Emotional Release (Spock / McCoy)
The one where Spock’s hormonal balance is off, and McCoy has just the cure.(This might well be how ‘Spones’ first began.)
Ticklish!Kirk & Ticklish!McCoy (Ticklish!McKirk at a stretch):
Not a Word of This to Anyone! (Or: A Ticklish Spa Day) – Part 1: Pedicure
Part 2: Full Body Massage
Ticklish!McCoy:
A Ticklish Predicament – McCoy’s POV
A Ticklish Predicament – Chapel’s POV
The one where McCoy gets tied to a biobed by an alien, and Chapel accidentally discovers how ticklish he is while trying to untie him.
A Shared Kink - Chapel’s POV
The one where McCoy is still tied to the biobed, still insanely ticklish, but doesn't mind so much anymore, since Chapel knows exactly how to use her newly-found knowledge to take them both to the next level.
How (Not) to Tickle Your Boyfriend - McCoy’s POV
McCoy’s and Chapel’s guide to a fulfilled (ticklish) relationship and life with a shared kink.
Or:
The one where McCoy, unsurprisingly, is still insanely ticklish, and Chapel knows exactly how to make the most of that fact.
.
Ticklish!Crew:
All-Male Hilarity (TICKLE TORTURE)
(This is not one of my fluffy tickle fics, so if you’re not into non-con tickle torture, this is not for you.)
The one, where every male crew member of the Enterprise is subjected to extreme tickle torture and edging, and the female crew members can’t help being incredibly turned on by the men’s predicament.
Fulfilling an anonymous request for tickle torture on the Enterprise.
Warning:
This is a shameless, non-con tickle fic with no fluff and little plot.
Fandom: Star Trek TOS / AOS
Characters: Crew of the USS Enterprise
Warnings: Explicit, Sexual, Tickling, (non-con Tickle Torture)
Word Count: 1,663
WARNING!
This is not one of my fluffy tickle fics, so if you’re not into non-con tickle torture, this is not for you!
Read Part 1 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 1)
Read Part 2 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 2)
Read Part 3 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 3)
Read Part 4 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 4)
Read Part 5 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 5)
Read Part 6 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 6)
Read Part 7 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 7)
Read Part 8 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 8)
Read Part 9 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 9)
Read Part 10 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 10)
Read Part 11 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 11)
Summary:
Still the one, where every male crew member of the Enterprise is subjected to extreme tickle torture.
This is a shameless, non-con tickle fic with no fluff and little plot. You have been warned!
****************************************
Watching M’Benga suffering through post-coital tickling hell, McCoy had seriously started to panic. He knew he couldn't take the edging much longer, but he also knew that being as ticklish as he was, what came after was definitely going to kill him. Utterly unimaginable. He’d die from it, no question there.
Even under normal circumstances, getting hand and blow jobs had always been on the ticklish side for him, and he’d had to beg his sadistic wife not to take advantage of this embarrassing fact every single time. But having his genitals tickled after climaxing was simply inconceivable. In fact, being tickled anywhere was.
Yet, when his erection was building up, ready to explode for the umpteenth time, the desperately needed orgasm once again cruelly and abruptly averted by devious and unbearable tickling, he couldn’t think straight anymore and found himself pleading with Christine to join in the tickling.
Clearly, Chapel wasn’t thinking straight anymore, either, because when she returned to the hopelessly ticklish doctor’s bedside, she forgot all about not wanting an active part in his ticklish demise. McCoy needed help, in fact was imploring her to help in the only way she could, by agreeing to assist the tickler women in their wicked business.
So she did. Trying hard to ignore the lustful twitches in her groin as she listened to the instructions of the alien women.
They had her start on McCoy’s feet, which she did a little hesitantly at first, but as soon as her fingers touched his soles and she felt his intense reaction to her fingernails barely brushing his skin, all hesitation was gone, replaced by the strongest urge to refine her technique until she had him completely at her mercy.
It didn’t take her long to find the perfect way of sending the doctor into silent laughter from scratching his arches just right, the rush of being able to do this to him only just outweighing her need to touch herself, aroused beyond compare by the shrill yet barely audible “NOOOOO-HO-HO!” or “CHRIIIIIII-HI-HI” - the only sounds he could occasionally squeeze out.
The vicious foot tickling went on for what seemed like forever, probably even more so to the poor, distressed doctor, Chapel thought distractedly as she tickled herself into a frenzy, increasingly amazed by – but certainly not relishing!?! – the absolute helplessness with which he had to endure her excruciating ministrations.
When it was obvious that McCoy still wasn’t anywhere close to climaxing, the tickler women turned the pleasure up even more, but of course did the same with the tickling by letting Christine experiment with the doctor’s insanely ticklish knees.
If she’d thought the doctor’s soles were bad, Chapel had another think coming. Lightly tickling behind his knees, she didn’t even have to try to improve her technique. Any touch there was clearly as ticklish as it could get, and McCoy’s reaction unequivocally confirmed that when his whole body started to bounce up and down like mad, a ceaseless stream of pitiful cackling helplessly pouring out of his gaping mouth, his eyes wide open and ticklish tears spilling out.
Despite the unprecedented height of the doctor’s ticklishness, judging from the impotent gyrating of his hips and his desperate, lustful moans, whenever they came through between bouts of completely freaked out laughter, McCoy came seriously close to orgasm a number of times, his agonised ticklish howling sounding like incoherent begging for release. But when even pleasuring him like he’d never been pleasured before didn’t succeed in pushing him over the edge through all the diabolical tickling, the tubes were adjusted once again.
The doctor’s lust and desire blowing through the roof as he groan-cackled and furiously rutted, Chapel was instructed to target his most ticklish spots of all. The absolute death spots under his arms, and Christine was almost afraid to touch him there, knowing that in spite of him living his very worst nightmare already, this would send him into a whole new sphere of ticklish agony.
Every other male in sickbay was either in hysterics, uncontrollably howling and roaring with laughter from nefarious, intolerable post-coital tickling, or already passed out. But McCoy still couldn’t get off. Although watching him throw his head from side to side in ticklish torment, his whole body spasming from the unbearable feather and finger torture, he certainly seemed to be more ticklish even before orgasm than the others were after, and Christine shuddered to think, in fact couldn’t even imagine, what it would be like for him afterwards. He would surely go insane and beyond.
Maybe he was actively holding off, despite his unbearable need to cum and desperate pleas to let him, because he knew what came after might actually kill him?
Or maybe he was simply too ticklish.
“Oh my”, his upper body tickler said, “he’s bursting with horniness. I’ve never seen anyone so desperate to shoot his load. And yet, he can’t. Incredibly, he truly seems to be too ticklish to orgasm. We’ve certainly never happened upon anyone that ticklish. But just look at him rutting into the tube like a maniac! There must be a way to make even someone as ticklish as him cum. We certainly can’t ease up on the tickling. So let’s just hope we can dial up the pleasure some more. And if we succeed, the serum will be priceless.”
“If? Not when?” Chapel asked, suddenly grasped by cold fear as she tried to imagine what would become of the doctor if he failed to find release. “Would that leave him trapped in eternal tickle torture?”
But of course, she instinctively knew before she even got an answer from the tickler women. And it made her shudder.
“Well, we’ve never actually encountered a situation like this before, but since orgasm and post-coital tickling are the only means to relieve a male from the feathers’ magic once applied, failing that, he would eventually go mad with unsatisfied sexual need or be tickled to death. Whichever comes first.”
Christine swallowed hard, trembling hands hovering above McCoy’s still tormentedly quivering knees and her own sexual need completely forgotten for the moment.
“But unless you want to find out for sure, you’d better get on those death spots and save him already!”
‘Save him? What a travesty!’ Chapel thought angrily, seeing as it had been those damn tickler women who’d got the doctor in this – uh – ticklish situation in the first place. But it catapulted her into action, anyway, and she finally applied her by now embarrassingly skilled, tickling fingers to McCoy’s absolutely worst spots, the dreaded ones right under his armpits, above his top ribs.
Whatever his two tickler women had done to him in the meantime to keep him at his most ticklish and helplessly laughing his head off, Christine’s attack visibly and audibly really escalated things, the doctor’s reaction instant and violent.
“GAAAAA-HA-HA-HA! NAAAAA-HA-HA-HA! THEEEEE-HE-HE!
Eerie silence, as the anguished doctor fought for breath and obviously every other male had already passed out.
“YOU’RE KIIIIIIIIIIIII-HI-HI-HI!
Long silence.
“LIIIIIIII-HI-HI-HING”
More silence.
“MEEEEE-HE-HE-HE!”
Another long silence, as the ability to make any sound left the harried doctor. Unlike his ability to move. Because jerking and bucking and thrashing around wildly, his body seemed to come to life even more. Not least because the pleasuring was clearly increasing in time with the tickling. Shaking with laughter while violently rutting into his tube, McCoy didn’t know whether he was dying to go to tickling hell or masturbating heaven.
Whenever he found the strength to form words, “OH PLEEEEEEEASE!” and “LET ME CUUUUM!” alternated with “I CAAAAAA-HA-HA-HAN’T” and “NO MOOOO-HO-HO-HORE!”
This went on for a long, long time, the merciless death-spot tickling Chapel relentlessly administered driving the doctor nowhere but higher on the ticklish scale with no orgasm in sight.
Fearing for McCoy’s life and sanity, while at the same time once more incredibly turned on by what he was going through, the nurse tried to speed up the deliciously horrible process by developing a killer drilling-vibrating technique and refining it to the hilt, making sure to keep her two-pronged attack perfectly symmetrical after discovering that nothing tickled the roaring CMO worse than having his death spots exploited simultaneously with precisely the same pressure and technique on both sides.
And then it finally happened. Just when McCoy was ready to die because he just couldn't take a single second of this excruciating tickling any more, he was overwhelmed by a wave of pleasure so powerful, it took away every other sensation.
“OH MY GOD! YESSSSS!” he roared, frantically thrusting into his tube, trying to find relief but finding rising need and desire instead.
“AHHHHH! SO GOOOOOOD!” he groaned, then started to giggle as the ticklishness threatened to overpower the pleasure once again.
“MOOOOORE!” he pleaded, “PLEASE MOOOOORE!”
And of course, he meant the pleasure, but unfortunately, as the pleasure amazingly did increase even more, so did the tickling.
GAAAHAHAHAHAH! AAAHAHAHAH! NOOOHOHOHOHO!
YESSSSSS! MOOOOOORE!
NO MOOOHOHOHORE! MEEEHEHEHERCYYYYHYHY!
GOOOOOOOD! YESSSSSS! MMMMMMMMMMM!
GOOOHOHOHOHOHOD! STOOOOOOHOHOHOHOP!
It was as if he was having a conversation with himself – the overwhelming pleasure fighting his excruciating ticklishness and vice versa. Christine watched him, mesmerised, her fingers never ceasing to drill into the doctor’s off the scale ticklish underarms, despite desperately longing to have them take care of her own crushing need fiercely pulsating through her wet panties.
Her need became even more irresistible, when she watched one of McCoy’s tickler women pull out another kind of tube from somewhere inside her magic garment. A tube that turned out to be an extension to the one the doctor was rabidly rutting into, clearly spurting more ticklish juice of life than one tube could hold.
McCoy laughed and cursed his way through the world’s longest orgasm, eventually even begging for the endless climaxing to stop, because the incredible pleasure was killing him. And leaving him so impossibly ticklish all over, he thought he might die from just the air whispering over his body.
Fandom: Star Trek TOS / AOS
Characters: Crew of the USS Enterprise
Warnings: Explicit, Sexual, Tickling, (non-con Tickle Torture)
Word Count: 2,319
WARNING!
This is not one of my fluffy tickle fics, so if you’re not into non-con tickle torture, this is not for you!
Read Part 1 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 1)
Read Part 2 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 2)
Read Part 3 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 3)
Read Part 4 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 4)
Read Part 5 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 5)
Read Part 6 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 6)
Read Part 7 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 7)
Read Part 8 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 8)
Read Part 9 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 9)
Read Part 10 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 10)
Summary:
Still the one, where every male crew member of the Enterprise is subjected to extreme tickle torture and edging, and the female crew members can't help being incredibly turned on by the men's predicament.
This is a shameless, non-con tickle fic with no fluff and little plot. You have been warned!
****************************************
Watching the tall, muscular orderlies being so helplessly destroyed by the dainty fingers of the two female patients, both rather petite members of the science department, Chapel unthinkingly reached between her legs again.
Mark was clearly one of those people most affected by light touches, gentle tickling bringing out the worst of his ticklishness. A weakness that Susan, his helpful scientist crew mate, had no qualms exploiting to the fullest, softly strumming his ribs on either side like a guitar, making Mark roar with laughter and dance like a maniac to some excruciatingly ticklish tune only he could hear.
