on-cock teasing until Blaine literally loses it, comes sobbing all over the feather, soaking it and Kurt’s hand and holy shit he didn’t even know he could do that.
