princess who has trouble reaching orgasm on her own. she invites the jester into her bedchambers because she's pent up and sexually frustrated, ordering him to make her cum or else.
he agrees, he says he knows just the trick! but it'll involve tying you up, m'lady, you know you always close your legs right when it gets good and lose the pleasure.
she agrees, and so he does. and when he gets up to circle her feet, she knows in her pent up frustration, she wandered into another one of his schemes.
the second he starts tickling her, she loses it, a breathy laugh that is unrefined for a princess. she scolds him, curses (also unrefined), and bucks her hips, his fingers gliding across her soles with no way to stop it.
"whatever is the matter, princess?" he taunts, her laughter upping an octave as he traces his fingers up her leg, and then starts tormenting the softness of her thighs, "this is what i'm here for, to make you laugh!"
to her horror, she's absolutely soaked. just like last time. and the time before. why, why does she always agree to being tied up when she knows, she knows he'll tickle her half to death!
nobody questions the laughter, after all, everyone saw the jester with his bell-adorned hat tromp into her private quarters. the laughter is expected.
of course, he'll still make her cum hard. after a long while of merciless, insistent tickling. after her breasts are thoroughly teased, her armpits spidered until she thinks she's going mad, and he finally leans down and trails his tongue over her swollen, desperate clit, sending her crashing over in no time.
she'll likely punish him for it. after she's done melting in the soft, merciful afterglow.
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