“PLEEEEEHEEEEHEEEEASE SUUUUUHUUUUHUUUUSE MEEEEEHEHEHEHERCY!” was all he could squeeze out before another bout of torturously ticklish silent laughter took his voice away again.
Her eyes glued to Susan’s fingers so sadistically tormenting poor, seriously ticklish Mark, Christine’s own fingers found their way inside her panties once more, making her jump and nearly scream out at the first touch, her clit way too sensitive, the touch way too intense.
Quickly pulling her hand back out and finding that, even through layers of underwear, the gentlest tap of a finger on her swollen nub was almost enough to send her over the edge again, memories of Sam, a security guard she’d hooked up with on shore leave a couple of years ago, suddenly flashed through her mind.
Nothing serious or long-term, but the affair had been hugely satisfying in bed, not least because this strong, burly hunk of a man had turned out to be insanely ticklish to light touches. She’d all but forgotten about it, and had never taken advantage of his weakness, but remembered how just knowing what power she held over him, secretly imagining how the merest flutter of a fingernail would put the far bigger, Herculean man completely at her mercy, had been an incredible turn-on at the time.
Ignorant of the devastating effect it would have on him, she’d lovingly trailed a gentle finger down Sam's chest and stomach the first night they’d been in bed together, and he’d erupted into hysterical giggles, frantically – and ineffectively – swatting at her hand and rolling over in distress, too overcome with ticklishness to even form coherent words.
Afterwards, he’d confessed to being embarrassingly ticklish all over, when unprotected by clothes, and begged her to only use a firm touch on him in the future, since light scratching or stroking on bare skin was pure torture for him, the ticklishness rendering him completely help- and defenceless within seconds, leaving him way too weak to fight any attacker who tickled him. And naturally, she had promised and kept her word.
Her eyes closed, lost in the memories of her ticklish shore leave romance, Chapel was suddenly hit by the realisation that somewhere on the Enterprise, at that very moment, Sam was almost certainly being tickled, too. No doubt, his tickler woman had instantly found out about his devastating responsiveness to light touch and was now tormenting him accordingly.
Furiously rubbing her soaking wet panties in just the right place, Christine couldn’t help imagining 40 vicious fingers fluttering over every inch of Sam’s torturously ticklish skin, searching out the most excruciating spots and lingering there, reducing the strong and proud man to a ticklish mess, helplessly laughing his head off.
She’d only briefly witnessed his debilitating weakness, of course, but the fear in his eyes, when he’d begged her not to take advantage of her discovery, had been real. He’d sheepishly admitted his terror of being tickled, explaining how light touches were effectively killing him, instantly rendering him too weak to defend himself, and for such a strong man, he’d seemed genuinely terrified of actually being tickled to death by a gentle caress.
Oh God! The feathers! She hadn’t even thought of that yet! There was no way he could survive being tickled with feathers! It had to be his worst nightmare come true! If a lightly trailing fingernail had been enough to send him into such a ticklish frenzy that night, how much worse would a soft feather tickle his sensitive skin? He had to be the most feather-ticklish man aboard!
That thought did it. With only two more light taps to her panties, her swollen nub violently throbbing underneath, the nurse came once again, climaxing forcefully to visions of Sam being tickled out of his mind by a tickler woman’s skilled fingers and feathers, wondering if dreadfully ticklish Sam might even be one of those "super-juice" donors like McCoy or Milagros, warranting the torturous ministrations of more than one tickler and her deadly feathers.
“You’re absolutely right, Christine!” the tickler woman’s voice sounded through the haze of her most intense orgasm yet, prolonging it even further with her next words. “Sam is certainly among the most acutely ticklish of your crew mates. And unquestionably the most feather-ticklish. In fact, he’s so sensitive to our feathers, we need to ease up on him more often than on anyone else, just to keep him from passing out. He can hardly endure a whole minute of feathers, even less in certain spots. You’ve only witnessed his belly, which is certainly ticklish enough, but you should see his feet or back! Right now, he’s in his quarters, being prepared by two of us, you were right again. He’s definitely a super-juice donor. Maybe, if we finish here soon, you could even go and help him!”
Just the idea of “helping” Sam was enough to get Chapel aroused again, the wish to find out how much more ticklish than his belly his feet and back really were overwhelming. But her clit was starting to feel raw, and she was so worn out from her most recent, mind-boggling orgasm, she simply couldn't muster up the energy to go again just yet. Instead, she pressed her thighs together and gently stroked her nether regions in a slow, soothing rhythm.
Weakly leaning against the door frame, opening her eyes after she’d caught her breath again, Christine found Mark still fighting to cum, furiously thrusting into his tube despite Susan killing him with her deviously gentle rib strumming. In addition, his helpful crew mate had found another way to drive him even wilder, delicately nibbling on his earlobe and gently licking behind his ear now, her quick, nimble tongue hitting his death spots far worse than even the skilled tickler woman had managed to, forcing almost inaudible hysterical squeals out of the man who was hardly able to breathe through the unbearable ticklishness of her ministrations anymore.
Chapel was just beginning to wonder how much more poor Mark could take, when the man climaxed with a thunderous growl, moaning with pleasure and howling with laughter by turns, while forcefully thrusting into his tube, desperate to find relief and for the agonising tickling to stop. Which, of course, it wouldn’t, as Christine knew by now. On the contrary, the unfortunate orderly was just about to find out how much more ticklish he could get.
Mark’s climaxing growl was shortly followed by a piercing shriek from Rob, as he, too, tumbled over the edge and into an all-consuming, earthshattering orgasm, his voice still high-pitched from endless minutes of hysterical screeching and squealing, as in addition to his tickler woman exploiting the death-spots on his back next to his spine, the other miraculously healed female patient, Diane, was zealously focused on tormenting his plainly unbearably ticklish buttocks and thighs, cruelly including the horrendously sensitive area from the back of his balls to his frantically twitching butthole in her devastating feather strokes.
Torn between horrified pity and the renewed need to tend to her once again throbbing arousal, Chapel fled from the room, leaving Susan and Diane to their ticklish engagement, the sound of the men’s satisfied moaning and hysterical cackling still filling her ears and her mind.
“GOD! This is so GOOOOOOD! Don’t stop! Gimme MORE!”
“FUUUUHUHU! THIS! I’m still cumming!”
“Stop, stop, STOHOHOHOHP! No moooooohohoHOHOHOHORE! Stop TIIIIHIHIHIHIHICKLING!”
“GAHAHAHAH! I cahahahan’t! I cahahahan’t! AAAAAHAHAHAHAH! WAAAAHAHAHAHAH!”
“Oh YEAH! Amazing, babe! Keep it COMING!”
“Hallelujah, baby! So HOT! You’re killing me!”
“NAAAAHAHAHAHAH! Not there! NOT THEEEEEHEHEHEHERE! EEEEEHEHEHEHEH! NAAAAAHAHAHAHAH! Tickles so BAAAAAAHAHAHAHAD!”
While the moans of pleasure were still there, Christine could hear the pitiful laughter increasing again, as she’d known it would. And the real “aftercare” hadn’t even begun yet. She could practically hear how badly the ticklish orderlies wanted to double over and curl up, protecting themselves from the evil fingers and feathers. But alas, they had to endure the exact opposite, being held completely stretched out and open, every vulnerable inch of their ticklish bodies helplessly exposed to the merciless tickling.
But if Mark and Rob thought the tickling was unbearable now, with the ticklishness of their death spots so torturously increased post orgasm, they’d certainly be in for a surprise when the women started to pull the tubes off their still throbbing cocks, doubtlessly the most excruciatingly ticklish experience of all from what the nurse had seen. And sure enough, she could tell the exact moment, the procedure started.
Trying to shut out the orderlies’ insanely ticklish laughter, as they had their tubes removed in the clearly most heinously sadistic way, audibly putting them through an unimaginable new level of ticklishness, Chapel stormed across the next room, trying not to think about whether she was running from having to witness their “aftercare” out of sympathy or guilt for being so immensely turned on by their ticklish distress.
Either way, all thoughts of Mark’s and Rob’s ordeal were pushed aside, when Faraday erupted into the noisiest orgasm yet, groaning and howling at once, the boundless pleasure the tube was dispensing finally surpassing the intolerably ticklish agony inflicted on his wretched soles. Albeit not by much, if the way he hollered and giggled and cackled all through his moans of pleasure and relief was anything to go by. Unlike the others, Christine noticed, the pitiable man didn’t seem to get even a moment of “unticklish pleasure” out of his clearly colossal orgasm.
“WOAHAHAHAHAHAHAH! FUUUUUUHUHUHUH! INCREEEEEEEHEHEHEHEH! So GOOOOOOHOHOHOOD! So BAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAD! YEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHESSSSS! NOOOOOHOHOHOHOHO! PLEEEEEHEHEHEHEASE! I CAAAAAAHAHAHANT! YES! YES! YES! GOOOOOD! NOOOOOHOHOHO! WAAAAHAHAHAHAH! GAAAAAHAHAHAHAH!”
Faraday’s howls of laughter and desperate pleading were so loud, they almost drowned out the roaring groans of pleasure from one bed over, as the insanely belly-ticklish patient there was also successfully tickled to an outrageously massive orgasm, climaxing so hard the bed was creaking and shaking in time with every forceful and lustful thrust into his tube, his hearty expressions of pleasure getting more and more interrupted by helpless bouts of laughter the longer his orgasm lasted and aftercare set in, the merciless scribbling all over his now off-the-scale ticklish belly sending him into a whole new category of tickle hell.
Chapel just stood there, watching, frozen with horror and needy arousal in equal measure, and terribly ashamed when her hips started to gyrate of their own accord, as the three patients suffered through various stages of deathly aftercare, their armpits, belly, and soles respectively experiencing unprecedented levels of ticklishness so harrowing, they couldn't even process it.
While Sally was dizzily switching back and forth between drilling into one howling patient’s armpits and feathering the other patient’s hopelessly ticklish belly, their tickler women taking care to add their fingers and feathers just right to keep the men at their highest level of ticklishness, Tina’s deadly nails had returned to Farraday’s absolute death-spots, where she was tormenting him almost feverishly, and so skilfully, his piercing shrieks of involuntary hilarity were actually hurting Christine’s ears. And they hadn’t even started removing his tube yet.
As if in a trance, Chapel couldn't help touching herself once again. She’d lost count of the number of orgasms she’d already brought herself to today, but she clearly wasn’t done yet. She’d never felt hornier, she needed more. And so, watching the first patient, whose tube had obviously been removed while she’d been in the other room with the orderlies, pass out from excruciating cock feathering and armpit-drilling, the nurse felt another delightful climax ripple through her. The first in a whole new row of wonderfully gratifying orgasms, as she observed the most cruelly slow and ticklish tube removal procedures virtually killing Farraday and the remaining patient, while at the same time still having their by now unspeakably sensitive soles and belly tormented in the worst way and spots imaginable.
One particularly shrill screech, forced out of Farraday as the unconscious patient’s tickler woman joined his “team of helpers”, gently sawing her feathers back and forth between his toes, with Tina still fiendishly scratching his death-spots, and the other tickler woman giving the rest of his delicate soles a devastatingly ticklish treatment, startled Christine out of her masturbating frenzy, prompting her to flee the scene of atrocious tickle torture and return to the doctors’ room.
But of course, finding McCoy in a total state, howling with almost deranged hilarity, only to be consumed by torturously ticklish silent laughter again the next moment, didn’t exactly cool Chapel’s heat. Seeing the insanely ticklish CMO being tormented by all those fingers and feathers in so many places all over his body only served to increase her need.
Just like the realisation that the doctor had to be even more ticklish than all the others she’d just watched going through the most horrific ordeals and dying a thousand ticklish deaths. As well as the fact that McCoy was quite obviously still a long way from finding sexual relief, every little moan of pleasure, as his tube worked its magic on his dick, immediately drowned out by another bout of increasingly hysterical laughter, his ticklishness clearly not yet at its peak, and the alien women still finding ways to tickle him worse.
Now Baby B, guess why you are tied up now? You've been walking around wearing just a tank top, showing off your armpits all the time, I'm not going to ignore this bad girl behaviour all day, time to see how ticklish you armpits are, and if they- oh so they r ticklish? Well thank you for letting us know, you're such a sweetheart, now let me pamper those defenseless helpless ticklish Armpits, here I go!
So, my DEAR neighbour, guess why are you here tied in your room? Disturbing your neighbors for days is not a wise choice, You were soo annoying to the point of reporting you is worthless, I'm the law here now, and I will teach you some manners you... huh? Sue me? Hah! Go ahead, I can give u the phone now to call.. ops the phone fell, looks like it's not working anymore...
5 minutes of chatting
... And so I was wondering if these feet that you keep annoying me; your neighbor downstairs, walking around your apartment wearing 👠 or whatever you wearing that makes alot of hammer like sounds, are you feet... ticklish? Oh what's with the sudden change of tone, u were so agressive before, now u speak like a victim? I'm sure your ticklish feet will suffer tonight, I guess a feather is enough to do the job right? No matter beg all you want, since the closest neighbors are in some night party, you and I will "party" today, the feather will dance and you should sing for me with your giggles, beg for me, here I go for your feet!
...Today is just a warning, get on my nerves again and I will WRECK your feet till they become MORE SENSITIVE, the moment you walk, your foot will TWITCH from the sensation of touching the floor!
Fandom: Star Trek TOS / AOS
Characters: Crew of the USS Enterprise
Warnings: Explicit, Sexual, Tickling, (non-con Tickle Torture)
Word Count: 2,519
WARNING!
This is not one of my fluffy tickle fics, so if you’re not into non-con tickle torture, this is not for you!
Read Part 1 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 1)
Read Part 2 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 2)
Read Part 3 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 3)
Read Part 4 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 4)
Read Part 5 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 5)
Read Part 6 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 6)
Read Part 7 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 7)
Read Part 8 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 8)
Read Part 9 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 9)
Summary:
Still the one, where every male crew member of the Enterprise is subjected to extreme tickle torture.
This is a shameless, non-con tickle fic with no fluff and little plot. You have been warned!
****************************************
Unable to watch McCoy’s and M’Benga’s renewed ticklish suffering, as they were roaring with involuntary laughter again, the indignity of having their excruciating ticklishness so helplessly exploited clearly written on their faces, Christine left their bedside to check on the other rooms, which seemed to be filled with even more hysterical laughter. She was still undecided whether or not to “help” the tickler women, wondering if a possible reduction of the men’s unbearable torture would justify the female crew members’ clearly unethical joining in with the sadistic tickling.
But when she walked through the door, she was shocked – and also a little relieved – to see that Tina and Sally had obviously already made that decision and were hard at work, tickling away with a look of fierce concentration on their faces, while the tickler women were endlessly adjusting and readjusting the tubes. Gradually raising the level of pleasure to match the constantly rising level of their victims’ ticklishness, as Chapel instinctively knew. Or maybe the woman’s voice in her head was still explaining?
Tina was just homing in on Farraday’s death spots right under his big toes, making the poor man cry with uncontrollable laughter. Or should they rather be called his even more deathly spots? Because Chapel knew first-hand that everywhere on the bottoms of his feet was ticklish beyond words. Between long bouts of helpless hilarity caused by Tina’s devious fingernails, the burly security guard repeatedly cried for mercy, since thanks to the tube, his genitalia appeared to be even more ticklish now than his feet. Or maybe the tube was increasing the sensitivity of his already off-the-scale ticklish soles even further? Or both?
Whatever it was, he had quite obviously reached a whole new level of ticklishness, and Chapel’s stomach churned as she watched him bolt upright over and over again, desperately pummelling the tickler woman’s back, only to collapse back down on the bed, arching and thrashing and digging his fingers into the bedsheets. The poor man was throwing himself around like mad, but all his strength and desperation did nothing to free his immobilised legs and stop his unspeakably ticklish feet from being mercilessly tormented.
Tearing her eyes off Farraday’s harried soles, Christine found the patient in the next bed not faring any better, as Sally expertly “took care” of his vulnerably exposed underarms. She was viciously scribbling her fingers all around his defenceless armpits, effectively tickling him out of his mind, until Chapel heard his tickler woman instruct the nurse to switch to poking and try to find the perfect spot to drill in. Which she obviously did soon after, since the patient’s shrieking cackles went from hysterical to absolutely maniacal.
Shivering at the fiendishness of the assault, Christine saw the third patient look on in horror through his own tears of forced laughter and lustful moans, clearly incredulous of how much more ticklish his friend had visibly – and audibly – got in only a couple of minutes, his own worst spot, his belly, convulsing violently, as he obviously anticipated the already crucifying tickling there to pick up and virtually kill him any moment now, too.
Catching his terrified gaze and realising that he thought she’d come to join her colleagues and was actually expecting her to follow their example and start tickling him to insanity as well, Chapel quickly shook her head. Despite the tickler woman’s repeated urging and promises of her “help” reducing the man’s dreadfully ticklish nightmare, she refused to add her fingers to the devilish assault on the patient’s belly, suspecting that it would only serve to increase his clearly devastating ticklishness there even more.
Turning away from the three patients’ howling laughter and diabolical torture, Christine could hardly believe it, when her eyes fell on the two female patients, who’d just quietly watched from the other room so far, but were now frenziedly, and rather unashamedly, masturbating under their blankets.
However, seeing them so eagerly pleasuring themselves suddenly alerted her to the wetness between her own legs, and realising to her utter horror how horny she’d become, the head nurse fled back to the room where the two doctors were still shaking with uncontrollable laughter, the biobeds creaking and rattling under their violently thrashing and bucking bodies.
While McCoy seemed totally oblivious to the world around him, helplessly caught between the unbearable torture and the unimaginable pleasure, M’Benga was calling out to Chapel for help. With the stiffer feather relentlessly twirling around in his impossibly ticklish belly button, and the soft feather mercilessly tickling his horrendously sensitive perineum, all the way from his balls to his ridiculously responsive butthole, he was clearly prepared to try anything that might even slightly relieve the indescribably ticklish torture.
“Ple-he-hease Christine!” he ground out with incredible effort, before succumbing to the next burst of tormented laughter, unable to form another word for several long moments, “Do-ho-ho as she says! WAAAHAHAHAH! This has to WAAAHAHAHAH! stop or I’ll go WAAAHAHAHAH! insane!”
“You don’t want me to tickle you!” Chapel returned aghast, leaning in close and raising her voice so he could hear her over his own screaming laughter. “I couldn’t!”
“A-ha-hanything to get this over with! WAAAHAHAHAH! I’m be-he-hegging you! WAAAHAHAHAH! I can’t sta-ha-hand it any WAAAHAHAHAH! longer. I’m so WAAAHAHAHAH! horribly ticklish!”
‘No kidding!’ Chapel thought and, reluctantly caving in, raised one hand to tentatively scribble her fingers over the doctor’s acutely ticklish belly, eliciting hysterical cackling from him at the first touch.
“You’re a natural,” his tickler woman said appreciatively, and Chapel instantly pulled her hand away again as if it were on fire. How could such a light touch have such a devastating effect on M’Benga? His belly really had to be abominably ticklish. Much more so even, than she could have imagined.
The second she stopped tickling, however, the woman took over again, clearly not wanting to grant the seriously ticklish doctor even a moment’s break from the horrendous torture.
“Christi-hi-hine!” he shrieked in severe distress. “He-he-HE-HE-HEEEEEELP!!”
“OK,” Chapel took a deep breath and put her fingers back on his belly, feeling the skin and muscles helplessly twitching and trying to escape from her touch, as her nails relentlessly skittered, and spidered, and scrabbled around, easily locating the most evil spots and wickedly lingering there to experiment with different tickling techniques until she found the most effective.
“Now go for the bellybutton,” the tickler woman instructed, just as the nurse started to question her apparent aptitude for merciless tickling. “Your nails are just perfect!”
Which seemed to be true, Christine figured, unthinkingly obeying the woman’s command and watching the torturously ticklish doctor fall into silent laughter within moments of her starting to lightly scratch and twirl her forefinger around in his innie. She’d never done this to anyone before, least with the intention to tickle. But it was unbelievably effective. M’Benga would surely have hit the ceiling, if he hadn’t been restrained by the tickler woman. Restrained and perfectly exposed for Chapel to have unimpeded fun.
“I’m just doing what he begged me to,” she replied, never ceasing her ticklish assault on the doctor’s sensitive bellybutton, and desperately squeezing her thighs together to stave off the heat that was building between them.
“Sure, whatever you say,” the tickler woman scoffed, her deadpan expression unfaltering, then wickedly started twisting the tube back and forth, coaxing obscenely randy moans out of M’Benga while making him jolt and cry out in increasingly ticklish agony every time she changed direction.
“God, I’m so hard,” the doctor groaned, his whole body trembling with painfully pent-up desire, “I think I GAAAAAHAHAHAHAH might explode. I’m going GAAAAAAHAHAHAHAH insane, I need to cum so GAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAH badly. Please let me CUUUUUHUHUHUHUHUM!”
The heavenly pleasure meshed with the torturously ticklish ordeal – riveting to watch and be a part of – went on for quite a while, until not even the most cruelly tickling fingers and feathers could keep M’Benga from tumbling over the edge anymore. And when he did, letting out a deafening roar followed by helpless, incessant giggling and cackling, he tumbled into the most incredible, powerful, all-consuming orgasm of his life.
Chapel had never seen anything close. The doctor was still violently bucking, and groaning, and rutting into the tube like mad after several minutes, donating spurt after spurt of his precious juice of life, all the while guffawing and laughing uproariously, the harrowing tickling clearly not over yet.
Christine had been about to withdraw her tormenting fingers the moment M’Benga had climaxed, or, more precisely, had begun to climax, seeing as he was still going strong. But the tickler woman had given her clear instructions not to ease up on the poor man’s ticklish belly.
Why couldn't they just let him enjoy this clearly phenomenal orgasm? Surely, he’d earned it? Just like she had, in fact. Watching the doctor cum so hard under her tickling fingers was making her unbearably horny, and she couldn’t wait to get her hands between her legs and do what her female patients had done before. Hell! She needed it so badly, she’d do it right here in plain sight as soon as she could have her hands back to use as she pleased.
Maybe they needed to go on tickling until they’d squeezed all the juice out? ‘Must be given under the most ticklish circumstances possible’ they’d said. But when the doctor had finally finished, and his laughter, instead of quieting down, was growing more hysterical than ever, Chapel realised with horror that the woman wasn’t intending to stop the evil torture at all. Instead she was doing the unthinkable.
For no obvious reason, since they’d got what they’d come for, she was taking advantage of M’Benga’s now torturously amplified, post-coital ticklishness. But regardless of her revulsion, the moment the doctor’s tickler woman allowed Christine to step back, immediately reinserting the devilish feather into the doctor’s distressed bellybutton to replace her finger, Chapel was helpless to resist the urge to quench her own “thirst” any longer.
So, with a sigh of utmost relief, she reached under her uniform skirt to slide her fingers inside her panties. And turned on like hell, almost too wet to pleasure herself to the full, she furiously fingered her clit as she watched the incredible spectacle of M’Benga having his tube leisurely removed in the clearly most heinously, evilly, unbearably ticklish way.
In her defence, she hadn’t really believed it possible to tickle a man to orgasm until she’d seen it happen. But if she’d known what the sadistic tickler woman had planned for afterwards, she would never have helped her to begin with. Or would she?
This after-orgasm tickling was utterly merciless, the doctor’s bellybutton off-the-charts ticklish now, and the tube being so sadistically twisted off his surely still hyper-sensitive dick certainly ticklish beyond belief.
Awful. Horrible. Disgusting. And embarrassingly arousing.
So, while M’Benga was bucking and thrashing like crazy, his legs frantically kicking, tears of forced laughter streaming down his face, and nothing but high-pitched screeching coming out of his mouth, Chapel couldn't help pleasuring herself with fervour, and a need she hadn’t known existed before.
All she managed to do was step out of M’Benga’s and McCoy’s field of vision before seriously starting to indulge herself. And although she was more than disgusted with herself, she had to accept the fact that she was powerless to pull her eyes off M’Benga’s ticklish ordeal, which was driving her as crazy with lust as it was driving the doctor crazy with ticklishness.
Totally losing control, Christine came for the first time when M’Benga’s tube had been all but removed, the last inch of it doing the most unfathomably ticklish things to the tip of his cock. Just imagining how the fiendish teasing of his now hyper-ticklish frenulum and unbearably sensitive slit must be killing him, inexorably sent her over the edge. And as the inconceivably diabolical treatment of his glans was forcing the most violent jolts and bursts of roaring laughter out of the doctor, endless shudders of deliriously sweet satisfaction were rippling through Chapel.
She had barely a moment to catch her breath, though, before a fresh rush of unprecedented horniness made her cum for the second time, even faster, and harder, and unbelievably, still more satisfying, just when M’Benga’s body couldn't take the unbearably ticklish sensations anymore, which the devilish fingers and feathers administered to his bellybutton and newly freed, over-sensitised cock, and the overwrought doctor finally passed out, slipping into merciful oblivion.
The third time she came, despite feeling totally spent and weakly leaning against the wall on shaky legs that hardly supported her anymore, was when she spotted McCoy’s bulging eyes glued to his colleague’s now limp form, as he understood that his being tickled half to death himself right now, all his worst spots being exploited simultaneously, causing him to alternate between howling laughter and silent, spasmodic agony, was nothing compared to what M’Benga had just gone through with the tickle torture so mercilessly continuing after his orgasm. Could the far more ticklish CMO even survive that?
With enormous strength of will, sure that she could easily have cum at least another two or three times and still not be fully satisfied, Chapel finally pulled her fingers out of her panties. And trying to escape the almost irresistible urge to lay tickling fingers on McCoy, she stormed out of the room, only to find her groin already twitching violently again at finding Tina still working on Farraday’s unbeatably ticklish soles, while Sally had switched patients and was now deviously torturing the other patient’s belly, specifically a horrendously feather-ticklish spot she’d discovered below his bellybutton just above the pubic hair.
But despite his obviously distressed hilarity, this patient’s suffering didn’t compare in the least to the post-coital agony his friend in the next bed was currently going through, the ticklishness of his armpits at an all-time high, and that of his genitalia beyond any scale or description, as his tube was slowly being removed with utmost sadistic deliberateness.
However, even without the tickler woman using actual words, Christine intuitively knew that this merciless ‘aftercare’ was important and necessary. The only way to prevent an immediate, renewed need to climax, which would only lead to an even longer and exponentially more tortuous build-up to another – potentially literally – deathly ticklish orgasm.
Moving on to the next room, Chapel found Mark and Rob in unprecedented ticklish agony there, too, as the two female patients, apparently fully recovered after having pleasured themselves several times, were now totally committed to ‘helping’ their crewmates.
And comparing the men’s “hysterical moans of wanton laughter” to the sounds that had been forced out of M’Benga earlier, Christine deduced that the two savagely ticklish orderlies were mere moments away from erupting into the most gigantic orgasms of their lives. But as much as she thought they deserved this incredibly lustful and satisfying experience, knowing what was awaiting them afterwards, she almost wished they’d never get to climax.
Fandom: Star Trek TOS / AOS
Characters: Crew of the USS Enterprise
Warnings: Explicit, Sexual, Tickling, (non-con Tickle Torture)
Word Count: 2,402
WARNING! This is not one of my fluffy tickle fics, so if you’re not into non-con tickle torture, this is not for you!
Read Part 1 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 1)
Read Part 2 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 2)
Read Part 3 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 3)
Read Part 4 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 4)
Read Part 5 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 5)
Read Part 6 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 6)
Read Part 7 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 7)
Read Part 8 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 8)
Summary:
The one, where every male crew member of the Enterprise is subjected to extreme tickle torture.
This is a shameless, non-con tickle fic with no fluff and little plot. You have been warned!
****************************************
“Profit,” McCoy’s tickler woman replied coolly, diabolically moving her fingers from the doctor’s armpits to his privates and cruelly starting to lightly spider them all around his balls and perineum, the insufferably ticklish sensation nearly making the poor man arch off the biobed. Or would have, if he’d had enough room to move. In reality, all he could do was bounce and writhe a little, crying with laughter and squealing so pitifully, it made his underarms seem not ticklish at all in comparison.
‘Genital tickling really is the most sadistic and unbearable tickling of all,’ half of Chapel’s brain thought as she watched McCoy’s increasingly ticklish ordeal, while the other half of her brain tried to make sense of the word she’d just heard.
“Ticklish tears sell well and are reasonably easy to harvest,” the woman went on, “but to make serious profit, what we’re really here for, is the juice of life, which cannot be taken from a man but must be given. And for our purposes, it needs to be given under the most ticklish circumstances possible.”
“The juice of life?” Chapel echoed weakly, still trying to connect the dots, totally mesmerised by McCoy’s display of unimaginable ticklishness and incredulous of how ticklish the man really was, a single fingernail apparently enough to drive him completely insane.
“Oh, don’t play coy, Christine!” the tickler woman sounded as if she were rolling her eyes. Which, of course, she wasn’t. “You know exactly what I mean!”
Chapel nodded slowly, unable to take her eyes off the CMO, who was cackling and thrashing like mad in ticklish agony, the odious fingernails still fiendishly feathering behind his sensitive balls, as it dawned on her that the women were planning on tickling the men to orgasm in order to collect their ejaculate.
‘Tickling to orgasm,’ she thought, horrified at the idea, and wondering if that was even possible, a cold shiver running down her spine, as she remembered her very first thought when the women had started to play with the men’s privates. One could only hope that there would be no more tickling after orgasm, because that would surely be her friends’ death.
“So, you’ve figured out the ‘what’, I see,” McCoy’s tickler brought her back to the present. “But you still don’t get the ‘why’. And how could you? You don’t know anything about us. So, let me explain.”
And, mercifully leaving the doctor’s balls alone for the moment, her fingers returning to McCoy’s underarm death spots, which certainly proved ticklish enough after all, the woman launched into a thorough explanation.
“There are a few things you should know about our species,” she began, and all Chapel could think in the face of her crew mates’ ongoing and increasingly hysterical hilarity was, ‘Oh, please, get to the point before they really go insane!’
“While the women of our species are not ticklish, tickling our males is not only a recreational sport on our planet, but essential for reproduction. Our males can only ejaculate from this unique blend of pleasure and agony, that can solely be achieved through tickling, while at the same time, inflicting this ticklish torture is what stimulates our females enough to receive the juice of life. Whereas in your world looks and brains determine a man’s attractiveness, for us it’s his level of ticklishness. The luckiest, and happiest, women in our society are the ones who manage to secure the most ticklish mates. Because the more ticklish the male, the better the orgasm, and the greater the number of offspring.”
Chapel could hardly believe what she heard. Just imagining a world where sadistically tickle-torturing men during sex - or at all - was the norm, was beyond her. Yet, watching McCoy desperately bucking his hips as his body tried to escape the unbearable tickling, she couldn't help picturing those gorgeous women riding their helplessly ticklish, frantically bucking partners to orgasm while relentlessly tickling their bellies, or wherever else the men of their species were ticklish.
“You’re right!” the tickler woman broke into Christine’s thoughts, who immediately felt horribly ashamed of entertaining such a hideous fantasy in the first place. “Finding a super belly-ticklish mate for easy access during copulation is what most of our women dream of. Unless they prefer him to be on top, in which case ribs and armpits are the most popular tickle spots. Or even their backs. Feeling a man’s full weight desperately writhing against you while your fingers find and exploit the most excruciatingly ticklish spots on his back, can be incredibly stimulating and satisfying.”
Chapel did her very best not to picture this in any detail. It was hard enough not to get carried away at the sight of McCoy bucking and thrusting into his pleasure tube like crazy, while ten fingers deviously scribbled all over his tautly stretched, hopelessly ticklish belly, not to mention the two deadly fingers still drilling into his lethal underarm spots.
‘He must be just as horny as he’s ticklish,’ she thought, trying to ignore the twitching in her groin, as she watched the doctor dying with ticklish laughter while furiously rutting into his tube.
“That’s it, Christine,” the tickler woman said approvingly, “you’re starting to see the attraction.”
And when Chapel vehemently shook her head, squeezng her eyes shut and covering her ears to shut out McCoy’s horrendous, yet somehow so alluring ordeal, the woman continued, “And now imagine our excitement, when we ventured into space and found that the males of other species were ticklish, too. And not just that, but often far worse than our own, even finding it torturous. Nothing more arousing than having a truly insanely ticklish male at your mercy to tickle beyond his limits.”
“So, you’re preying on ticklish aliens and torturing them endlessly, just to satisfy your lust?” Christine asked, appalled.
“Not endlessly,” the woman corrected her calmly. “Just as long as it takes to harvest their tears and their juice of life.”
“Oh well, that’s ok then, isn’t it?” Chapel shot back, but quickly realised that sarcasm was totally lost on the ticklers. Besides, she was grateful to hear that the devilish tickling, although certainly relentless, was at least not going to be endless. “What do you do with the tears and sperm anyway, once you’ve fiendishly tickled them out of your victims?”
Seeing that the hilarity around sickbay was slowly dying away and turning into guttural, if a little desperate, moans once more, Christine hoped her question would give her crew mates a longer break from the merciless tickling. A chance for them to actually enjoy the pleasure, maybe even distract the ticklers long enough to allow them to finally cum and give the women what they’d come for to end this heinous torture once and for all.
“Ticklish tears and juice of life are the main ingredients for elixirs that are in great demand and can be sold at incredible profit,” the tickler responded, sounding downright pleased at the nurse’s interest. “Rubbed into a male’s penis before intercourse, the cheaper tears serve to enhance his general ticklishness, while the more expensive juice of life renders him as torturously ticklish as the donor, in exactly the same spots. Through the connection during intercourse, the woman can then feel the male’s extreme, ticklish agony as she inflicts merciless tickling on her chosen spots, which along with his desperate bucking and thrusting, makes for an incredible sexual experience and leads to enormous satisfaction for both of them. However, the elixir experience is as highly addictive as it is gratifying, and also highly illegal. So, there’s a fortune to be made on the black market.”
“Oh my God! You’re basically drug dealers!” Chapel exclaimed, feeling disgusted and fascinated at once, trying hard to keep her eyes off the two doctors’ faces now shining with ecstatic lust as the tubes were obviously pleasuring the hell out of them.
It was the longest they’d gone without tickling since they’d had the tubes attached to their dicks, and Christine wasn’t quite sure if the intense pleasure was in fact more bearable than the merciless tickling.
“Only the real deal works, though,” the tickler woman went on, unperturbed. “Truly tickled out of the alien males. We also need to carefully label the different types according to the spots they were tickled out of, like feet, belly, underarms, back, and so on, to cater to the women’s different predilections. Your captain’s off-the-charts ticklish belly is certainly going to be a top seller. And of course, super-juice, like that of Dr. McCoy or Chief Milagros, is extremely rare and can be sold at an astronomical price. It’s practically invaluable.”
Between this increasingly bizarre explanation and the men’s lustful moans growing into distraught groans and gut-wrenching begging for release, Chapel didn’t know whether to wish for the ‘pleasure’ to continue or the tickling to start anew. And since the third option, a well-deserved orgasm, apparently still wasn’t on the cards yet, she was just glad the decision wasn’t hers, trying to focus on the tickler’s next words rather than the collective howling laughter filling all of sickbay once again.
“Thanks to ticklish elixirs, the old adage “the more ticklish the male, the better the orgasm” has been elevated to a new level. That’s why a lot of males willingly go through elixir torture, even though some of them won’t go through it more than once, depending on how ticklish their first donor was. But even if they refuse ‘treatment’, women can still get pleasure from the elixir. They can just spread a little around their own genitalia, and enjoy virtual, sadistic pleasure while riding their males or masturbating. Although, of course, simply reliving the ticklish torture of an unfamiliar, imaginary alien male, can’t compete with inflicting real enhanced tickling on a real male suffering from real enhanced ticklishness.”
Christine’s head was whirling with all this weird information, and she was grateful when the tickler woman finally fell silent, hoping to cull out anything useful that could help her end her mates’ atrocious ordeal. She could sense the ticklers still waiting for her to join in, but she was certainly not going to do that. Even the most detailed explanation wasn’t going to change her mind. No way was she going to have a part in this cruel, wicked tickle torture. Unless, of course, that really meant unnecessarily prolonging the men’s suffering?
She was roused from her musings by McCoy and M’Benga trying to discuss the tubes. Even in their state of helpless hilarity, their scientific curiosity was still strong. For some reason, the women seemed to have eased up a little on the tickling again – maybe to keep the most ticklish among their victims from passing out and thus avoid another lengthy break – making it possible for the two doctors to talk between moans of pleasure and bouts of laughter.
“Go-ho-ho-hod, Leonard!” M’Benga huffed. “Those tubes! Mmmmmmmhhh-ahhhh-yeeeeesss! They’re better than the best se-he-he-hex I’ve ever haaaaAAAAAH!”
He was cut off by a short but vicious feather attack on his bellybutton, throwing him straight into silent laughter and rendering him momentarily speechless.
“I kno-ho-ho-how,” McCoy giggled, scrunching up his face in an attempt to speak through a light but still ticklish enough assault on his belly. “They’re incre-he-he-dible! I’ts almost ahahahah as if AHAHAHAH they’re alive, trained to find the mo-ho-ho-host sensitive spots and effective ways to pleasure and ti-hi-hi-HI-HI-HIIIIIckle like crazy.”
“Yeah, makes you wonder what they’re made of, doesn’t it?” M’Benga had recovered from his most recent laughing fit. “When they’re tickling, it feels like they have an incredible choice of feathers and brushes, ranging from soft to scratchy, to apply the mmmmhhh perfect ahhhhh tool and pressure to every single spo-ho-ho-HO-HO-hot, driving you crazy with ticklishness.”
“Exa-ha-hah-AAAH-AAAAAH-AAAAAAAAH-actly!” Both his ticklers had evilly launched simultaneous blitz-attacks on his underarms and arches respectively, and it took the CMO almost a minute before he could speak again. “But the pleasure’s just as intense. Made to measure. Squeezing and stroking in all the right places. Expertly licking and sucking like the most experienced tongues and lips.”
As if to prove his point, the tube turned up the pleasuring mode another notch or two, sending some almost unbearably exquisite sensations through him and making him close his eyes and moan in ecstasy.
His eyes flew open again, as ten fingers, devilishly feathering the hyper-ticklish backs of his knees, put an abrupt end to McCoy’s lustful delight, startling both M’Benga and Christine, when the doctor suddenly burst into crazed, ticklish laughter once more.
“God, that intolerably precise timing!” M’Benga exploded, only too aware of what his colleague was just going through. “They invariably stop right before the point of no return. Keeping you there until you’re going insane with need and want, and just when you think you might shoot your load even without any further stimulation, they switch back to tickling the living daylights out of you.”
“It certainly is the most incredible pleasure device and the deathliest tickling tool rolled into one,” McCoy panted as soon as the fiendish fingers had been pulled off his knees again, his legs still twitching with unbearable ghost tickles. “It can kill you with ecstasy or agony at will. But just imagine if it ever actually let you cum, that would surely be the most mind-boggling, earth-shattering orgasm of your life.”
“If you could even survive that level of pleasure,” M’Benga gasped, starting to moan in earnest, as it was obviously his turn to experience truly exquisite pleasure from the tubes. “Mmmmmmmhh! Oohhhhhhh! Aahhhhhhhh! Pleeeeeeease don’t stoooooooop! I neeeeeeeed aahhhhhh to cuummmmm! Aahhhhhh!”
Chapel was transfixed by the doctor’s renewed display of inconceivable pleasure and desire that the tubes seemed to increase to unprecedented heights by the second, and wasn’t really surprised when McCoy joined in mere moments later.
Just as she wasn’t surprised when those sadistic women readjusted the tubes before the men could even get the slightest hint of satisfaction, and both doctors were shaking with helpless, insanely ticklish laughter once again.
“No, no, NO, NOOOOOOO! Not again! Please! AHAHA! Don’t! AHAHAHAHAH! Get AWAHAHAHAHAY! I can’t! I can’t! OOOOOOOHOHOHOHO! AAAHAHAHAH! HEEEEHEHEHELP!”
“Stopstopstop! Nonononono! STOOOOOOHOHOHOP! GAAAAAHAHAHAHAH! AAAAAH! No more! HUH! HUH! Don’t! HUH! HUH! No more! PLEEEEEEEHEHEHEHEASE! I can’t TAHAHAHAHAKE IHIHIHIT!”
Thanks for the ask, @abbyrosehamilton! I might, once I've finished my current wip. Although that might take a while, I don't really have time to write at the moment.
Fandom: Star Trek TOS / AOS
Characters: Crew of the USS Enterprise
Warnings: Explicit, Sexual, Tickling, (non-con Tickle Torture)
Word Count: 4,178
WARNING! This is not one of my fluffy tickle fics, so if you’re not into non-con tickle torture, this is not for you!
Read Part 1 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 1)
Read Part 2 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 2)
Read Part 3 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 3)
Read Part 4 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 4)
Read Part 5 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 5)
Read Part 6 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 6)
Read Part 7 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 7)
Summary:
The one, where every male crew member of the Enterprise is subjected to extreme tickle torture.
This is a shameless, non-con tickle fic with no fluff and little plot. You have been warned!
****************************************
Uhura’s fingers had only just found the perfect rhythm to stroke her throbbing arousal to even higher ecstasy and, hopefully, ultimate release, revisiting in her mind the incredible thrill of having the captain’s ridiculously sensitive belly helplessly exposed before her, completely at her mercy to inflict unlimited ticklish distress on, when the new, disturbing sounds of barking hilarity drowned out everybody else’s howling laughter.
Startled out of her fantasy, she opened her eyes to see Kirk practically exploding with unbearable ticklishness, as the tube was being removed ever so slowly, pulled off his penis agonising inch by agonising inch, still pulsing and vibrating unrelentingly. The tickler woman was really taking her time with this, and Uhura couldn't even begin to imagine the off-the-charts ticklish sensations the captain was experiencing right now on his possibly still climaxing erection.
If the tube’s tickling skills had been extraordinary before, what it was doing to the captain’s oversensitive cock now was inconceivable. This certainly had to be the most fiendish tickling tool that had ever been invented. And if the pleasure it could give was any match for the unquestionably atrocious tickling it inflicted, it was no wonder Kirk had climaxed so violently and endlessly.
But instead of being allowed to revel in his well-deserved, and definitely hard-earned, literally out-of-this-world orgasm, he was suffering the worst imaginable, and possibly most intense post-coital tickling any man had ever been subjected to.
Maybe the tickler woman wasn’t aware of a human’s torturously heightened ticklishness after an orgasm? …. Nonsense! Of course, she was. She was a telepath for crying out loud, and wickedly exploiting this ultimate weakness! But why would she still keep torturing the captain now that she’d got what she’d come for? Just for her own sadistic enjoyment?
Probably. Because in addition to the hellacious tickling the tube put him through, Kirk had his extra sensitive genitalia teased with both feathers now, suffering excruciating tickling from his balls to his butthole with the lightest of feather strokes, the ticklishness of his perineum having audibly multiplied after his orgasm.
The poor man was laughing so hard, he couldn't finish a single word, let alone string together a coherent sentence, although it didn’t take a genius to guess that he was desperately trying to beg for mercy.
As soon as the tube had come off completely and been tucked away securely in the mysterious depths of the tickler’s garment, the woman started tormenting the captain’s still swollen shaft, engorged head, and painfully exposed slit with the tip of the pointed feather, all but killing him by deviously dragging it round and round his sensitive frenulum for excruciatingly long seconds at a time.
Reduced to snorting and spluttering now, Kirk wasn’t even trying to form words anymore. His face was scrunched up in anguish, and he was bouncing up and down in his chair like a rubber ball, the extent of his ticklishness so far beyond bearable now, that his brain just couldn’t process it. But his body did. His feet never stopped flexing and trampling, and his fists were frantically pumping air, as if trying to hold on to something.
To her utter shame, Uhura was mesmerised by the spectacle playing out before her, aroused beyond words by the captain’s ticklish dance, unchecked tears of forced laughter streaming down his face, as he experienced a level of ticklishness all over his body he could never have imagined.
Even having suffered some devastating tickle torture at the hands of his sadistic older brother, who had discovered those horrible spots on the sides of his belly and mercilessly exploited them when he was a kid, he’d never known ticklish agony like this. There was no differentiating anymore. Everywhere was his worst spot. Kirk’s whole body was one single, big, awful death spot. It was hell.
And it was heaven. At least for Uhura, who had lost all sense of reality. Somewhere at the back of her mind she was, of course, aware that the tickler woman was doing this solely for her own enjoyment, regarding the captain’s increasingly torturous ordeal as a personal reward for her harvesting success. But she was too caught up in her own, overwhelming pleasure to even consider trying to end this, hurtling at speed towards the orgasm of her life. Or so she thought.
Until the tickler woman’s voice in her head brought her back to her senses at a stroke.
“Aftercare is so important,” the woman said almost gleefully, despite keeping her face perfectly straight as always. “But don’t you worry, Nyota, I’ll take care of that.”
“You can’t keep tickling him like that!” Uhura cried, trying to ignore her still throbbing clit as the haze of her arousal gradually lifted and the full horror of Kirk’s current predicament hit her. “He’ll literally die! Don’t you see how much more ticklish he is now? You got what you came for, now leave him alone!”
“But aftercare is extremely important!” the woman repeated, making it sound as if it were common knowledge.
“Just stop, please!”
“Why?”
“Why?? Because human males are much more ticklish after an orgasm, and he’s already been ticklish enough before!”
“Exactly. This is the fun part!”
“Fun for you, perhaps, you sadistic monster!” Uhura blustered, conveniently forgetting her own raging arousal at the captain’s ticklish distress only moments ago. “But certainly not for him! Can’t you see that his ticklishness has gone through the roof? He can’t take anymore! You’re effectively killing him!”
“Oh, stop pretending!” the tickler woman retorted. “You can’t hide how turned on you are by your captain’s ticklish predicament. His helplessness to fight this weakness. Go ahead and pleasure yourself! You’ve earned it! Just let me have fun and enjoy the show!”
Tempted as Uhura was to take care of her still blinding arousal, she felt even more outraged, her indignation clearly showing on her face.
“Stop it! You mustn’t tickle him any longer!”
“Believe me,” the tickler chuckled, sounding positively amused at the idea of Uhura telling her what to do, “it might look cruel to you, but it is as important for your captain’s well-being as it is fun for me. Or for you,” she added wickedly. “Much less cruel than the alternative, in any case.”
“What alternative?” Uhura shot back, perplexed.
“That of having to be tickled to and through another orgasm.”
The communications officer just looked at her blankly.
“All right, let me explain,” the woman sighed eventually, never once letting up on tickling the hell out of Kirk’s belly and genitalia. “When we tickle a male to orgasm, and quite a spectacular one too, as you’ve seen, conscientiously completing the aftercare is key to effectively satisfy him. The men always hate this part – although your males seem to more or less hate the whole procedure – but if we don’t do it thoroughly, if we fail to see it through, the insatiable lust will be back within the hour, the only way to help them then tickling them to another orgasm. And we both know that a second orgasm will take much longer, and that’s not even taking into account their still horrendously increased ticklishness that can last a whole day.”
When Uhura stared at her in horror, completely speechless at the explanation, the tickler woman added, “You don’t fully understand yet, but you’ll soon get the hang of it.”
Uhura tried not to dwell on that last sentence. In fact, she tried to pretend she hadn’t heard it at all. The implication was far too terrible to consider, and with her clit still throbbing in desperate need of release, and Kirk being put through the most delicious… uh … horrible post-orgasm tickling right before her eyes, there was no way she wanted to explore what the tickler woman might have meant. She just didn’t want to go there. Not now.
This was a once in a lifetime experience, surely never to be repeated. And for the moment, there was really nothing Uhura could do to help the captain, especially now that she knew that this unbearable "aftercare" was the only thing saving him from further, even worse agony in the long run. So she might as well indulge herself while it lasted.
Nothing to be done now but to give in to her burning desire, to tend to her needs while watching Kirk screaming laughter as his super-ticklish body was shaking and jolting and thrashing, totally overwhelmed by all the excruciating tickling those fingers and feathers administered, mindless of the fact that his ticklishness had increased beyond measure.
While Uhura was breathlessly fingering herself, helpless to fight her arousal any longer and surrendering to the unbelievable pleasure of getting herself off while watching the tickler woman skilfully subject Kirk to the most heinous post-coital tickling, she suddenly remembered to ask, “What about the others?”
And still vigorously rubbing her soaking wet nub, she forced her eyes away from the captain to check on her other crew mates, quickly finding that that only served to make her even hornier.
The remaining bridge officers were frantically rutting into their tubes, actually begging to be tickled again, just to be distracted from the excruciating edging, their arousal exceeding their wildest dreams, but the overpowering need to cum and the cruel denial to do so, frustrating and painful beyond unbearable. How the tubes could keep them so insufferably close to the edge, yet unable to find relief for such a long time was a mystery.
But of course, as soon as the women obliged and the tickling started anew, the men desperately pleaded for it to stop again. With all the insufferable edging going on, they seemed to have forgotten just how horrendously ticklish they were.
There was Scotty, who, in spite of the enormous arousal plainly visible on his face as the tube steadily administered its magic, desperately tried to twist and turn away from the feathers still relentlessly swirling around his lower back. It was painfully obvious that the merciless tickling there was slowly but surely driving him insane, his ticklishness seeming at an all-time-high and his laughter mostly silent now.
Sulu, on the other hand, was back to screaming laughter, only varying in pitch as the feathers moved from one death spot to the next, highest whenever his butthole was tormented, and occasionally reduced to moaning and begging to cum, if the pleasure tube hit an especially pleasurable sweet spot.
As her eyes wandered on to Chekov, who was dying a million deaths under the 80 fingers and four feathers tickling him to oblivion while the tube was driving his young and so easily aroused cock crazy, Uhura realised two things. One, she had no idea if it was the pleasuring or the tickling that turned her on the most. Or maybe it was the combination? And two, despite being no stranger to masturbation, she seemed to get no closer to orgasm no matter how skilfully she pleasured herself.
Quite the contrary, the more her fingers struggled to push her over the edge, the hornier she got, until she felt like she’d never be able to satisfy the lust that seemed to be growing exponentially with her mates’ moans and laughter.
Letting her gaze move on to the science station certainly didn’t help, either. Taking in Spock’s face, contorted with unimaginably ticklish pain and pleasure so intense it was scary, Uhura was afraid she might actually combust. The tube was obviously pleasuring the Vulcan’s erection in a way he’d never experienced before, while the torturous feathers, relentlessly being dragged back and forth under his unspeakably ticklish toes, were virtually killing him and had him howling with laughter, fiendishly targeting the stems of his toes that had turned out to be his absolutely worst spots. And deathly feather-ticklish to boot.
“Mmmmmmmnnnnnn gnnnng I am the master of my GAHAHA! NO I CAHAHAHAN’T! PLEASE STOHOHOP! Phnnnggg mmmmmnnnn I am the master AAAHAHAHA! NOT THEHEHERE! STOHOHOP! NOT THEEEEEEEEHEHEHERE! Aaahnnnnngggggg I am ggggggnnnnn in control EEEEEHEHEHE! AAAAAAHAHAHAH! Frmmmmm gnnnng I can take this! I can take this! I can GAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA! I CAN’T TAHAHAHAKE IT! I’M JUST TOOOHOOOHOO TICKLISH! AAAAAHAHA! WAAAAAHAHAHA! NOTTHERENOTTHEREANYWHEREBUTTHERE! AAAAHAHAH-AAAAHAHAHA-AAAAHAHAHA! TOOTICKLISHTOOTICKLISHTOOTCKLISH! OOOHOOOHOO-HAAAHAAAHAAA-OOOHOOHAAAHAAA!
By now Uhura had given up any pretence of not loving every minute of watching her fellow officers being tickled out of their minds, these strong and proud men’s most embarrassing weakness being so viciously exploited. Her groans were easily matching theirs now, but, luckily, were drowned out by all the hysterical laughter filling the bridge.
Consumed with lust and shamelessly applying both hands to ease the heat between her legs now, her fingers having long found the way inside her underwear, Uhura turned back to the most arousing sight of all, Kirk’s post-coital tickle hell, only to find to her astonishment that his tickler woman had enlisted the help of one of her colleagues to raise the captain’s “aftercare” to even more diabolical heights.
While Chekov was lost to the world, alternating between sexual bliss and unimaginable, ticklish agony as his upper body tickler was slowly spinning the pleasure tube around his cock in addition to incessantly tormenting the death spots on his abdomen with her feathers, his lower body tickler had turned around, and was now sitting on Chekov’s ankles facing Kirk. She was still pinning the young Russian down, two hands tickling the poor boy’s deathly sensitive soles to distraction, but was now devoting her remaining three pairs of hands to the captain’s aftercare.
Grabbing Kirk’s legs and holding them in a vice-like grip with two hands, she put an end to all his kicking and stomping, rendering him completely immobile, thus robbing him of his only way to relieve the unbearable ticklishness at least a little, and making his death spots an even easier target, visibly enhancing the sensitivity of his insanely ticklish belly even more.
It was beyond cruel, but Uhura had never been more turned on. Until moments later, that was, when it got even more diabolical. Chekov’s tickler woman pulled off Kirk’s boots and socks, and started to rake the fingers of two hands up and down his newly exposed soles while devilishly swirling her feathers between his toes. Uhura could hardly believe her eyes. Nor her ears, when the new sensations jolted the captain out of his by now silent suffering, eliciting renewed, truly maniacal, howling laughter.
Just like Spock’s, Kirk’s desperately wiggling toes appeared to be unbelievably ticklish. Especially the webbing between them. But the evil fingernails lightly scratching his arches seemed to be even worse, causing the captain to jolt and jerk violently with every raking stroke. What absolutely took the cake, however, were his heels when Chekov’s tickler woman used the quills of the feathers to draw random patterns around and across them, zeroing in on the very worst spots right in the centre, causing the captain to scream himself hoarse when she fiendishly launched a staccato attack exactly there.
Kirk’s feet might not be as ticklish as his belly, which was still being relentlessly assaulted,too, but then again, the ticklishness of the sides of his lower belly was impossible to trump. However, on a scale of 1 to 10, Uhura guessed the captain’s feet were probably still a 50 (with his belly being a 2000). How had she never known that the great Captain Kirk had such a weakness? That he was easily one of the most ticklish men she’d ever met?
The captain’s face was as red as Uhura’s dress now, sweat pouring down his exposed torso and tears of ticklish laughter running down his cheeks. His teeth were clenched and his eyes squeezed shut in an attempt to somehow endure the unendurable. Except for the times when his eyes snapped open, almost bulging out of his head, whenever the tickling fingers and feathers hit a new, possibly even more harrowing spot.
“One thing at a time,” Kirk’s tickler woman answered Uhura’s earlier – by now almost forgotten – question about the other bridge officers, continuing to apply her feathers and all of her free fingers in the most devious way, coaxing sounds of ticklish distress out of the captain that sent horrified shivers down Uhura’s spine while at the same time – at long last – hurtling her over the edge and into the most powerful, incredible, sensational, all-consuming, obscenely satisfying orgasm she’d ever known.
She came hard. And long. And then hard and long again. And again. Climaxing countless times in mere moments. Or was that ages? All the while dizzily watching Kirk’s and Chekov’s tickler women working in tandem to torture the now truly off-the-scale ticklish Jim Kirk beyond all limits, targeting all of his most harrowingly ticklish spots at once and with evil precision, until he finally, mercifully passed out.
For a moment, Uhura was shell-shocked, but relaxed again when she saw the captain’s chest rise and fall. He was merely unconscious, still alive, still breathing. Barely making it back to her station, her legs too weak to support her after her mind-blowing orgasm, she slumped down in her chair and tried to catch her breath, still riding high on wave after wave of unmatched pleasure following her incredible climax.
“Whenever you’re ready Uhura,” the tickler woman’s voice broke into her post-orgasmic bubble. “I’m sure the men would appreciate it, if we didn’t delay too long. We should start on our next donor right away. Who’s it going to be? Whom would you like to help next?”
Having witnessed the second tickler letting go of Kirks bare feet and spinning around to return her full attention to Chekov without a moment’s delay, never pausing her ongoing assault on the young officer’s sensitive soles and immediately digging back into his deathly ticklish thighs, hips, and knees, interrupting his steady stream of delirious laughter and tickling a high-pitched string of Russian expletives out of the poor tortured soul, Uhura’s first instinct had been to help Pavel.
But then, remembering Spock’s contorted features and knowing perfectly well that, being Vulcan, what showed on his face was most probably only a fraction of his real suffering, reconsidered. The first officer certainly had it worst. And the absolutely humiliated look he gave her, when she asked for his consent to tickle him, broke her heart as much as it aroused her. Unbelievably. Again. Despite having been completely blissed out less than a minute ago, she felt herself getting horny again. What a horrible human being she was!
But just as she was about to start on the Vulcan’s soles, trying hard to suppress the joyful anticipation of already knowing exactly what to do, where to aim, how to touch for maximum ticklishness, the turbo lift doors swooshed open to reveal a slightly dishevelled looking Yeoman Rand stalking onto the bridge on wobbly legs.
“Nice of you to finally join us, Janice,” Kirk’s tickler woman said, still holding the captain’s arms high above his head and lightly trailing a few fingers up and down his sides and all over his belly even now. She sounded both reproachful and a little amused. “That was quite a long lift ride you had!”
“I’m sorry!” Rand bit her lip and cleared her throat. “But I’ve already helped seven of my colleagues. I simply had to take the time for a little selfcare on the turbolift.”
“Of course you did,” the tickler women on the bridge replied in unison.
They clearly understood. And so did Uhura, seeing the gleam in Rand’s eyes as she asked who she should tend to next. It was terrifying to find her friend’s face mirroring what she’d felt tickling Kirk’s impossibly sensitive belly. What she was feeling now, fingers poised above Spock’s deathly ticklish toes.
Seeing those self-assured and usually so cool-headed men reduced to tears by something as simple and childish as tickling, rendered completely helpless by such an embarrassing weakness that left them utterly defenceless against mere fingers and feathers, and most of all, having them at the mercy of their own tickling fingers, was turning them both on in a way nothing else ever had.
Needless to say that Uhura didn’t want her crew mates to suffer. On the contrary, she wanted to help them. Honestly. But to tell the truth, she didn’t mind that the only way to help them at the moment was to join in with the tickling. When this was over, she’d never tickle any one of them again, of course. Ever. But for now…
“Why don’t you start with Pavel, Janice?” Uhura tried to sound matter-of-factly. “The poor kid really has it bad.”
And turning back to Spock and his bare soles raised up high in the air invitingly, long toes twitching and trembling in time with the pulsating and vibrating tube covering his massive cock, she caught a glimpse of Rand hurrying to Chekov’s side, hard nipples clearly visible under her uniform dress.
****************************************
Just like Uhura, Chapel had been utterly shocked when the tickler women, or, more precisely, McCoy’s upper body tickler woman, had started to communicate with her. And like her friend on the bridge, she’d felt a multitude of horrified shivers running down her spine when the full extent of their being telepaths hit her.
How they had unrestricted access to the men’s thoughts and feelings, their greatest fears and suffering. How they were privy to the level of ticklishness of every single spot on their bodies and even what method tickled worst. And how the men had no way whatsoever to hide or deflect from their absolute death spots, some of them only just discovering excruciatingly ticklish areas on their own bodies that they hadn’t even known about before.
And then those tubes! Nothing could be more humiliating. Even worse than being tickled to hysterics in front of everyone. The utter horror of being shamelessly masturbated in public! Helpless to fight their growing erections and delirious with unbearable arousal, the men had been unable to keep from shouting out their unbridled lust to the world. Forced to share their most intimate feelings and desires with everyone around them. With the people they’d still have to live and work with when this was over, provided they survived the indescribably fiendish tickle torture.
That said, Chapel had to admit that she’d never seen anything like it, anything more effective. She’d never seen a man more aroused than her crew mates were by those tubes. When those devices worked their magic, the men would quite obviously do anything just to keep being pleasured by them. They seemed to have forgotten all about tickling hell and had crossed over straight to wanking paradise.
At first, despite being mortified at having her superiors’ and her patients’ sheer boundless lust and arousal practically shoved in her face, Chapel had been somewhat appeased, thinking that the torturous tickling was over and the men were at least compensated for their suffering. But when the tickling had returned, even more deviously and harrowingly than before, soon to be followed by unthinkably cruel edging, she’d been infuriated.
The last straw, however, was that they seriously expected her to join in now. The nerve of them!
“I’ll never join in your fiendish torture!” she cried, determined not to lay a single tickling finger on any of her crew mates, horrified at the thought of tormenting them so deviously by exploiting their secret, excruciating weakness.
“But then it’ll just take longer,” the tickler woman calmly explained, casually drilling two of her fingers into McCoy’s armpits, or rather into those horribly evil spots right underneath, just above his top ribs, to be precise, the ones that absolutely killed him, as Chapel knew only too well by now – and immediately felt bad for doing so, acutely ashamed of having obtained such intimate knowledge, when she should really have respected the CMO’s privacy and averted her eyes whenever he, or any other of the poor ticklish victims, had been tortured so humiliatingly.
Anyway, long before Chapel could finish berating herself for her indecency, the doctor, who’d been moaning in unparalleled pleasure only moments ago, erupted into ear-splitting, crazed laughter, cackling and babbling and begging as if his life depended on it. Which it very well might.
“With your help we can get what we came for sooner,” the tickler woman continued, completely unaffected by McCoy’s frenzied hilarity. “Otherwise, we’ll have to wait until our own people are free to lend a hand or two and, naturally, we’ll have to keep up this preparation until then. Meaning we’ll have to keep tickling them the whole time, including their genitals. And we know how they simply can’t stand that, because it tickles worse than anywhere else. We wouldn’t want them to actually be tickled to death now, would we?”
“Why are you doing this?” Chapel yelled furiously. “Why are you tickling them so heinously? So ruthlessly? You already got their tears, isn’t that what you came for? What else could you possibly want?”
Summary: The well-meaning Jack Daniels makes a mistake and gets scolded by his moody wife, Lulu, who then feels guilty and wants to cheer him up.
Warnings: Tickling, Mildly Sexual
Word Count: 2,248
If there was one thing Lulu hated more than anything else in the world, it was housework. She hated laundry. She hated vacuuming. She hated mopping. She hated doing dishes. She often told her husband Jack that they needed a maid, but money was tight at the moment, and they couldn’t afford a maid.
Today, she was mopping the kitchen floor and loathing every minute of it. She begrudgingly pushed that wet, heavy mop around the tiled kitchen floor until it was shiny and clean. She wore a bandana head scarf, a pink blouse, and dark blue jeans.
Once Lulu finished cleaning the floor, she breathed a sigh of relief. She then brought the mop to the sink to rinse it out.
Then Jack came into the house and walked across the kitchen in his dirty boots, leaving muddy footprints all over the floor.
When Lulu turned around, she gasped in horror.
“Look what you’ve done!” she shouted at him. “You just ruined my clean floor!”
Jack looked down and realized what he had done. He quickly removed his boots to avoid making any more mess.
“I’m sorry, baby,” he said.
Lulu was angry. She looked around at the dirtied floor. “Well, I’m not cleaning this up.”
Jack frowned. It worried him to see Lulu upset.
“Sorry,” he apologized again.
She threw the mop at Jack. “You clean it up! And be quick about it.”
Jack obeyed. No questions asked. They both knew who wore the pants in the family…and it wasn’t Jack.
He immediately got to work cleaning the floor.
After he finished mopping, Jack went to the living room and sat on the couch with his hands folded in his lap. He just sat in silence and stared down at his hands, feeling badly about himself.
Once Lulu had cooled off, she came over and sat on the couch beside Jack.
They sat in silence for a minute.
“Oh, Jack, don’t feel bad,” Lulu said, soothingly. “I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
Jack glanced at her with humble eyes. “So, you’re not mad at me anymore?”
A smile appeared on Lulu’s face. “I could never stay mad at you…you big lug.”
Jack was relieved to hear that, but Lulu could tell that he was still feeling down.
She cocked her head, giving him a playful look. She poked his cheek.
“Show me a smile,” she ordered.
He looked at his wife and gave her a small smile without showing his teeth.
“Come on, you can do better than that!”
She slipped her hand under his shirt and tickled his belly to make him laugh.
“That’s better,” Lulu chuckled.
Jack blushed and shyly lowered his head, now smiling big and genuine. His wife loved to take advantage of his ticklishness. She would always cheer him up that way.
“I’m sorry,” she said, patting his knee. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”
Jack wrapped his large arm around his wife and pulled her close, giving her a gentle kiss on the head.
Lulu was pleased to see that he was feeling better, but she wasn’t convinced that he was feeling completely better. He needed more cheering up, and she knew just what to do.
She glanced down at his feet. He was wearing white socks.
“Let’s go to the bedroom,” Lulu said.
Jack got excited, believing that they were going to have sex. Lulu could tell that was what he thought, and she did want to have sex…but she had other plans first.
When they got to the bedroom, Lulu ordered Jack to lay on the bed.
“Lay with your hands and feet at the four corners of the bed,” she instructed.
Now Jack was nervous and suspicious, but he obeyed. He laid down on the bed so that his wife could tie him up.
Lulu put soft pillows under his head to make him comfortable. Then she went to the closet and brought out a large bag and put the bag on the nightstand. She took out some strong ropes and tied Jack’s wrists and ankles to the bed posts.
Then Lulu stood back and admired her work. She had tied him up securely, and he was completely at her mercy, unable to defend himself.
Jack was wearing a sleeveless shirt that left his armpits helplessly exposed and easy to tickle.
“Perfect,” Lulu said with an evil smile.
She sat on the bed, ready to tickle him under the arms.
Now extremely nervous, Jack began to struggle against his bondage, but he couldn’t get free. He was helpless and had no choice but to endure the tickle treatment. He whimpered a bit.
“Don’t be nervous,” she said kindly.
Jack knew exactly what was going to happen, and he was already giggling even before she touched him. He tensed up, trying to prepare himself for the tickles.
“This will cheer you up,” she reassured him.
Then Lulu began tickling Jack, and he immediately burst into laughter.
Her fingers were like spiders as she scratched Jack’s sweaty, fuzzy armpits.
“Coochie coochie coo,” she said in a baby voice.
Jack tried to beg for mercy, but he could barely get the words out because he was laughing so hard.
He squirmed and struggled but could not escape. His hands were tied high above his head, so there was no way to protect his armpits.
She tickled him for fifteen seconds and then stopped. He caught his breath.
After a short break, Lulu’s devilish fingers dug back into his armpits, viciously tickling him again. His armpits were huge and wide…so much room to tickle.
She was enjoying every second of this, but she stopped again after only fifteen seconds. She allowed him a minute to catch his breath and relax a bit.
Then Lulu reached into her bag and took out a long turkey feather.
She smiled evilly and started running the feather along his armpit, causing him to squeal adorably and burst into laughter all over again. Lulu laughed along with him. This was so much fun!
The tip of the feather stroking his armpit was unbearable! Jack threw his head back as he howled with hysterical laughter, trying desperately to pull his arms down.
“Such a ticklish big guy,” Lulu cooed at him.
The bed bounced up and down as Jack squirmed about, fighting to escape from the horrible feather. He pleaded for her to stop, and she did…but only for a moment.
Then she teasingly let the feather tickle his nose before moving on to his other armpit.
As his armpits were tickled, Jack’s face turned bright red from laughing so hard.
Lulu gave him frequent breaks between tickles. She knew that if she tickled him too intensely for too long he would start to cry, and she didn’t want that to happen. She wanted to cheer him up – not torture him.
Soon, it was time for another break.
While he regained his breath, Lulu tickled his nose with the feather again which made him sneeze. She chuckled.
“I’m going to tickle your feet now,” Lulu said cheerily.
With that, she went to Jack’s feet and started tugging at his white socks.
“These socks need to go,” she said.
Jack whimpered. “Oh, please, let me keep them on! Please, honey?”
Lulu just laughed. “I don’t think so…”
She removed Jack’s socks one by one. He cringed and blushed as his bare feet were exposed to his devilish wife. His toes wiggled nervously.
“There are those piggies,” she chuckled, playfully tweaking his big toe.
Jack nervously watched her as she teased and toyed with him. He took a deep breath and tried to prepare himself for the tickles that were coming.
Lulu smiled and began tickling his bare foot, scratching all over the bottom and between his toes.
Jack burst out laughing. His frantic squirming and bucking caused the entire bed to shake. He couldn’t stand to be tickled on his feet, and he pleaded for mercy.
Fortunately for him, the tickling stopped after only ten seconds.
Jack was grateful for the breaks that his wife granted him, but the breaks never lasted long. The feet tickling resumed and with great vigor.
“Tickle, tickle, tickle!” Lulu sang as her nails scraped up and down the soles of his feet.
He screamed with laughter, throwing his head back and squirming desperately on the bed. He struggled against his restraints, but not even his immense physical strength was enough to break the thick ropes.
“Your feet are so big and cute. I love tickling them!” She let out an evil laugh.
Then she started counting his toes.
“One…two…three…four…five,” Her finger poked each toe as she counted it.
The toe counting was simply a cute way to give him a short break, but at the same time, have some fun playing with his feet.
After counting all ten toes, she went back to tickling the bottoms of his feet.
Then she grabbed the feather and used it to lightly tickle his pinky toes. The feather was just barely touching and yet caused him to squeal in ticklish agony. This sweet guy was just too ticklish for his own good!
“Aww, aren’t you cute,” Lulu cooed at him.
His laughs and giggles were just the most adorable sounds in the world to Lulu. It was clear that he was cheered up, but she wasn’t quite done yet.
Time for another break.
While he caught his breath, Lulu came up with another devious idea.
She reached into her makeup kit and took out two brushes with incredibly soft bristles. She began to slowly run the brushes down the soles of his feet.
Of course, the soft brushes tormented Jack’s extremely ticklish feet. He laughed and laughed and laughed, desperately begged for mercy, and Lulu granted him another break.
When Lulu was finally done tickle torturing his feet, she put away the tools and promised her husband that he could now relax.
“Alright, Jack…I think you’re cheered up enough.”
She kissed the bottom of his foot. Then she kissed his toes. The kisses tickled and made him giggle.
“I think somebody is feeling better, yes?”
Jack nodded. A big, goofy smile was spread across his face. He was worn out from the tickling, but he did feel much happier. He had completely forgotten about being yelled at earlier.
“Sweetie?” he said softly. “Could you…”
He blushed deeply and bit his lip.
“What, Jack? Speak up,” she ordered.
“Could you rub my tummy?” he asked.
Lulu looked at him curiously.
“That would help me relax,” he explained.
Lulu rolled her eyes and smiled at him. “Oh, alright!”
She laid her hand on Jack’s big belly and started to rub it gently. He smiled peacefully and closed his eyes, taking steady breaths as he enjoyed the relaxing treatment.
Lulu rubbed his belly for a few minutes, and she could see that Jack was now calm and relaxed. Then she smiled evilly and tickled his belly, causing him to burst out laughing.
“You big baby,” she teased.
With a warm smile, Lulu gently touched his cheek and stroked his blonde hair.
“You really like being tickled, don’t you?” she said.
He smiled bashfully. “Well…yeah. I do like it.”
“Who is the handsomest, sweetest, and most ticklish man in the world?”
Jack blushed a deep red and slightly rolled his eyes. “Me?”
“Correct.” She gave his foot one last tickle before untying his ankles.
Then she untied his wrists from the bed posts but not before giving his armpit another little tickle with her finger.
Jack laughed and giggled and squirmed.
“Honey, please!” he whined. “You’ve tickled me enough for today!”
Lulu laughed. She just had to get in some final tickles before letting him go.
“I do this because I love you,” Lulu told him, sincerely.
She really did love her husband. She loved him from the top of his handsome honey blonde head to the tips of his ticklish toes.
“I love you too, baby,” Jack said, gently kissing her forehead.
They nestled against each other on the bed, savoring a peaceful moment of cuddling.
Lulu then stood up and started to undress. She unbuttoned her blouse and pulled it off. She removed her shoes and then pulled down her jeans and kicked them off.
Jack smirked as he watched her strip down to bra and panties.
After discarding her clothing, she climbed back onto the bed, wearing only a black lace bra and matching panties. She wanted to have sex, and Jack wanted that, too…but he had other plans first.
He grabbed her ankle and wiggled his fingers on the sole of her foot.
“Don’t you dare tickle me!” she giggled.
Now it was Jack’s turn to smile evilly. He grabbed her wrists and pinned her down on the bed, holding her arms above her head. She struggled a bit, but Jack held her down with ease, and he gazed into her huge blue eyes.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
“I’m going to teach you some manners, little lady!” Jack chuckled.
Then Lulu’s laughter filled the room as Jack buried his mouth into her armpit and blew, making a raspberry noise.
The happy couple spent the rest of the day enjoying these tender and precious moments together. There was no more talk of negative things. No more harsh words spoken.
What had started out as a rotten day had turned into a great day full of love, forgiveness, and fun.
Fandom: Star Trek TOS / AOS
Characters: Crew of the USS Enterprise
Warnings: Explicit, Sexual, Tickling, (non-con Tickle Torture)
Word Count: 2,556
WARNING! This is not one of my fluffy tickle fics, so if you’re not into non-con tickle torture, this is not for you!
Read Part 1 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 1)
Read Part 2 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 2)
Read Part 3 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 3)
Read Part 4 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 4)
Read Part 5 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 5)
Read Part 6 here: All-Male Hilarity (Part 6)
Summary:
The one, where every male crew member of the Enterprise is subjected to extreme tickle torture.
This is a shameless, non-con tickle fic with no fluff and little plot. You have been warned!
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“Does the captain know any of this? Can he … can the men hear you like I do?” Uhura asked, feeling rather overwhelmed by the whole situation, the noisy hilarity surrounding her not helping to clear her mind.
“They can only hear what we want them to,” Kirk’s tickler-woman replied. “The captain is aware that your help would probably speed up the whole procedure. But other than that, we haven’t given them any details, since we believe your males are too distracted to process information right now.”
Uhura couldn't argue with that. Weighing her options, she took a hesitant step towards Kirk, who was writhing and bouncing around in his chair in ever increasing ticklish agony, as his worst spots were relentlessly tormented. She certainly couldn't join in tickling her captain! Or could she? Should she?
As a Starfleet officer she’d been trained to make decisions under pressure, but this was definitely not a situation she’d prepared for. Still, taking in the incessant, convulsive laughter all around the bridge, she had to act quickly. Maybe doing what the woman asked actually was the fastest way to help her friends out of their excruciating predicament?
“AAAAHAHAHAH! Please, Nyota!” Kirk begged through helpless laughter, when he became aware of her standing next to him, grinding out the words between the most maniacal cackles. “Quick! AAAHAHAHAH! Whateverittakes! AAAHAHAHAH! Justdoit! AAAHAHAHAHAH! Imdyinghere! AAAHAHAHAH! Canttakeanymore! AAAHAHAHAHAH!! Imsoticklish AAAHAHAHAH! Seriouslytooticklish! AAAAHAHAHAH!”
“You sure?” Uhura asked once more, her hands hovering uncertainly over the captain’s belly, the thought of actually tickling him making her very uncomfortable.
But Kirk had already fallen back into frantic laughter, thrashing his head from side to side, wheezing and panting from the exertion of speaking through his harrowing ordeal.
Accidentally tickling him while trying to free him had been one thing. But doing it intentionally, especially now that she knew exactly how unspeakably ticklish the poor guy was, and how even the lightest touch to his death spots could destroy him, was something else entirely.
“You heard him,” the tickler-woman urged. “He practically begged you to tickle him. I’ll even ease up on him a little, so you can better gauge his reactions to your touches. Go on, feel your way to his most responsive spots, I’ll guide you. Although I’m pretty sure, having watched us closely, you already know exactly where they are.”
Uhura blushed furiously at the woman’s words, glancing embarrassedly at the captain, who thankfully had his eyes closed and was just catching his breath, as he was granted some respite from the merciless assault, his body still twitching uncontrollably with ghost tickles. And a light feathering of his balls. True to her word, the woman was leaving Kirk’s belly and perineum alone now, but was still lazily teasing his testicles to keep him giggling.
Taking a deep breath, Uhura shyly touched Kirk’s exposed ribs on either side, right where his shirt had been rolled-up. Perfectly random spots, and yet it obviously tickled like hell already, judging from the captain’s startled squeak and violent jolt as soon as her fingers made contact with his skin.
Giving him – and herself – a second to adjust to the bizarre situation, she let her fingers slowly trail down his sides, tentatively tapping or spidering, when she felt his muscles quiver under her hands, getting more confident and bolder in her touch surprisingly fast.
The captain would snort and flinch whenever she came across an especially ticklish spot, plenty of which could be found on his ribs and sides, and she soon learned to linger on those, making the poor man squirm and laugh out loud, despite determinedly pressing his lips together and trying hard to hold the laughter in.
Until she finally hit his death spots, ashamed to know exactly where they were, just as the tickler-woman had implied, and Kirk lost it completely, throwing his head back in anguish and helplessly exploding into the shrieking laughter of the seriously ticklish, bucking and thrashing like crazy while cackling hysterically.
Uhura could hardly believe that she was the one doing this to him. That she was really and truly tickling the crap out of the captain’s hyper-ticklish belly, the way she knew he couldn't bear for even a second, but was fiendishly forced to endure regardless, ruthlessly restrained and completely defenceless against her vicious touches.
She could just imagine how he’d normally double over and instantly clamp his arms firmly to his sides, if anyone so much as brushed against his belly, frantically twisting away from tickling fingers and fiercely covering his midriff to protect his most ticklish spots.
Yet, here he was, totally vulnerable with his arms pulled up high over his head, his worst spots helplessly exposed, and had actually asked her to tickle him despite knowing that the ticklishness would kill him. All he could do was kick his legs and stamp his feet like a madman while shaking with roaring, tormented laughter just from her barely brushing her fingernails over his skin.
Unsure what she was supposed to do next, Uhura kept tickling Kirk’s death spots, looking expectantly at the tickler-woman while experimenting with the speed and pressure of her touches, trying out nails and fingertips, and eliciting ever more desperate peals of laughter from the captain.
“GAHAHAHAHAD! UHUHUHUHRA! STAHAHAP! AWHAWHAWFUL!” was all he could vocalise before succumbing to silent laughter once more.
“He probably expected your touch to be less torturous,” the tickler-woman remarked, sounding quite appreciative, and Uhura couldn't help feeling almost a little smug when she continued, “but you’re a quick study and doing an extremely good job tickling him beyond his limits. Keep this up for a couple of minutes, and we can move on to the next level and finally get to the job we came for!”
‘The next level?’ Uhura thought, horrified, as her deft fingers kept tormenting the ticklish captain’s belly, trying to follow his every squirming and thrashing move without losing those specific spots, and discovering that light scratching in slow circles was the way to go, seeming to tickle him worse than anything else.
She told herself that it was just her “mentor’s” influence that let her sense the effect of her touches so clearly, thus refining and perfecting her technique in practically no time. And, of course, the woman’s instant diabolical assault on Kirk’s genitalia whenever Uhura relented a little in her fiendishness, absolutely justified the fervour with which she tortured the poor captain’s insanely ticklish belly.
“Don’t let up!” the tickler-woman warned. “You’ll only make it worse for him, prolonging the procedure. But we’re nearly there. Just a little longer, and we can switch to pleasure mode.”
And sure enough, mere moments later, Kirk’s – and all the other bridge officers’ – frenzied laughter turned into lusty moans once again, and the woman instructed Uhura to stop tickling as the captain greedily thrust into his pleasure-tube.
Instantly taking her hands off Kirk’s skin and clapping them over her own face instead, the communications officer went on to watch her friends through the gaps between her fingers. As before, seeing them shamelessly consumed with lust, and listening to their randy groans and desperate pleas for release, as the potent pleasure-tubes rendered them horny beyond words, was as embarrassing as it was fascinating.
But what was worst, was that Uhura couldn't deny the effect that seeing, hearing, and even smelling that accumulated, inconceivable arousal surrounding her had on her own libido. Her hips started to gyrate of their own accord, and she was suddenly acutely aware of her soaked-through panties that the recent events had left her with. She hadn’t had time to really notice until now, but all that tickling and pleasuring had clearly excited her beyond mere horny.
All of a sudden, she needed to touch herself, she couldn't help it. The men around her were at the brink of an earthshattering orgasm, and she desperately needed to cum with them. She couldn't remember ever having been more aroused, and she needed relief. Right now. Dropping her hands from her face, one hand quickly found its way under her uniform skirt, while the fingers of her other hand unexpectedly drifted towards Kirk’s belly, a strong desire to mercilessly tickle him there again almost overwhelming her.
But before she could get her head around what was happening to her, let alone get her fingers to pleasure herself, an urgent command from the tickler-woman brought both her hands back to the captain’s belly, targeting his death spots with effortless precision and throwing herself into the most devilish tickle attack she’d ever administered, and certainly the most deathly one Kirk had suffered yet, his crazed laughter clearly standing out among all the other male bridge officers’ renewed ticklish cackling.
There was a short silence, as the captain momentarily lost the ability to form words, hardly able to breathe, as his communications officer’s nimble fingers seemed to raise the already disproportionate ticklishness of his belly yet another notch.
Uhura had no idea what this switch back to tickling was about or why she was doing it, blindly following the tickler-woman’s orders. And somewhere at the back of her mind she knew that she didn’t want to torture Kirk like this. This horribly and evilly, all but killing the deathly ticklish captain. But she was caught in a veritable tickling frenzy, her head spinning with the rush of making the captain howl and beg and laugh his head off just by barely wiggling her fingers, knowing exactly where and how to elicit the most wicked, excruciatingly ticklish effect.
Then, just as she felt a massive climax building in her groin, preparing to cum in her panties, untouched, the tickler-woman ordered her to stop again, mentally pushing her fingers off the exhausted captain’s belly, and leaving Uhura shaking with unsatisfied need while Kirk and the rest of the bridge crew were suddenly back to groaning with intense lust, the heavenly pleasures the tubes offered audibly and visibly almost more than they could take.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be rewarded soon, Uhura,” the tickler-woman’s voice was back in her head, her tone almost soothing now. “But we need to accomplish our mission first. We almost did it this time, you’re an excellent tickler. But your captain is a truly exquisitely ticklish specimen, and his ticklishness still prevails over his lust. I’m confident, however, that the next attempt will be successful. We just need to ramp up the tubes a little more. He needs to spill his juice at the height of his ticklishness, the exact moment of the most extreme tickling.”
“Sure, next time,” Uhura murmured weakly, as if in a trance. All thought of escaping the bridge to fight the women and save the men from this heinous tickle torture long abandoned, her only objective now was to find release for her own unbearable sexual tension.
Kirk was rutting into his pleasure-tube like mad now, ready to explode and groaning, “Yes! YES! Oh my God! OH MY GOD! I’m cumming! I’M CUMMING!” between fits of hysterical laughter and squealing, “AAAAAHAHAHAHAH! YOU’RE KIIIIII-HI-HI-HI-HILLING MEEEE!” before falling back into helpless, silent laughter, his insanely ticklish belly and Uhura’s deadly fingernails once more getting in the way of his desperately needed release.
Uhura felt as if she were on auto-pilot, her fingers tickling, and stopping, and tickling over and over again, as she watched the captain’s face, a picture of tormented pleasure, alternating between total rapture and unimaginable anguish, unprecedented lust and unbearable ticklishness fighting for dominance.
All the communications officer really wanted at that moment was to put herself in the tube’s place and let her fingers run wild on Kirk’s belly, doing their skilful worst, while riding him – and herself – to the most incredible, gloriously ticklish orgasm.
God, had she really just thought that? She was most definitely not herself anymore and just hoped that the captain and the rest of the bridge crew would never learn about her devious, disloyal, and downright treacherous thoughts.
The alternating periods of hysterical laughter and noisy arousal grew shorter and shorter, until they were blending into each other, and the lethal combination of pleasure-tube, fiendishly applied feathers, and Uhura’s and the tickler-woman’s skilled fingers viciously dancing over his hideously sensitive skin, finally pushed Kirk over the edge.
With an almost deafening roar, delirious with relief and pleasure despite still being relentlessly tickled out of his mind, the captain erupted into a phenomenal orgasm that seemed to go on forever, as he groaned and cackled and cursed his way through this mind-blowing climax, endlessly thrusting and spurting into the tube without pause or even slowing down, delivering squirt after squirt of the sought-after “juice of life” in desperate search of real satisfaction.
“GOD! Aaahahahah! THIS! Aaahahahah! THIS IS AMAZING! Aaahahahah! I’VE NEVER! Aaahahahah! NOT LIKE THIS! Aaahahahah! FUUU-hahahah! IT JUST WON’T END! Aaahahahah! SO GOOD! Aaahahahah!
“AAAHAHAHAH Not there, not there, please not there! AAAHAHAHAH! It tickles so bad! AAAHAHAHAH! But it feels so good! AAAHAHAHAH! Almost worth the torture! AAAHAHAHAH! Almost! AAAHAHAHAH! Not again! AAAHAHAHAH! Please! AAAHAHAHAH! I’m so ticklish! I’m so ticklish! I’m so ticklish! AAAHAHAHAH!
“Aaahahahah! OH MY GOD! THIS IS SO GOOD! Aaahahahah! INSANE! Aaahahahah! FUUUUU-hahahah! STILL CUMMING! Aaahahahah! CAN’T STOP! Aaahahahah!
“AAAHAHAHAH! It tickles! It tickles! It tickles! AAAHAHAHAH! So much worse now! AAAHAHAHAH! Please, please, PLEASE no more tickling! AAAHAHAHAH! Too ticklish! Too ticklish! I’M TOO TICKLISH! Aaahahahah! AAAHAHAHAH!!”
After they’d finished Kirk off, Uhura had unthinkingly eased up on the tickling, mesmerised by the captain’s display of unparalleled ecstasy, raptly watching him riding out his tremendous, never-ending orgasm, as wave after wave of boundless pleasure rippled through him, yet not seeming enough to satisfy him completely. Or relieve the ticklishness.
In fact, even though she found that her hands had long stopped tickling his belly, were actually not even touching him anymore, Kirk’s rutting, and groaning, and cackling were picking up again, growing more desperate instead of gradually subsiding and fading away, as Uhura would have expected.
Surely, the captain more than deserved full satisfaction after his impossibly gruesome ordeal and “donating” what felt like gallons of ejaculate that had been ruthlessly and sadistically tickled out of him, she thought, as her hands moved south, hoping to satisfy some need of her own, before Kirk’s epic orgasm inevitably came to an end.
Impatiently looking around the bridge for a spot where she could indulge herself without being seen, Uhura was glad to discover that all attention was focused on Kirk anyway, as Spock, Chekov, Sulu, and Scotty, desperately thrusting into their own tubes, still groaning, and howling, and pleading for release and for the tickling to stop, were enviously watching their captain drowning in pleasure, while at the same time fearfully anticipating the same fate, only too aware of the unbearable tickling and edging they’d have to endure to get to where he was now.
But just as Uhura had found the perfect place, frantically starting to rub herself through the soaking wet material of her Starfleet issue underwear and idly wondering whom she would be tickling next, a piercing shriek followed by high-pitched, almost inhuman sounding cackling, somewhere between hissing, choking, and squealing, filled the bridge, heralding a brand-new level of ticklish distress.
PLEASE the look of absolute love on Jim’s face as he watches Spock tie the headband around his ears is fucking unreal even for this series. Bill Shatner gets one (1) right for this expression only
